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Staying up all night staring at the ceiling is not unfamiliar to Will. Even though the horrors he's faced since he was 12 are officially over, and have been for almost a year, he still can't close his eyes without being right back there. Seeing through the eyes of the demogorgan as it's about to kill everyone he loves.
His brain doesn't seem to care about what really happened next, how he channelled his powers and saved everyone. How Mike sprinted over and hugged him with a ferocity that would've knocked him off his feet had Mike not been holding onto him. His heart stutters at the thought of it.
No, in his minds eye all he can see are the defeated, terrified looks on their faces as they wait for death.
So, the ceiling it is. Will is used to going without sleep, he's an over thinker at heart. Even before everything happened, growing up he'd stare at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling for hours and think about the minute details of campaigns he's planning. Sometimes, needing to shoot up out of bed and jot down notes to make sure he remembers come morning.
Present day Will wonders if he should be more productive with this time. He never intends to actually stay up all night. Logically, he knows he really does need to sleep at some point, he just hates risking the nightmares. It's so much easier to just lay awake thinking. Thinking about thinking. Maybe all this thinking is contributing to the problem. Maybe he should just close his eyes no matter how scary and go to sleep.
Will turns his head to the nightstand, where the red unforgiving numbers of his alarm clock read 3:26. He sighs, and turns to lay on his side facing the window. The late October rainstorm patters against it, offering a soothing noise that may just help lull him to sleep.
He watches the rain drops as they glide down against the glass for a few moments, before finally closing his eyes. He tries his hardest to focus on the sounds the rain is making, tries to let his body relax. He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and hugs the blanket close to his chest.
He can feel the tension starting to fade a bit, and becomes aware of how exhausted he actually is. Sleep is coming quickly, and Will allows it to happen.
Then, a shuffle from outside and an out of rhythm ping against his window just about make him jump out of his skin. He sits up with a start, pushing up off the bed, and cautiously peers outside.
He doesn't know what he was expecting to be there, but in no world was it Mike Wheeler, drenched from head to toe, grinning up at him from where he stands on the ground.
Ever since the world didn't end, Mike has been, confusing, to say the least. He's grieving the loss of his girlfriend, yes, but he's also been weirdly nice to Will in a way that makes his stomach do somersaults, and makes Lucas and Dustin look at them funny.
Like, when there's a whole couch of space and 2 open armchairs, Mike will plop down right next to him, their thighs flush and knees knocking together.
Or, when Will came down with the flu over the summer (seriously, who gets the flu when it's 90 degrees outside), Mike was right there at all times, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor of his room in Hop's cabin, El's old room, reading comics with him.
Will isn't opposed to the new attention whatsoever, but he can't help but feel that Mike is just seeking out something, anything, to fill the space that El left. That, if his sister was still here, he'd be on the back burner where he had been since El came back.
So, heart racing and warmth spreading over his cheeks, Will opens the window.
"Hey," Mike grins. Wills heart is still racing when he responds, "Hey." Mike shuffles back and forth on his feet, hands hanging at his sides playing with the ends of his sleeves.
"So uh, what are the chances of me climbing up through your window? It's pretty cold and um, wet, out here." Mike says somewhat sheepishly. Will sticks his head out the window and looks to the side of the cabin, where there's still a step ladder leaned up against the siding.
"There's a ladder over there," Will says, pointing in the general direction of the ladder, "but I don't know if it'll reach all the way. Or if you'll fit through my window for that matter." He says, amused.
While Hops cabin is only one story, it does sit relatively high up. Wills window is also pretty high on the wall, and as far as windows go, it's small.
"I'll figure it out." Mike responds as he goes to grab the ladder. Will gets to work pushing the window all the way open. He feels the bite of the air, mixed with a spattering of rain. He quickly moves back, wiping the moisture from his face. Mike has to be freezing.
When Will looks back out the window, Mike is already positioning the ladder and making his way up. Suddenly, they're face to face and Will can see the frigid drops of rain tugging at the ends of Mikes hair, plastering it to his forehead and dripping down onto the bridge of his nose.
"Hi," he breathes out, and Will can smell it on his breath. Vodka, and a hint of what he thinks is cherry.
"Hi," Will responds cautiously. He waits a beat too long, thinking about it all. Why the hell is Mike here, drunk, at 3:30 in the morning.
"So.. are you going to let me in? Or are we just going to keep staring at each other as I slowly freeze to death?" Mike laughs. Wills stomach swoops and he blushes, moving to the side of the window to clear space.
Mike's arms come first, then his head and torso. He can't quite reach the bed yet, but he keeps coming anyway, wriggling in the window. In a flash, suddenly he's falling forward in a jumble of lanky limbs and rainwater.
He tumbles onto the bed, then to the floor with a loud thump. "Shit, ow," he says, giggling. Will shushes him, laughing at the sight beneath him. He doesn't think his mom or Hopper would particularly care if Mike was here. In fact, he honestly probably could've just let him in the front door. But, he doesn't want to wake them up with this fiasco either. So he continues shushing as Mike keeps laughing.
A small, rotten part of him wonders how many times Mike did this when it was Eleven's room. If it used to be easier to get through the window before he shot up an extra 5 inches.
A sharp breeze reminds Will that the window is still open, so he turns and quickly closes it. When he turns back, Mike has straightened up, and is trying to peel his soaked jacket off. Every single piece of clothing on him is totally and completely drenched, and currently creating a small puddle on his floor.
Will sighs, and gets out of bed to go grab a towel. In the bathroom, he takes a second to look in the mirror. Straightens his shirt, runs a hand through his hair. Not that it's important at all.
When he returns, Mike is still on the floor, leaning up against his bed. He has an expression on his face that Will can't quite place. He throws the towel at Mike, and it hits him square in the chest.
"I don't think a towel is going to help me much here, Will." Mike says, looking at him with that same look on his face that's making Will's stomach do funny things that he wishes weren't so familiar.
"Shut up and start drying your hair." Will responds. He flips the light switch on, bathing them in soft yellow light. He then turns to his dresser to get some dry clothes out. "Yes sir," Mike says playfully.
He decides to give Mike his favorite sweater, as it's the warmest and softest thing he owns. And he can't help but think about how nice Mike would look wrapped up in it. He shakes the thought away, and grabs the first pair of sweatpants he sees.
When he turns back, Mike is staring up at him, looking dazed. His hair still wet, but tousled and no longer dripping. His skin is ghostly pale, and his lips look a twinge on the blue side. "You need to get out of those wet clothes before you get hypothermia. Here," he says, holding out the stack of warm, dry clothes.
"If you want me out of my clothes so bad you just have to ask nicely." Mike responds, taking the bundle from Will. Their hands brush and Will flinches. He can't tell if it's because of Mike's touch or the fact that he's literally freezing cold.
He doesn't even let himself start to process what Mike just said to him. He's just drunk, there's no way he knows what he's saying. Regardless, Will feels his cheeks and ears get very hot.
On shaky legs, Will climbs back into his bed and sits with his knees pulled to his chest leaned against his headboard, as Mike rises to his feet and begins undressing. Very pointedly, Will keeps his gaze on the window. It doesn't help much though, as the top part of Mike's reflection meets him there.
With a heavy, wet plop, Mike's sweatshirt makes its way to the floor. He hears him kick off his shoes, and begin fiddling with his belt buckle. He watches Mike's reflection disappear from the window as he bends down to remove his jeans, which have become skin tight.
Will feels like he's on fire, imagining how his best friend is feet away, stripped down to his underclothes. The fire doesn't fully go away, even when Mike pulls on Will's sweatpants which don't fully make it to his ankle. In fact, fuel is added when he turns and sees Mike finishing up putting on his sweater. God damn it. He does look good in it.
He tries not to notice how he's swimming in the soft material, how the collar of the sweater dips down and reveals a bit of his left collarbone.
"Scoot over," Mike says as he starts to climb into Will's bed. There's not exactly a lot of room to oblige, his bed is small. Too small for 2 growing teenage boys. Will moves as much as he can, until he's pressed up against the smooth panelling of his wall. Mike doesn't seem to care about the lack of space, lifting the covers and crawling in. He lays on his side, huddled against Will.
His head rests on the pillow, mere centimeters away from Will's hip. Will lets out a shaky breath, before asking, "What're you doing here Mike? And why are you drunk?"
Mike takes a while to respond, pulling the quilt up to his chin. The back of his arm now rests against Will's leg.
"I'm not drunk," he says, voice clearly proving him a liar. Will sighs. "I can smell it on you, Mike. You're a really bad liar." He responds. The room is quiet for a few moments, the only sound coming from the rain outside.
"My parents are gone for the night, and Nance is home from school on fall break. She had a little party. Just Jonathan and Steve and Robin. Oh, and Vickie. I dunno, I was just feeling., rebellious. So I stole her cherry vodka and drank by myself up in my room. Which saying that out loud now sounds a bit depressing," he says, letting out a light chuckle.
Will waits for an explanation to his first question, but it doesn't come. "So, what brings you here then? Nancy got mad at you and you ran?" He asks with a smile. He looks down at Mike, and sees his eyes peering back up at him. The rest of his face is now covered with the blanket.
"No, just wanted to see you." Mike says in a small voice. Will would almost describe it as shy, unsure. But Mike is just drunk, that has to explain any behavior or energy that's out of the ordinary.
"Mike, you can see me any time," Will says, a nervous laugh making it's way up his throat. "Weren't you coming over tomorrow with Lucas and Dustin anyway to have movie night? You shouldn't have come all the way here in the middle of the night, you could've frozen to death. You're still shaking."
Mike is strangely quiet, and Will's legs are starting to grow stiff where they are. He stretches them out, and shifts to lay on his side, facing Mike. When he realizes the proximity of their faces, he has to hold back a gasp. This was a bad idea.
They remain quiet for what feels like hours. Mike shifts, pulling the blanket back down to his chin, and untucks it from his legs, spreading it over the both of them. Before he realizes what's happening, Mike's hand is darting under Will's own shirt, pressing into his side just under his ribs. Ghosting over the raised scar that lives there.
"If you're so worried about me freezing to death, why don't you warm me up then," Mike says. Will gasps at his touch and flinches away. "You asshole," he says, laughing. He doesn't move though, even if Mike is just using him to regain feeling in his fingers, he's still touching him. Selfishly, he savors it.
Mike hums, noticing how Will hasn't pushed him off, and seemingly decides to see how far his luck will get him. He moves closer, pushing his hand up Will's back and resting on his bare shoulder blade. He buries his face in the side of Will's neck, trying to warm his nose. All the while, internally Will is freaking the fuck out. He hopes Mike can't feel how fast his heart is racing. That he's too drunk to notice the stuttering in his breathing.
With Mike's arm tucked up around him, Will doesn't know where to put his own arm. The only logical place would be around Mike, so he lets it loosely hang over his back. Mike's breath is tickling his skin and sending goosebumps down his spine.
"You're so warm. How are you so warm?" Mike mumbles. Will feels the vibration of his words against his neck and his stomach swoops again. This is so dangerous. "Uh- it probably helps that I wasn't outside in the freezing cold rain for hours." Will says dumbly. Mike hums in agreement, loosely running his fingers back and forth. Will thinks he may die right then and there.
"You're really soft," he whispers. Will's blush deepens. What the fuck is happening. Why is Mike fucking Wheeler in his bed, cuddling with him and rubbing his back. Calling him warm and soft.
Does he miss El that badly? So badly that he had to crawl through her old window, lay in her old bed, and hold someone, anyone, to pretend she's still here? Angry tears start to build behind Will's eyes, and he sits up. Mike groans.
"No where are you going? Come back I'm not warm yet," he whines. Will runs an unsteady hand through his hair and rubs at his eyes, trying to force the tears to stay in. They cannot fall.
"What is this, Mike? You just miss her so much you had to come through her old window, lay in her old bed, and pretend I'm her? I mean, is this all just muscle memory for you?" He snaps. The second the words leave his mouth he regrets them, the way they taste, the way they make the air impossibly heavy.
The silence is thick, you could stab it with a knife. There's no air in the room suddenly, nothing to fill Will's lungs. Mike exhales slowly, and rolls onto his back.
"I've never snuck in here through the window before, so no, not muscle memory." Mike says, as if that was the most important thing to clear up.
Will sighs, leaning back against the wall. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said any of that. I'm just tired I think, I didn't mean it." Will says shakily. Mike shakes his head. "No, I mean it's fair," he says, closing his eyes. Will furrows his brow.
"I do miss El. All the time. But that's not why I'm here. I know she's not here. You are." Mike says, as if it explains everything.
"I just. I wanted to see you. Couldn't wait until movie night." He finishes. Will sits for a minute, trying to process. Too long, apparently, because Mike is moving in, grabbing his wrist.
"Now can you please lay back down so I can keep stealing your body heat. I'm fucking freezing."
Will is still feeling shaky as he lays back down, now with both of Mike's arms around him, one under his shirt gripping his waist, and the other slung around his shoulders, pulling him to Mike's chest.
He smells like rain and cheap cologne and artificial cherry, and also like Will's own laundry detergent. Mike's face is pressed into the top of his head, he feels his lips against his hair. If he didn't know better, he'd think Mike was leaving a kiss there.
One of Will's arms is trapped up against Mike's chest, so he tangles his fingers in his sweater. His other arm moves to wrap around his back, a little more sure of itself this time.
"Now let's go to sleep. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted." Mike says softly into Will's hair.
And Will is exhausted. So he closes his eyes and lets himself drift off. And for the first time in so long, he doesn't dream.