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When Will woke up, he found Mike in his lap. If that didn't tell Will he was dreaming, the hunk of armor on Mike's chest gave Will enough reason to close his eyes and roll over.

"William." A large, warm palm came to cup his face, slipping under the side Will had smushed into his pillow. "Will, my love. What the hell are you wearing?"

He'd been having a lot of of weird dreams, lately. Mike's newfound obsession with calling Will sorcerer must've been doing funny things to Will's mind, because he'd fallen asleep every night and woken up in sparkly wizard robes, laying in some idyllic field with Mike wearing his paladin armor or healing Mike's wounds under his chainmail with fiery green magic. Obviously, Will didn't mind these dreams, but the way Mike acted in them?

Well. To say the least, that left Will wanting.

"You're not real," he mumbled. A spot of drool left his mouth, wetting the pillow. "You're not real, and I'm going to wake up sad. Go away."

In his last dream, he'd laid his head on Mike's chest and watched clouds float through the sky. A moment of lucidity had pushed Will to lean down and pick a clover from the field, four soft leaves curled in on themselves, sun-warmed in Will's hand. Make a wish, my cleric, said the paladin.

Silently, he'd wished for Mike to become as brave as this paladin. Out loud, he'd wished to live in this moment forever.

The hand Mike had on his cheek pushed Will's face up to meet his eye. Will groaned, half at the sun pouring from his window making his eyes, like, sizzle, and half from the stupid, devastatingly handsome face in front of him.

In his dreams, Mike the paladin loved Will exactly how Will wanted him to. It felt beautiful, until he woke up.

A woried pout crossed the paladin's face. Will refused to think of this dream-Mike as his Mike; first of all, Mike would never call Will William, and second— well, he would sit on Will's lap, because Mike had been acting weird, lately, but the words my love would never leave Mike's mouth around Will. "I think we've been kidnapped, William," said not-Mike. "This is— this room is tiny. It's like a torture chamber with a bed, and— heavens, is that why you're acting weird? Did someone enchant you?"

This dream didn't feel beautiful. It felt like waking up from an accidental nap, groggy and disoriented, with red marks on the side of his face and a rat's-nest of hair. It felt—

"Mom made pancakes," said a voice, in the same soft tone as the not-Mike on top of him. "Holly's seriously threatening to eat them all, and I know she's, like, two feet tall, but I still wouldn't put it past her—"

— real. This dream was real.

On his lap, Sir Michael stayed exactly where he was, mirroring Mike's slack-jawed expression. Will blinked hard enough for his eyes to hurt, then opened them. Sir Michael was still very much there.

Slowly, Will turned to face the person in the doorway. He couldn't begin to describe the confusion he felt when he found Mike— his Mike— staring him down, all dark hair, lanky limbs, and certainly no paladin armor. His face had gone slack, jaw hanging somewhere on the Wheeler house's first floor.

"Okay," said Mike, slowly. "What the fuck?"

Despite Will arguably being the weirder one between him and Mike, their first game of D&D had started with Mike bringing a pack of dice to Will's kitchen table.

Arguably, it didn't matter who was, for lack of a better term, weirder. Mike had this weird thing about insisting his experience with bullies meant nothing in comparison with Will's, and while the rumors that floated around Will made even adults approach him with all the respect of a middle-school jock, Mike had been hurt, too. Will didn't like to compare the two of them like that, and maybe that was why they'd fallen so easily into Dungeons and Dragons, a game where they could all be equal. In D&D, bullies became a distant memory— unless it's for the plot, Mike had said, as he made an orc give Dustin a swirlie.

In Dungeons and Dragons, insecurities didn't exist. Will could become the strongest cleric in the nation without one person calling his robes a dress, or whatever the D&D equivalent was for bullying boys who got fluttery feelings when they looked other boys in the eye. No one asked Dustin to do the weird arm thing, and no one tried to put bombs in Lucas's locker, and calling Mike Frog-face was out of the picture. The Party's D&D characters were versions of themselves without faults to exploit, without differences to alienate them.

In Will's opinion, that was probably why Mike hated his paladin twin. Since he knew saying that out loud might make Mike do something violent, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Code red," hissed Mike, frantically. He glared at his walkie when silence answered him. "Code red, code red, seriously, code fucking red—"

"So," said Will, turning to Sir Michael, "how'd you get here?"

Mike shot him a glare, and Will pointedly decided to ignore it. He'd let himself be selfish for once to meet another version of the love of his life, clad in thick, ornate armor emblazoned with a heart— Will's heart, the one he deliberately painted over Mike's chest— in its chestplate, eyes dark and earnest and hair tangled in long, wild curls. A sword even laid on the floor, complete with a heart-shaped ruby gem.

Mike had frowned at the sword, saying something around the lines of don't try swinging that around Will. Smugly, Sir Michael had told Mike he would never swing a two-hander.

"Couldn't tell you," said Sir Michael, shrugging. "I fell asleep next to my cleric, and woke up with you."

He tilted his head, squinting at Will. Without warning, his hand came to cup Will's cheek, turning his skin at least ten degrees warmer. "He looks like you," Sir Michael continued, "and he has your name. Your moles, too."

A thumb came down to brush the mole over Will's top lip. The touch felt soft, strangely reverent. "My— moles?"

Mike had the same sentiment, albeit with more displeasure. "His moles?"

The meeting of Mike and Sir Michael might've gone better if Mike hadn't found Sir Michael on top of Will. Instead of the starry-eyed excitement Will expected from Mike meeting his own character, Mike had immediately rushed over to the bed— his bed, with Will staying over for a sleepover at the Wheeler's— and pushed Sir Michael off as Mike asked if he even knew how heavy that armor is, what the hell, get off him! Afterwards, things had been. . . tense. To put it mildly.

You're my D&D character, Mike had said, after the shock of finding Sir Michael, allegedly, crushing Will to death.

You're me, said Sir Michael, wearing a shirt that says Save the Orangutans. He sounded unimpressed.

Now, tensions were only rising. If Will had to sit between two Mikes without the Party as a barrier any longer, he might jump out the window. Or get a nosebleed like the women in his mom's terrible romance books, because while one Mike was already hell on Earth, two Mikes were actual, fire-and-brimstone hell. If hell included stomach-swooping butterflies and the distinct urge to kiss the same person senseless, twice.

"My apologies," said Sir Michael. A smug smile played at his lips, the kind Mike got before throwing Max an insult she couldn't turn on him. "I haven't even introduced myself yet, have I?"

Mike's eyes snapped to his paladin twin. Will's mind pulled a blank to explain the look that passed between them; Mike's glare screamed murder, while Sir Michael's eyes sparkled like the cat that caught the canary.

Without warning, Sir Michael knelt in front of Will, metal poleyns making a thick clunk as they hit the floor. Dark hair fanned across his face, casting his gaze in shadow as he bowed his head and took Will's right hand in his own. The gentleness with which he brought Will's knuckles to his lips made Will's heart stutter. "Sir Michael the Brave," he murmured, breath ghosting across Will's skin, "oathbound paladin to Will the Wise, at your service."

Chapped lips pressed a soft kiss to the skin between Will's knuckles. Will's heart did somersaults.

The last time someone appreciated him like this, Will and Mike were eight years old. Mike had insisted on making D&D costumes, claiming some nonsense about realism that Will had fallen for immediately, mostly because the toothy grin on Mike's face made his heart flutter. They'd spent hours at the job, little Will sewing fabric stars to purple robes sewn by Ms. Byers, Mike rushing over to fret every time Will let out a yelp after pricking his finger.

One time, when Will had pricked himself hard enough to draw blood, Mike took Will's hand and darted out the pad of his tongue to wash the pinprick away. Will's little heart had stopped right then and there, and though he'd made a half-hearted gross, Mike, he didn't pull away.

Sorry, Mike had murmured, without a hint of remorse. A spot of blood lingered on his lips. Will stared at it so intensely that he hardly noticed the sparkle that came to Mike's eye, the mischievous smile crossing his face. Here, I'll kiss it better.

His lips had been just as chapped as Sir Michael's. Will hadn't minded.

"Uhm," said Will, eloquently. "You don't have to kneel."

"I kneel for Prince William," said Sir Michael, smiling. "I'll kneel for you, Will."

Paladins make oaths, you know, Mike had said, still kneeling at Will's feet, still holding Will's hand. I should make one to you, too.

Little Will had felt his face heat. He didn't know what that meant, yet, but he'd come to figure out very soon. What sort of oath?

"Code red," Mike barked into the walkie. "Lucas, Dustin—"

Mike had considered it for a moment, before looking up at Will with a solemn stare. He looked as devoted as an eight year old could possibly be. An oath of protection, he'd said. I swear to stay by your side for all eternity, to keep you safe from every harm.

With his lisp, Mike's r's turned into double-l's. Will hadn't minded that, either.

"It is eight in the morning," Max groaned, her voice crackling through the speaker. "Whoever died before noon deserved it."

Sir Michael glanced up from Will's face, towards where Mike bent over the walkie. The furrow in his brow was almost as adorable as Mike's own. "Maxine?"

Silence stretched awkwardly through the room. For a moment, both Mike and Sir Michael stared at the walkie, their faces wearing the same expression of confusion.

"O-kay." Max did not sound impressed. "Mike, if you used a code red to show me your British accent—"

"It's more of a code yellow," Will interrupted, "but you really should get the Party. We've, uh, got kind of a problem."

Metal clunked together as Sir Michael crossed his arms. "Why am I a problem?"

"Well," said Mike, "if you could use your brain under all that metal—"

"We're the same person," Sir Michael shot back, "so I don't think you're quite capable of using yours, either—"

The walkie crackled again as Max went silent. The two Mike's continued to snip at each other. Will watched on, mouth slack, until Max finally spoke again.

"What," said Max, slowly, "the actual fuck?"

"What the fuck," said Lucas, blankly.

"I'm really tired of hearing that." Will rested his head in his hands. "My head hurts."

On the couch, pressed up close against him, Sir Michael turned to whisper in his ear. "I'm sorry, my love." A soft kiss landed in Will's hair, brushing his scalp. "Does this make it any better?"

Someone else had pressed up close against him, too. Maybe Mike didn't remember his protection oath, but his body did; he'd pushed his thigh flush with Will's, a hand laid on his knee in a gesture that might've felt possessive if Will was thinking clearly. With two Mikes vying for his attention, Will's mind felt more than a little hazy.

The Party had shown up in a rag-tag group, hair mussed from sleep and pajamas hanging off their frames— or wrinkled jeans in Dustin's case, because something was seriously wrong with him. Sir Michael, courteous as ever, answered the door. He looked like he'd had a heart attack at the sight of them.

Dude, Lucas had said, you woke us up to show off your suit of armor? I mean, it's cool—

So cool, Dustin interrupted, absolutely awed. He reached a hand out, running his fingers over the grooves in the metal, thumbing the fabric of Sir Michael's red cape. Did you, like, weld the plates together? Where the hell did you—

Mike showed up behind his paladin counterpart with the world's worst scowl. After that, all hell broke loose.

"So," said Max, throwing Will a weird look but otherwise ignoring whatever the hell Sir Michael just did, "you're Mike's D&D character."

"I'm not a character, Maxine," snipped Sir Michael, eyes narrowing. Apparently, he hated Max in every universe. "I'm a paladin, and this Mike certainly didn't create me."

Awkward silence fell over the room. The hand on Will's knee tightened as Mike rolled his eyes, glancing to Will as if to say get a load of this guy. He looked desperate, like his life depended on Will ganging up on Sir Michael with him.

Will couldn't even begin to choose between them. On one hand, Sir Michael made Will's head spin; his unruly curls and dark eyes seemed perfectly designed to undo Will completely, complete with a chiseled look to his face and lithe body that his Mike was sorely lacking in. Sir Michael was, well, brave, perfectly chivalrous and romantic, disarming Will with sweet little names and kisses to every exposed inch of skin. Sir Michael made Will imagine what he could have, but with his perfect paladin right in front of him, Will didn't have to imagine.

But Sir Michael didn't know Will. He knew Will the Wise, apparently, had history and memories with a version of Will clad in robes and filled with magic, but not Will. Mike, on the other hand, knew Will inside and out. He knew Will's favorite color, his favorite brand of paint, his fears and hopes and dreams and every part of his body that crawled with the memory of a monster after a nightmare. Will didn't want a version of Mike that loved him. He wanted Mike to love him.

Besides, knights were probably always this chivalrous. It wasn't like Sir Michael liked Will.

"We've already got another dimension under our town," said Dustin, shrugging. "Is a dimension with our D&D characters really that crazy?"

"He is not a character," El reminded. Her mouth twitched into a smile when she saw Sir Michael begin to pout, crossing his arms with a huffy sigh. "He is, a— what did you call yourself? A knight?"

Sir Michael rolled his eyes with the exact movements of Mike himself. "Are you this terrible in every universe?"

"Wait," said Lucas, raising an eyebrow. "Is there a Party in your world, too? Are all of us, like— us, but cool?"

The hand Mike had on Will's knee slid up a bit, gripping his lower thigh. Sir Michael watched Mike's hand with narrowed eyes, brows tightening as he leaned back on the couch to slide a hand in Will's hair. His palm rested at the base of Will's neck, warm and steady.

Nails dug into the meat of Will's thigh. The flush that had lingered on Will's face since he'd woken up with Sir Michael in his bed turned from warm to scalding.

"Will's already cool," Mike grumbled. "He doesn't need magic, or some stupid title. He's good enough as Will."

El blinked. "I do not think anyone said Will wasn't cool."

"Yeah," said Dustin, an excited sparkle in his eye, "tell us about— well, us! Is your Dustin a bard? Is Lucas a ranger? What are we like? Come on, man, you've gotta tell us, please—"

"Lord." Sir Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, then glanced to Mike. "I do not know how we stand them."

For a moment, Mike and Sir Michael simply looked at each other. Mike's mouth fell open, head tilting, and he seemed to really see Sir Michael; his eyes roamed over the annoyed expression mirrored on Mike's own face, the hands wearing the same dusting of freckles across their backs, the dark eyes with Mike's exact intensity. For a moment, he almost seemed to smile, to share the same interest as his friends did in this otherworldly paladin.

The moment passed. Mike's lips fell in a thin line. "Yeah," he said, "me neither."

"— come on, dude, this is, like, a once-in-a-lifetime thing—"

"Good God," groaned Sir Michael, "fine."

He started slowly, a small smile falling across his face. "My Dustin is. . . hm. Sturdy, I'd say." The expression on Mike's face looked the same as the fondness that softened Mike's features after a successful D&D game, when he watched all his friends cheer together. "A jack of all trades. He can cut a man in half with broadsword in one hand and brew a potion in the other. Once, he blew up a whole castle."

"A whole castle?" Dustin grinned, all teeth. "I've gotta meet this guy."

"Lucas is brave," Mike went on. "Resilient. Could knock an arrow in milliseconds. Once shaved half my hair off with a bad swing of a sword." Then, as an afterthought, he added this; "He skewered five people with one arrow, too."

The grin on Lucas's face sort of concerned Will. Next to him, a red blush had overtaken Max's face, who pointedly looked anywhere but Lucas's taut muscles. "Hell yeah," he said, before turning to Max and waggling his eyebrows. She groaned and shoved him away.

"Wait," Lucas continued. "In your world, are we—" and he gestured to him and Max, running a hand down her arm— "together?"

Sir Michael made a face like he'd eaten something sour. "Unfortunately."

"What am I like?" Max leaned forward on her elbows, eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

"You have no redeeming qualities," said Sir Michael, plainly.

The hand at Will's neck felt comforting, but not exactly familiar. These hands were more rugged, thick-skinned and calloused, whereas Will could feel the bones under his Mike's skin with one writer's callous at the tip of his ring finger. Every curl Sir Michael wound around his finger still made Will blush, but Sir Michael wasn't his Mike. He wasn't the boy who'd asked to be friends as Will swung all alone. He gave an oath to Will the Wise, prince of wherever, not Will Byers, resident of Hawkins, Indiana.

When Max rolled her eyes, Mike relented. "Fine. You're— strong. Terrifying with a rapier. A terrible influence to El, too. She's the most powerful mage since— well, maybe the most powerful mage ever," he finished, smiling softly. El giggled, turning to whisper something in Max's ear.

In comparison, his Mike's hand felt familiar. Sir Michael flustered Will, left him red and breathless, but Mike felt like a home Will could melt into. He wanted Mike to replace Sir Michael's hand with his own, curl it possessively around Will's neck, tug Will close into his space and tell Sir Michael he had his own Will at home.

Vaguely, Will thought back to his dream, his wish on a clover. A wish in a dream couldn't have done anything, could it?

"Sir Michael," said Max, a twinkle in her eye, "what's Will the Wise like?"

"Oh, God," groaned Dustin, burying his head in his hands. "This is gonna go on forever."

The hand at his neck moved upward, coming to stroke Will's hair. Sir Michael turned to Will, bringing his other hand to cup Will's jaw. He worried— and, horribly, hoped— Sir Michael would kiss him, but his face only melted into a lovesick smile as he brushed his thumb over Will's cheek.

He looked like he would burn down cities for Will. He looked like he loved Will.

Behind him, from the corner of his gaze, Will caught Mike's eye. He still had his hand on Will's thigh, but his grip had gone slack with his whole face, mouth open and chest heaving. Anger would've made sense on Mike's face, that pissy possessiveness he got when someone tried to steal any of his friends away, but Will couldn't begin to understand the furrow in Mike's brow and the regret in his eyes, the blown pupils and the strangeness of Mike seeming both furious and sad at the same time. He looked, somehow, like he'd lost Will for good.

Will never knew he could make Mike look like this. He never knew he could make Mike feel like this, either.

"My cleric is everything," breathed Sir Michael, softly. "He is the light in the sun and the sparkle in a lake's surface. He is the softness in rabbit furs and the beauty in jewels, but— he is better than all that, too. He is soft, and kind, and gentle and beautiful—"

"Lucky guy," said Lucas, grinning. He looked like he might hold this over Will's head forever.

Sir Michael scoffed. "Not luck," he said, pointedly. "Fate. The hands of the universe brought us together."

"Holy shit," breathed Max, looking like she'd won the lottery. Next to her, El couldn't stop giggling. "Keep going."

Sir Michael stared into Will's eyes with an intensity that could melt steel. With every word, his touch became more and more reverent, fingers skimming the planes of Will's face, tracing the apples of his cheeks and the arch of his eyebrow and the soft fat of his jaw until Will was sure he'd melted into a puddle, disappeared under the couch cushions and died, because how was any of this real? How was a real-life paladin waxing poetic about Will's beauty, while the same boy sat behind him with his eye twitching like he wanted to plot murder?

What did Will do in a past life to deserve this? What did Will the Wise do to deserve this level of devotion?

"I would level the world for him," said Sir Michael, softly, "and he would do the same for me. My cleric has the strength for it, but he would never kill. Prince William is the loveliest boy in the world," and he paused, moving his hand from the back of Will's neck to hold his wrist, to kiss the soft skin over his pulse, "and I believe your Will is the loveliest boy in this world, too."

"He's a sorcerer," muttered Mike. "Not a cleric."

Sir Michael glanced over Will's shoulder to lock eyes with him. Heat raced down Will's neck as he watched Sir Michael send his Mike a smirk— and a devastatingly hot one at that, holy shit, Will was going to die— before turning back to Will.

He kissed Will's top knuckles, then the skin on the back of his hand. Will's breath hitched. "In every universe," he said, "we are together."

Not a word left the Party's mouth. Dustin raised an eyebrow, his face purely analytical, whereas Lucas and Max shared the same shit-eating grin, trying to hold back their laughter. El smiled softly, but Will could only see it in the crinkle of her eyes; she, too, had a hand over her mouth to stop from giggling. Traitor.

On the other hand, Mike looked like he was about to kill everyone in this room, and then himself. His fingers clenched so hard into the couch cushion that Will could see threads coming undone. Apart from the Party's muffled giggles, the only other noise Will could hear— other than his embarrassingly heavy breathing, at least— was the grating of Mike's teeth, grinding together.

Will almost thanked Max when she broke the silence, until he registered what she said. "Like," she said, "together, together? As in—"

She paused to make a series of kissing noises, each one more enthusiastic and wet than the last. El's hand fell off her mouth as she started to giggle, her head falling onto Max's shoulder.

"Of course," said Sir Michael, primly. "Why would we not be?"

Oh. So maybe knights weren't always this chivalrous, then.

"Oh my God, poor Will the Wise," said Lucas, snorting. Will's ears, meanwhile, burned red-hot. "I bet his paladin doesn't let him lift a finger."

A confused look passed over Sir Michael's face. He tilted his head like a lost puppy. "Why would I?"

"Can we send him back?" When Will looked back to Mike, he found Mike's face stained a concerning shade of red. Was he sick, or something? "Seriously. I think, like, the universe is going to collapse if we don't get him out of here."

"I bet he treats Will like a princess," said El, all giggly and entirely ignorant of Mike's worry. Will was going to replace all her hair products with undiluted chlorine.

The teasing sparkle in Sir Michael's eyes reappeared. Will swallowed thickly, fearing for his heart rate. "Of course I do. I lay my cape over puddles for him, and buy him the finest jewelry, and—"

One moment, the couch sat solidly under his thighs, at no risk of spontaneously disappearing. In the blink of an eye, Will found himself hoisted in the air.

Terror turned his veins to ice for one horrible moment until his mind registered the sturdy pair of arms cradling him close. Still, he let out a startled yelp, arms flailing out until he managed to swing them across Sir Michael's neck. This set off the startling realization that Sir Michael was carrying him bridal style, one arm at his back and one under the crook of his knee, his face far too close for comfort, close enough for Will to count every freckle splayed across his sharp jaw.

His freckles were too harsh, darkened to a honey-brown from the sun. Will preferred the softness in Mike's own.

"Can you hold him like this, Michael?" Something about the way Sir Michael said Mike's name made his scowl deepen. "Those arms don't seem very. . . capable."

"Put him down." Did anyone else feel this hot? Was Will the only one flushed all the way under his shirt collar, dazed and confused, or had the Wheeler's air conditioning gone out again? "I said, put Will down—"

For a split second, Will swore Sir Michael looked like he wanted to stick out his tongue. He wasn't really thinking straight, though, considering a muscular, armored paladin was carrying him and Mike had marched over to Will, hands tugging at Sir Michael's armor, trying to peel his arms off and touching Will all over in the process, and did he mention his feet literally were not touching the ground? He felt like he forgot to mention that, but maybe he had, because his head was spinning and Sir Michael's mouth was very close to his face and holy shit, he was going to overheat and die. Will was going to die.

"Mike," said Will, weakly, "no, not— not my Mike— uhm, Sir Michael. Could you please, uh, put me down?"

"As you wish." Sir Michael pressed a kiss to Will's forehead as he lowered him down to the couch. Will's organs were going to overheat and leak out of his body.

Only a vague sense of horror filled him when he realized the Party had watched this entire interaction. Since Will's brain was currently leaking out of his ears, he didn't quite have the capability to worry about that right now.

Another realization did occur to him, though. He gestured to Sir Michael and said, slowly; "Is this a good time to mention that I've been dreaming about him?"

Even fearless paladins got hungry, apparently. As the Party lingered in Mike's kitchen, his paladin counterpart swinging his legs as he sat on the counter, Will wondered whether every version of him and Mike were in love except for this one.

"My mother's cooking tastes exactly the same," said Sir Michael, spooning a bite of casserole into his mouth. A spot lingered on his lips; Will's Mike had never been the cleanest eater, either. "I hope— Dustin, my God, stop swinging that thing!"

The air parted with a whoosh as Dustin swung the blade around the Wheeler's dining room. The rest of the Party had given him an appropriate amount of space, which was an entire room to himself. Trusting Dustin with sharp objects would leave a body on the floor. "This is awesome," he laughed, attempting to slice the air in two and course-correcting last second when the blade nearly severed a chair. "And an arm workout, jeez— oh, Will! Tell me what your dream was about again."

They'd been tossing ideas back and forth as to how Sir Michael had ended up here. El said she'd felt nothing from the Upside Down— something Sir Michael had tilted his head at, to which Lucas said you don't wanna know, dude— whereas Max had suggested the universe blasted Sir Michael through time to make Mike himself somewhat less of a loser. Considering Dustin had convinced Sir Michael to let him use his sword, they'd been at this for a while.

With every passing minute, Will's Mike drifted closer to him. It started with a hand at the small of his back as they walked up the stairs, now escalated to Mike wrapping a whole arm around his waist, turning Will's already half-melted brain to total mush. Sir Michael's touch laid butterflies under his skin, but Mike's touch?

God. It set Will on fire. How could every universe have a Will who was loved, except for this one?

"I've told you, like, five times," he sighed. "I was in a field, and I was wearing my cleric robes—"

"Sorcerer," Mike interrupted. "You're a sorcerer."

"I'm well aware." Will wondered if he was the only Will in the universe with a Mike this confusing, then carried on. "Mike was, well— he was Sir Michael, and we were just— lying together. Quietly. It was nice, and then I woke up, and then there was a hunk of armor on top of me."

Mentioning the clover and Will's wish didn't seem important. Besides, he didn't want Mike to know that he'd wished for a better version of his best friend, anyway. He thought Mike was perfect as is.

Max bit into one of Mrs. Wheeler's cookies. She sat on the counter next to Sir Michael, who didn't look too happy to have her there. "He was on top of you?"

A pink flush came over Sir Michael's cheeks. Conversely, Mike turned a bright, angry red. Will wasn't sure whose face he wanted to kiss first.

"My William has been having strange dreams, too," said Sir Michael, clearly interested in moving past that point of conversation. "He is— private," he decided on, brows furrowing, "about his nightmares."

"You didn't think to mention this earlier, dude?" Lucas snorted.

Did Will have nightmares in every universe, too? What were they about? Did Will the Wise dream of shadowy monsters, or angry fathers? He wondered these questions absently, stuck on the idea of him being tormented in every universe, distracted enough to lean into the hand at his waist with a soft sigh.

The fingers curled over his shirt went stiff. With his and Mike's heads close together, Will's ear at Mike's mouth, he could hear Mike's breath stop completely.

Sir Michael ignored Lucas's comment, giving him nothing more than an eye-roll. "In his dream, we slept in the same bed," he started, slowly. A frown pulled at his face, like the memory hurt to recall. "I was wearing strange clothing, apparently, like—" and he paused, gesturing to Mike's Save the Orangutans shirt with a scowl— "that, and I was awake, watching him. Watching your Will."

"What the hell is wrong with my shirt?" As Mike scowled, Will watched El turn to Max and mouth so many things. Will repressed a giggle, even though he quite liked the way Mike's shirt rode up when he raised his arm, or the way it hugged his lithe arms. He liked anything Mike wore, honestly, though he might like it more on the floor—

O-kay. Will told himself to calm down as Mike's breath washed over the shell of his ear. That, obviously, was not helping.

"William told me he reached out to touch your Mike's hair," Sir Michael continued, "and tried to hold him. Your Mike pulled away."

The swishing of Dustin swinging Mike's sword stopped. Will swallowed as he turned to look at Mike, expecting a scowl, a disgusted stare, anything but wide, wet eyes and a trembling lip that made him look like a kicked puppy. The hand at Will's waist fell to Mike's side, hanging limply in the air.

"Your Will is all alone," Mike said, finally. Though his voice shook, it held a note of determination that made Will's heart stutter. Mike wasn't backing down anymore. "Don't you think he's worried? Scared? Lost without you?"

For the first time since Will had seen his face, Sir Michael's certain expression faltered. His mouth opened once, then closed, then opened again.

"Shit," said Dustin, raising an eyebrow. "Good point."

Sir Michael bit his lip between his teeth, a nervous habit both he and Mike seemed to share. "I didn't think," he murmured, slowly. "My cleric, he— he can handle himself." Sir Michael ran his hand up and down the chainmail on his thigh, visibly trying to calm himself down. "His protection magic is strong. Strongest in the land. It could probably protect you across dimensions, too."

"Great point!" Dustin dragged Sir Michael's sword across the floor with a hideous screeching noise as he ran into the kitchen. "Clerics can perform miracles— Will, were you in danger yesterday? Did you feel stressed, or need help with something?"

The expression on Mike's face quickly turned from kicked puppy to pissy. He muttered something under his breath, something about Will needing his help, but Will decided to ignore it to prevent going fully insane.

"Of course you didn't think," Mike scoffed. "You never do. I never—"

Will's mind drifted back to that four-leaf clover, to soft green leaves and wishes whispered to the sun. He thought about his murmur to make Mike brave again, the sadness that had ached in his heart as he'd asked for it, the warmth to the clover that couldn't possibly all have come from the sun.

"Do you think," he said, slowly, "a miracle could be performed if someone wished for something? If they really wanted it?"

He didn't want Mike to be someone else. He just— he wanted Mike to be straightforward for once, to be brave like he used to be, a bravery Will knew Mike still had in him. He wanted Mike to remember his oath, to stop with his games of getting too close to Will and protecting him before pulling away again, to protect his bleeding heart along with his body. He wanted to bring out the Mike that Will knew existed inside him.

Instead, Will got Sir Michael. He wasn't Mike. He knew none of their inside jokes, or their evil physics teacher, or the color of the swingsets they'd met on. Will got a Mike who loved him, but didn't know him. A cosmic joke.

"It could," said Sir Michael. "What did you wish for?"

"A paladin." Will refused to say his exact wish. That might just kill him. "That's— yeah. That's it."

Surprisingly, his Mike was the one who called him out. "You're lying," he said, sounding more confused than angry. "I can see it in your face."

Sir Michael raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head, coming closer, eyes studying Will. "Where do you see it?"

"In his mouth." Mike smirked, confidence coloring his voice. "He bites his lip when he's lying."

The certain look to Sir Michael's expression faltered yet again. At the counter, Max and El whispered to each other, no longer giggling. Dustin and Lucas watched the two Mikes in front of of them, eyebrows equally raised.

"So," said Dustin, casually, "what were you lying about, then? None of us will judge you, you know."

Except for Mike, who would never want to be friends with him again. Thank you, cleric counterpart, for answering the one wish he didn't want granted.

"You can tell just me, if you want," murmured Mike. His hand came back to Will's arm, fingers stroking slow lines across the skin. The touch felt so grounding, so deliberate and loving, and Will couldn't fathom how this Mike be the only one in the universe who didn't love him.

The Mike who did love him might understand, though. His stomach started to churn as he slipped from Mike's hold, keeping his eyes on the floor as he walked up to Sir Michael.

Surprise colored Sir Michael's face for a brief moment before Will leaned in. Oddly, Sir Michael's eyes flitted to Mike's, but Will tried not to make sense of that in favor of whispering his secret in Sir Michael's ear.

"I— uhm. I wished for my Mike to be as brave as you," he said, softly. "I'm sorry."

In the moments between Will leaning in and Sir Michael processing his words, Will wondered what kind of oath Sir Michael had sworn to his Will. Had he stumbled over it with lisps in his r's and l's? Had his hands been as tiny as Mike's, soft and stained with dirt, or had they already been calloused and bloodstained? Had Sir Michael ever broken his oath like Mike had, leaving the phone ringing when Will had needed him most? Would Sir Michael understand why Mike wasn't brave anymore?

As the paladin took Will's face in his hand, watching tears gloss his eyes, Will wondered whether his Mike would keep his oath, too. As he felt Mike's stare bore holes into his flushed face, felt Mike's eyes track the thumb that brushed Will's tears away, he doubted that Mike really would stay by his side for all eternity.

The soft moment between Will and Sir Michael broke with the clunk of his metal boots on the floor. He let go of Will to march over to Mike, the tender expression on his face replaced with a look of pure murder.

"Woah, hold on," said Dustin, holding a hand out in front of Mike, "whatever Will said, it couldn't have been that—"

A gloved hand shoved Dustin square in the chest. As he stumbled, Sir Michael took his sword from Dustin's limp grip.

Sir Michael hung his longsword in the air, a threat and a warning. Mike's eyes drifted to the blade, shined and sharp, before snapping back to Sir Michael with a thick swallow.

The last time Will had seen his Mike this mad must've been a few months ago, maybe, when one of the jocks had grabbed Will by his hoodie and yanked him to the floor. He could've cut glass with Mike's sharp glare, and Mike had cut two of his knuckles open on that jock's face that day. Both he and Will, somehow, had gotten three days of suspension.

Now, however— under the fear of a sword a hair's breadth away from his body, at least— Mike looked guilty. He couldn't meet his paladin counterpart's eye, choosing instead to stare darkly at the floor, lips pursed in a thin line. His head listed to the side, throat exposed, as if asking to be cut through. As if he deserved it. The sight made Will's stomach churn.

Without warning, Sir Michael grabbed Mike by a fistful of his collar. He hoisted Mike up to force Mike to meet his eye, fury sparking in his glare. "If you want to save your oath," he said, "come with me."

The rest of the Party watched on, frozen. Sir Michael held Mike for a moment more, watching his breathing quicken, before dropping him to the floor. He turned on his heel and stalked to the back door.

Lucas rushed to hold Mike up when his knees wobbled. With a snarl, Mike shoved Lucas off, and Will saw for a brief moment the same anger spark in Mike's eyes that had burned in Sir Michael the Brave's. "I'm fine," he muttered, darkly. His voice sounded thick and raspy, crackling with something wet. "I— I'm going with him. Leave me alone."

Mike's legs nearly buckled as he followed Sir Michael outside. Will watched and wondered if he'd get lucky enough for Mike to forgive him.

Dustin and Lucas politely pretended not to notice Will's blotchy face as he rested his head on El's shoulder. Muffled conversation drifted from outside the backyard door. Will pretended not to notice that, either.

"I was right," said Max, over El's shoulder. "The universe sent Sir Mike to us to kick your Mike's ass."

"Sir Michael," Will said, thickly. His throat felt tight, wet with tears he wouldn't let fall.

Max rolled her eyes. "I'm not calling him that. Mike's ego is big enough as is."

Instead of responding, Will nestled his head further into his sister's shoulder. El scratched her nails through his hair, glaring daggers at the two blurry shapes arguing through the window of the door. Apparently Mike was doomed to make Will suffer in every universe, too.

"If you had a good dream," murmured Will, looking past Will to blink his wet eyes at Max, "and— and you were happy, and nothing bad had ever happened to any of our friends, would you want to wake up? Would you—" and his voice faltered, wobbling. "Would you want to stay in it forever?"

"Like, a world without the Upside Down?" Max tilted her head. "A world where Lucas brings me breakfast in bed?" An affronted hey! drifted from somewhere in the kitchen.

Will shrugged. "It's just— he loves me, in my dreams," he whispered, as if speaking softly might make the blow of his love less harsh, "and then I wake up, and I want to have that love forever."

"Of course you do." El pet his head with two fingers like a soft bunny. "That is not wrong."

"But Mike doesn't want that," groaned Will. "It's terrible. I'm terrible."

A chair scraped in the kitchen. Vaguely, Will heard a startled laugh, cut off by an oof and the thud of someone being punched in the shoulder.

When Will lifted his head from El's shoulder, he found both her and Max staring at him like he'd grown a second head. Will blinked, slowly. "What?"

"Mike loves you in every universe," supplied El, helpfully. "He's just stupid in this one."

The retort of he's not stupid crawled up the back of Will's throat, because he'd never truly think that about Mike, no matter how angry Mike made him. Those words died when a yell shot through the back door, loud enough to be heard all the way in Sir Michael's kingdom.

"I don't get it!" As if in a trance, Will stood from the couch and wandered towards the voice. He stopped at a window, angled into the backyard, to get a good view of Sir Michael's back and fur-lined cape and a perfect view of Mike's red, tear-stained face. "I don't get why you're all over him. He's not your Will. You— you have your own fucking Will, and I— I don't—"

The rest of the world faded away. Will's eyes zeroed in on the scene outside, on Sir Michael's cape whipped by the wind and Mike's hair blown about his striking cheekbones. It wasn't even a question to Will that his Mike was the most beautiful one of all.

Will pressed his ear to the glass to listen in. He knew it was wrong, watching his Mike in such distress, but he couldn't live without knowing whether Mike was angry with him.

Through a gap in Sir Michael's curls, Will saw his eyes narrow; thankfully, he looked nowhere near as angry as he'd been before. A soft sort of understanding lingered in his gaze, his sword discarded at his side.

"I told you," said Sir Michael. "In every universe, you and William are destined to be together. This is fate pulling you to him."

Mike scoffed. "You flirting with him," he snarled, "is fate. Really."

For a moment, Sir Michael gave his human counterpart no response. He took a step forward, setting a hand on Mike's shoulder.

"In every universe," he continued, "we have sworn him an oath. My Will can feel it like a string around his heart, a thread tying every version of us together. In every universe," and as he spoke, Mike seemed to shrink, looking up at Sir Michael with a pained look in his eye, "you promise to protect him."

The pain in Mike's gaze turned into something lighter, a soft shine of awe. Will couldn't believe it, either; were there really other universes where he and Mike were wrapped around each other with fate's red string? Did Mike swear to be his savior in every one?

"Every universe?" Will read the words off Mike's lips, too quiet to hear.

Sir Michael nodded. "Every one," he said, solemnly, "but in this world, you have broken your oath. You have not protected his heart."

"I know." Mike tucked his arms at his sides, avoiding Sir Michael's eye. "I didn't— it wasn't on purpose," and his voice began to tremble, but he stared hard at the ground, only letting Will see the wet shine in his eye. "I didn't mean to. It's just— I don't have him, and his heart, it— it doesn't belong to me. I don't deserve it."

The more Mike spoke, the more Sir Michael's brow tightened. Mike's words made him tense like daggers to his chest, like knives slipping past chinks in his armor. Maybe even Sir Michael the Brave wasn't always the bravest, after all.

Carefully, Sir Michael took Mike by the chin, tilting his head up to face his paladin counterpart. A pink flush came to Mike's cheeks, his mouth falling open in a stutter as Sir Michael held him still.

"You swore to protect him," he said, firmly. "He is yours. He only has to ask for you back."

"For being mine, you really did kiss him a lot," muttered Mike, glaring at Sir Michael even with his metal gauntlet hovering just above Mike's throat as Sir Michael held his chin. Maybe every Mike's bravery slipped into foolishness, sometimes. "How did you know he wasn't— that I wasn't—

Sir Michael stepped back, letting go of Mike's chin. Mike's words died off as he watched the paladin move, how his armor turned to sparkling mirrors in the sun, how his fur cape caught the wind and took flight. He looked like one of Mike's stories come true.

"If I found you on my Will," said Sir Michael, "I would have beaten you senseless. I don't believe you could have taken me, but—" and a smirk appeared on his face, something Will was beginning to find a little arrogant— "if you were espoused to your Will, wouldn't you at least try?"

Mike swallowed, thickly. "He isn't mine," said Mike, slowly. "I can't— I'm not allowed to have him."

In response, Sir Michael tilted his head in a lost-puppy mannerism that he and Mike seemed to share. "What do you mean, not allowed?"

The soft bottom lip Will had memorized in his mind began to tremble. Will could feel a piece of his heart shatter off at the sight.

"You live in a perfect fantasy world." Mike spat the words out, teeth grinding together. "You live with dragons and magic, or whatever, and boys can swear oaths to— to other boys, and no one bats an eye." He wiped at his eye, lip curling at the wet spot left behind on his hand like it personally offended him. "You've already got dragons, I guess. What's loving the wrong way in comparison?"

"Wrong?" Sir Michael said the word so low, Will had to press half his face to the glass. "You think loving Will is wrong?"

Mike shook his head. "No," he muttered. "I don't. Everyone else does."

A cloud broke, and the sun hit Mike's face, lighting the tear tracks on his cheeks with a. soft shine. Sir Michael looked ethereal in the light, an otherworldly god blessed by the sun, but Will didn't want someone from another world. He wanted a boy who looked like he belonged here, dark hair turned a soft brown in the sunlight, a boy who loved Will knowing it was wrong but did it anyway.

"In my world," said Sir Michael, "I was betrothed to a princess. Lady Eleanor-Jane."

He moved back to place a reassuring hand on Mike's shoulder, the same place Mike held himself when he got nervous, rubbing over a jutting collarbone. Will watched as Mike seemed to finally feel the awe the rest of the Party felt under the eyes of Sir Michael, how looking him head-on made Will feel transported into another world. Mike shrunk under Sir Michael's hand, his mouth falling open.

"Our marriage would have brought riches to our kingdom," Sir Michael continued, "and ruin to William's own. They were ruled by two warring factions, two siblings torn apart at birth. I was terrified to intervene, to choose my William."

"I think I know where this story is going." Mike's voice was soft, full of awe.

Sir Michael smiled. "We've always been good writers, haven't we? William always gets angry with me when I guess the ending of a play before the end of act one."

"How'd you do it?" Mike's eyes scanned Sir Michael's face, as if searching for the similarities between the paladin's features and his own. "How could you just—"

"You already know how to love him," said Sir Michael, softly. "You only have to remember your oath."

He brushed a curl from Mike's eye with a small, sad smile. Mike stood there, frozen. The flush on his face deepened; vaguely, Will thought about kissing it off him.

After a moment, Sir Michael turned and went for the door. At the steps of the porch, he turned, smile sharpening from sad to devilishly teasing. "Be brave, Michael," he warned, "and do it quick."

"You— what?" Mike squared his shoulders, on guard again. "What do you mean?"

"He's cute," said Sir Michael, smiling with a flash of teeth. "I may decide to keep him."

Mike gawked. Sir Michael slipped inside before he could protest.

“So," Max asked, smirking, "are you gonna get out there, or are you going to let Sir Michael keep you?"

"I hate you," groaned Will. Though his hand shook, he felt surprisingly light. If Mike could be brave again, so could he.

When Will went to the backyard, he found Mike swinging Sir Michael's sword.

Hard pants drifted through the air. Sweat slicked Mike's brow as he thrusted the longsword up and down, side-to-side, in every possible motion his arms would allow. Will allowed himself the satisfaction of watching Mike for a moment, watching his teeth grit and brow furrow in concentration as he fought an invisible enemy, watching his muscles ripple under his skin.

"I guess all those campaigns taught you something," said Will, lightly. Mike stiffened at his voice— not surprised, only tense. He lowered the sword carefully.

"He showed me how to hold it." Mike turned to face Will. The damp curls sticking to Mike's head might have been the most adorable thing Will had ever seen. "Sir— the paladin, I mean."

His face flushed at the slip-up. Mike bit his lip, swallowing thickly, a tell-tale sign of his nerves. Will could read the emotions off his face as well as Mike could his.

"He told me how to send him back, too." The stare Mike fixed Will with felt strangely intense, a little worrying. Will shifted on his feet. "You just have to make another wish."

The air shifted, and suddenly the odd desperation in Mike's gaze made sense, now. He wanted Will to wish for him. He wanted Will to wish for his Mike, but would he say it? Would he be brave, or would he dance around the subject, backing away when Will got too close to the truth?

Will hardly knew if he could be brave. As it stood, his mouth went dry, turning any coherent sentence into a jumbled strings of words. "I— Mike, I didn't—"

"It's okay." The sword went clattering to the ground as Mike let it go, walking towards Will with purpose, with a goal in mind. He seemed to lose his purpose for a moment when he reached Will, hands fluttering in front of Will's body, before settling on taking Will's wrists and holding them to his chest. "I— I get it, okay? If you really want to, you can choose him."

A shock travelled from Mike's hands and went straight to Will's heart. He stumbled back, but Mike held him still.

"What?" Will's jaw went slack. How could Mike say something like that? "Why would I— I don't—"

"I mean, I wish you belonged to me. I wish you were my Will," said Mike, "but you aren't. I don't know if I've ever done anything good enough to deserve you. Maybe when we were kids—" and he paused, blinking back his misty eyes with a barely-there smile— "I could've been good enough, then. When I wasn't so— so awful to you."

Will shook his head fervently. "Mike, don't— please, let me explain—"

"You said you wanted me to be brave again," and the words came out in barely a whisper, but Will could've heard them in Lenora. "This is me being brave."

Slowly, delicately, Mike brought the backs of Will's hands just under his mouth. His lips never touched Will's skin, but Mike's warm breath ghosted over his hands and into his bones, and that made Will's knees go weaker than Sir Michael could ever dream of doing. Not the bravest paladin could have the effect on Will that his Mike did.

"Remember my oath?" Mike, somehow, had become eye-level with him. For the first time, Will realized that Mike always crouched a little around him, always kept them as equals. "You know, when we were just getting into D&D, and I made you become a cleric because it was the most compatible class with paladins?"

"You were so insistent about it," said Will, laughing. He could feel his eyes getting teary, too, could feel his throat closing up. "I wanted to, though. You didn't make me do anything."

Mike shrugged, flashing a bit of teeth in his smile. "I was really annoying about it," he said. "You don't have to lie."

They paused for a moment, watching each other. With each of Mike's breaths that touched Will's skin, Will's heart beat faster.

"I promised, in my— my oath," Mike continued, tripping over his words, "to never leave you. To never let harm befall you."

"Befall?" Will tried to laugh, but it came out shaky.

The little pout that formed on Mike's face looked unfairly kissable. "Shut up," he said, huffily. "I'm trying to sound— smart. Like him."

"You don't have to be, though." To Will, Mike looked so small when he put himself down, like he wanted to shrink himself and let his better version take his place. The sight made Will's heart shatter. "I don't want you like that."

"But I— I promised to be brave." Mike said it with a sniffle. "I promsied to be brave, and I was a coward. I promised to never see you hurt, and I let the Upside Down take you, and I let it get inside you, and I wasn't even there for you after. I promised to never leave you, and I couldn't even send you letters in Lenora."

If Mike broke his oath again, Will would forgive him. If Mike broke his oath a million times over, if he hurt Will with his own hand and left Will alone, Will would still forgive him. Will would forgive him because he loved Mike at his very worst, at his angriest and his most awful, because that Mike was his Mike. Sir Michael would never be his, because Sir Michael would never know Will like Mike knew him.

"That's why you told him your wish instead of me, right?" Mike smiled, sadly. "You knew I wasn't brave enough to hear it."

Something wet dropped onto the back of Will's hand. Mike was crying. "I wanted to be, though. I wanted to be there for you so bad, but you— you're everything, you know?" Will did not, in fact, know. "You're gentle, and kind, and so bright. Like the sun," he finished, with a soft exhale.

"Sir Michael was wrong," continued Mike, "about you being the sparkle in the water, and the shine in jewels, or whatever, because you— you're stronger. You're basically burned in my retinas," and he laughed, wetly, "you know, like when you look at the sun and there's that— afterimage? How the light floats in your eyes, even after you look away?"

"Mike," Will breathed, quietly. Mike went on.

He blinked a tear out of his eye, another one coming to land on Will's skin. Belatedly, Will realized he hadn't seen Mike cry since the last time the Upside Down took him. "It hurt to look at you, sometimes, and I didn't know why. It scared me. I was so scared," and he looked away, shamefaced, bottom lip wobbling. "I think I still am."

With sheer reverence, Mike laid his forehead against Will's hands, with Will's knuckles slotted between his brow bone and his wet eyes. The touch disarmed Will enough for him to hardly notice when his hands lowered, when Mike began to slowly sink to the ground, his legs folding under him as he knelt with his head bowed to Will.

Dark hair fanned over Will's knuckles, soft on his skin. Will's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Mike on his knees, his legs quivering, hands trembling so violently that Will's shook, too, but something about Mike kneeling for him felt wrong. He'd always liked that Mike treated him and Will as equals, how he crouched to meet Will's eye and treated him gently without worrying that he might break. While most people treated Will as if he were something lower, he didn't want Mike to lower himself for Will, either.

And he would've said all that. Truly. It was just— well, Mike looked so sweet with his head on Will's hands, and Will felt unhealthily warm, and his head was spinning a little too much to pull Mike off his knees. He would've said something, but when Mike kept talking, his voice all raspy and gentle, all Will's protests melted away.

"Sir Michael told me," he said, "an oath can be mended if a cleric grants their paladin absolution. I don't— God, I definitely don't deserve it, but I want to be brave for you again." Mike looked up from Will's knuckles, his eyes shining. "I want to protect you, and be honest with you, and love you—"

"What?"

"— but, like, out loud, now. I want the whole Party to know how I feel about you, and I don't want some stupid paladin sweeping you off your feet." Mike paused for a moment to frown, like even the thought of Sir Michael made him feel sick. "And if I need to buy you jewelry, or lay down in a puddle for you to walk over, or learn how to carry you— which, I mean, I'd do that regardless, but whatever—"

Will pushed Mike's head off his hands, gently. "Get up."

Mike blinked. "What?"

Slowly, Will moved his hand from Mike's forehead to his jaw, cupping the sharp line and holding back a smile at how well Mike's body fit in his palm. He felt a little silly, now, being so convinced this was the only universe where Mike would never love him. "Stand up, please," he said, "and say that again."

Obedient as ever, Mike stood. "I'd lay down in a puddle for you? I mean, I would, if you wanted me to. I don't think Max would let me hear the end of it, but—"

Will moved his thumb below Mike's bottom lip. Mike seemed to understand, then.

"Oh," he breathed, "okay. I love you."

"Again," said Will. He wanted those three words scratched like record grooves in his brain, playing Mike's breathy voice for all of time. He didn't know how he'd gone a day without hearing those words fall from Mike's mouth before, and he knew nothing Sir Michael ever said could compare to Mike's I love you. Sir Michael would never mean it like Mike would.

Right now, Will wanted Mike so close that not even the blade of Sir Michael's sword could slip between them. Since Mike knew Will, he knew this, too; in one step, he pressed his chest to Will's so close Will had to bend his arm backwards to keep his hand on Mike's face. Will's heart skipped another beat, or maybe six.

"I love you," he said, with all the devotion of the first time. "I'll love you forever, and I'll love better than that stupid paladin could ever do it. I'll kiss every place he kissed until you can't even look at those spots without thinking about me," and Mike's voice went desperate, laced with want, "and I'll kiss you until you can't remember anything but me—"

The grin on Will's face ached in his cheeks. "Do it, then."

Absolution, as far as Will remembered from their campaigns, was the formal forgiveness given by a cleric to his paladin after breaking an oath. To be granted absolution, a paladin must typically take a night-long vigil, or repent with a fast or denial of what their body would need. A loyal paladin would take the flesh off their bones if it meant being reunited with their cleric once again.

The kiss Mike gave Will had no hint of self-denial. Will forgave him anyway.

If Mike wanted to prove something when he kissed Will, he should've given Will time to breathe. Any and all of his coherent thoughts melted in the heat of Mike's mouth, in the slow slide of their lips, in the way Mike pressed them close together without a second thought while Will at least tried to be tentative before Mike went all in. Though Mike must've been hungry for this kiss, maybe as much as Will, he kissed like he wanted to savor Will instead of swallow him whole; the way Mike sucked at his bottom lip felt almost teasingly slow, as gentle and maddening as the hand Mike curved around the back of Will's neck, nails scraping the skin to give Will a full-body shudder.

Only the tug Will felt on his hair— and the embarrassing gasp he let out at that, God, Mike would never let him live it down— reminded Will that he had to pull away before Mike turned his brain into a puddle of sludge. He wanted to tell Mike how much he wanted his Mike, how only Mike could know him, but Mike chased his mouth when he pulled away and the sight was so sweet that Will almost melted right then and there. "You," he started, eloquently. "Uhm."

Somehow, Will being unable to form a coherent sentence seemed to endear Mike. He grinned, flashing teeth. "Was I better?"

For a moment, Will just took Mike in. His eyes scanned over Mike's shiny, spit-slick lips, his eyes black from their blown pupils, his face flushed and chest heaving like he'd run a marathon. The sight made Will's heart flutter, but he couldn't assume he looked much better.

"You always were," said Will, voice raspy. Mike had taken all the noise out of him. "I always would've chosen you over him, you know."

"But you wished for someone brave," Mike murmured. He looked to the ground, shamefaced. "You wanted someone brave, and then you— you got him, and you told him what you wished for instead of me."

Slowly, Will stroked his thumb over Mike's cheekbone. Mike visibly softened under his touch. "I wanted you to be brave like this," he said, "not like some stuck-up paladin. And— well, I only told him instead of you because I was scared too, you know? We can both be scared. It's okay."

The second time Mike brought Will in for a kiss, Will felt protected. If Will could be kept safe purely by a kiss, Mike could've done it; he held Will gently, brushing slow circles across the back of Will's neck with his thumb, turning the gooseflesh on that part of his body from uneasy to safe. Anywhere in the world would feel safe, as long as Will had Mike with him.

For a second, Mike pulled away, only to lean in to kiss the corner of Will's mouth again. Will giggled. "What was that for?"

"I don't want you to be scared," said Mike, softly. "Not with me. Not ever."

"Well," said Will, "you can be scared with me, if you want. I want you as you are."

Mike snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Really? Even when I, like," and he paused to give Will a sweet peck, like Mike couldn't get enough of his mouth, "leave my socks in your room? Or when I slip you notes in physics until the teacher yells at you instead of me?"

"I want everything," and the admission left him a little breathless, embarrassingly, but Will had been holding in that breath for so long. He'd never given himself what he wanted, and now that Will had what he wanted standing right in front of him, Will couldn't help but breathe it all in. "I want your freckles, because they're softer than his. I want the way you speak with me, how you're so— so gentle, and I want your jealousy, and I want your stupid physics notes because I wouldn't be passing that class without them. I want everything in you."

"Everything," Mike echoed. "Really."

He understood why Mike wanted to keep kissing him, now. Mike's lips, open and pink and chapped, looked perfectly inviting for Will to meet with his own. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss there, smiling into Mike's mouth.

Will tilted his head, watching Mike try to catch his breath, eyes glued to the motion of Mike licking his lips after Will had kissed him. "Would we really find each other in every universe if I didn't love everything about you? I bet the cleric wants everything in his paladin, too."

"Because he's perfect," muttered Mike, crossing his arms with a huff. "You— oh my God, you need to make that wish and send him back, Will! I mean, I know I said you could have him," and he brought his hands up to cup Will's face, giving Will his best shiny puppy-dog eyes, "but I really think I'll die if you choose that stupid hunk of metal over me, seriously—"

Suddenly, Mike let go of Will's cheeks— embarrassingly, Will tried to chase Mike's hands with his face for a moment— to stoop down to the ground, fishing for something in the grass. Will watched his shoulder-blades move under his shirt, humiliatingly entranced by the flex of his arms as he sorted through each individual green spot, for whatever reason, before making a satisfied noise as he pulled a plant from the ground and presented it to Will.

White puffs bobbed away as the breeze swayed the dandelion back and forth. Mike held it out to Will with a pleased expression, not dissimilar to a dog dropping a bird at its owner's door.

"Make a wish, sorcerer."

Though Will rolled his eyes, he couldn't help but smile. He took in a deep breath, leaned forward, closed his eyes, and scattered seeds to the winds as he brought Mike's hands to his mouth and blew. All the while, he thought of every Mike and every Will, of bringing them together in every universe.

When he pulled back and found the world exactly the same, Will wanted to ask if Mike might've felt anything. The question died on his tongue when the ground started shaking.

"Woah, dude," said Lucas, slowly, "there's a hole in your wall."

"You've got great game, by the way," Dustin added, turning to Will. "We were watching from the window."

What Lucas said was entirely true, and a bit too obvious to say out loud. A giant, swirling rift had torn through the walls of Mrs. Wheeler's kitchen, lit with color like a kaleidoscope, light spilling out in every shade and value and staining the walls all the way to the living room. When Will looked at it, his eyes started to ache— like staring at the sun, he thought, giddily— but he couldn't bring himself to glance away. Its beauty mesmerized him.

As for what Dustin said, Will didn't want to acknowledge it. Mike, unfortunately, did it for him. "You were watching? What the hell?"

"It was entertaining," said El. "And sweet."

At El's words, Mike turned a soft shade of red. Will wanted to paint him in that color, flushed and still swollen from Will's kisses. "That doesn't— Jesus Christ. Whatever. Why don't I have great game?"

"You could've knelt longer," said Max, shrugging.

"He showed his devotion." Sir Michael's armor clunked heavily on the floor as he approached the rift, looking down its intense swirl of colors without shying away. "He showed his devotion, and Will forgave him. That is enough."

Lucas tilted his head, studying Sir Michael. "He even repeats his words like Mike does. Weird."

"Just get him out of here before I push them both through that hole," Max groaned, giving Sir Michael's shoulder plate a push. Sir Michael whipped around to glare at her. "But," and she turned to Mike, giving him what looked to be a reluctant smile, "if you got Will, I guess that counts for something. I'd rather keep you than him."

Mike had nothing to be scared of around the Party. Will honestly felt more awed at how quick they were to accept him and Mike than at the otherworldly paladin standing in the Wheeler's kitchen; the Party would always amaze him, time and time again, at how they stuck together through everything. Maybe a few interdimensional crises sort of reshaped what felt important to them; in comparison, Mike and Will loving each other in every lifetime was nothing new.

Instead of responding to Max's comment, Sir Michael raised his sword to the rift, touching the blinding light with the tip of his blade. His eyes fluttered closed as he dragged his blade through the light, cleaving it in two.

Will felt a tug at his own heart as the swirling light split open. A million different worlds flashed in front of his eyes, the slash through the rift blinking into different universes with every second. In one second, a middle-aged man with Will's mole kissed his dark-haired lover on the cheek; in the next, a little girl with a bob of brown hair kicked her feet on a swing, smiling softly at the freckled girl next to her who flashed back a toothy grin. Each version blurred together, so quick Will could see nothing but flashes of smiles and moles and dark hair, until the flashes finally slowed to a standstill in a universe with only Will.

"My cleric," breathed Sir Michael, softly.

"Paladin." Will the Wise raised an eyebrow, a twinkle shining in his eye. "Didn't you promise never to leave me?"

Purple robes swished at Will the Wise's feet, imbued with magic Will could see shimmer in the fabric, in embroidered swirls and stars that shone with the jewels Will would detail in his paintings. When Will the Wise caught Will's eye, he seemed to go shy, offering his less-magical counterpart a wave and a small smile.

Will waved back. He wondered what it was like, living in a world where he could love freely. He hoped his world would be like that someday.

With his head bowed, Sir Michael stepped through the rift, sparks flying under his metal boots as he crossed the threshold. He turned back for a moment, facing Mike and Will and dipping his head just for them.

"Michael," and Mike blushed when Sir Michael bowed to him, swallowing thickly, "William." When he bowed to Will, Mike squeezed Will's hand harder. "Farewell, for now."

He raised his sword, whipping it through the rift; it closed with a flash of light, spilling bright colors across the room before disappearing without a trace. The Party stared on, watching the space where Sir Michael had been.

"So," said Mike, finally, his throat dry, "what'd you wish for?"

Will tilted his head, smiling. "For every Mike to find their Will."

He squeezed Mike's hand back. Even when Will let go, Mike would never leave him again.

Far away, Will the Wise laid on a bed of fine silk, draped in a woollen blanket. He watched his paladin put his armor away with a soft smile.

"So," he called out, making Mike turn his head, "how was the other me?"

Sir Michael glanced away, looking sheepishly at the wall. "He couldn't compare to you," he said, truthfully. "No one could."

"Sure he couldn't." Will the Wise flashed Sir Michael a teasing smile. "How many times did you kiss him?"

Sir Michael approached his cleric's bed, taking a few moments to cross the wide expanse of his bed chambers. At Will the Wise's beckoning hand, he sat on the sheets, moving to lie on his elbow next to Will.

"He was you," said Sir Michael, "but sad, and scared. Like you used to be."

Will the Wise brushed a curl from Sir Michael's face. His fingers lingered on his paladin's dark freckles, his heart fluttering. He'd always loved how Sir Michael's freckles stood out against his fair skin. "What were you like?"

"Scared," Sir Michael responded. "Jealous, too."

"Jealous. And how many kisses did you give him, again?"

The fair skin of Sir Michael's cheekbones turned a sweet pink. "It— it was chivalry! I was being respectful!"

In response, Will the Wise pulled Sir Michael close by the hair, their faces mere inches away. Sir Michael sighed at the touch, leaning into it, putty under his cleric's hand. Will the Wise always loved how soft Mike went for him, too.

"Kiss me everywhere you kissed him," he insisted. "Twice."

The paladin nodded, grinning. "Anything for you, my liege."

Sir Michael the Brave gave Will everything he wanted and more. In an alternate universe, Mike Wheeler did exactly the same.