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“How peculiar,” Michael whispers, eyes fixed on the spinning record. He tilts his head idly. “How does it speak? Has it been enchanted?”
Mike huffs, shifting his weight between his feet. They’re all crammed in the Squawk, murmuring amongst themselves, and frankly, Mike just doesn’t think anyone is taking this seriously enough.
“No, no,” Dustin shakes his head eagerly, hanging over Michael’s shoulder. “The songs are carved into the record, and the needle on the machine traces the etchings to create sound waves. It’s actually pretty awesome—”
Yeah, not seriously enough at all. Mike presses his lips together and lets his gaze sweep the room again. Dustin is almost vibrating with excitement, hands waving as he launches into his spiel. Max is watching Michael with open curiosity, like she’s waiting to see what he’ll do next, and Lucas is eying the pair suspiciously, leaning against the counter. The others are scattered about, clearly trying to ignore the elephant in the room, but all failing miserably.
His eyes catch on Will. He’s off to the side, face pinched as he takes in the scene himself. He’s not pushing like Dustin or gawking like Max, but he’s obviously still paying attention, hunched in on himself warily.
Mike rolls his shoulders, shaking off the prickle at the back of his neck. It’s been a long day. He’s still coming to terms with, well, everything.
Michael could be dangerous. That’s the thing nobody seems to be acknowledging. He looks harmless enough—polite, even—but that doesn’t mean anything. He could be some sentient Upside Down creature, wearing his face to earn their trust only to, like, cannibalize them or something.
And, yeah, it’s bizarre. He’s mature enough to admit that. Having your doppelganger show up in medieval garb with an exaggerated accent would throw anyone off. It doesn’t help that he’s so weird about Will.
Even now, nodding along as Dustin goes on about the record player, he’s looking at Will from across the room, on guard. It makes Mike uncomfortable.
Sir Michael the Brave, he’d introduced himself as, dropping down to kneel in front of Will in the forest. What a load of hogwash.
They’re piecing together some theory about the multiverse or time travel or something, but Mike really doesn’t buy it. It’s just too… convenient. What are the odds that some alternate dimension version of him just appears out of thin air, somehow knowing exactly who they all are? Almost zero, he reckons.
He grumbles under his breath. He doesn’t say it out loud, because every time he opens his mouth lately, he sounds like an asshole, and he’s really trying to cut back on that, but still. The whole thing is just off.
“Okay, but,” Dustin says, finally pausing to take a breath, “even if it’s not magic, it’s still kind of magical, right?”
Michael considers this, eyes flicking back to the spinning record. “Perhaps,” he agrees. “If it inspires wonder, that may be enough.”
That’s the other thing, too. He talks like a dick. Like, straight out of one of those cheap romance novels his mom used to read when he was a kid. It grates.
Mike exhales slowly. He’s being ridiculous, he realizes. He’s projecting. That’s what this is. They’ve spent years dealing with monsters and government conspiracies and alternate dimensions, of course his brain is jumping straight to worst-case scenarios. Michael hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s been polite and cooperative. Weird, sure, but so are they.
And yet, he catches himself looking at Will again. He’s still quiet, eyes roving over Michael and Dustin in the corner, but he looks worried, and that always makes Mike worry, too. He drifts closer without thinking, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
Will startles in place. “Yeah!” he squeaks, sending him a forced smile. “Yeah, um, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he presses, concern seeping into his voice. He lets his hand drop, hanging awkwardly at his side. “You seem tense.”
“I’m fine,” Will insists, before slumping. “This is just weird.”
Mike snorts. “You can say that again,” he agrees. “He’s wearing my face.”
Across the room, Dustin finally runs out of steam, his rambling trailing off. Michael nods along thoughtfully.
“I see,” he says. “So it is not magic, but craft.”
“Yup,” Dustin says proudly, grinning. “Human ingenuity at work.”
Michael smiles at that. “Impressive, indeed.”
What an asshat, seriously.
“So what do you have instead?” Max asks, leaning forward. “Like, in your world.”
Michael turns to her easily, as if he’s been expecting the question. “Bards,” he says. “Mostly. They carry songs from place to place. Sometimes minstrels, as well.”
They continue to chatter aimlessly, but Mike can’t bring himself to pay attention. He doesn’t care about wherever this loser came from. Sure, it’s cool enough if he removes himself from the equation entirely, he supposes. There are alternate universes. There’s apparently an alternate universe where their D&D campaigns are real life. That’s objectively cool.
He can admit that much, if only in the abstract. It’s the kind of thing he would’ve eaten up a few years ago, knights and wizards and grand quests. The problem is that this isn’t abstract. This is standing ten feet away from him, stealing his face. He doesn’t think anyone is focusing enough on that part, either.
He looks back to his side, and his irritation fades almost immediately. Will looks seriously overwhelmed, now, one hand raised to chew on his thumbnail.
Mike shifts closer, bumping their shoulders together in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. Will glances up at him, and this time his smile is genuine.
When he turns back to the others, Michael has crept closer, attention now on the two of them. He hovers uncertainly, but his eyes are bright and curious. Mike groans inwardly, already dreading being his next subject of interrogation.
“It is odd,” Michael confesses, eyes tracing the lines of his face. “Seeing such a perfect reflection of myself in another.”
So the feeling's mutual, then. For some reason, that’s even more unsettling. It’s hard to internalize that Michael really is him.
He squares his shoulders, fighting back the apprehensive feeling of being appraised so blatantly. Beside him, Will shifts again, thumb dropping from his mouth now that Mike’s bumped into him. He angles a bit closer, shoulder pressing more firmly into Mike’s arm.
Michael’s eyes follow the movement, a smile growing on his face. Is that really what his nose looks like when he smiles? Christ.
“Forgive me,” Michael continues hesitantly. “I do not wish to intrude.”
Mike doesn’t believe him for a second. Not because he sounds insincere—if anything, that’s the problem. He sounds too sincere, like the thought of intruding genuinely bothers him. Like he’s trying very hard to be respectful while also very notably not leaving.
“Then don’t,” he says, a little more callous than intended.
Will elbows him. “Mike.”
“I’m just saying.”
Michael doesn’t react to the tone. He inclines his head acceptingly, then looks back to Will with that same steady gaze. “I only wanted to…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely towards Will. “Why do you not wear your token?”
“My what?” Will asks, frowning.
Michael blinks, like the answer is self-explanatory. “Your token,” he repeats gently. “The favor he has given you.”
“Favor?” Will parrots, nose scrunching confusedly. Mike looks between the two of them, equally lost. “Who?”
Michael assesses him, and then turns to Mike and does the same. He seems to accept whatever he finds, nodding slowly. “I see. My apologies, I have gotten ahead of myself. For how long have you two been courting, then?”
Someone chokes behind them, and for a long moment, Mike honestly thinks he’s misheard him. The look on his face is dead serious, though, stoic in a way that makes it very clear he’s not joking.
“What?” he croaks. He looks over at Will, who looks just as caught off guard as he feels. Solidarity, at least.
“You need not be shy,” Michael reassures them, back straightening. “I, too, was hesitant when William and I first began our courtship. I understand.”
His mind freezes so completely that he almost misses the sound Max makes, a strangled wheeze that ends in a violent coughing fit.
“You… what?” he says again, dumbfounded.
Michael’s expression remains painfully earnest. “I said—”
“I heard what you said,” Mike cuts in quickly, voice embarrassingly high. He can feel heat crawling up the back of his neck. “I just mean— That’s not— We’re not—” Words fail him, dying on his tongue.
He’s completely thrown off, mind chugging along at a snail’s pace. Courtship. With Will. Like they’re in some fairytale where he’s supposed to show up on horseback with flowers and recite poetry or whatever nonsense this guy is clearly into. With Will.
In the back, Lucas lets out a low cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh he tried to swallow. Dustin does not bother swallowing his. “Oh my god,” he breathes, delighted.
“Shut up,” Mike hisses automatically, not even turning around. Fantastic, he thinks. Public humiliation. His favorite. “This isn’t funny.”
Will has gone still at his side. When Mike finally risks another glance, he expects to find his same bafflement, but Will looks like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His eyes are enormous, his face red, and he’s just gaping at Michael, mouth opening and closing uselessly.
Mike’s stomach does something deeply unpleasant. It’s not embarrassment, necessarily—well, not only embarrassment. It’s worse than that, crawling under his skin in a way he absolutely refuses to examine too closely.
It spreads through his chest, and Mike shifts restlessly, sneakers squeaking against the station floor. He wonders, not for the first time today, if this is some kind of elaborate cosmic prank.
“You mean…” Will speaks up uncertainly. “You mean… you and your Will… are courting?”
Michael’s entire demeanor softens. “Indeed,” he smiles fondly. “We are to be wed once we reach our majority.”
“Oh, shit,” Lucas says from the couch, eyebrows shooting up.
“What?” Will falters, face turning impossibly redder.
Michael looks pleased to have an opportunity to clarify, which only annoys Mike more. “Once we reach our majority,” he explains easily. “It is improper to marry before then, unless necessity demands it. But our families have agreed, and a date has been set.”
“Okay!” Mike clears his throat. He needs to put an end to this line of conversation as soon as possible. Preferably immediately. “Well, that’s great. Happy for you guys, I guess. But we, ” he stresses, motioning between him and Will frantically, “are just friends.”
Michael furrows his brow. “Friends,” he echoes, sounding the word out. “You two are merely… companions?”
“Yes!” Mike exclaims, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He feels high-strung, like setting the record straight here is life or death. “Exactly. Companions.”
“Hm,” Michael says, eyes flickering between them again. They linger at the way their shoulders are pressed together, and Mike takes a deliberate step back. “I see.”
The ensuing silence is tense, only dampened by the record still playing in the background. Michael seems to notice, too, but his face remains frustratingly mild. After a second, he inclines his head.
“Then I have misunderstood,” he murmurs. “You have my apologies.”
Relief comes so fast that Mike nearly sways with it. “Great,” he mutters. “Awesome. Apology accepted. Can we move on?”
Robin claps from the doorway, far too cheerful for someone who has been silently watching this entire disaster unfold. “Alrighty, lovebirds.”
“We aren’t—” Mike starts, hackles raising.
“Time for a field trip,” she finishes loudly, talking straight over him. “Chief wants us at the cabin before dark, so unless one of you knows how to explain that,” she emphasizes, jerking her head toward Michael, still clad in full armor, “to a random, we should get going.”
Lucas pushes himself off the couch with a groan. “She’s got a point.”
Max slides off her stool, still smirking. “This was fun, though. We should expose Mike’s love life more often.”
“I don’t have a love life,” Mike bites out.
Max eyes him. “Tragic,” she drawls.
Dustin finally reaches over and lifts the needle, mercifully cutting off the endless drone of the record.
Will exhales shakily beside him, rubbing his palms down the front of his pants. Mike peers over at him, then, just long enough to catch the lingering pink in his cheeks, before Will ducks his head and starts toward the door. Guilt pricks unexpectedly at Mike’s ribs.
Michael falls into step with him as they head out. “I will endeavor to better understand the customs of your world,” he whispers carefully. Mike just scowls back at him.
“C’mon, Medieval Times,” Steve calls, swinging the door open. “Caravan’s leaving.”
Mike hangs back in the hallway just long enough to rub a hand down his face. Will loiters, too, waiting for him by the door.
He sighs, dropping his hand. “After you,” he tells Will.
Will hesitates, then gives him a small, crooked smile and follows the others outside. Mike trails after him, pointedly not looking at the bargain-bin version of himself who’d just upended his entire day with one stupid word.
Somehow, he ends up on babysitting duty while the others go home to sleep.
Mike shifts on the couch, hyperaware of every creak of the springs beneath him, watching as Michael examines the bookshelf across the room.
The others had bailed fast. They’d argued logistics for a while, but it soon became clear they weren’t getting anywhere in the middle of the night. Eventually, Joyce had insisted they all get some rest, ushering them out the door.
Mike probably could have left, too, but he just couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving Will here alone with this… weirdo. Michael hums, picking up one of Hopper's old detective novels and flipping through the pages. Mike can’t stand him.
Joyce and Hopper had taken the whole thing about as well as could be expected. Joyce had gone pale, eyes flitting over the lot of them anxiously, and asked about a thousand questions, almost none of which they could actually answer. Hopper had been less diplomatic. He’d spent a solid ten minutes interrogating Michael, hand hovering near his belt, until Joyce physically steered him toward the hallway with a firm, “We’ll deal with it in the morning, Jim.”
So, that’s the plan, it seems. Deal with it in the morning.
Michael sets the book down carefully and turns his attention to the lamp in the corner. “Remarkable,” he murmurs. “No flame, yet it provides light. Is this also the work of your... electricity?”
“Yeah,” Mike says flatly, not caring to elaborate.
Michael doesn’t seem bothered by his tone, nodding thoughtfully and moving on to inspecting the family pictures littering the walls. Mike slumps against the back of the couch, suddenly exhausted.
As if on cue, Will emerges from the kitchen, balancing three mugs carefully. He hands one to Michael first, of course, then crosses to Mike and offers him the second. Their fingers brush briefly as Mike takes it, and he tries not to think about the way Will’s cheeks are still a little pink from earlier.
“Thanks,” Mike mutters.
Will settles on the opposite end of the couch, putting a deliberate cushion of space between them. It’s barely noticeable, but, of course, Mike notices. He always notices Will.
“This is very kind of you,” Michael says, cradling the mug in both hands. He’s finally ditched the armor, leaving him in a worn-out tunic and dirty trousers. “In my world, we would call this hospitality of the highest order.”
“It’s just tea,” Will argues, but he’s grinning into his own mug, clearly pleased.
Mike takes a sip to avoid having to contribute. It scalds his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch.
“So,” Will starts tentatively, tucking his legs underneath himself. “Your world. Is it really like our campaigns? With, like, dragons and magic and stuff?”
And just like that, Michael lights up animatedly. “Oh, yes,” he nods, eager. “The dragons are magnificent creatures. Dangerous, certainly, but magnificent. I have only seen one from a distance, during a skirmish near the northern borders. But William—” He pauses, and his expression does that thing again. That fond, almost reverent thing that makes Mike want to crawl out of his skin. “William has a gift with them. With all magical creatures, truly. They are drawn to him.”
Will leans forward, eyes bright. “Really? What’s he like? Your Will?”
“Oh, he is extraordinary,” Michael gushes, taking the opportunity to wax poetic. Inwardly, Mike groans. “Brave beyond measure, though he does not see it in himself. In battle, his magic is... breathtaking. But it is not his power that makes him remarkable. It is his soul.” He looks at Will then, really looks at him, and smiles. “He sees the good in people, even when they have forgotten it exists in themselves.”
Will’s flushed again, staring hard into his mug as if it might save him. Mike thinks he knows the feeling.
“He has your eyes,” Michael continues, face going soft again. “The very same color. Though his hair is longer, curling at his nape. And he bears a scar here.” Michael touches his own cheek, tracing a line from his temple down. “From bandits, two summers past. He was protecting a merchant’s daughter.”
“Oh,” Will lets out a sheepish laugh. “He sounds… nice.”
“Okay,” Mike blurts, interrupting them before he ends up watching his own face start flirting with Will like some kind of spectator sport. “Yeah, he sounds great. You said earlier that you guys are… courting. And that you’re getting married. Which is insane, by the way. No offense.”
“We are betrothed,” Michael nods, unbothered. “And none taken. It is not an insult to speak honestly.”
Will clears his throat, sipping at his tea. “How long have you two known each other?” he asks politely, because he’s Will, and he’s always going to ask the polite question before the obvious one.
Michael’s eyes fall back to him naturally, like a compass pointing north. “Since we were boys,” he says, almost nostalgic. “We were assigned the same tutor. William had only just arrived at court. He was smaller than the rest of us. Quieter, too. The sons of several minor lords decided he would make an easy target.”
Will shifts uncomfortably, unfolding his legs.
“They cornered him in the lower yard,” Michael goes on, frowning now. “They took his spellbook and tore several pages from it. I intervened when one struck him.”
When Mike risks a glance beside him, Will’s already watching him, gnawing at his bottom lip. They both look away quickly.
“They outnumbered me,” Michael adds, almost as an afterthought. “But I was larger then, and already well into my weapons training. The matter resolved itself quickly.”
Mike snorts despite himself. It’s a familiar scene, and he can’t help but picture himself and Will at that age, facing down playground bullies. There are mouthbreathers in every timeline, then.
“We have been inseparable ever since,” Michael recalls. “We grew up the closest of companions. Even then, I understood that whatever strength I possessed was meant to stand between him and the world’s cruelty.”
It’s Mike’s turn to shift uncomfortably, now. Michael and William are obviously different from him and Will, but the words still hit close to home. It’s unnerving how similar it is to how he feels about Will, that restless need to keep him safe he’s had since they were kids.
“So, what?” Mike asks, shaking his head. “You grew up and decided to get hitched?”
Michael tilts his head. “It was never a choice, really. Some truths simply reveal themselves with time.”
Mike makes a noncommittal noise, scrutinizing him. Will has gone still next to him, head swiveling between the two of them.
“We trained together, studied together. When court grew overwhelming for him, he would seek me out, and I found that I could not rest easily unless I knew where he was. If he laughed, I found myself watching. If he was troubled, I felt it as keenly as my own burdens.”
Mike catches himself looking over at Will again, unbidden. There is something deeply unfortunate about how familiar that all sounds.
“Okay,” he says after a second, doubtful. “Sure. But lots of people grow up together. That doesn’t mean they go and get engaged.”
Michael’s mouth curves lightly. “One winter,” he says, “William fell ill. A fever that would not break. The healers warned it might claim him. I remained at his bedside for three nights and three days. When at last he woke, he apologized for causing me distress.”
Will huffs beside him, embarrassed. Mike doesn’t look at him this time, brow furrowing in thought. Again, he’s hit with a strange sense of deja vu.
“And it was then,” Michael sighs, “that I understood my life would be a poorer thing without him in it. That whatever future awaited me, I wished him beside me. I offered him my token shortly after.”
“Your token?” Will tilts his head.
“A band from my training armor,” Michael explains. “Nothing ornate—I did not yet have the coin to commission such things—but it was mine, and therefore it carried my vow. To stand at his side, and to guard his life as fiercely as my own.”
Will’s gaze drops to his own wrist, like he can picture it there. “That’s…” He swallows. “That’s really romantic.”
Romantic. The word grates on him for some reason, and he sits back, annoyed. Any asshole can give someone used clothes.
“And… I assume he accepted?” Will asks shyly.
“He wept,” Michael smiles, leaning forward to put his mug down on the coffee table. “Which startled me greatly, as he is not prone to such displays. But he tied the band around his arm at once, and has worn it every day since.”
“Wow,” Will breathes, staring at Michael moonily, his mouth parted slightly. For a long, disorienting second, Mike wonders what it would feel like for Will to look at him that way.
He shakes the thought away, straightening. “Still seems crazy to me,” he mutters. “You’re, like, our age.”
Michael’s brows knit together. “In my world, we are not especially young. Do you truly not have such customs here?”
“We date,” Will offers. “Usually.”
“Date,” Michael repeats thoughtfully. “And is the intention not the same?”
Will hesitates. “Sometimes. Not always.”
Michael’s gaze drifts between them again. “And you?” he asks Mike. “You have truly never wished to bind yourself to another?”
The obvious answer comes to mind, but that chapter feels muted now, like a song he once knew by heart and can only half remember. It feels like a dishonest answer, anyway, so he just shrugs. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Because not everyone gets what they want, he thinks snippily. “Things are… complicated,” he mutters instead.
Michael considers this. “Love so often is,” he agrees. “But that has never struck me as sufficient reason to reject it.”
Will inhales sharply, and all of a sudden, Mike feels cornered. Michael is looking at him expectantly, like he’s guiding a small child, and Will is frozen beside him, obviously not sure what to make of this, either. It’s like the walls are inching inward, like every glance Michael sends their way is peeling something back that Mike has spent years very carefully boarding shut.
“Look, not everyone spends their life pining after their best friend, okay?” he snaps, defensive. “Not everything can be some sort of fairytale. Some of us actually grow up, you know.”
“Mike,” Will whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. “Come on.”
Mike’s stomach drops, but pride is a stubborn, ugly thing, and once it has its claws in, it doesn’t let go easily. “I didn’t mean…” he trails off. Silently, he berates himself. Why can’t he ever say the right thing around Will? Why does he always have to go and screw everything up?
Will nods anyway. “I get it,” he says, already pushing himself to his feet and stretching. “It’s late. I should probably, uh, check the generator. Hop said it’s been acting up.”
It’s a flimsy excuse, but Mike is too frazzled to call him on it. “Will—”
“I’ll be back,” Will interrupts, not looking at him. The screen door creaks a minute later, then thuds shut, and the silence he leaves behind is suffocating.
Mike buries his head in his hands, groaning.
“Well,” Michael says eventually, voice calm in that irritating way of his, “that was unkind.”
Mike’s head snaps up. “Excuse me?”
“You spoke as though his feelings were a childish folly.”
Heat flares immediately. “I wasn’t talking about Will.”
“You were,” Michael argues simply.
“Oh my god,” Mike mutters, shoving to his feet. “You’ve known us for, what, three hours? You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”
“I do not need hours to recognize when someone has been wounded. That was cruel.”
Mike laughs humorlessly. “You don’t know anything about him, okay?”
“I know,” Michael says, rising until they’re eye level, “that he looked at you as though your words carried great weight.”
Something tightens in Mike’s chest, and he averts his gaze first.
“You fear something,” Michael continues, studying him. “So you strike at it before it can strike at you.”
“Stop talking like you’re in a damn storybook,” Mike huffs, glaring. “Not everything is some grand romance.”
“Is that what you truly feel?” Michael prods. “Or is it what you must believe, so that you are not required to answer the question his heart poses to yours?”
The air leaves Mike’s lungs in a rush. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinds out, crossing his arms.
Michael watches him, eyebrows pinching, then says, softer, “In my world, to be loved so steadfastly is considered a rare gift.”
“He had a crush,” Mike emphasizes, the defensiveness creeping back in. “Forever ago. It doesn’t mean anything now.”
Michael’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he just looks sad. “And yet,” he murmurs, “you speak of it with such little care. Is it not at least humbling to garner such affection?”
Mike scoffs. “You’re making it sound way more dramatic than it is.”
“Am I?”
Mike opens his mouth, ready with something dismissive, but the words stall behind his teeth. “It was high school,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “People get weird in high school.”
“And you?” Michael presses. “Were you untouched by such… weirdness?”
Mike lets out a brittle laugh. Outside, the wind stirs the trees, branches scratching softly against the cabin roof, and he pictures Will out there alone, shivering in the cold. The cabin feels off-balance without him in the room, like someone knocked down a load-bearing wall.
“It’s not like that,” he insists, though he isn’t entirely sure what he’s arguing anymore.
“In truth,” Michael says at last, eyes roving over him, “you remind me very much of myself, before I came to my senses.”
Mike groans. “Please don’t start.”
“I believed devotion alone was sufficient,” Michael continues, ignoring him. “That if I stood close enough, guarded fiercely enough, the rest need not be spoken. It seemed safer that way.”
Michael knows how to hit where it hurts, which he supposes isn’t surprising. He’s him, after all.
“You are devoted,” Michael says simply. “That much is plain. But devotion without truth is a lonely burden to carry.”
“I’m not lonely,” he argues, the words falling flat.
The screen door creaks again, and Mike’s head lifts automatically before he can stop himself. No footsteps follow, only the chirp of the crickets and the rustle of the trees. He exhales harshly, blowing out his cheeks.
“Don’t you understand what we would be risking?” he asks finally. “We barely made it through the last few years in one piece. I’m not about to blow up the one thing that’s always been there.” He gestures helplessly toward the back door. “What if I’m wrong? What if I screw it up? I don’t get another Will.”
“Ah,” Michael says softly. “So it is not indifference that guides you. It is fear.”
Mike presses his lips together. “I’d rather have him in my life like this,” he mumbles, “than risk not having him at all. Not again.”
Michael considers this, then nods once. “A noble instinct,” he allows. “But tell me. Does he know the value you place upon him?”
Mike hesitates. “I… probably. I mean, I think so.”
Michael hums, unconvinced. “In my experience,” he says, “hearts are less fragile than we fear, and far more perceptive than we expect. If he bears affection for you still, your silence will not spare him. It will only hurt you both.”
Fine. Fine. Maybe Prince Charming has a point. He collapses back down onto the couch, exhausted. “You really don’t pull any punches, huh?”
“You would not thank me if I did,” Michael smiles.
“No,” he agrees reluctantly, sinking down until he’s staring at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t.”
By the time he forces himself up the next morning, the others are already there, crowding into the living room.
“I did it,” Dustin announces, kicking into the room wildly. “I figured it out!”
“What did you figure out?” Will asks from the kitchen table, talking around a mouthful of pancakes. Beside him, Michael picks at his own plate bewilderedly.
“That our resident Knight of the Round Table is basically a cosmic exchange student,” Dustin grins, vibrating with poorly contained triumph. “Temporary dimensional overlap. It’s unstable, which is good, because it means we should be able to recreate the conditions from last night and send him back.”
“Recreate,” Max repeats. “As in…?”
“We go back to the clearing, trigger the same electromagnetic spike, open the rift, and boom! Problem solved.”
“Boom,” Steve parrots skeptically from the kitchenette. “Love a plan that includes the word boom.”
“Please tell me you slept some last night,” Mike begs, biting into his toast.
“I slept enough,” Dustin shoots back, which is not an answer that inspires confidence. He claps his hands. “Alright! Everybody up—we’re sending Sir Lancelot home.”
Michael, who has been listening intently, sets his fork down. “And this… boom,” he says hesitantly, “will return me to my own realm?”
Will’s shoulders drop, relief loosening something in his back. He reaches for his juice, hiding it well, but Mike catches it anyway. Something in Mike loosens too, but the feeling is complicated by the unwelcome tug in his chest at the thought of Michael actually leaving.
Not because he likes the guy, or anything. He’s just bad with change.
Michael rises at once, somber. “If this is the path before us, then I am ready to walk it.”
“He talks like a fortune cookie,” Steve leans toward Robin, whispering loudly.
“I kind of love it,” she whispers back.
The clearing is empty when they get there, seemingly untouched by whatever transpired the night before. It looks less like the stage for some cosmic event and more like a patch of damp earth, far enough away from town to not rouse suspicion.
Dustin directs everyone into position with manic efficiency, and they all get to work. Michael stands slightly away from the others as they do, turning slowly as he surveys the trees, committing the place to memory.
Will drifts toward him, hands tucked into his sleeves against the morning chill. Michael seems to notice immediately, turning with that same attentiveness that makes Mike’s skin itch.
“Will,” Michael greets, like they’re old friends. The nickname still sounds strange coming from his mouth, but he’s gotten better with the formalities.
“Michael,” Will returns, a little shyly. “You ready to go home?”
Mike stands up straighter reflexively, eying the two of them. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t help but notice Will’s shy smile, the flush of his cheeks in the cold. He notices everything Will does, which would be significantly less annoying if he hadn’t had, like, five breakthroughs in the last eight hours. It would be nice if his brain could chill out for five seconds.
Michael glances around the clearing. “I believe I am,” he agrees, drawing in a slow breath. “Though I suspect I shall spend the rest of my life trying to explain this place to William.”
“You could just tell him you visited another realm,” Will smiles, bumping their shoulders.
“He would demand details,” Michael replies solemnly. Then, dubiously, he bumps Will’s shoulder back, looking pleased when Will grins.
Will laughs, a bright, surprised sound that immediately makes a home in Mike’s chest. Michael studies him for a moment, then reaches up and gently pushes a stray curl away from Will’s forehead. It’s an innocent gesture. It’s also, Mike decides, completely unnecessary.
“You would be fast friends,” Michael says. “My William has the same thoughtful way about him. Though,” he adds, glancing at Mike briefly, “he is somewhat less patient with my curiosity.”
“Hey,” Mike protests. Michael’s mouth twitches amusedly.
Will ducks his head, obviously charmed. “He sounds pretty great.”
“He is,” Michael agrees easily. Then, with fondness, “And he would be terribly put out if I returned home having misplaced my affections, so you need not worry.”
“Well, that’s good,” Will laughs again, bashful. “That would’ve been awkward.”
“Indeed,” Michael agrees gravely, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. It makes Mike bristle.
Michael steps back at last, attention snagged by Dustin shouting, and Will lingers for half a second before drifting toward the others. Mike watches him go, tracking the familiar slope of his shoulders as he disappears into the group. With a dawning sense of horror, he realizes he’s staring.
“Mike.”
He flinches, dragging his eyes away to find Michael studying him with subtle interest. “What?” he asks, more clipped than intended.
Michael inclines his head toward the tree line. “Walk with me, brother.”
It’s said like a request, but it’s obviously not one. Mike hesitates, then shoves his hands into his pockets and follows, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass until the chatter of the others starts to fade.
“I owe you thanks,” Michael says finally, once they’re far enough away. “For your hospitality. And for your protection of him.”
Mike frowns. “Will can protect himself.”
“He can,” Michael agrees, peering at him. Mike hates how seen-through that look makes him feel. “But you do it anyway.”
Mike opens his mouth to argue, then stops. Because, well, yeah. He does. It’s less a choice and more a deeply embedded reflex, like blinking when something flies at your face.
Michael watches him, lips pressed thin. There’s nothing confrontational or accusing about it, which somehow makes it worse.
“You love him,” Michael says simply.
Mike chokes, nearly tripping over a tree root. “What? No, Jesus. Can you not spring stuff like that on a guy?”
“Forgive me,” Michael bows his head, not reacting to the outburst. “In my world, we value candor.”
“Well, in this world, we value not giving people heart attacks before noon,” Mike mutters.
But the words linger anyway, leaving him ill at ease. It would be easier if he were wrong. If this restless feeling in his chest was just leftover adrenaline from the last decade of near-death experiences, and it didn’t mean anything damning at all. It feels a little damning, though, which really sucks.
For a long moment, neither one of them speaks.
“I already hurt him once,” Mike admits before he can stop himself. Michael tilts his head, letting him talk. “Things were hard back when… you know. I figured out how he felt. Before then, honestly. I guess I thought if I acted like everything was normal, things wouldn’t get weird. That we could just move past it.”
“And have you?” Michael asks. “Moved past it?”
Mike huffs. “I mean, yeah. Mostly. We’re good, now.”
Even as he says it, he remembers Will leaving the cabin last night, the careful way he’d avoided eye contact. Mostly.
“I know you fear wounding him again,” Michael murmurs. “As much as you fear wounding yourself.”
“Yeah, well, sue me for not wanting to torch the most important friendship I’ve ever had,” Mike shoots back. “Not everything gets to be a fairytale, you know? Sometimes you just have to… settle for what you have.”
“Settle,” Michael repeats, brow furrowed, before sighing. “You know,” he says, unfastening a leather band from his wrist, “when I offered William my token, I was terrified.”
Mike blinks. “You? Terrified?”
“Of course. To speak one’s heart is to place it in another’s keeping. It is… profoundly vulnerable.” He presses the band into Mike’s hand.
Mike stares down at it. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to give this to your guy.”
“I have another waiting for me at home,” Michael smiles warmly. “Consider this a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“Uh,” Dustin’s voice carries from the clearing, the air bending with that same shimmering distortion from the night before. “Guys, I think it’s time for Camelot here to exit stage left!”
Michael clasps Mike’s shoulder. “That you are braver than you believe, brother,” he says, looking him in the eye. “Speak with him plainly.”
It’s a blur after that. They make their way back to the clearing, and in no time, the light swallows him whole, folding in on itself with a thunderous sound. Then, he’s gone. One moment he’s standing there, and the next the clearing is empty again, the air settling like nothing had happened at all. It’s jarring.
Dustin lowers his equipment. “Okay,” he says, dumbfounded. “That was objectively the coolest thing I’ve ever done.”
Mike barely hears him, staring at the space that Michael once occupied. He glances down at the leather band in his hand, and without permission, his gaze starts to drift sideways, landing on Will. He feels strangely empty, but also like he’s been set on fire.
He’s so, so screwed.
Mike finds himself back at Hopper’s cabin that evening, sprawled across Will’s bed while he sits against the headboard, absently flipping through a comic book.
They’ve both been quiet since that morning, still reeling from the events of the past few days. It’s the kind of quiet that should feel comfortable, the kind they used to slip into without thinking, but tonight it stretches awkwardly between them.
Mike swings an arm over his eyes with a quiet groan. This is ridiculous. He fought interdimensional monsters before he learned algebra. He has nearly died more times than he can comfortably count. He has faced down horrors that would send most people running. And yet, somehow, the idea of talking to his best friend is what finally does him in.
Finally, he props his head up, watching Will. “You’ve been on that same panel for like, five minutes,” he points out, going for playful.
Will jumps, eyes darting down. “What? No, I haven’t.”
“You have,” Mike insists. “Either it’s the most interesting comic ever printed, or you’re not actually reading it.”
Will presses his lips together, caught. “…It’s not that interesting.”
Mike laughs, and a flush creeps up Will’s neck, and he ducks his head, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
Will flips the page without looking at it. “You okay?” he asks after a moment, voice careful.
Mike exhales slowly through his nose. “Yeah,” he lies. The truth is that his heart has been thudding ever since he shoved the dumb leather band into his pocket back in the clearing. He can’t stop thinking about what Michael said in the forest, the band burning a hole in his pocket even now.
“You’ve been weird all day,” Will frowns, unconvinced. He’s watching him, now, and Mike feels vaguely like he’s been placed under a microscope.
“I’m just… thinking.”
Will studies him for a second longer, clearly debating whether to push, then sets the comic aside. “That’s usually when you get into trouble,” he jokes lightly.
Mike snorts, but it fizzles out almost immediately, dissolving into the thick silence that has been stalking them all evening. Michael’s voice rings in his ears. Speak with him plainly. God, what an asshole.
“You ever think about how weird our lives are?” he asks suddenly.
Will blinks. “Uh. All the time?”
“No, I mean it,” Mike pushes on, sitting up a little straighter. “Like… two days ago, we were normal. Or, as normal as we get. And now we’ve helped some medieval paladin hop dimensions so he can get back to his wizard fiancé.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Will snickers.
Mike swallows. The thing is, Michael didn’t just leave behind a bracelet. He left behind this impossible question that’s been bouncing around in Mike’s head all day, wearing an additional groove into his brain.
“Did it… freak you out?” he asks quietly.
“Which part?”
“All of it,” Mike shrugs, gesturing between them. “You know, how he talked about… his Will. William.”
Will chews on his lip, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I think,” he says slowly, “it freaked me out how not-freaked-out he was.”
Mike nods. He thinks that’s what freaked him out the most, too. The idea that there’s a version of him out there that loves Will so openly, without fear.
“It was kind of nice, though,” Will admits, smiling awkwardly. “The way he talked about William.”
He can hear his own pulse in his ears, roaring to life. Now or never, he thinks.
His hand moves before he can overthink it, digging into his pocket. He pulls it out, and for a second, he just turns it over between his fingers. Then he says, “He gave this to me.”
Will’s eyes drop, widening imperceptibly. “A favor.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. God, this is terrifying. “We talked last night, after you left. And this morning. And, um, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Will’s gaze flickers up and down, like he doesn’t know where to look. He looks caught off guard, his face doing a funny thing every time he meets Mike's eyes.
Mike laughs shakily under his breath. “I think… I think I’ve been scared for a long time.”
That gets Will’s attention, eyebrows drawing together. “Scared of what?”
“Of screwing this up,” he confesses. “Of pushing too hard and losing you altogether. After everything… after California, and Vecna, and El, I thought maybe the safest thing was just to pretend nothing had changed.”
He sighs, shoulders sagging. “But everything changed anyway.”
Will is really staring at him now, eyes wide and shining. It makes Mike feel like every rib in his chest is bending inward. “You don’t have to…”
“I do,” Mike interrupts, shaking his head. “Because the truth is… it hasn’t stopped changing. Not for me.”
His fingers tremble as he reaches for Will’s wrist. He pauses, just long enough to give him an out, but Will doesn’t pull away, gaping down at his arm in Mike’s hand. Carefully, Mike fastens the leather band into place.
“There,” Mike whispers, licking his lips. “I’ll get you something of my own, I swear, but this will have to work for now.”
“You’re serious?” Will croaks, blinking rapidly.
He smiles crookedly. “Dead serious,” he admits.
“You… like me?” Will whispers. There is so much wonder in his voice that Mike’s chest physically aches. “Like, like-like?”
Mike snorts, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes. Will tracks the movement, breath hitched. “No,” he says indulgently. “I love you, because we’re eighteen years old, not twelve.”
Will keeps staring at him, awed, so he steels himself to continue.
“I think I always have, in a way,” Mike admits, biting his cheek. I was just too busy being an idiot to recognize it.”
“You are kind of an idiot,” Will grins, watery.
“Hey—!”
“But you’re my idiot,” Will adds quickly, and the shy certainty in his voice makes something inside Mike finally, blessedly unclench.
Emotion balloon in his chest, suffocating, and it leaves Mike breathless. He cups Will’s face without thinking.
“I’m done being scared,” he says softly. “If there’s even a chance you still want this, want me, I need to be brave enough to try.”
“Oh,” Will whispers, searching his face.
“Oh,” Mike echoes, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He’s adorable like this, lost for words, staring up at him like he’s the most amazing thing in the world. Michael was right, he thinks distantly. It is humbling to be loved like this.
He leans in slowly, keeping his eyes on Will’s face. His eyes flutter shut expectantly, lips parted, so Mike closes the remaining distance, pressing their mouths together. Their foreheads knock together, a clumsy collision that makes them both giggle, before they find their footing, lips moving together naturally.
When they part, it’s only long enough to breathe, noses brushing.
“Took us long enough,” Will whispers.
“Yeah,” he agrees, tilting his head to peck his lips again. “It did.”