Archive of Our Own ^beta

WILL

Four days ago.

"Fired and dumped on the same day," Will said, face-down on his dorm bed, voice muffled by his pillow. "Same fucking day, Nathan. The universe hates me."

"C'mon, man," Nathan said from his desk, not even looking up from the essay he was typing on his word processor. "You can't blame Carlton. And you didn’t even get fired."

Will lifted his head. "I literally got fired."

"I mean," Nathan finally glanced over. "Does being told 'hey, we don't need you anymore' count as being fired?"

"Woah," Will sat up. "My life is over. I lost my job right before summer, I have no boyfriend, my sister's doing this really cool acting internship for a movie directed by my brother, and I have nowhere to go!"

The thing was, he really should've seen both of those things coming.

The job at the campus art supply store had been perfect – literally perfect for him. He got to reorganize the paint section by color gradient (which he knew was excessive, but it looked beautiful), he got an employee discount on supplies, and his boss Linda had let him play his own cassette tapes as long as they weren't "too depressing.”

He had been playing The Smiths on repeat for three weeks straight, so go to hell, Linda.

Apparently his role wasn't that needed anymore, and they were cutting corners, which was corporate speak for we're firing you but we're going to use nicer words so your self esteem is intact. Never mind that he'd spent hours helping customers find the perfect shade of cadmium yellow or explaining the difference between cold-press and hot-press watercolor paper – and he wasn't needed? (WHY DID THEY EVEN HIRE HIM THEN?)

And then there was Carlton. Well–

He really, really should've seen that one coming.

Looking back, the signs were everywhere, like neon signs, honestly, fluroscent and bright and right in your face. Carlton had started bringing up Mike in February. Casually at first: "You talk about Mike a lot." Then less casually: "Is Mike your best friend or your ex-boyfriend?" And then, memorably, about two weeks ago: "You literally smiled for five minutes after Mike called you about some duck he saw on campus, William. A duck. What am I supposed to think?"

You see, Carlton, in retrospect, that was probably a red flag. But it had been a really cute duck, and Mike had been so excited about it, calling from a payphone just to tell Will about this distinguished waterfowl gentleman, and Will had been having a bad day, and–

Yeah he should've seen it coming.

But who dumps someone the same day they get fired? Will had trudged back to his dorm after Linda's excruciating listen we’re sorry but conversation, ready to complain to his boyfriend about the injustice of capitalism and Carlton had been waiting in the hallway with his jacket on and everything.

"I think we should break up," Carlton had said.

Just like that.

"Now?" Will had asked stupidly, still holding the cardboard box of his personal items from the art store.

"I just think we're looking for different things," Carlton had said, which was breakup speak for you're in love with someone else and I'm tired of pretending not to notice.

And now Will had no one to take to the wedding, and maybe that being his main concern about his boyfriend of 4 months breaking up with him is telling but it's all his Mom would talk about! Joyce had called the dorm payphone three times this week alone – three times – and Will's floormates were getting annoyed having to come knock on his door. She kept asking about his summer plans, whether he'd be bringing anyone to Montauk for the ceremony ("You can bring a plus-one, honey, the venue has room!"), whether he wanted to help pick out flowers for the centerpieces.

Will liked flowers. He'd painted plenty of them – watercolor botanicals were kind of his thing. But he did not have opinions about whether the centerpieces should be peonies or garden roses, and he certainly didn't want to spend his entire summer in Montauk listening to his mom and Hopper debate the merits of a beach ceremony versus a garden ceremony while they slowly migrated all of his childhood belongings to a house he'd never even lived in.

They kept talking about turning the spare room into a studio for him. It wasn't his room, wasn't his house, wasn't even in the same state as the place he'd grown up.

Hawkins was gone. Sold two years ago to a family with actual kids who probably turned his bedroom into a nursery or something.

"Ooh," Nathan spun around in his chair cheerfully. "Do you wanna come on that road trip with me and Brittany? We're doing the whole Southwest thing, Grand Canyon, Vegas, maybe some national parks."

"Uh," Will ran a hand through his hair, trying to process the offer. "Thank you. For the offer. But I don't really wanna third-wheel you and your girlfriend through the entire summer."

He could already picture it with painful clarity: Nathan and Brittany holding hands at the Grand Canyon while Will trailed ten feet behind them with a sketchbook, drawing sad rocks. Sitting in the backseat of Nathan's beat-up Honda while they sang along to the radio and he pretended to be asleep. Lying awake in his tent at night, staring at the ceiling while he tried very hard not to hear the noises coming from their tent fifteen feet away.

Absolutely not. The Rink o’ Mania in California had been bad enough.

"Dang, okay." Nathan shrugged, turning back to his word processor. "I offered. Who needs a summer job anyway? It's only your first year, man. You're supposed to be, like, finding yourself or whatever. Eating ramen, smoking weed. Isn't that the whole college experience?"

Internally, Will grimaced.

The issue wasn't really the job itself – he would've worked at the art supply store anyway, and that would've been great. But his mom was so involved with planning this wedding. Every single phone call turned into a forty-five-minute conversation about Montauk. Which was sweet, his mom was happy, genuinely happy, probably for the first time in Will's entire life, and he wanted that for her. He did.

But if he had to spend the entire summer watching her be happy with Hopper while simultaneously fielding questions about why he was suddenly single and what happened with Carlton and whether he'd thought about dating again and did he want to bring anyone to the wedding – anyone at all, honey, we just want you to be happy – his brain would actually, physically explode.

Also, he didn't want a studio in Montauk. He wanted to go back to Hawkins, to his actual home, to his actual room with the posters he'd put up in middle school and the paint stains on the carpet from that time he'd tried to follow along with a Bob Ross VHS at 2 AM. But that house had been sold and he needed to get over it.

He just needed more time to get over it.

"Wait," Will said suddenly, an idea sparking to life. "Isn't your brother–what's his name–Kite?"

Nathan didn't even look up from his typing. "Keith."

"Yes! Keith!" Will snapped his fingers, pointing at Nathan. "I love Keith. Keith's perfect. Our savior."

"He's not giving you a job, William."

"C'mon, Nate!" Will gestured desperately, nearly knocking over the empty Coke can on his nightstand. "I know he's an art curator, I don't care if it's at a café or a gallery gift shop or whatever, I just really need a summer job–”

Nathan spun around slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Actually, he was talking last week about something. How steady are your hands?"

Will blinked. "My–uh, pretty damn steady? If I'm an art major?" He held up his hands as evidence, fingers remarkably non-shaky for someone whose life was currently in shambles. "It is an art job, right?"

Please be an art job. He did not want to spend his summer flipping burgers or folding jeans at a Gap.

"Well, there's this strip club–"

The pillow hit Nathan square in the face.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Nathan laughed, tossing the pillow onto his own bed. "Jesus Christ, your aim is impressive for someone who claims to be falling apart. It is an art job. A tattoo shop, actually."

Will's eyebrows shot up. "A tattoo shop?"

"Yeah. There's this guy who used to work at Mirabar – you know, that gay bar in Providence? – he was a bouncer there for, like, ten years or something. Keith knows him through some art connection, I don't know the full story. But anyway, his name's Russell, and he's got this tattoo shop, and he just fired the last guy for hitting on his daughter,” Nathan shrugged. "Clearly, you won't have that problem–"

"Right," Will smirked.

"–and there's a vacancy, Keith says it's well-paying. Like, really well-paying. Russell's super serious and looking for someone with a steady hand and an art background." Nathan gestured at Will like he was a prize on a game show. "You, my friend, are literally perfect for this."

Will's heart picked up speed, that little flutter of hope that he'd been trying to suppress for the last four hours. A tattoo shop. He'd never thought about tattooing before, but it made sense – it was just drawing, right? Just on a different canvas. A living, breathing, potentially litigious canvas, but still.

"Nathan, that's perfect!" Will leaned forward, nearly falling off his bed in his enthusiasm. "When can I start? Do I need to send a portfolio? I can mail slides of my work–"

"There's an issue," Nathan interrupted.

Will's excitement deflated like a balloon. "What?"

"It's in Rhode Island."

The words hung in the air between them.

Rhode Island.

Mike was in Rhode Island.

"Oh," Will said quietly.

Mike Wheeler. Brown University. Currently residing six hours away by car, approximately one million miles away in every other sense that mattered.

They'd been keeping in touch – of course they had. Letters, phone calls when one of them had quarters for the payphone and the other one happened to be near their hall phone at the right time. Mike sent him letters constantly, these long rambling things written on both sides of notebook paper, talking about his classes, the books he was reading, random things he saw around Providence. Last week's letter had included a Polaroid of a duck wearing what looked like a tiny knitted hat.

"WILL," the letter had said in Mike's messy handwriting, "LOOK AT THIS. I found this duck near the sciences building and someone put a HAT on it. An actual HAT. On a DUCK. I used my last Polaroid on this and I regret nothing. This is the best thing I've ever seen. The duck's name is Herbert now. That's what I've decided."

Will had tucked that Polaroid into his sketchbook.

He sent stuff back too – sketches, sometimes watercolors if they wouldn't get destroyed in the mail. Sometimes just doodles in the margins when he didn't have much to say but wanted Mike to have something from him anyway.

They talked about everything. Their classes, their friends, updates from the Party. Mike had called two weeks ago and they'd talked for two hours about absolutely nothing until someone came and banged on his phone booth door and told Mike his time was up.

But they hadn't seen each other since winter break. And even that had been the whole Party crammed into Steve's living room in Hawkins – loud and chaotic and wonderful, but crowded. 

The thought of being in the same city as Mike of being six hours away instead of the usual distance, of maybe running into him on the street or in a coffee shop sent butterflies – actual butterflies – through him like he was twelve years old again and Mike had just smiled at him across the lunch table.

Damn it. Carlton should've dumped him months ago.

"Oh, great!" Nathan said brightly, completely oblivious to Will's internal gay crisis. "You'll have someone to live with!"

"He lives at his college," Will said quickly and defensively. "So, no. And I haven't told anyone I'm fired."

He could already hear his mom's voice on the phone: Fired? Honey, what happened? Are you okay? Do you need money? Should you come to Montauk early? We can set up the studio!

Nathan tilted his head, and his grin turned absolutely evil. "Huh. Or that you're broken up with."

"No."

"That's so funny," Nathan said. "The reason Carlton broke up with you doesn't even know he's the reason."

Will rolled his eyes. "I'm so glad you find this funny."

"You're like a GQ headline, dude. 'Pining Boy Gets Dumped By Boyfriend Who's Jealous Of His Best Friend, Then Coincidentally Gets Job In Best Friend's City But Refuses To Tell Said Best Friend He's There.'."

"I hate you."

"Nuh-uh. I'm literally trying to get you a job right now. I'm being a great friend."

Will groaned and flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the water stain on the ceiling. "If I make arrangements at a motel or something," Will said slowly, "I guess spending the summer in Rhode Island wouldn't suck."

Nathan was already pulling on his jacket. "I'm gonna go call Keith from the lobby. Be ready to talk yourself up, Byers. This could be your ticket out of Montauk hell."

"Don't call it that."

"I'm calling it that. It's accurate." Nathan paused at the door, grinning. "Hey, you know what? This is gonna be good for you. New city, new job, new experiences. Character building."

"Character building," Will repeated flatly.

"Exactly. Plus, you know, Your friend’s there. That's a bonus."

"It’s a complication."

"Potato, po-tah-to." Nathan opened the door. "I'll be back in twenty. Try not to have a complete breakdown while I'm gone."

The door clicked shut, Will grabbed his Walkman off the nightstand, put in his Smiths tape, and pressed play.

"I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does..."

Yeah. That seemed about right.

Three days ago.

Will knocked on the door marked 4B and waited. El's floor was identical to his, same beige walls, same vague smell of microwaved popcorn and cheap laundry detergent but somehow felt entirely different. Maybe it was just knowing his sister was up here, one floor above him, close enough to visit but still maintaining the proper gender-segregated housing rules that Pennsylvania State University was so fond of.

The door opened, and El stood there in an outfit that could only be described as theatrical – high-waisted jeans with a leopard print belt, a bright yellow turtleneck tucked in, and a vintage denim jacket covered in pins and patches. Her hair had changed since he'd last seen her three days ago; she'd gotten bangs, the kind that swept across her forehead like Audrey Hepburn. The rest of her hair fell past her shoulders in waves that she'd clearly spent time on.

"Will! I thought you were studying?"

"I need to talk to you about something." Will glanced down the hallway, taking in the full effect of her outfit. "Also, when did you get bangs?"

El touched them self-consciously, grinning. "Yesterday. Brittany from my acting class did them in the bathroom. Do you like them? I'm going for early Hepburn. Roman Holiday era."

"They look good." Will gestured vaguely. "Pretty damn theatre."

"That's the goal!" El beamed. She'd really found her style this year, lots of vintage pieces from thrift stores, bright colors, the kind of clothes that made people look twice. Back in Hawkins, she'd mostly worn whatever Hopper bought her. Now she looked like she'd stepped out of a different decade entirely, and she seemed so much more herself for it. "Can I come in, or should we just–"

"Stairs," El said immediately, already grabbing her key and a bright red cardigan that had been draped over her desk chair. "Melissa's still on the phone and I needed an escape anyway."

They headed to the stairwell at the end of the hall – their unofficial sibling meeting spot since the beginning of the year. Penn State had very specific rules about boys and girls in each other's dorm rooms, and being siblings didn't exempt you from that. Will had learned that the hard way in the first week when he'd tried to help El move in and an RA had shooed him out after exactly ten minutes.

The stairwell was concrete and echo-y and not particularly comfortable, but it was private. They sat on the landing between floors three and four. El tucked her legs underneath her, the red cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Will leaned against the railing.

"So," El said, studying his face with that unnerving way she had of seeing right through him. People always thought they were twins here: they had the same eyes, the same mannerisms. They'd grown up together, and somewhere along the way, they'd started looking alike. Or maybe they'd always looked alike and Will just never noticed. "What's wrong? And don't say nothing, because you have your 'something's wrong' face on."

"I'm living with a Canadian dude who used to be a bouncer," Will said flatly.

El blinked. "What?"

"The job. In Rhode Island. I got it." Will picked at a loose thread on his jeans, saying the words in the same tone as the Demogorgon. It got me. "The guy who owns the tattoo shop – Russell – he's letting me stay at his apartment for the two weeks.”

"The guy seems okay though," El said, tilting her head. "I mean, if Nathan's brother vouched for him."

"I know, I just," Will ran a hand through his hair. "I can't afford a motel for two weeks and he's just gonna cut the rent from my salary, so it's not like I have to pay upfront, and it's perfect and makes sense, but."

"But?" El prompted.

"Well, it's–” Will lowered his voice even though they were alone in the stairwell. "It's, y'know."

"I really don't."

Will closed his eyes, took a breath. "It's Mike. I'm gonna be ten minutes away from Mike."

"Oh my god, that's great!" El's face lit up. "You guys can meet up! You haven't seen each other since winter break, this is perfect–”

"No!" Will said quickly, desperately. "No, we can't."

El's excitement dimmed into confusion. "Why not?"

"Jane," Will said, using her actual name because he needed her to understand how serious this was, "Mike does not know I lost my job. Mike can't keep secrets. If I tell Mike, one way or another, it's gonna get to Mom."

El laughed, her head tipping back against the concrete wall, her new bangs falling perfectly across her forehead. "No, it's not."

"Oh yeah?" Will leaned forward. "Who told Hopper you were dating Dustin?"

El's smile faltered. "That's–okay, but that was different–"

"Who told the Party you got tickets to Dead Poets Society for everyone for Christmas?"

There was a longer pause. El's cheeks went slightly pink. "It was pretty annoying when he did that," she admitted quietly. "And then cried for two days straight because he felt so bad about ruining the surprise."

"He didn't cry because he ruined the surprise," Will corrected. "He cried because of Dead Poets Society. Neil Perry's death broke him. He didn't leave my room for a week."

El giggled despite herself, pulling her knees up to her chest. "He was so devastated. Remember when he tried to explain the ending to Hopper and just started sobbing again?"

"Hopper had no idea what was happening."

"Nobody did. It was very Mike Wheeler of him." El grinned. "But see, that's what I mean. He cried because he cares. He gets so full of feelings that they just – overflow. Like Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's when she's at the end and she's in the rain and she just –"

"I don't watch those movies you tell me to," Will interrupted.

"At least I know what we're doing after the wedding," El said, her eyes bright with mischief, "Full Hepburn marathon. Sabrina, Funny Face, maybe Charade if you can handle Cary Grant–"

"El, I'm trying to have a serious conversation about how Mike cannot keep secrets and you're planning movie marathons."

"I can multitask." She reached over and poked his arm. "And I still think you're being dramatic. So Mike told people about the movie tickets. He was excited! He wanted to share something nice!"

"I know he means well," Will said, softer now. "I do. He's just—he's so much like Robin, y'know? He gets excited and rambles and accidentally invites you to your own surprise party."

El giggled despite herself. "He really is like Robin.”

“And likely to tell Mom I got fired if I tell him I'm in Providence.” 

El sighed. "Okay, fine. He would probably accidentally mention it. But Will–" She leaned forward, her expression going serious. "You're gonna be in the same city for two weeks and you're not gonna see him? What if you run into him?"

"I won't. Providence is a city. There are, like, thousands of people. The odds of randomly running into Mike are basically 0."

El gave him a look. 

"Okay, I get it." Will buried his face in his hands. "But that doesn't change the fact that I can't tell him. If Mom finds out I got fired, she's gonna freak out and insist I come to Montauk early and I can't – I can't do that right now, El. I need this job. I need the money. And I need to not be in Montauk watching her plan every detail of a wedding in a house that's never gonna feel like home."

El's expression softened. "I know." She reached over and squeezed his hand, her multiple rings pressing into his skin. "I get it. I just I worry about you. You're gonna be alone in a new city—"

"I'll have Russell. And his daughter Lucy- she works at the shop too."

"—living with people you don't know—"

"It's two weeks."

"—and lying to your best friend."

Will pulled his hand back. "I'm not lying. I'm just... not telling him something."

"A lie of omission is still a lie, Will.”

"It's just, It's two weeks of tattooing people and avoiding Montauk."

"And avoiding Mike."

"And avoiding Mike," Will confirmed.

El studied him for a long moment, her head tilted, her new bangs casting a shadow across her eyes in a way that was probably very deliberate. She'd definitely been practicing her dramatic lighting angles.

"You're gonna be tattooing people, Will. You've never tattooed anyone in your life."

"I'll have training. Russell said he'd teach me." Will picked at the loose thread on his jeans again. "And I'm good at art. How different can it be?"

"It's on skin." El wrinkled her nose. "What if someone asks for something terrible? Like a skull with flames or – a Confederate flag?"

"I'll refuse."

"What if they're really insistent?"

"Then I'll call you and you can come perform a monologue about the evils of racism until they leave."

"Oh!" El stopped suddenly at her door. "I almost forgot. Mom called the floor phone yesterday. She wants to know if you've decided on your plus-one for the wedding."

Will groaned. "Not this again."

"She's very insistent." El unlocked her door. "I told her you were still thinking about it."

"I'm going alone."

"You could ask Mike—"

"El."

"What! As friends!" She was grinning again, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "He'd say yes. You know he would.”

"Goodbye, El."

"Think about it!"

"Not thinking about it."

Present day.

Russell's apartment was not what Will expected. There were plants on the windowsill. The couch was plaid and looked comfortable, a bookshelf with an actual book collection – Stephen King, some Agatha Christie, a few Tom Clancy novels. The kitchen was small but clean, and there was a calendar on the fridge with neat handwriting marking various appointments.

It was deeply, profoundly normal.

Russell himself was equally not what Will had expected. Sure, he was built like someone who could definitely bounce drunk people out of a bar – tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that suggested you didn't want to mess with him. But he was also wearing a cardigan that could've belonged to Mr. Rogers and reading glasses, and when he opened the door, the first thing he said was: "Will! Come in, come in. You must be tired from the bus. Are you hungry? I made lasagna."

He reminded Will of Bob. And Hopper, weirdly. That same kind of gentle-dad spirit despite the intimidating exterior. It was deeply unnerving.

"I'm–" Will stood in the doorway with his duffel bag, trying to reconcile this man with the image Nathan had painted. "I'm okay. Thank you though."

"You sure? It's got three kinds of cheese." Russell stepped aside to let him in. "Your room's down the hall–second door on the left. Bathroom's across from it. Make yourself at home. Lucy should be here soon–she's closing up the shop."

"Right. Lucy. Your daughter."

"Yep." Russell smiled, and it completely transformed his face into something warmer if that was possible. "She's excited to meet you. She doesn't usually work with other artists–the last guy was..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Not great."

"Because he hit on her," Will said, then immediately wanted to take it back because that sounded presumptuous.

But Russell just laughed. "Among other things. But don't worry–Keith vouched for you, and Keith's got good judgment. Come on, I'll show you your room."

The room was neat, a single bed with a blue comforter, a desk, a lamp, a dresser with a mirror. There was even a small succulent on the windowsill.

"I know it's not much," Russell said, leaning against the doorframe. "But it's yours for the next two weeks. Longer if you want–the job could extend if business picks up."

"It's great," Will said honestly, setting his duffel bag on the bed. "Really. Thank you for letting me stay here. I know it's kind of weird, taking in some random college kid."

"Hey, you're not random. You're Keith's brother's roommate. That's three degrees of separation. Basically family." Russell smiled. “I've got the space, and you need a place to stay. Works out."

He sounded so much like Bob it made Will's chest ache a little. That same easy generosity, that same assumption that of course he'd help, why wouldn't he?

"Anyway," Russell continued, "Lucy'll be here in about twenty minutes. We can have dinner, go over some basics about the shop, and then tomorrow you can shadow Lucy for the day. See how everything works. Sound good?"

"Sounds great."

"Perfect." Russell pushed off the doorframe. "I'm gonna go check on the lasagna. Come out whenever you're ready."

He left, and Will sat down on the bed, looking around his temporary room. Somewhere out there, probably not even ten minutes away, was Mike.

Will's stomach did that annoying flip thing again.

It's okay, he told himself. Two weeks of this, then you're flying in for the wedding anyway. Just keep your head down. Do good work. Don't run into Mike.

Simple.

There was a knock on the front door, and then a voice: "Dad! I'm home! Is the lasagna ready? I'm starving!"

Will heard Russell's responding laugh, and then footsteps.

Lucy was in the kitchen, pulling plates out of the cabinet. She was tall – almost as tall as Russell – with dark hair pulled back in a braid and about five ear piercings on each ear. She was wearing ripped jeans and a Sonic Youth t-shirt, and when she saw Will, she grinned.

"You must be Will! The art prodigy Nathan's brother won't shut up about."

"I–I wouldn't say prodigy–"

"Dad, he's humble. I like him already." Lucy set the plates on the counter. "Way better than Chad."

"We're not talking about Chad," Russell said firmly, pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

"Chad who hit on me."

"Not talking about him."

"Chad who couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler."

"Lucy."

"Chad who told a client her butterfly tattoo made her look 'exotic' and she filed a complaint."

"Okay, that's enough about Chad." Russell pointed a spatula at her. "Will is going to be great. He's got an actual art degree in progress, he's got a steady hand, and most importantly–"

"He's gay, so he won't hit on me," Lucy finished, turning to Will with a bright smile. "See? Already an improvement."

Will felt his face go red. "I–yeah. That's. Yeah."

"You'll get used to it," Lucy said, grabbing forks from a drawer. "Dad talks to everyone like they're his kid. It's unnerving at first, but then it's kind of nice."

"I'm right here," Russell said.

"I know. I'm complimenting you." Lucy started setting the table. "So, Will. Keith says you're from Indiana originally?"

"Yeah. Hawkins."

"And now you're at Penn State?"

"I’m studying art."

"What kind of art?"

"Mostly painting. I've been doing a lot of watercolors lately–"

"Perfect. That'll translate well to tattooing." Lucy sat down and gestured for Will to do the same. "It's all about color theory and composition and knowing when to leave space. Plus, if you can handle the detailed work in watercolors, you can definitely handle a tattoo gun."

"That's what I said," Russell interjected, setting the lasagna on the table. "Kid's gonna be a natural."

Will sat down, feeling simultaneously welcomed and slightly overwhelmed. This was nice. Weirdly nice. He'd expected something more professional, more distant. Instead, he was having dinner with Russell and Lucy like he'd known them for years instead of approximately ten minutes.

Will took a bite of lasagna and tried to focus on the conversation, but his mind kept drifting. Two weeks. He could do this. Learn to tattoo, make some money, avoid the entire wedding planning situation in Montauk, and not run into Mike Wheeler.

It was a solid plan! Nothing could go wrong.

MIKE

Mike's friend Riley was the reason the phrase ‘take a chill pill’ was invented, and he'd likely never taken one in his entire life.

"So obviously," Riley said, sprawling across Jesse's bed, "if we catch a cab to Newport, the skydiving there is insane. Like, Wheeler, I'm not letting you two miss out on this–"

Jesse already had his face buried in his pillow, making muffled sounds of distress. Mike couldn't blame him. They were all a little tipsy – Jesse had smuggled in some vodka his older brother had bought, and they'd been mixing it with orange juice from the dining hall for the past hour. Mike felt pleasantly warm and floaty.

"Riley," Mike said.

"Yep?"

"I got a piercing last week because you talked me into it."

"Yeah mate, and it suits you!" Riley grinned, pointing at the small hoop in Mike's ear that he was still getting used to. It caught on his hair sometimes, and his mom had almost had a heart attack when she'd seen it over fall break. Worth it, though. It made him look different. Older. Less like the nerdy kid from Hawkins and more like someone who belonged at an Ivy League school.

"And before that, you convinced us to go to the beach for surfing the day before our finals. I don't know how to surf, Riley! I'd never even seen a wave before that!"

Riley just grinned wider.

"And then there was the clubbing," Mike continued, counting on his fingers, "and getting kicked out of that Metallica concert–"

"That wasn't my fault."

“–which, okay, those were all relatively fun, I'll give you that. But there is no way, in absolute hell, that I'm going to jump off a literal plane."

"This is why you literature majors are no fun," Riley said, shaking his head sadly.

"I'm done," Mike announced to the ceiling. "Jesse, I'm done with him."

Jesse's muffled voice came from the pillow: "I've been done with him since orientation."

"Rude," Riley said cheerfully.

"Okay," Jesse said finally, lifting his head. "We don't need to do anything life-altering. Mike, you have that wedding, right? In two weeks?"

"Yeah, I'm flying to Indiana." Mike took another sip from his cup losing track of whether it was his third or fourth. Everything was getting fuzzy around the edges.

"Okay, so we have time!" Jesse said. "We could get high and go... hiking?"

Riley sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his own drink. "Hiking? Jess, you scare me."

"You said no to clubbing!" Jesse protested.

"Yeah, because you and Mike always get distracted by that en route instrument shop!"

"Not me and Mike's fault you no longer contribute to the band," Jesse shot back.

"Guys," Mike interrupted, rubbing his temples. "What if– and hear me out – what if we just... slept?"

Riley looked at him like he'd suggested they all join a monastery. "Wow. I totally get what I saw in you first week of college."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Shut up.” Riley was exhausting, but he was also the first person who'd talked to Mike at Brown, pulling him into a conversation about whether The Great Gatsby was overrated and somehow they'd been friends ever since. "I have to make it to that wedding in one piece anyway."

"The wedding with your Hawkins friends?" Riley asked, finally picking himself up off the floor.

"Yeah."

"The wedding with your Hawkins friends?" Riley asked, settling back against the wall.

"Yeah."

"Huh." Riley's eyes got that gleam they always got when he was about to say something awful. "Your boyfriend gonna be there?"

Mike looked away, face flushing. "I don't–he's still with his guy."

He could feel both Riley and Jesse's eyes on him. They'd figured him out weeks ago, when Mike had spent two hours on the payphone in the lobby talking to Will and had come back to their dorm looking like a lovesick teenager. Riley had taken one look at him and said, "Who's the girl?" and Mike had said, "What girl?" and then spent twenty minutes explaining Will's thoughts on David Bowie being the most influential artist of their generation. They'd known ever since.

"David Bowie, huh?" Riley had said, smirking.

"What?"

"Nothing. You've got it bad, Wheeler."

And the thing was, Riley wasn't wrong. Mike had it so bad it was actually pathetic. He thought about Will constantly. Every song reminded him of something Will had said. Every book he read, he mentally composed letters about it in his head. He was hopeless.

"That guy's stupid, by the way," Mike said now, taking another sip of his drink to avoid eye contact. "Like, Carlos is such a stupid name. Who dates someone named Carlos?"

Jesse and Riley shared a look.

"And he's gonna bring him to the wedding," Mike continued,, "and Will's gonna be all amazing and talented – because he is, he's so talented, you guys don't even know – and that guy's just gonna be there in the background doing. I don't know. Clifford things."

Jesse lifted his head from the pillow. "You said his name was Carlos."

"Clark. Clinton. Whatever." Mike waved his hand dismissively. "The point is he sucks. He doesn't deserve Will."

"You've never met him," Jesse pointed out.

"I don't need to meet him. I know he sucks. Will's too good for him. Will's too good for anyone, actually, but especially Carlton—" Mike paused. "That's his name. Carlton. See? Stupid name."

"You're really fixated on the name thing," Jesse observed.

"Because it's a stupid name! And Will deserves someone with a normal name. Like... like Mike."

There was a pause.

"Wow," Riley said. "Subtle."

"Shut up." Mike's face was burning now. "You know what I mean. Someone who actually appreciates him. Carlton doesn't even read his letters properly. Will spent like three pages talking about this painting he was working on, something about light and shadow, and Carlton just..." Mike gestured wildly, nearly spilling his drink again. "Didn't care. Who doesn't care about Will's paintings?"

"Monsters," Riley said solemnly. "Absolute monsters."

"Exactly!" Mike pointed at him. "See? Riley gets it."

"I really don't think Riley gets it," Jesse muttered.

"I totally get it," Riley said, sitting up straighter. "Wheeler's in love with his best friend who's dating some guy named Clarence–"

"Carlton."

"—and Wheeler's been pining for like, what, ten years?"

"Twelve," Mike said without thinking, then immediately regretted it.

"Twelve years," Riley repeated, looking delighted. "Jesse, are you hearing this? Twelve years of pining. That's longer than some marriages."

"Can we not—" Mike started.

"Wheeler. Oh my god. You know what you should do?"

"Jesse, tell him to stop with the skydiving–"

"Not skydiving!" Riley scrambled to his knees, gesturing excitedly. "Get a tattoo! Get his name tattooed!"

Mike blinked. The room swayed slightly. "Carlos's name?"

"No, dumbass, your friend's name! Bill!"

"Will," Mike corrected automatically.

"Yes! Exactly!" Riley was practically vibrating now. "He'll totally dump Cedric and fall for you! It's perfect!"

"Am I the only one who remembers names here?" Jesse muttered into his pillow.

But Riley was on a roll now. "I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier. We should all get tattoos. I'll get Amanda's name, she'll think it's so romantic, and Jesse can get whatever nerdy book thing you Lit majors like, and you get your boy. We have to go. Right now."

"It's twelve fucking AM," Mike pointed out, but his voice sounded far away even to himself. He was thinking about it. Actually thinking about it. Will's name, permanent, on his skin. Something that would always be there, always be Will.

"Riles, have you been taking your melatonin?" Jesse asked, sitting up properly now.

"No, that shit makes me sleepy."

"That's the whole point!"

Mike leaned back against the wall, his head spinning slightly from the vodka. Getting Will's name tattooed was probably, objectively, one of the most pathetic things he could do. On a scale of one to ten of "desperate moves to make your best friend dump his insufferable boyfriend," it was probably an eleven. It was the kind of thing people did in bad romance novels, not real life.

But it was after midnight, and he was drunk, and Riley was looking at him with those puppy dog eyes that had somehow convinced Mike to do approximately seventeen stupid things since September, and...

It didn't seem like a horrible idea.

Which probably meant it was a horrible idea.

But Will's name. Permanent. On his skin. A constant reminder of the person who'd been his best friend since they were five, who sent him letters with Polaroids of ducks in hats, who stayed on the phone with him for hours talking about nothing and everything, who made Mike feel more like himself than anyone else in the world.

"What would I even get?" Mike heard himself ask, and Riley's face lit up like Christmas morning.

"Yes! That's the spirit!" Riley grabbed Mike's shoulders. "What about like a line from one of his paintings? Does he paint? He's an art major, right?"

"Yeah, he paints."

"Perfect! Or like, his initials? WB? You could make it artsy. Pretty subtle."

Jesse snorted. "There's nothing subtle about getting someone's initials tattooed on you, Riley."

"Okay, fine, not subtle. But romantic!"

"It's not romantic if they're dating someone else," Jesse pointed out.

Mike's stomach twisted. "He's not gonna date Carlton forever."

"Carlton," Riley repeated. "You said it was Cedric earlier."

"I said Clinton."

"You're really bad at this," Jesse said. 

“Come on, it'll be fun! Spontaneous! 'carpe diem'!"

"You're not allowed to quote Dead Poets Society at me," Mike said. "That movie destroyed me."

"We know," Jesse and Riley said in unison.

"I cried for a week."

"We know," they repeated.

Mike thought about it. Really thought about it, through the pleasant haze of vodka and the late hour and Riley's manic energy filling the room. Getting Will's name, or initials, or something Will-related tattooed on his body. It was stupid. It was impulsive. It was probably going to hurt like hell.

But it also felt right? Putting something permanent in the world that said Will mattered to him in a way that couldn't be taken back. Even if Will never knew, stayed with Carlton and Mike had to watch them together at the wedding.

At least Mike would know and have this one thing that was just his.

"Okay," Mike heard himself say. "Let's do it."

Riley actually whooped. Jesse looked resigned but was already reaching for his shoes.

"But if I die from infection or regret," Mike added, "I'm haunting both of you."

"Deal," Riley said cheerfully. "Come on, let's go. Providence is so alive at this hour—you're gonna love it."

They stumbled out of the dorm and into the cool night air. The campus was mostly quiet, just a few students scattered around, probably coming back from parties or late-night study sessions. Riley led the way with complete confidence, like he knew exactly where they were going.

"Wait," Jesse said as they walked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "This is gonna be expensive though, right? We're not exactly rolling in cash."

Riley waved him off. "Two of us could pretend to date and bargain for a couple's discount."

Mike laughed despite himself. "Yeah, that's super safe in this age and definitely not a idea that could go wrong."

"No, but think about it, doesn't Rusty own the shop?"

(PS: Russell and Rusty are the same person.)

Jesse stopped walking. "Holy shit, really?"

"Yeah, I thought you guys knew." Riley grinned. "Marco told me about it. Ruthless Rusty, used to bounce at Mirabar, now he's got this tattoo shop."

"Wait wait wait," Mike interrupted. "Ruthless Rusty? You're taking us to a tattoo place owned by Ruthless Rusty?"

"Relax, I'm not 100% sure it's the same guy, but if it is him, we could totally get a discount for being gay as hell. He worked at Mirabar, you guys hearing this right?"

"Man," Jesse said, grinning now too, "I can't wait to tell your girlfriend about this. 'Hey Amanda, guess what Riley did to save fifteen bucks?'"

"Excuse you," Riley said indignantly, "Amanda would totally support me for being financially responsible. She's very practical."

"There it is," Mike interrupted, pointing ahead.

The shop was small, wedged between a record store and a closed deli. The neon sign in the window said "CLOSED" but there were lights on inside, and Mike could see shadows moving behind the glass.

His heart was pounding now, and not just from the vodka. This was actually happening. He was actually going to do this.

"Are they even open?" Jesse asked, peering through the window.

"Only one way to find out." Riley marched up to the door and tried the handle.

Locked.

"Okay, plan B," Riley said, and started knocking. Loudly.

WILL

Will had been on his feet for 9 hours,

learning the difference between needles and guns and proper sterilization techniques, watching Lucy work on three different clients with the kind of focused intensity that Will both admired and found slightly terrifying. His hands ached from practicing on the fake skin Russell had given him, and his brain was full of information about ink saturation and skin types and healing processes.

All he wanted was to lock up the shop, grab some soup for Russell (who'd come down with a cold and had spent most of the day sneezing into his sleeve while insisting he was "fine, just allergies"), and collapse into his temporary bed.

"God, that last guy was such an asshole," Lucy was saying, gathering up her supplies and shoving them into her bag. She'd pulled her hair out of its braid and it fell around her shoulders in waves. "Did you hear what he said about the design? 'Make it more tribal.' What does that even mean? Tribal what? From where?"

"Mmhmm," Will hummed, only half-listening as he started turning off lights. His mind was already drifting to the conversation he'd had with his mom earlier, which had been its own special kind of torture.

"At least talking to Mom about the wedding was better," Will said, flipping the last light switch. "She didn't make me want to repeatedly slam my head against a wall."

"That's the spirit," Lucy said dryly. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"What?"

"We have more customers." Lucy pointed at the door, where Will could see three figures approaching through the glass.

"Well, those kids have to go," Will said, already moving toward the door with the keys in his hand. "We just wrapped for the night."

He unlocked the door, pulled it open, and started to say "Sorry, we're closed-"

And then he turned.

And froze.

Because there, standing not three feet away in black cargo pants and a black Cure t-shirt that hung perfectly on his frame, with his dark hair falling in that messy way that somehow looked intentional, with a silver hoop in his ear that definitely hadn't been there at Christmas, with his eyes wide and shocked and so, so brown—

"Mike?"

Mike looked equally frozen, his mouth slightly open, one hand still raised like he'd been about to knock again.

"Will," he said, and his voice cracked slightly on the name. "Hi."

Will couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at Mike Wheeler standing in front of him like a hallucination, like something Will's exhausted brain had conjured up because he'd been thinking about him too much.

"Oh my god," one of Mike's friends whispered loudly to the other. "He knows the tattoo guy. We're totally in."

The words barely registered. Will was too busy cataloging everything about Mike that was different and everything that was the same. The earring was new. The hair was slightly longer, touching his collar. He looked tired—there were shadows under his eyes—but also good. Really good. Unfairly good.

Will was suddenly, painfully aware that he was wearing paint-stained jeans and Russell's old flannel that he'd borrowed because the shop was cold, and his hair was a mess, and he probably smelled like antiseptic and ink.

"Uh, no," Lucy said, stepping forward. Will had almost forgotten she was there. "Y'all are not coming in. It's past midnight. Will and I have to get home, and honestly, y'all should too. Don't you have class tomorrow or something?"

But Mike wasn't looking at Lucy. His eyes were fixed on Will, and there was something in his expression that Will couldn't quite read. Confusion, definitely. Surprise and all. But also something else. 

"Home?" Mike said, and his voice was slightly higher than normal. "Whose home? What home? Will, you've been living here? With this-" He gestured at Lucy. "-strange girl?"

Will legitimately wanted to die. Sink through the floor and cease to exist, because Mike looked really fucking fine, better than he had any right to look at midnight when Will was exhausted and emotionally compromised, and if Will said he wasn't remotely glad Carlton was gone, he'd be lying through his teeth.

"Um," Will said, because his brain went blank. Great timing.

"We're not drunk," one of them said quickly. 

He just had to get through the next thirty minutes without: a) Revealing that he'd been fired b) Revealing that he'd been dumped c) Revealing that he'd been actively avoiding telling Mike he was in Providence d) Staring at Mike's stupid face for so long that it became weird

How hard could it be?

MIKE

Mike was going to have a fucking heart attack. Not a metaphorical one. An actual, legitimate, his-heart-was-going-to-explode-out-of-his-chest heart attack. Because Will was here in a Providence tattoo shop, looking beautiful under fluorescent lighting that should have made everyone look terrible but somehow just made his eyes look bigger and his cheekbones more defined and –

Focus, Wheeler. Focus.

"Wait, wait!" Riley held up his hands in that placating way he had. "We can pay full price! Or! actually," His face lit up with that manic grin that meant he was about to say something catastrophically stupid. "My boyfriend and I-" he slung an arm around Mike's shoulders, "...we heard you do couple's discounts?"

Mike's brain short-circuited.

His what?

But before Mike could process or object or do literally anything, Will's voice cut through the air like a knife.

"His what?"

Mike's eyes snapped to Will's face. Will was staring at Riley's arm around Mike's shoulders as if it offended him, Mike couldn't quite read Will's expression through his own panic of what the actual HELL RILEY–

"His boyfriend," Riley repeated, squeezing Mike's shoulder in what was probably meant to be reassuring but just felt like a vice grip. "We've been together for like three months now. Right, babe?"

Mike was going to kill him.

Will was still staring at them, eyes almost like hurt and Mike's mouth had apparently disconnected from his brain because he heard himself say: "Uh. Yeah."

Mike was going to kill himself.

Will's expression shuttered immediately, going carefully blank in that way he did when he was protecting himself. "Oh. That's–that's great. I didn't know you were–" He stopped. Swallowed. "You didn't mention it. In your letters."

"I–" Mike scrambled for something to say that wouldn't make this worse. "It's pretty new. I wasn't sure how to—"

"Right. Yeah. Of course." Will's voice was carefully normal now. He turned to Lucy. "You know what, Luce? Maybe we can do one more appointment. It'll only take thirty minutes. We can manage."

Lucy was staring at Will with an expression that clearly said what are you doing? "Will?"

"Please," Will said quietly.

"Fine," she sighed, holding out her hand. "Give me the keys. I'm locking us in.”

Will stepped back to let them in, and Mike had to pass close enough that he could smell Will's paint-stained flannel, could see the way his jaw was tight with tension.

This was a nightmare. Any moment now, he would wake up and be totally fine and go back to pining for his best friend from a distance and not die. Riley's friends — his friends, Mike corrected himself frantically — filed in first, but Mike hesitated in the doorway, looking at Will. 

"I'm sorry to bother," he started.

"Don't worry about it," Will said, not quite meeting his eyes. "Come on. Let's get you and your boyfriend set up."

They moved into the shop properly, settling into the waiting area. The chairs were mismatched – one looked like it came from someone's kitchen, another was definitely a dentist's chair from the 70s. Mike sat in the kitchen chair. Riley sprawled in the dentist chair like he owned the place.

Will pulled out a clipboard.

"So," Will said, pen poised. "What are you getting?"

"Riley's going first," Mike said quickly, before Riley could say anything. "He's the most excited."

Riley blinked. "I am?"

"Yeah. You are. You were literally talking about it the whole way here." Mike gave him a pointed look that he hoped communicated please just go with this.

"Right," Riley said slowly, catching on. "Yeah. I want Amanda's name. My girlfriend. On my forearm."

Will's pen paused on the paper. "Your... girlfriend."

"Oh! uh," Riley scrambled, shooting Mike a backward glance. "It’s an open relationship. We’re progressive."

Jesse made a choking sound from his chair.

Will's knuckles went white on the clipboard. "Right," he said, his voice carefully controlled. “Lucy'll do yours—she's better with lettering." His eyes flicked to Mike, then away. "I'll take one of you two."

"Jesse can go second," Mike said quickly.

"Dude," Jesse hissed.

Will was staring at Riley with an expression Mike couldn't quite read. Then he sat down in one of the empty chairs, crossing his arms.

"So, Riley," Will said, and his tone was pleasant but there was something sharp underneath it. "Where are you from?"

Riley beamed, completely missing the edge in Will's voice. "The states, mate. And you?"

Will blinked, like he hadn't expected to be asked. "Uh. Hawkins."

"Hawkins!" Riley lit up even more. "That's where Mike's from! Small world. You two know each other from before?"

"We were best friends," Will said flatly.

"Are," Mike corrected without thinking, then immediately wanted to take it back because that sounded even worse. "Are. We are. Best friends. Still."

"That's so great!" Riley was still beaming, utterly unbothered. "Mike talks about you all the time. Will this, Will that. It's very sweet."

Mike barely processed it, the shock and the fuzziness idk how to write this basically he's drunk so he's not processing the shit Riley is saying okay

Will's eyes cut to Mike. "Does he."

Uncomfortable silence pressed in.

Then Will stood abruptly. "I'm going to help Lucy set up. You guys sit tight."

He walked away before Mike could say anything, disappearing into the back room.

Riley looked at Mike. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Everything," Jesse muttered. "You said everything wrong."

"What? I was being friendly!"

Mike sighed, running his hands through his hair. They were all way too drunk for this. "Never mind. It's fine. Everything's fine."

Everything was not fine. Everything was the opposite of fine.

Lucy emerged from the back room, took one look at Mike's face, and raised her eyebrows. "Okay. Lover boy with the girlfriend, you're with me. Let's see this grand romantic gesture."

Riley followed her to her station, and Mike was left with Jesse in the waiting area.

"So," Jesse said quietly. "That's Will."

"Yep."

"The Will you've been in love with since you were a kid."

"Yes."

"The Will you write letters to."

"Yeah."

"The Will who very clearly has no idea that Riley is not actually your boyfriend."

Mike slumped in his chair. "Mm. That Will."

"You're an idiot."

"I know."

"You should tell him the truth."

"I can't. He has a boyfriend. Carlton. He hasn't mentioned him yet but I know he's still with him because he would've told me if they broke up. We tell each other everything."

Jesse gave him a look. "Do you though?"

Mike didn't have an answer for that.

Will came back out, not looking at Mike. God, he wanted to kiss him so badly he was going to die from it. Then Will turned, clipboard in hand, and walked back over to where Mike and Jesse were sitting.

"Jesse," Will said. "You're up. What do you want?"

Jesse described his Gatsby quote, and Will sketched it out with quick, efficient movements. His hands were steady, competent. Mike couldn't stop watching them.

"Alright," Will said when he was done. "Follow me."

Jesse got up and followed Will to his station, leaving Mike alone.

Mike could hear Riley still talking to Lucy, something about "yeah, Mike and I actually met through my actual roommate, but we just clicked, you know?"

Mike's head snapped up. Oh god. Now it sounded like they lived together. Now it sounded serious.

From across the room, Will had gone very still.

"You live together?" Lucy asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Yeah! Well, I mean, Mike lives in the dorms and I'm technically in a different building, but we're always at each other's places, so basically."

Mike retreated back to his chair and tried very hard not to look at Will, who was working on Jesse's tattoo with intense concentration.

Forty-five minutes later, Riley was done, admiring his Amanda tattoo in the mirror with the kind of pride that suggested he'd completely forgotten this was supposed to be part of a scheme.

Jesse finished up too, his Gatsby quote small and neat on his shoulder blade. He paid, got his aftercare instructions, and then it was just Mike left.

Will cleaned off his station, not looking at Mike. "So. What's it gonna be?"

Mike's mind went completely blank. He couldn't get Will's name. He couldn't get Will's initials. He couldn't get anything that would give away—

"A D&D die," he blurted out. “A d22."

Will's expression shifted into something that might have been amusement. "A d22? D&D dice only go up to d20."

"I know," Mike said quickly. "I'm feeling whimsical."

"Whimsical," Will repeated slowly, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now, but also confusion. "You want a die that doesn't exist because you're feeling whimsical."

"Yes."

Will stared at him for a long moment. "Okay. Where do you want it?"

"My shoulder. Left shoulder." As far from his heart as possible, because he didn't trust himself to handle Will touching him anywhere near his chest.

"Alright. Shirt off."

Mike's brain short-circuited again. "What?"

"Your shirt. It needs to come off so I can access your shoulder." Will was very deliberately not looking at him now. "Unless you want it tattooed through your shirt, which I don't recommend."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." Mike pulled off his Cure t-shirt, trying not to think about how he was now shirtless in front of Will Byers.

"Sit here," Will directed, pointing to the chair.

Mike sat, hyperaware. Will moved closer, pulling on fresh gloves, and Mike could smell him, paint and ink and something uniquely Will that made Mike's head spin.

"This okay?" Will asked, his hand hovering near Mike's shoulder.

"Yeah," Mike managed, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

Will's fingers touched his skin to clean the area, and Mike's entire body went rigid.

"Relax," Will said softly. "You're gonna make this harder if you're tense."

Mike tried to relax.

Will started to sketch the design on his skin with a marker, his hand steady and sure. Each touch felt like fire.

"So," Will said, his voice carefully casual. "Riley seems nice."

Here we go.

"Yeah," Mike said. "He's—yeah."

"How did you two meet again? He said something about your roommate?"

"Yeah. Jesse's my roommate. Riley's his friend from high school. We all just ended up hanging out a lot."

"And you just... clicked."

"I guess."

Will was quiet for a moment, still sketching. "And the open relationship thing. That was your idea or his?"

Mike's mind raced. "His." Mike didn't even know why he was lying anymore.

"What do you want?" Will's hand had paused on his shoulder. "From the relationship."

The question felt loaded with meaning Mike couldn't quite make something up through his panic.

"I don't know," Mike said honestly. "It’s really new." Yeah, like 10 seconds new.

"Hm." Will went back to sketching. "And Amanda, his girlfriend, she's okay with all this?"

"Apparently."

"That's very mature of everyone involved."

There was definitely a tone to Will's voice now.

"What about you?" Mike asked, because he was a masochist now. "How's Carlton?"

Will's hand tightened slightly on Mike's shoulder. "He's fine."

"Just fine?"

"What do you want me to say, Mike?"

"I don't know. You're dating him. I figured you'd have more to say than 'fine.'"

"Well I don't." Will pulled back, examining his sketch. "This look okay?"

Mike looked in the mirror. The d22 looked three-dimensional, perfectly shaded, with the 22 clearly visible.

"It's perfect," Mike said.

"Okay." Will picked up the tattoo gun, tested it. The buzzing sound filled the space between them. "This is gonna hurt. Shoulders aren't too bad, but there's not a lot of padding. You ready?"

"Yeah."

Will positioned himself, and Mike became acutely aware of how close they were. Will was practically leaning over him, one hand braced on Mike's back for stability, the other holding the gun.

The first touch of the needle was sharp, a burning sensation that made Mike inhale sharply.

"You okay?" Will asked, not stopping.

"Yeah," Mike managed.

"Let me know if you need a break."

"I'm good."

Will worked in silence for a few minutes, and Mike tried very hard to focus on the pain instead of the feeling of Will's hand on his back, Will's breath on his skin, Will's careful attention to every line.

"So," Mike said, because the silence was killing him and he needed something to distract himself. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

Will's hand tightened on his back. "Its complicated."

"That's not an answer."

"Mike."

"No, seriously. We talk all the time. We write letters. I thought we told each other things."

"We do."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

Will was quiet for a long moment, the buzz of the gun filling the silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight. "I didn't want to make things weird."

"Weird how?"

"Just complicated. You were busy with college and your new relationship–"

"It's not my fault you got a boyfriend," Mike said, and immediately regretted it because that came out way more bitter than intended.

Will pulled back slightly, wiping away excess ink. "What?"

"I just mean–" Mike scrambled. "You're the one who didn't tell me you were here. That's not on me."

"What does that even mean?" Will's eyes were flashing now. "What does me having a boyfriend have to do with telling you about a job?"

"It's different!" It really wasn’t. This is why drinking isn't good for you. 

"How is it different?" 

"Because getting a job is different from-" Mike gestured helplessly. "You’re not going to spend the rest of your life with this job!"

The words hung in the air between them.

Will stared at him. "Jesus Christ, what makes you think you’re spending the rest of your life with Riley?"

Oh.

Oh shit.

"I, uh, I didn't-" Mike fumbled. "That's not what I meant–"

"Really? Because it sounded like you were implying that Riley is somehow more permanent than my job, which–" Will laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Which is rich, coming from you, cause you didn't even tell me you were dating him until I literally ran into you tonight!"

"That's not the same thing!"

"How is it not the same thing?"

"Because" Mike was floundering now. "Because you being in Providence and not telling me is different than me dating someone and not telling you!"

"Why?"

Mike stopped, his throat tight. Because I'm in love with you and every mile between us feels like torture and knowing you were this close without telling me feels like you were hiding from me. "Because we're best friends, Will. Best friends tell each other when they move to the same city!"

"And best friends tell each other when they start dating someone!" Will shot back. "Especially when it's- when it's-" He stopped, his jaw clenching. "When it's someone important."

Mike made a face. "Riley isn't imp-" Mike started, then caught himself. "I mean. Whatever. That's not it."

"Not what?"

"Not the point!"

"Then what is the point, Mike?" Will had set down the tattoo gun now, was fully facing him. "Because I'm really confused about what we're arguing about here!"

"I'm confused too!"

They stared at each other, both breathing hard, and Mike wanted to grab Will by the shoulders and shake him and also maybe kiss him, and this was such a disaster.

"You two need a room or something?" Lucy called from across the shop. "Because Will, you're supposed to be tattooing him, not having a domestic dispute."

Will's face flushed. "We're not—"

"We're fine," Mike said automatically.

"You're clearly not fine," Lucy said. "But whatever. Just keep it down. Riley and I are trying to discuss whether Amanda's going to dump him or propose when she sees this tattoo."

"She's definitely dumping him," Jesse called out.

"Have some faith, mate!" Riley protested.

Will turned back to Mike, his expression still stormy. "Can you hold still? You're tensing up and it's messing with my lines."

"Sorry," Mike muttered.

Will picked up the gun again, and they fell into tense silence.

But Mike could feel it, the anger radiating off Will, the hurt underneath it, the same confusion and frustration Mike was feeling. They mirrored each other even in their worst times.

After a few minutes, Will spoke again. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel obligated."

Mike blinked. "Obligated to what?"

"I don't know. See me. Hang out. Whatever." Will's hand was steady on the tattoo but his voice wasn't. "You're busy with your life here. Your friends, your classes, your- boyfriend. I didn't want to impose."

"You're never an imposition, Will."

"That's easy to say."

"Because it's true." Mike twisted slightly to look at Will, even though it probably messed up the tattoo. "You could never be an imposition. You're far too important to me.”

"Right." Will looked back at the tattoo. "Hold still."

Mike held still, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Will could feel it through his hand on Mike's back.

He knew they were lying to each other. Both of them. Mike could feel it in the air between them, in the careful way they were both choosing their words, in the things they weren't saying. But he couldn't call Will on it without revealing his own lies.

The tattoo was taking longer than Mike expected. Will worked with meticulous attention to detail, and Mike found himself caught between the pain of the needle and the exquisite torture of Will's hands on him.

"Why 22?" Will asked suddenly.

Mike's brain stalled. "What?"

"The number. On the die. Why 22 specifically?"

Oh god. He couldn't say the real reason. Couldn't tell Will that March 22nd was Will's birthday, that Mike had it memorized along with every other important detail about Will's life, that even in his drunk panic he'd chosen a number that meant something.

"Whimsy," Mike said weakly.

Will paused. "Whimsy."

"Yeah."

"You chose a random number that makes the die mathematically impossible because of whimsy."

"Yes."

Will rolled his eyes. 

"It doesn't have to make sense,” Mike protested. “It's a tattoo. It's personal."

"Personal how?"

"Just personal." Mike could feel his face heating up. "I thought you were supposed to just do what the client wants."

"I am doing what you want," Will said. "I'm just trying to understand why you want it."

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. Actually. It does." Will set down the gun again, wiping away more ink. "Because you're getting a nonsensical tattoo at midnight and I'm trying to figure out if this is some mental health thing I should be worried about."

Mike laughed despite himself. "I'm fine, Will."

"Are you?"

The question was loaded with more meaning than it should be.

"Are you?" Mike countered.

Will looked away. "I'm fine."

"Are you really? Because you're in Providence at a random tattoo shop instead of—I don't know. Where does Carlton go to again?"

"Penn State."

"Right. So you're here instead of there with your boyfriend, doing a temporary job you didn't tell anyone about—"

"I told El."

"—didn't tell me about," Mike continued. "And you seem kind of stressed, Will. I'm allowed to be concerned."

"I'm not stressed."

It hurt. The tattoo hurt, a constant burning drag across his shoulder. But Mike found himself almost enjoying it. Not the pain exactly, but the excuse it gave him to sit here with Will's complete attention on him, Will's careful hands on his skin, Will's breath ghosting across his shoulder when he leaned in close to check his work.

It was intimate in a way that made Mike's chest ache.

"Almost done," Will murmured after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all.

"Okay."

Will did a few more passes, then pulled back, wiping away the last of the excess ink.

"There," he said, his voice professionally distant again. "All set."

He covered it with protective wrap, his movements efficient and impersonal. 

"Keep it clean," Will said, handing Mike an aftercare sheet. "Don't pick at it. Apply the ointment three times a day. It should heal in about two weeks if you follow the instructions."

"Thanks," Mike said, pulling his shirt back on carefully.

"Yeah. No problem."

Mike stood, fishing out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

"Lucy handles the money. Talk to her."

Mike wanted to fill the silence, break the awkwardness, but Will was already wrapping up and he looked exhausted. Not today.

They ended up getting that discount after all.

WILL

Will was pacing his tiny bedroom in Russell's apartment, the phone cord stretched to its absolute limit, whispering as loudly as he dared at 4 AM.

"What the actual hell. I can't. I just can't." He ran his hand through his hair for the thousandth time. "This guy. Okay, this guy Mike's dating or whatever the fuck they're doing—"

"Will."

"—is from 'the states,' whatever that means—like, aren't we all from the states? What does that even mean? and he's blonde and he's got this stupid charming smile and he's not good enough for him!"

"Will."

"And they have an open relationship. Mike Wheeler is in an open relationship. No shade to open relationships but it's just Mike, my Mike, that Mike. In an open relationship."

"Will."

"What?" Will stopped pacing, pressing his palm against his forehead. His brain felt like it was going to explode.

Nathan sighed. "It's 4 AM."

Will looked at the clock. It was indeed 4 AM. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." But Nathan didn't sound mad, just tired and concerned. "Byers, what happened?"

"He lives with him," Will said. "Mike's boyfriend said they're always at each other's places. That they basically live together. And Mike didn't deny it. He let him say it. And I," Will sat down heavily on his bed. "I told him I was still with Carlton."

"You what?"

"I panicked! He showed up with a boyfriend, Nate! What was I supposed to say?"

Nathan made a frustrated noise. "You could've told him the truth!"

"Which is what? 'Hey Mike, actually Carlton dumped me last week because he thought I was in love with you, which I am, by the way, have been for like twelve years, but cool boyfriend, congrats'?" Will flopped back on the bed. "That would've gone great."

"Without the congrats. Then it sounds sarcastic."

Will groaned, covering his face with his free hand. "I tattooed him tonight."

"I know. You called me at 4 AM about it."

"No, I mean—” I had my hands on him. For like an hour and a half. And he was shirtless. And I had to touch his back to brace myself and he's got these freckles, all across his shoulders, and I wanted to— 

"You mean what?"

"I mean he has a boyfriend. A live-in boyfriend who's apparently super progressive."

"Yikes."

"I need to go. I have to be at the shop in like four hours and I haven't slept and I'm done. I'm so done."

"Will Byers, don't you dare hang up on me-"

"See you, bye!"

Will hung up and immediately felt guilty. But not guilty enough to call back and face more of Nathan’s reasonable questions that he didn't have answers for. He would call El, but calling El would mean outing Mike and no matter how far in distress Will was, he would not stoop that low. That’s why he picked Nathan, someone close enough to hear him ramble but not close enough to have ever met Mike.

Will rolled over and screamed into his pillow.

MIKE

Mike woke up to Riley groaning loudly and Jesse saying "I think I'm dying" from somewhere near the floor.

His shoulder throbbed. His head throbbed worse.

He was never drinking again.

"Why," Riley said from his bed across the room, one arm flung over his eyes, "do you guys listen to me when I'm that drunk? Why do you ever listen to me, actually?"

"Because you're very persuasive," Jesse muttered. "And we're very stupid."

Mike sat up slowly, wincing as the movement pulled at his new tattoo. The protective wrap crinkled under his shirt.

"We were talking about him like an hour before we saw him," Jesse continued, still on the floor. "How did you not remember his name?"

"I forgot!" Riley protested. "You said his name was Bill!"

"Will," Mike corrected automatically, his voice rough. "His name is Will."

"Right. Will. The guy you're in love with. Who you didn't tell me was—" Riley sat up, then immediately regretted it based on his expression. "Oh god. Oh no. Mike. Mike."

"What?"

"I called myself your boyfriend."

"Yeah. I remember."

"And I said we had an open relationship."

"Yep. Also remember that."

"And then I talked about Amanda."

"Uh-huh."

"Fuck." Riley flopped back down. "I'm the worst fake boyfriend ever. I didn't even commit to the bit."

"It's fine," Mike said, even though it absolutely wasn't fine.

"It's not fine," Jesse said from the floor. "Nothing about last night was fine. We got drunk and convinced you to get a tattoo from your best friend who you're in love with while pretending to date Riley, and now Will thinks you're in a relationship and you think he's still with Carlton-"

"He is still with Carlton."

"-and you're both lying to each other like idiots."

"We're not lying."

"You're lying."

Mike stood up, immediately regretted it as the room spun, but forced himself to walk to the bathroom anyway. He splashed water on his face and stared at his reflection.

Will thought he was dating Riley.

Will thought he lived with Riley.

Will, who was in Providence, ten minutes away, working at a tattoo shop owned by Ruthless Rusty, living in an apartment above said shop instead of —

"Wait," Mike said, walking back into the room. "He's living with Ruthless Rusty."

Jesse lifted his head from the floor. "What?"

"Will. He's living there. At the shop. With Russell."

"Oh my god," Jesse said.

"Why would he live there?" Mike's brain was spinning now, hangover temporarily forgotten in favor of this realization. "I have an apartment right down the street! He could just live with me!"

Riley gaped. “You have an apartment? Why do you live here?”

Mike dismissed that, “he's living with some random Canadian bouncer guy instead of with his best friend who's right here!"

"Maybe he didn't know you'd want him to stay with you," Jesse offered.

"Of course I'd want him to stay with me. Why wouldn't I want him to stay with me?"

"Because you have a boyfriend?" Riley suggested. "Or I'm your boyfriend? I'm confused about what we're doing."

"We're not doing anything. This is a disaster." Mike sat back down on his bed, his head in his hands. "He's in my town. Still with his boyfriend. Living with Ruthless Rusty. What kind of name is that anyway?"

"A very intimidating one," Jesse said.

"Or like, Moderate Mike," Riley offered.

"What?"

"Your name. If you had a nickname like that. Moderate Mike. Or-" Riley's face lit up despite his obvious hangover. "Miserable Mike."

"You don't get to say that!" Mike pointed at him accusingly. "You're the one who created this mess! 'Open relationship'? The hell, Riley?"

"I was really high!" Riley protested. "I don't remember any of this shit! It's all very blurry! I remember the duck from your polaroid and then suddenly we were at a tattoo shop!"

"Fix it," Mike said. "Riley, you have to fix this."

Riley sat up slowly, reached for his wallet on the nightstand, and pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill. He held it out to Mike.

Mike stared at it. "What-"

"Is it fixed?" Riley asked. "Will you shut up now?"

Mike took the money. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you."

"Great." Riley flopped back down. "My head hurts too much for this conversation anyway."

"You can't just throw money at the problem," Jesse said.

"I just did. And it worked."

Mike looked at the hundred dollar bill in his hand, then at Riley. "Okay, but actually, how do I fix this? How do I make things okay with Will?"

Riley cracked one eye open. "Just get him to cheat."

"What?"

"That's horrible advice," Jesse said immediately. "Don't do that, Michael."

"No, listen—" Riley propped himself up on his elbows. "I'd never actually tell you to make someone cheat. That's scummy. But this Carlton guy sucks, right? Who cares? And it's not like you're cheating because we're not even dating."

"Will would never cheat on Carlton," Mike said firmly.

"Exactly. So get him to."

"That's the same thing you just said."

"Is it? I'm very hungover." Riley squinted at him. "The point is, if you can get him to want to cheat, even if he doesn't actually do it, that means he wants you more than Carlton. Which means you have a shot. Which means you should tell him the truth."

(This is horrible advice by the way do not follow this)

Mike stared at him. "That's not that bad."

"Don't sound so surprised. I get into Brown, you know. I'm not just a pretty face."

"You're not even that pretty," Jesse muttered.

"Rude."

Mike looked at the hundred dollar bill again, then at his tattoo-wrapped shoulder. "I can't try to make him cheat. That's not who I am."

"Then what are you gonna do?" Riley asked.

"I need to clear this up. The boyfriend thing. I need to tell him it's not real."

"How?"

"I'll just..." Mike's brain scrambled. "I'll go get another tattoo."

"Doesn't your current one still hurt?" Riley asked.

"His heart hurts more," Jesse said.

Both Mike and Riley turned to stare at him.

"What?" Jesse said defensively. "It's true."

Mike touched his shoulder gently. It did hurt. But Jesse was right, it wasn't the worst pain he was feeling right now.

"I'll just go back," Mike said. "Today. I'll tell him I wasn't sober enough to get the tattoo I actually wanted. I'll apologize for the arguing. I'll figure it out."

"What did you actually want?" Jesse asked.

Mike's mind raced. He couldn't say Will's name. He'd already used the d22 excuse. He needed something equally random but believable.

Will blinked. "A witch hat."

"Yeah. Like a pointy one with stars on it."

"Let me guess," Will said. "Whimsical?"

Mike's cheeks flushed. "Yeah."

Lucy looked between them, clearly trying not to laugh. "Okay. Witch hat. Where do you want it?"

"Will can do it," Mike said quickly. "If that's okay. I just, I wanted to talk to him anyway. I wanted to apologize."

Will's heart was doing something complicated in his chest. "You don't need to apologize."

"I do. We were arguing and that wasn't fair. It's totally your choice whether to tell people about the job or not. I shouldn't have made you feel bad about it."

Will looked at Lucy, who was very deliberately studying her appointment book and definitely smirking.

"Yeah," Will said. "Okay. Sit down."

Mike followed him to his station, and Will tried very hard to ignore the way his heart was racing.

"Where do you want it?" Will asked, pulling on fresh gloves.

"Below the last one." Mike was already pulling off his shirt, and Will had to look away because this was the second time in twelve hours and it was not getting any easier.

Mike sat down, and Will moved closer to examine his shoulder. The d22 tattoo looked neat. Will had done good work, even through the tension and arguing. He touched the skin just below it, checking the placement. Mike's breath hitched slightly. It probably pained.

"This okay?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Mike said, his voice rough.

Will started to sketch the witch hat, his hand steady despite his racing heart. Will could smell whatever soap he used, could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

"I'm sorry," Mike said quietly. "For arguing yesterday. You were right. it's not the same thing. Me not telling you about Riley versus you not telling me about Providence. I was being weird."

"You weren't being weird," Will said, focusing on his sketch. "I get it. We usually tell each other stuff."

"Yeah."

"So why didn't you tell me?" The question slipped out before Will could stop it. "About Riley. Three months is- that's not that new, Mike."

Mike was quiet for a long moment. "I dunno."

"How to tell me you were dating a guy?"

"Yeah."

Will's hand paused. "You thought I'd care?"

"No! God, no. I knew you wouldn't care about that. I just—" Mike's shoulders tensed under Will's hand. "I didn't know how to tell you without making it weird. Without making us weird."

"Why would it make us weird?"

"It just felt like it would change things. Between us."

Will's throat was tight. "Does it? Change things?"

"I don't want it to."

"Then it doesn't." Will went back to sketching, even though his hand was shaking slightly now. "You're still my best friend, Mike. That doesn't change because you're dating someone. Or because you like guys."

"Riley and I aren't- we're not serious."

Will's heart jumped. "No?"

"No. It's casual. Really casual. Super casual."

"But you live together."

"We don't. I mean, he said that last night, but we don't actually live together. We're just around each other a lot. Because of Jesse. My roommate. They're friends."

"Right." Will didn't believe him for a second. "And Amanda? His girlfriend? She's okay with all this?"

"I guess? I don't really know Amanda that well."

"You don't know your boyfriend's girlfriend?"

"It's complicated."

"Seems like it."

Mike turned slightly to look at him. "What about you and Carlton?"

Will's hand tightened on the tattoo gun. "What about us?"

"Are you guys serious?"

The question felt loaded.

"I—um. I guess." 

"You guess?"

"It's great, Mike. He's supportive of my art and everything."

"You said that last night."

"Because it's true."

"Does Carlton know you're here?" Mike asked.

"Totally."

"And he's okay with you being six hours away for two weeks?"

"He understands. It's a job."

"Right. A job." Mike was quiet for a moment. "Does he know about me?"

Will's hand slipped slightly. "What?"

"About me. Us. Our friendship."

"Yeah. Of course."

"What does he think about it?"

"He's—he's fine with it."

"Really?" Mike was looking right into Will's eyes and Will was looking everywhere except them. "Because if my boyfriend had a best friend he was as close with as we are, I'd probably be at least a little jealous."

Will's hands were shaking now. "Well, Carlton's very mature."

"Clearly."

Will gave him a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just like," Mike shifted slightly. "I just think if I were dating you, I'd want to know everything about you. Including your best friend who you've known since you were five."

If I were dating you.

"You're not dating me," Will said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know. You're with Carlton."

"And you're with Riley."

"Oh. Right." Mike's voice was hollow.

Will forced himself to focus on the tattoo, on making clean lines, on not thinking about the fact that Mike had just said if I were dating you like it was a hypothetical that could actually exist.

"Why a witch hat?" Will asked, desperate to change the subject.

"I like Halloween."

Will finished the tattoo in silence, hyper-aware of every point of contact between them. Mike's skin was warm under his hands, his breathing steady despite what had to be significant pain.

When Will was done, he pulled back and examined his work. The witch hat was actually kind of cute, simple black lines, slightly crooked like it was sitting on someone's head at a jaunty angle.

"There," Will said, covering it with protective wrap. "All set."

"Will," Mike said quietly.

"Yeah?"

“We're okay, right?"

"Yeah," Will said, and he sounded like he meant it even though his eyes were sad. "We're okay."

MIKE

It didn't feel like summer at all.

Brown's campus was weirdly quiet, most students had gone home, leaving just the summer session kids and the few unfortunate souls who had internships or research positions. Mike technically had both (a TA position for a freshman lit seminar and a research assistant gig for Professor Chen), but he'd been half-assing both since the semester ended.

He was lying on his bed in the dorm because he still stayed here most nights despite having a perfectly good apartment, staring at the ceiling and very deliberately not touching his shoulder tattoos when the hall phone rang.

Someone yelled "WHEELER! PHONE!" and Mike groaned, rolling off his bed and trudging down the hallway.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Finally! We haven't talked in a while!"

"Nancy?" Mike perked up slightly. "Hey! How's everything? How's Jonathan?"

"Good! Busy. He's been dealing with Joyce and the wedding planning and it's been—" Nancy laughed, but it sounded slightly strained. "—it's been a lot."

"Yeah? How's Joyce holding up?"

"Honestly? She's kind of a mess. In the sweetest possible way. She keeps calling me asking about flowers and table settings and whether Hopper looks better in navy or charcoal." Nancy paused. "How's school? How are Riley and Jesse?"

"They're good. Fine. School's fine."

"You sound thrilled."

"It's summer session. Nobody's thrilled."

Nancy laughed. "Fair point. How's the TA thing going?"

"It's fine. Boring. Freshmen don't know how to write thesis statements." Mike picked at the phone cord. "How's Jonathan handling the wedding stress?"

"Better than Will, apparently."

Mike's heart jumped. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just—Will's not picking up his calls. Joyce has been trying to reach him for like three days and he keeps missing her calls or saying he's busy. She's getting worried. Not worried obviously, because you know Joyce, she doesn't want to seem overbearing. But she's definitely stressed about it."

Mike frowned. "That's weird. Will always picks up for Joyce."

"I know! That's what I said. Jonathan thinks maybe he's just busy with school stuff, but—I don't know. It kind of seems like Will doesn't even want to come to the wedding? Which would be crazy because it's his mom, but—" Nancy sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm reading too much into it."

"Huh," Mike said, his mind racing. Will wasn't picking up calls. Will was avoiding wedding talk. Will was in Providence because- what had he said? Something about not wanting to deal with Montauk?

"Anyway," Nancy continued, "I was actually calling because Max might fly down to Rhode Island for a bit. She's got some skateboarding thing in Boston and she was thinking of stopping by Providence after to visit you. Would that be okay?"

"Will's here," Mike blurted out.

There was a pause.

"...what?"

"I-" Mike's brain caught up with his mouth. "I wish Will was here. Uh. I miss him."

Don't say it don't say it don't say it -

"Okaaaay," Nancy said slowly, clearly not buying it but also clearly deciding not to push. "Well, you'll see him in like nine days at the wedding, right?"

"Yeah. Totally. Nine days. Wedding. Can't wait."

"Are you okay, Mike? You sound weird."

"I'm fine." Mike was definitely not convincing anyone. "So Max is coming to Providence?"

"If that's okay? I can tell her you're busy."

"No! No, it's fine. I'd love to see Max. When's she coming?"

"Probably in like two days? I'll have her call you."

"Great. Perfect. Two days." Mike's mind was already spinning. Max. Here. Where Will also was. This could either be a disaster or—actually, no, it was definitely going to be a disaster.

"Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. Summer session, you know."

"Right." Nancy didn't sound convinced. "Well, get some rest. And call Will if you get a chance? Tell him to call his mom back? She's really worried."

"Yeah. I'll—I'll try."

"Okay. Love you, loser."

"Love you too, Nance."

Mike hung up and stood there for a moment, processing.

Will wasn't picking up Joyce's calls.

Will didn't want to deal with the wedding.

Will was hiding in Providence.

And Max was about to show up and potentially blow Mike's entire cover story about definitely not knowing Will was here.

WILL

Will was actually starting to enjoy the job.

He'd been here almost a week now, and he'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm with Lucy. She taught him things—how to adjust the gun pressure for different skin types, how to work with clients who were nervous, how to tell when someone was about to pass out. Russell was constantly giving him feedback, but in that gentle dad way that somehow didn't feel condescending. Every tattoo was a story, a decision, a piece of someone's life that they wanted to carry forever.

Will had done six tattoos on his own now. Small ones, mostly, a constellation on someone's wrist, a quote along someone's collarbone, a tiny elephant behind someone's ear. But each one had felt important. Each one had felt right.

If only he could stop thinking about Mike Wheeler every five seconds, everything would be perfect.

The bell above the door rang, and Will looked up from cleaning his station, expecting another walk-in wanting a basic flash design.

Instead, standing in the doorway with her signature skateboard under one arm and a duffle bag over her shoulder, red hair bright in the afternoon sun, was Max Mayfield.

"Holy shit," Will said.

"Holy shit yourself," Max said, grinning. "Surprise!"

Will dropped the spray bottle he was holding and practically launched himself at her, pulling her into a hug that lifted her slightly off the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Will pulled back, looking at her. "How did you – when did you – how?"

Max laughed, that bright familiar sound that made Will's chest ache with homesickness. "Wow, okay, one question at a time, Byers."

"But seriously, how did you know I was here?"

Lucy poked her head out from the back room. "Everything okay out there?"

"Yeah!" Will called back. "My friend showed up. From home. This is Max."

"The skateboarding legend?" Lucy came out fully, wiping her hands on a towel. "Will talks about you constantly. Well, when he's not talking about Mi—"

"Lucy," Will interrupted desperately.

Lucy grinned. "I'm Lucy. Will's coworker. Nice to meet you."

"You too." Max shook her hand, then turned back to Will with a raised eyebrow. "So. Gonna tell me how you ended up in Providence working at a tattoo shop without telling anyone?"

"I told El."

"El doesn't count. She's your sister. She's legally obligated to keep your secrets." Max dropped her duffle bag and leaned against the counter. "Your mom's been losing her mind trying to call you, by the way."

Will winced. "I've been meaning to call her back."

"For three days?"

"I've been busy!"

"Uh-huh." Max crossed her arms. "So here's what happened. Joyce called my mom, who called me, asking if I'd heard from you. I said no. Then Nancy called me, because apparently Joyce called Jonathan who called Nancy, asking if maybe you'd mentioned anything about summer plans when we talked last week."

"We didn't talk last week."

"Exactly. So I got suspicious. Because Will Byers doesn't just disappear without telling anyone. Not anymore." Max's eyes narrowed. "So I called El."

"El told you??"

"Not directly. She did this whole thing where she was like 'oh Will's fine, he's just working,' and I was like 'working where?' and she was like 'just a summer job,' and I was like 'El, where's your brother?' and she broke after like thirty seconds."

"She lasted thirty seconds?"

"I'm very persuasive." Max grinned. "So she told me you were in Providence doing some tattoo apprentice thing, and that you were avoiding everyone because – and I quote – 'complicated Mike feelings.'"

Will was going to kill El.

"I don't have complicated Mike feelings."

"Will. Come on. You've had complicated Mike feelings since we were like twelve."

"That's not—"

"It's literally the worst-kept secret in the entire Party. Dustin has a running bet with Lucas about when you're finally gonna do something about it." Max tilted her head. "So what happened? Why are you hiding in Providence?"

Will glanced at Lucy, who was watching this exchange with undisguised amusement.

"Can we talk about this later?" Will pleaded. "I'm working."

"You're cleaning a spray bottle. That's not working, that's procrastinating." Max picked up her duffle bag. "But fine. Where can I drop my stuff? I'm staying with you, by the way."

"You're- what?"

"Staying with you. Nancy said you had an apartment here or something? With your boss?" Max looked around. "This is a tattoo shop, not an apartment."

"The apartment's upstairs. But Max, you can't—Russell doesn't know you're coming—"

"Then let's go ask Russell if it's okay." Max headed toward the back room. "Russell! You back here?"

"Max, wait."

But Max was already pushing through the door, and Will heard Russell's surprised "Oh! Hello!" followed by Max's confident "Hi, I'm Max, Will's friend from home, is it cool if I crash at your place for a few days?"

Will looked at Lucy helplessly.

Lucy just grinned. "I like her."

"Of course you do."

From the back room, Will heard Russell say "Of course! Any friend of Will's is welcome! We've got a couch!"

Max emerged looking triumphant. "See? Easy. Your boss is great, by the way. Very Canadian."

"This is insane," Will muttered.

"This is friendship." Max slung an arm around his shoulders. "Now come on. Show me to this apartment and tell me everything about these complicated Mike feelings. Because from what El said, things have gotten very dramatic very recently."

Will was definitely going to kill El.

But first, he had to figure out how to explain to Max that Mike was also in Providence, that Mike thought Will was still with Carlton, that Will thought Mike was dating Riley, and that they'd somehow created the most elaborate mutual lying situation in the history of mutual lying.

This was going to be a disaster.

MIKE

"Wheeler! Open up!"

The door opened. Mike stood there in sweatpants and a ratty Brown hoodie, looking like he'd been wallowing. "Mayfield? How did you-"

"Lucy gave me your address." Max pushed past him into the apartment. "Nice place. We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About Riley." Max spun around to face him. "And about the fact that you're clearly miserable."

Mike's face went carefully blank. "I don't know what you're-"

"Oh, cut the shit, Wheeler. I've known you since we were twelve." Max crossed her arms. "You look like someone kicked your puppy. Actually, you look worse than when El broke up with you in eighth grade. So either Riley is the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, or something else is going on."

Mike slumped against the wall. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

“Cause I,” he gestured vaguely. “Like boys.”

Max blinked. "Mike. Come on. The earring, the poetry, the fact that you've been in love with Will Byers since we were literally children." Max sat down on his couch. "I'm not going to tell anyone. That's your thing to share when you're ready. But I am going to tell you that whatever's going on with Riley and Will and this whole mess, you need to fix it."

"I don't know how," Mike said quietly.

"Start by talking to Will."

"I can't. He's with Carlton and I'm supposed to be with Riley and it's all just—it's a mess, Max."

Max studied him for a long moment. She knew about Carlton from Dustin. Knew they'd broken up. But Will clearly hadn't told Mike, which meant Will was lying too. And Max wasn't about to out Will's lie any more than she'd out Mike's.

These idiots needed to tell each other the truth themselves.

"Mike," Max said carefully. "When's the last time you actually talked to Will? Like, really talked to him?"

"The other night. When he did my second tattoo. We argued the whole time."

Max leaned forward. "You need to go talk to him. Actually talk to him. Not argue, not dance around things. Just be honest with him."

"I can't just show up."

"Why not? You showed up twice already for tattoos. Show up again." Max's expression turned pointed. "Don't you have a hundred dollars or something? From Riley?"

Mike blinked at the change in subject. "How did you know about that?"

"Lucky guess. Do you still have it?"

"Yeah, it's in my wallet, but what does that have to do with-"

"USE IT," Max said. "Go to the shop. Get another tattoo, pay for a consultation, I don't care. Just get yourself in front of Will Byers and talk to him. Actually talk to him."

"What do I even say?"

"The truth, Wheeler. Or at least as much of the truth as you can manage." Max headed for the door. "Now go. Before I have to physically drag you there."

Mike stared at her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're my friend. And Will's my friend. And I'm tired of watching you both be miserable when you could just not be."

She left, and Mike stood in his apartment, the hundred dollar bill feeling heavy in his wallet.

WILL

It had been a long day at the shop.

Now it was 8:15 PM and Will was finally, finally cleaning up his station. Lucy had left an hour ago to meet a friend. Russell was at the clinic for that cold. Max had disappeared after lunch with some vague excuse about exploring Providence that Will didn't buy for a second.

He was just wiping down the last of his equipment when someone knocked on the door.

Will looked up, ready to call out that they were closed, and froze.

Mike stood outside, illuminated by the streetlight, looking slightly out of breath like he'd run the whole way there.

For a moment, Will considered pretending he hadn't seen him. Just turning off the lights and hiding in the back until Mike left.

But Mike had already seen him. Their eyes met through the glass.

Will sighed and went to unlock the door.

"Mike?" He tried to keep his voice neutral as he opened it. "We're closed. I literally just finished cleaning up. And Lucy's not here, so if you need something-"

"I don't need Lucy." Mike's voice was slightly breathless. "I need to talk to you."

Will's heart did that annoying flip thing. "About what?"

"Can I come in?"

Will stepped back, letting Mike inside, then locked the door behind him. The click of the lock felt too loud in the quiet shop.

"So," Will said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. Defensive. Protected. "What's so urgent it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"I talked to Max today," Mike said.

Will's stomach dropped. "Oh."

"And I talked to Joyce this morning."

Will's entire world tilted.

"You WHAT?"

"She called my dorm."

"You told her?!" Will's voice came out sharp, angry, all his careful control evaporating. "You told her I was here?!"

"No! Will, I didn't-"

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you!" Will pushed off the counter, pacing now. "This is why I didn't want anyone to know! Because you can't keep things to yourself, Mike! You can't keep a secret to save your life!"

"Will, if you would just listen-"

"Joyce is probably freaking out right now, probably planning to fly down here with Hopper, probably calling Jonathan and Nancy and everyone-" Will's voice cracked. "I just wanted two weeks. Two weeks to figure my shit out before the wedding. Two weeks to not be Joyce's son who everyone's worried about or-"

"I DIDN'T TELL HER YOU WERE HERE!" Mike's voice was louder now, frustrated enough to cut through Will's spiral.

Will stopped pacing. "What?"

"I didn't tell her." Mike's jaw was tight. "She called asking if I'd heard from you. She said you weren't answering her calls and she was worried. I told her no, I hadn't heard from you. I told her that maybe you just needed some space to think about things before the wedding."

Will stared at him. "You... didn't tell her?"

"No." Mike took another step closer. They were only a few feet apart now. "I wanted to, she sounded so worried, Will. And Nancy called me too, asking about you. And everyone's concerned because you've been dodging calls for like a week."

"I know," Will said quietly.

"But I didn't tell them you were here. Because if I did, they'd come. Your mom, Hopper, Jonathan, Nancy – they'd all fly down here immediately. And you'd have to deal with all of it – the wedding planning, the Montauk stuff, all the things you're clearly trying to avoid." Mike's voice softened. "And I didn't want that for you. And because – this is selfish, okay, I know it's selfish—but because I wanted to keep you to myself a little longer."

Will's breath caught. "To yourself?"

"Yeah." Mike said it like it was obvious. He took another step forward. They were close enough now that Will could see the silver hoop in his ear catching the fluorescent light. "You're here, in my city, for the first time since everything. And if everyone knew, I'd have to share you with the entire Party and your family and I just – I wanted a little more time. With you. Before all of that."

The shop felt too small suddenly. Too quiet. Will could hear his own heartbeat, could see the way Mike's hands were shaking slightly at his sides.

"But you need to call her back," Mike continued, his voice gentler now. "Your mom. She deserves to know you're okay. You don't have to tell her you're in Providence, but you need to talk to her."

He stopped, his throat tight.

Mike was looking at him with that expression—the one that saw through all of Will's carefully constructed walls. "What's really going on, Will? Why are you avoiding all of this?"

"I told you. The wedding planning is tiring."

"It's more than that." Mike stepped even closer. Will could smell his cologne now, that woody clean scent that was so distinctly Mike. "Come on, Will. It's me. You can tell me."

A moment passed.

"If you had my skin," Will said quietly, staring at a point past Mike's shoulder because he couldn't look him in the eye for this, "you would never have to wonder why I feel this way, or why I get so sad on the phone with Mom."

Mike went very still. 

"A year and a half ago, we were fighting Vecna. The world was ending. I didn't—" Will's voice softened. "I didn't think I was going to get to have this. A normal future. College, stupid summer jobs, family weddings, any of it. I thought I was going to die in the Upside Down, or get taken over again, or—something. I didn't think I'd get to be normal."

"Will," Mike said softly, and Will could feel him moving closer, could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

"And now I have it. I have everything I thought I'd never get. And I'm complaining." Will laughed, but it sounded broken. "I'm complaining about leaving Hawkins—a town that traumatized me, that I should be happy to leave. I'm complaining about my mom being happy with Hopper when she's genuinely happy for the first time in my entire life. I'm complaining about having to grow up and move forward and—"

He stopped, pressing his palms against his eyes.

"I feel so fucking selfish, Mike. And ungrateful. And scared. I'm scared of getting older, of this being it, of normal life being somehow harder than fighting interdimensional monsters because at least then I knew what I was fighting." Will dropped his hands, finally looking at Mike. "And I can't tell my mom any of that because how do you tell your mom that you survived the apocalypse but you're not sure you can survive being normal?"

Mike's eyes were soft and devastated and so, so close. "Will. You need to tell Joyce this."

"I can't."

"You can. You need to." Mike's voice was gentle but firm. "Not right now, maybe not even before the wedding. But eventually. Because she loves you, and she wants to know when you're struggling. That's what moms do."

"She has enough to worry about."

"You're her son. You're never going to be 'too much' for her to worry about." Mike's hand came up, hesitated for a second, then gently touched Will's arm. "And for what it's worth? You're not selfish for feeling this way. You're human. You're allowed to be scared of normal things even after surviving abnormal ones."

Will's eyes were stinging. "Since when did you get wise?"

"Since I spent a year at college taking too many philosophy classes and thinking about you too much." Mike said it casually, but his ears were turning red.

Will's heart stuttered. "Thinking about me?"

"Obviously." Mike's hand was still on Will's arm, his thumb tracing small circles that Will could feel even through his flannel. "You're- Will, you're-"

He stopped, took a breath. They were so close now. Will's mind was a loop of love me love me love me love me and he didn't know if he was begging or hoping or praying but Mike was right there, close enough to touch.

Will's hands came up of their own accord, fisting in the front of Mike's hoodie, and Mike's breath hitched.

"Will," Mike said, and it sounded like a question, like permission being asked, like every conversation they'd never had condensed into a single word.

Will pulled him in.

Their lips met and the world exploded.

Mike kissed him like it mattered. One hand holding Will's face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone, the other sliding down to Will's waist and pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space between them at all.

Will's back hit the counter and he gasped, and Mike took advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against Will's, which made his knees actually buckle. Only Mike's hands on him kept him upright, kept him grounded, kept him from floating away entirely. 

It should've been sweeter, it should've been gentler, but it turned out to be anything but: Like a dam breaking, or a snowball rolling into an avalanche.

Will's hands came up to grip Mike's shirt, pulling him closer, and Mike made a small desperate sound against his mouth that sent heat flooding through Will's entire body. Mike pressed Will against the counter, all lean muscle and warm skin, and Will's hands slid under Mike's shirt. He shivered at the touch.

"Fuck," Will breathed when they broke apart for air, but Mike didn't pull away. Instead his lips moved to Will's jaw, kissing along the line of it with intent, with purpose. Will gasped, his hands fisting tighter in Mike's hair as Mike kissed down his throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made Will see stars. "Mike, we're in- we're in my workplace-"

Mike hummed against his neck, the vibration sending shivers cascading down Will's spine. "So?" His lips moved against Will's skin with each word, and Will could feel him smiling.

"So–" Will's brain was struggling to form coherent thoughts with Mike's mouth doing that to his neck, with Mike's hands sliding under his flannel to touch bare skin, with Mike pressed against him like he wanted to crawl inside Will's ribcage and live there. "So this is like, unprofessional."

"You're not tattooing anyone." Mike pulled back smirking. "Shop's closed. Door's locked. It's just us."

"What about–" Will's protest died in his throat as Mike lightly dragged his teeth where Will's neck met his shoulder, hard enough to leave evidence, hard enough that Will would see it tomorrow and remember this moment. "Oh my god."

Mike pulled back slightly, looking at the mark he'd just made with a satisfied, almost possessive expression that made something hot and desperate coil in Will's stomach. His lips were swollen, his hair was a mess from Will's hands, and his eyes were so dark they looked black.

"Well," Mike said, his voice rough and low and absolutely sinful, "you don't need ink to leave tattoos after all."

Will's face flushed hot, heat spreading down his neck to his chest. "You're such a loser."

"Yeah?" Mike was smiling now, that stupidly beautiful smile that Will had been in love with for over a decade, except now it was predatory, knowing. He leaned in close enough that his lips brushed Will's ear. "You're the one who's been tattooing me for the past week. How do you think I felt, having your hands all over me while thinking I couldn't have you?"

"You're the one who kept coming back for more tattoos," Will pointed out, his voice shaky.

"Because I'm an idiot who'll take any excuse to be close to you, Will." Mike's hands found Will's and interlaced their fingers together. "I got your birthday tattooed on my shoulder. A number that doesn't even exist on a die. How's that for insufferable?"

Will laughed breathlessly, "Pretty insufferable." He pulled Mike closer, eliminating any remaining space between them, and Mike made that sound again, that desperate little noise that Will wanted to record and play on loop. "What about that witch hat?"

"You’re a cleric, Will the Wise." He looked at him with eyes bright and full of adoration that made Will's stomach dip. "I wanted to carry pieces of you with me. Even when I thought I couldn't actually have you."

"Oh," Will whispered, and then he was kissing Mike again, pouring twelve years of wanting and needing and loving into it.

Mike responded immediately, matching Will's intensity and raising it, his hands sliding up Will's back under his flannel, fingernails dragging lightly against skin. They kissed until Will's lips were numb, until his lungs were burning from lack of oxygen, until Mike's shirt was completely untucked and Will's flannel was half-unbuttoned and they were both breathing hard and shaking.

Love me love me love me love me.

But Mike was loving him. Mike's hands were on him, Mike's mouth was on him, Mike had just said he wanted to keep Will to himself, had gotten Will's birthday permanently marked on his skin.

"Wait, Will," Mike breathed against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Riley's not my boyfriend."

Will's brain stuttered. "Who?” Holy shit. He hadn't even paused to ask. 

"Riley's not—he was never my boyfriend." The words tumbled out fast, desperate, like Mike had been holding them back and couldn't anymore. "He said it to get a discount and I panicked and went along with it. I'm not with anyone. I haven't been with anyone." Mike's voice was reverent, his forehead pressing against Will's. "There's only ever been you."

"Carlton dumped me," Will heard himself say, the confession pulled out of him by Mike's proximity, by Mike's hands on him, by the way Mike was looking at him like he hung the moon. "Two weeks ago. He said I was in love with someone else."

Mike's breath hitched. "Were you?"

"Yeah," Will whispered. "I was. I am."

"Who?" Mike asked stupidly. Will knew he already knew, but he just needed to hear it.

"You," Will said. "Always been you, Mike. Since we were twelve, since before that. I don't even remember a time when I wasn't in love with you."

Mike exhaled shakily, and then his arms were around Will, pulling him in so tight Will could feel his heartbeat. Mike pressed his face into Will's hair and just held him there, breathing him in. It was painfully sweet for someone who had just kissed him breathless in a tattoo shop at 8:30 on a Thursday night.

"I love you too," Mike murmured against his temple. "It's actually kind of pathetic. Riley and Jesse make fun of me for it like every day."

"Not pathetic," Will managed, burying his face into Mike's shoulder. "Perfect. You're perfect."

Mike laughed against his skin, and Will could feel the smile. "I'm really not. I'm a disaster. I got three panic tattoos and lied about having a boyfriend because I couldn't just tell you how I felt like a normal person."

"I lied about still being with Carlton," Will pointed out.

"We're both disasters then."

"Yeah." Will nodded. "We really are."

"So," Mike said, his voice still rough. "What now?"

Will's mind was still quietly chanting love me love me but quieter now, satisfied, because Mike did love him, Mike had said it, Mike was here. "Now you come back to Russell's apartment with me. We tell Max she was right-"

"She's going to be so fucking smug about it."

"-and then we figure out the rest."

Mike pulled back to look at him properly, his hands still on Will's waist like he couldn't bear to stop touching him. "The rest?"

"Like what happens after the wedding? What-" Will's voice went quieter. "What this means."

Mike's expression went serious, his thumbs rubbing small circles on Will's hipbones through his jeans. "It means everything. For me, it means everything."

"Yeah," Will said, his throat tight, his eyes burning again but for entirely different reasons now. "For me too."

Mike smiled, that bright, beautiful smile that Will had spent years memorizing, and leaned in to kiss him again. Quick and sweet this time, almost chaste compared to the desperate making out of before, but somehow more intimate for it.

"Come on," Will said finally, reluctantly stepping back and immediately missing the warmth of Mike's body against his. He grabbed his jacket from the hook by his station. "Let's get out of here before I do something really unprofessional."

"Like what?" Mike caught his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Like drag you into the back room and never leave."

Mike's face flushed, and he bit his lip in a way that made Will want to kiss him again. "I wouldn't be opposed to that."

"Mike."

"Kidding. Mostly." Mike squeezed his hand, then brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Will's knuckles. "But for the record? I'm absolutely coming back for another tattoo tomorrow."

"You don't need another tattoo. You have two already. Three if you count the mark I left on your neck."

Mike's hand flew to his neck, his eyes widening. "When did you–"

"Payback." Will grinned. "You don't need ink, remember?"

"You're insufferable," Mike said, but he was grinning too, wide and genuine and so happy that Will wanted to take a picture.

"Yeah, well. You're in love with me, so what does that say about you?"

"That I have excellent taste." Mike pulled him in for another kiss, quick and sweet. "And that I'm the luckiest person alive."

"Okay," Will said, laughing against Mike's mouth. "We really need to leave. Russell's going to wonder where I am. And Max is probably plotting something."

"Fine. But I'm walking you home." But Mike pulled back, trying to flatten his absolute disaster of hair. 

"It's literally upstairs."

"I know. I'm still walking you."

They walked out into the cool Providence night, hands linked, both grinning like absolute idiots. And as Will locked up the shop, Mike's hand in his, he thought that maybe normal wasn't something to be afraid of after all.

Not if normal meant this.

Not if normal meant Mike.

ONE WEEK LATER - THE WEDDING

The house in Montauk was absolutely in shambles.

"Has anyone seen my tie?" Lucas yelled from somewhere upstairs.

"Which tie?" Max called back, crouched on the floor searching under the couch cushions. "The blue one or the navy one?"

"There's a difference!?"

"You're hopeless."

"Found it!" Erica emerged from the kitchen, waving a crumpled piece of blue fabric triumphantly. "It was in the refrigerator for some reason."

"Why would my tie be in the–" Lucas appeared at the top of the stairs, shirtless and panicking. "You know what, I don't even care. Throw it up here."

Will stood by the window, watching the entire scene unfold with barely contained amusement. Mike was next to him, arm slung around Will's shoulders, chin resting on top of Will's head.

"I can't believe a week ago this was your worst fear," Mike said, nodding toward the chaos while his fingers played absently with the collar of Will's shirt.

Will laughed, leaning back into Mike's warmth. "Yeah. Honestly, me neither."

It was true. A week ago, the thought of being here, surrounded by family and noise and expectations, had felt suffocating. But now, with Mike's arms around him, with Max catching his eye across the room and rolling her eyes fondly at Mike's blatant affection, with El and Dustin giggling together on the stairs (definitely about something Mike had said earlier), it felt right.

Different than he'd imagined. But right.

"You look really good, by the way," Mike murmured, turning Will slightly so he could see him properly. His hands came up to straighten Will's collar even though it was already perfectly straight. "The suit. It's pretty-"

"Don't say it-"

"-whimsical."

Will stifled a laugh. "I hate you."

"No you don't," Mike said cheerfully, pressing a kiss to Will's temple. Then another to his cheek. Then one more to his forehead because apparently Mike had decided that personal space was optional today.

"Mike," Will protested weakly, even as he leaned into it.

"What? I'm being affectionate. I'm an affectionate person."

"You're clingy."

"Same thing." Mike's arms tightened around him. "Plus, you look unfairly good in a suit and I'm allowed to appreciate that."

From across the room, Max made a gagging sound. "You two are disgusting."

"You're just jealous," Mike called back, not moving from where he had Will practically pinned against the window.

"Of what? Your codependency?"

"Of our love," Mike said dramatically, and Will felt him grin against his hair.

Lucas appeared at the bottom of the stairs, now wearing his tie (badly knotted), and looked at them with the smirk of someone who'd given up on the teasing days ago. "Thank god Mike finally got his shit together."

Mike's head snapped up, indignant. "Why me? Why is it always my fault?"

"Because Will was never the issue," El said from the stairs.

Mike gaped, "And I was?"

"Anyway," Lucas continued, "the point is, we're all very happy that Mike finally figured out what the rest of us knew for weeks. Will's great. We love Will. Mike's the one who needed to get with the program."

"We really do love you, Will," Max added warmly. "You're like genuinely the best. Mike's lucky to have you."

"So lucky," El agreed.

"The luckiest," Dustin said.

Mike's jaw dropped. "What happened to supporting me? I'm your friend too!"

"We love you, Mike," Lucas said patiently. "But let's be real. You were a repressed disaster and Will was-" He gestured at Will. "-Will."

"Wow."

"He's got a point," Will said, grinning up at Mike.

Mike looked down at him, his expression shifting from indignant to soft in about half a second. "You're all terrible. I hate everyone."

"Definitely," Will added, because he'd learned that if you couldn't beat Mike's sarcasm, you might as well join it.

"Henderson!" Steve called from the kitchen. "Stop being weird and help me with these flower arrangements before Joyce sees that I've already broken two of them!"

"How do you break a flower arrangement?" Robin's voice floated out. "They're literally just flowers in—OH MY GOD, Steve, is that glue?"

"It's FINE, I'm FIXING IT—" Vickie yelped.

The front door burst open and Nancy rushed in, her hands pressed to her chest, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Nancy?" Jonathan looked up from his camera. "You okay?"

"You—" Nancy looked around at all of them, at Will and Mike by the window, at Lucas at the top of the stairs, at Max and Erica on the floor, at El and Dustin on the stairs, at Steve, Robin and Vickie in the kitchen doorway. "You all have to come see Joyce. You have to, she looks beautiful."

Will's chest ached.

"She's almost ready," Nancy continued, wiping at her eyes. "And Hopper already crying and she's not even downstairs yet."

As if on cue, Hopper's voice rumbled from upstairs: "I'm not crying! I've got something in my eye!"

"Both eyes, apparently!" Joyce called back, her voice bright with laughter.

Mike squeezed Will's hand gently. "You ready for this?"

Will looked around the room, at his found family, his chaotic, loud, perfect family. At Nancy dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. At Max abandoning her search to grab Lucas's hand. At El beaming at him from the stairs, giving him a thumbs up. At the house in Montauk that didn't feel quite so foreign anymore.

At Mike, standing beside him, solid and real and his.

"Yeah," Will said softly. "I think I am."

"Good." Mike pulled him in for a quick hug, then pulled back and ruffled his hair again. "Love you. Have I mentioned that today?"

"Several times," Will said, but he was smiling.

"Good. Just making sure." Mike kissed his cheek. "Okay, now go. Your mom wants to see you."

Will nodded and headed for the stairs, passing El who grabbed his arm.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered. "For coming. For being here."

"Thanks, El."

"And for finally kissing Mike. That took forever."

"Okay, moving on."

Will climbed the stairs, his heart full, and thought about the past two weeks. Three tattoos, two lies, one truth; and somehow, impossibly, it had led him here.

To this moment, this family, and comfort in normalcy.