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Will taps the end of his pencil against his wooden desktop rhythmically, trying very hard not to think about the excited buzz with which his classmates had seemed to talk about their weekend plans with.
He didn’t get the big deal.
But then again he’s never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. It was mushy and gross and he very much did not want to see couples being openly affectionate with each other public. There was something about the holiday that made even the most reserved couples engage in PDA, and he just didn’t need to see that.
Not to mention, Will hated how the store aisles were lined with boxes upon boxes of chocolates and the corny cards with bears or bunnies or frogs or whatever. The whole affair reeked of greed, clearly a ploy to get people to buy things.
February 14th was just an arbitrary day someone along the way decided to make relevant—all together forming a completely pointless holiday.
Will continues to glare at the calendar on the wall at school, irritated by the chitters of the girls around him and the back slaps that boys are trading between themselves. It didn’t matter that it was the 13th, in the halls of Hawkins High, it was as good as the fourteenth.
Disgusting.
Admittedly though, Will hated how much he didn’t hate Valentine’s Day.
He always liked the color pink, even though boys weren’t supposed to. He thought pink heart pillows and plush pink blankets would look nice on his bed. He even thought about wearing bubble gum sweaters with embroidered hearts like El or painting his nails blush like he had seen Holly do.
He liked the look of the dainty decorations, so captivating that Will dreamed of one day filling his house with all sorts of themed garbage. Even the cheap decorations sold in drugstores held his gaze for some reason. He especially liked when candy hearts were depicted standing out against a white background.
He even liked the romance that the holiday exuded.
He wanted someone to love, someone to hold. He wanted to be surprised with boxes of chocolates and stupid, corny roses, and get taken out to a candlelit dinner. He wanted that so badly it made his chest ache with emptiness.
The smell of peonies from Mary’s bouquet in front of him tickles his nose, dragging him out of his thoughts and back into 6th period English.
The girl keeps turning over her shoulder to make eyes at Thomas in the back row, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. The whole exchange has been slowly killing Will all of sixth period.
Mike leans over, whispering into the shared space between their desk, “You good?”
To make matters worse, he was forced to be in the presence of the boy he was pining hopelessly after—his best friend who was currently dating Will’s sister.
Will barely restrains a grimace when Thomas winks and Mary bites her pink-stained lip. “Yeah, I’m just bored,” Will returns, willing his face to be neutral.
Valentine’s Day was a cruel reminder of what he could never have.
Boys like Will didn’t get to hold hands on the streets, didn’t get to kiss in crosswalks. They didn’t get to go out for dinner dates and hold hands across the table, or gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. The whole holiday just felt like a taunt, reminding him how painfully different he was.
Will would never be given the occasion to be gifted flowers, chocolates, or a cheap stuffed animal with wonky eyes. He would never have love, at least not one that was returned.
Mike huffs a laugh, eyeing their English teacher’s back. “Me too. Good thing it’s Friday. This weekend should be fun.”
He then smiles in thought, a soft upturn of the lips that has warmth blooming in Will’s chest.
Mike was so handsome.
Will had always thought so, back before he even really knew what it meant for someone to be attractive. The way he grew into his features didn’t help, the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones a frequent profile in Will’s sketchbook.
And he looked especially good when he smiled like this, all absentminded and gentle, like he didn’t have time to think about why his expressions should be reserved.
Will almost returns the sentiment about the weekend before reality hits him like a smack upside the head.
Mike was excited for the weekend because he would be spending it with his girlfriend.
El had been talking about Valentine’s Day on and off every time Will has seen her for the past two months.
She loved the holiday, had decorated their whole house in Lenora with Will and Jonathan’s reluctant help last year. She was even more excited to finally spend the day with Mike too, seeing as they’ve been apart for every Valentine’s she was out of the lab for.
She made Will come over to Hopper’s cabin to watch the sappy romance movies in preparation. El would mumble along with the dialogue, so enthralled it made his stomach twist.
A girl in love—with the same boy as Will no less.
“Yeah,” Will agrees around a swallow, hoping his expression doesn’t show too much. “Should be a good time.”
Will wakes up the next morning and immediately wants to burry his head under his pillow and go back to sleep. Irritation is already buzzing under his skin, the very thing that made him snap awake so aggressively in the first place.
He doubts he would be able to fall back asleep pent up like this, even if there wasn’t all sorts of noise going on above him. Mrs. Wheeler is moving around in the kitchen, humming a tune to herself softly.
He can make out Holly’s overeager chatter too, no doubt still wielding the box full of valentines she got from her classmates yesterday. She had been so happy to get so many cards, had proudly declared that she had the second most in her grade.
Holly had employed Will’s help to make her own valentines, the two of them hunched over pink and red construction paper on the living room floor for three days.
Ted had complained endlessly about it, because he claimed the sound of the scissors distracted him from the television. He didn’t understand why Holly wouldn’t just go buy them and hadn’t wanted to actually listen to her passionately ramble about how she wanted them to have heart.
Ted had looked at Will especially derisively when he noticed the carefulness with which he glued lace trim to Holly’s cards and the tentative swoops of glitter glue he added. It just made Will’s experience feel off and dirty, as if doing a craft with his best friend’s little sister was a crime.
Will knew Mike’s dad would prefer it if they were never friends at all. The man didn’t exactly try to hide it either, his glares over the dinner table not obscured.
Embarrassingly, one time, Mike got into an argument with his dad over Will. He can count on one hand the amount of times Mike has ever yelled at his father and that was one of them.
Will had felt terrible and barely talked to Mike for two weeks afterward. His best friend had to finally corner him for Will to stop feeling so guilty about it. He still did regardless but it was sort of nice to know that Mike cared enough to openly give his dad shit.
Will slips upstairs finally, grabbing a bowl of cereal and sitting across from Holly at the table.
She’s got two bows at the base of her pigtails, one red and the other pink. Her sweater is fluffy and has an image of a rabbit holding a rose. Mrs. Wheeler is even dressed on theme, wearing a nice red blouse with dangly heart earrings.
He compliments both of them around bites of cereal—his mom raised him to be polite afterall. “Debbie is bringing the chocolate covered strawberries and cupcakes, and I’m responsible for the finger sandwiches,” Holly lists off, chewing her cereal loudly.
“Mary is doing the tea and biscuits, but her mom said we can’t pour it by ourselves which is just stupid.”
Will and Mrs. Wheeler nod along, having heard about Holly’s scheduled tea party with her friends several times in the past two weeks. He had even helped cut thin slices of cucumber while Holly rolled a glass over some sandwich bread to flatten it the previously evening.
“What kind of princess can’t pour her own tea?” Holly huffs, pigtails swinging from the fervor with which she waves her hands around. She reminded him a lot of Mike when they were younger. He still talked and talked while waving his hands around, but he was a bit more reserved than Holly—a product of growing up.
He partially liked spending so much time with Holly because when Will was with her, he could almost remember what it felt like to be a kid and have all of Mike Wheeler’s energy focused solely on him once more. He was pathetic.
“I’m just looking forward to impressing them with the sandwiches we made,” Holly chirps, feet swinging under the table and nailing Will in the shin. She smiles at him though, bright as the sun, happy to have something to share with him.
During the process yesterday, Will had foolishly suggested cutting the bread into the shape of hearts, not realizing how tedious that would be. He wanted to abandon the idea after the first attempt took five minute of careful knife-carving, but the stars shining in Holly’s eyes at the possibility of on-theme sandwiches made it impossible to.
So now, in the fridge, were twenty perfectly cut heart-shaped cucumber sandwiches. “Did you wash my dress?” Holly asks her mother, peering at her through skeptical eyes.
Mrs. Wheeler nods dutifully, looking like a lieutenant reporting back to their commander. “Yes, it’s hanging in your closet.”
Holly’s eyes get narrower. “My cape?”
“Also hanging up.”
Holly, satisfied, picks up her bowl to slurp down the remaining milk while Mrs. Wheeler hides a grimace. The action reminds him of the sleepy mornings after one of Mike and Will’s various sleepovers as kids, and his lips tilt up in a smile.
Mike is nowhere to be seen, but Will heard his loud clambering around earlier that morning. He wasn’t meeting El until noon so Will wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing out, but if he knew Mike Wheeler (he did) then he was probably rushing to buy El a last minute gift.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Mrs. Wheeler says, sliding over a packet of wrapped chocolate. Holly’s fingers were covered in a sticky coating right now so he’s sure she got a similar one this morning. He thanks her profusely, slightly embarrassed she felt the need to gift him something.
“How is it?” Will directs to Holly, jerking his head in the direction of her almost-gone candy. Holly smacks her lips together, looking serious. “Good. Really good.”
Will smiles again, nodding along with the declaration. “I was supposed to get a stuffed dog too, but Mike took it,” Holly huffs, nose scrunching.
“I told you, he thought his girlfriend would like it. He’s bringing another one home later,” Mrs. Wheeler sighs from the sink, rinsing some dishes. It seems Will’s intuition about Mike not having gotten anything for El yet was correct.
He feels like he should also tell Mike that El preferred cats to dogs overwhelmingly—one of the only areas Will really disagreed with his sister on. But it’s not like he was consulted. He gets up, rinsing his bowl out before going to get ready.
El had begged him to help her prepare for her picnic later this afternoon, and he couldn’t say no to her. Mom had wanted to in his stead but El had been adamant about Will helping.
He had pointedly ignored the small, worried glances Jonathan sent his way and didn’t take the offered out he gave of helping Ted with cleaning out the garage. Will loved El and wanted to help her in any way he could, even if it meant helping her prepare a picnic for the boy he had been in love with since before he knew what the word meant.
It didn’t matter that the thought of tenderly preparing and packaging food for Mike to eat with his girlfriend made Will feel nauseous and like he was breathing around glass.
It didn’t matter.
He would be a good brother.
So that’s how he finds himself standing in Hopper’s kitchen, chopping up tomatoes and lettuce for sandwiches. Fresh bread sits unassumingly on the counter, picked up by his mom this morning. El is behind him at the table, washing and cutting fruit.
Her whole body seems to be humming with an excited frequency, foot audibly tapping on the floor. She looks really pretty today, make up carefully applied with his mom’s help, hair down with a gentle curl and wearing a skirt and chunky sweater, tights protecting her from the frigid February air.
She looked like a normal girl getting ready to go on a date with her boyfriend. Will was happy for her, happy she was getting to experience some normalcy. If anyone deserved it, it was El.
His sister. Who he loved. Dearly.
He keeps repeating this to himself, a mantra that echoes in his head, but it doesn’t dispel the ugly curl of jealousy in his stomach.
He wanted to be going on a date with Mike. He wanted to dress up and look pretty for Mike and exchange sweet kisses over bites of sandwiches and fruit salad.
He doesn’t even notice when he stops his careful cuts, staring blankly at El. She’s closing a noisy plastic container of blackberries, small smile affixed on her face.
“Woah, what are you doing?” Will asks in alarm, eyeing the container of raspberries El was now attempting to put in the basket as well. “Packing.” She frowns, a furrow between her brows.
“Mike’s allergic to raspberries,” Will points out, gesturing to the blue container in El’s hands. She glances down at it, frown only deepening.
“Allergic?”
“He can’t eat them. He’d get hives and his throat would swell,” Will explains, clutching the knife in his palm tightly.
In the first grade, raspberries had been a new favorite fruit of Will’s, and naturally, he brought some to lunch. Mike, of course, had insisted on trying, not willing for Will to like something he didn’t.
Will remembers the panic he felt when seconds later Mike started coughing and flushing, clutching his throat.
He remembers the teachers taking Mike to the nurse and the anxiety he felt the rest of the day when he hadn’t known if Mike was okay. Remembers, when in tears, he forced Joyce to call the Wheeler’s immediately after school, so sure he killed Mike.
Luckily though his best friend had just been sent home to rest for the day, fine enough to go to school the next morning, but the whole incident freaked Will out.
Mike was the only constant in his life up until that point. Sure, his mom and Jonathan were there, but his dad’s ever revolving door of a presence in his life made his whole family dynamic feel strained.
Mike was different. Mike was good. Mike was safe.
The thought of losing that, especially over Will’s raspberries, had made him sick to his stomach.
“Oh.”
Will relaxes a bit, turning his attention back to the lettuce on the cutting board.
She just hadn’t realized, which was to be expected. Dustin hadn’t even known about the allergy until his 14th birthday party and Mrs. Henderson made raspberry flavored cupcakes that Mike couldn’t eat.
“But I like raspberries.”
He nearly drops the knife, turning around rapidly. “They’ll be here when you get back.”
El huffs. “Why can I not eat them just because he is allergic?”
El was wise beyond her years in so many ways but also dreadfully behind in so many other areas. “He could die, El,” Will tells her firmly.
“I understand. He will just not eat them. Simple,” she protests, shoving the container back in the basket.
Will’s stomach drops.
After they realized Mike was allergic, he never even considered touching the fruit again even though he had loved it.
It seemed so simple to him: Mike couldn’t have it so Will wouldn’t either. Same as when Mike stopped eating cottage cheese because even just seeing the texture freaked Will out.
He swallows. “You can’t, like, kiss him then. At least not before brushing your teeth.”
Her nose crinkles. “I will not have a toothbrush, and I want to kiss him.”
“Exactly. So no raspberries,” Will finishes, a bit too sharply. She finally relents, dropping the container with a forlorn sigh.
“You will not eat them?” She checks warily, morose expression on her face. Will almost laughs. “No, I don’t like them.”
She nods, satisfied.
“Okay.”
He goes back to the sandwiches, twisting open the bread bag to begin his assembly. It was 11:20 now, and Mike was due at the cabin at noon. Will didn’t want to be here when he showed up, so he quickly begins slathering mayo onto slices of bread.
El hums behind him, her task finished. “What are you doing today?” He doesn’t have to turn around to know her eyes shine with curiosity. “Nothing, really. Probably just going to do some sketching.”
He’s a little embarrassed to admit it, the only one of his friends (and family for that matter) that didn’t have Valentine’s Day plans.
“Oh,” El blurts, coming to stand next to him. “How about Jennifer?” She prompts slowly, like she was trying to remember the right name.
Will tilts his head, bemused. “Jennifer? What about her?” He assumes she means Jennifer Hayes, the only Jennifer that lived in Hawkins that wasn’t over the age of forty.
“Mike said she asked you to see her today.”
Will’s eyebrows shoot up. Jennifer had talked to him—they were in third period together—and maybe even flirted a bit. He didn’t know how Mike knew that, or why he came to the conclusion that Will would be taking her out for Valentine’s Day, or why he was so confident of this that he seemingly told Will’s sister.
He shakes his head, roughly grabbing a slice of turkey and smacking it onto a slice of bread. “There’s nothing going on between me and Jennifer. I don’t like her like that.”
El seems to retreat a bit, face tinging with sadness. “You don’t have to keep things from me,” she insists quietly. “I tell you about Mike. You could tell me about her.”
Will stares at her, a bit blankly. She shuffles away, hunching in on herself further. “I know sometimes I don’t understand everything, but you can still talk to me.”
Will feels bile inch up his throat. How could he feel so jealous of El? She was sweet and kind and considerate and he couldn’t even be happy for her like a normal brother. He was a terrible person.
Will clutches her shoulder, imploring her to look at him. “If there was something going on between me and Jennifer, or any other girl, I promise you’d be the first to know, okay? I mean it. She’s just a classmate.”
El seems to believe him then, perking up and smiling wide. “I will have to tell Mike you are not seeing her. He was so sure you were taking her on a date.”
“I don’t know why. I don’t have anything to do today,” he says, willing the words not to sound too pathetic even though they felt it. “You should hang out with me and Mike later then. We are supposed to come back and watch a movie.”
The words stir up an unwanted memory of the last time Will and El watched a movie in Hopper’s cabin.
“They are going to have sex,” El said bluntly, looking at the screen playing Grease with a frown. Will choked on his spit, coughing while El raised a judgmental brow. “Yeah, yep,” he managed to stutter out, willing his face not to be too red.
“But they are not married,” El continued, same pensive frown on her face. And Will wanted to melt into the floorboards and back down to earth. This was not something they should be talking about. But El was just curious, he knew she was, and he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. “You don’t have to be.”
“Hop said—”
“It’s more traditional to be married first,” Will rushed out, not wanting to hear about that talk between the Chief and his daughter. “But it’s not like a requirement. Lots of couples decide to,” he searched for a better phrase and came up empty, “do it before then. Usually when you’re in love, I think.”
And Will had been just guessing. He knew about sex from overheard locker room conversations and lewd remarks from classmates. It’s not like he had any real reason to think about actually having sex.
“In love?” El said, eyes squinted at the tv where now—thank God—the scene is no longer taking place in the dark car. “So does Jonathan with Nancy?”
Will spluttered again, feeling clammy. He really did not want to think about what his brother and Mike’s sister got up to in their free time. “I don’t know. I guess, maybe,” he answered, nearly a hundred percent positive the answer was yes.
“It is what boyfriends and girlfriends do when they’re in love,” El tried to confirm, looking at Will now with questioning eyes. A thought came to Will’s head, completely unprompted.
Maybe she was asking because her and Mike—
“It’s all up to, you know, the people involved,” he blurted out to stop that thought from barreling down the tracks of his mind. “There’s no one right way to be in a relationship. Some people do wait until they’re married. It’s, like, a mutual decision, I think.”
“Max would know,” El decided suddenly, face glazed with memories. Will’s chest ached because she would. El was desperately missing a best friend, one that was a girl who they could talk about this stuff with.
Will tried but he would never be the same thing, especially considering they were like siblings nowadays.
“Does Mike ever say anything?” El asked abruptly, turning toward Will. He had felt himself go perfectly still. “About,” she further emphasized, gesturing to the screen even though it was tame.
Will couldn’t move his mouth, was just looking at El helplessly. This was something he had not wanted to think about. Mike and sex were two firmly separated things in Will’s mind, he refused to let himself intermix the two. El tilted her head, confused. “You are friends.”
“Yeah, but we don’t exactly talk about this sort of stuff.”
She flopped back into her seat, taking the news in with a grave frown. “Oh.”
He wanted to ask—
“That dress is really pretty,” El pointed out a second later and the topic was quickly forgotten, her eyes sparkling.
His stomach twists, throat closing. He finishes packing the sandwiches in the picnic basket, handing it over to her with a smile.
She loved Mike, and they were going to spend Valentine’s Day together. Will tried not to think about the implications of their chat. Otherwise he thinks he’ll throw up.
“That’s okay. You just have fun today,” he finally forces out and pretends the words don’t taste like acid.
Holly’s still as a statue in the kitchen, dressed in her pink and yellow princess dress, sheer cape fixed around her shoulders. Her face is uncharacteristically serious, gaze locked intently on Will.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come to the tea party?” Holly checks, suddenly rocking on her heels and making the water in her glass splash up the sides. She was supposed to be leaving the house now and Will was supposed to be making sure she put a coat on before leaving.
Mrs. Wheeler was currently at a book club meeting and would be leaving for dinner with her husband after that, so Will got tasked with sending Holly off for her tea party.
Will laughs at Holly’s insistence on him biking to Mary’s with her. “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t think your friends want me there anyway.”
“They won’t care,” she scoffs. “You’re pretty and it’s a pretty princess tea party. You’d fit right in!”
Heat blooms on his face as he chokes out another laugh, considerably weaker. “I’m not sure about that, Holly.”
“No, it’s true. Even Mike agreed!”
Will decides he’s going to try to think about that as little as possible. “Right, well, I already have plans to start a new painting so I can’t.”
Holly perks up, looking even more eager than before. “A painting? Like the one in Mike’s room?”
Will winces.
“Can you make one for me next?” She asks, eyes wide. “Pretty please? Can you paint me as a princess? Oh, and can I get a horse too?”
“Yes, Holly, I will paint you as the prettiest princess with the prettiest pony, but you have to get going or Mary and Debbie will start without you.”
He passes over the packed bag of chilled sandwiches along with the collapsed tiered tray that Mrs. Wheeler told Holly twenty times to be careful with. She grabs it from him, tugging on her coat and skipping toward her bike.
“Have fun!” Will waves from the driveway after she sets off, pigtails swinging in the wind.
He was completely alone in the house now.
Ted was allegedly getting a hair cut but everyone knew he was frantically searching for a gift for Mrs. Wheeler before their reservation.
Still, it was nice that they were going to dinner. Mrs. Wheeler even seemed excited for once so that was promising.
Will treks down the basement, intent on grabbing his sketchbook and outlining the painting he’s had floating around his head for a few days. It wasn’t anything crazy or vulnerable, not like his last one.
He feels a little pathetic when he starts moving pencil on paper, knowing everyone else had someone to spend time with: Jonathan with Nancy, Lucas with Max albeit in the hospital, Dustin talking to Suzie, Will’s mom with Hopper, and El and Mike on their picnic.
He was the only one completely alone.
He wasn’t bitter about it. Well, he tried not to be. It’s not like he didn’t have options. There were girls who flirted with him, so, even if he would never like them romantically, he could have at least had something to do, but that just seemed even more pathetic.
He was sure there had to be another boy in Hawkins that was gay. It’s not like it would make a difference though. He would still be pining after Mike.
Will foolishly thought that confessing to Mike in his own veiled way in the backseat of that pizza van would finally spur him into moving on.
But he just couldn’t.
He still looked at Mike and El when they held each other and felt the horrible twist of jealously. It was so unfair to both his sister and his best friend, and he hated himself for it. He tried to be around them normally, he really did, the few times the occasion allowed for it, but he always ended up making some poor excuse to get away.
Will tosses his sketchbook to the side, not liking the way his last five attempts at sketching were, shamefully, a very familiar set of hands. It was disgusting that he could draw the lithe fingers from memory, the veins underneath the skin, the exact bulge of the knuckle even without a reference. Mike was El’s boyfriend and his best friend, Will was wrong for even paying attention in the first place.
He had to get out of this basement, out of Mike’s house so he could focus. He would just ride his bike around, get some fresh air. Being in the Wheeler’s house was only making his inappropriate focus on Mike on Valentine’s Day worse.
Will takes the basement steps two at a time, quickly climbing to the top. He throws open the door only to be met with Mike Wheeler himself.
He’s standing there awkwardly, like he had been debating whether he should knock or not.
Will stills, fingers clutching the handle, completely flabbergasted. “What are you doing here?” He blurts, like it wasn’t Mike’s house. He can see his best friend’s brows furrow at what sounded like an accusation, so he’s quick to speak again. “Weren’t you on a date with El?”
His voice seems to snap Mike out of his trance, eyes blinking too rapidly as he stutters out, “I am—I mean I was, but then she wanted to go train. So.”
Train?
El had been looking forward to this day for months. She didn’t want anything to go amiss, had begged Joyce and Hopper to go spend some time on their own for a change and let her and Mike have the cabin to themselves.
Why would El want to train in the middle of their date on Valentine’s Day? She seemed to be in good spirits that morning when Will was over. It was true she had worse days than others, like all of them, but this wasn’t one of the ones she would have insisted on running herself dry.
He didn’t want to sound like he was accusing Mike of anything, but something must have happened to alter El’s sunny disposition.
“You didn’t want to go with her?” Will manages to ask, brows furrowing.
Mike frequently tried to sneak off to see El in the junkyard, had tried to make Will an accomplice to Hopper’s wrath many times over. Even if El’s mood swung negatively, Mike should have followed. “She wanted to be alone,” Mike replies lamely, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.
Will nods once. “Right, so…” he trails off, clearly wanting to know why Mike was here.
“I thought maybe we could watch a movie or something. Hang out?”
Will’s heart freezes in his chest, stomach swooping.
Mike Wheeler wanted to hang out with him on Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day.
He was surely aware of the implications, what it would look like to be watching a movie just the two of them on this particular day of the year.
But it wasn’t like that, no matter how much Will’s chest was buzzing. Mike just didn’t want to be alone after El sent him off. That was it.
They were friends, and Mike was just bored.
“Sounds good,” Will breathes, a beat too late but Mike doesn’t comment on it, just smiles at Will like he handed him a mint copy of X-men #94.
Mike follows him back down the basement stairs, nearly pressed against his back. He probably didn’t know that Will could feel him so clearly but he always did. He was so well attuned to the warmth and pressure of Mike. Someone else would have probably have told Mike to back up, like Dustin or Lucas did when Mike invaded their personal space. The thought of making Mike step back made him want to throw up.
He flops down onto the couch, trying not to wring his hands together nervously. This wasn’t a first date. This was him hanging out with his childhood best friend. Something they had done a million times before.
Still, when Mike slipped in a movie and came to join Will on the couch, sitting close enough for their thighs to press together, Will couldn’t help but feel like it was different.
“Thanks for the picnic stuff by the way. My sandwich was perfect as always,” Mike breaks the silence twenty minutes into the movie, voice an unobtrusive and sincere murmur.
Mike moves to drape an arm casually over the back of the basement couch, not that strange, but something about it is electric.
“No problem. El was excited so,” he lets it hang. Mike tenses beside him. “Oh, right.”
“She said something earlier,” Will starts, feeling silly. “Apparently you thought I was going out with Jennifer Hayes. Why did you think I was seeing her?”
Mike goes even more still. “Lucas overheard one of…her friends talking about it.”
“Well, I would have told you if I was going out with someone,” Will returns a bit defensively. “You didn’t need to talk to everyone about it.”
“I didn’t talk to everyone,” Mike retorts with an eye roll.
“You said something to El.”
Mike’s eyes narrow like Will accused him of attempting to assassinate Reagan. “Yeah, cause she’s my girlfriend.”
“Then why aren’t you with her right now?”
Will has to bite his tongue to keep the retort in, didn’t want to start something now. The words would turn the gentle afternoon into something sharp and resentful. He was sick of getting into fights with Mike.
There was a time when they never once fought, but it seemed all they have been doing in the past couple years was sniping at each other.
It wasn’t exactly like they could ignore the very obvious rift in their friendship, couldn’t talk about anything really without the old bitterness welling up.
Will wants to snap, wants to tell Mike that his love life was none of his goddamn business and he had no right to discuss it with anyone, let alone Will’s sister.
He wants to go even further, wants to call out the derisiveness with which he referred to Jennifer with—only in spit out hers—because he didn’t like the thought of Will not orbiting him at all times.
But he can’t do that because at five years old, on a rusty swing set, Will gave his already battered heart to Mike Wheeler, and would never get it back. Mike held onto things, was always territorial. Anything that was given stayed his.
He sighs. “Right. Just keep me out of your conversations from now on.” Then, when Mike doesn’t relax, softer. “Please.”
Mike’s shoulders are still tense but he at least nods and they go back to the movie.
“Michael!” Mrs. Wheeler calls from upstairs a few hours later, her heels clicking toward the basement door. “Your father and I are leaving for our dinner reservation!”
“Okay, okay, bye!” Mike dismisses with an irritated huff, hand dropping to Will’s shoulder momentarily. The front door slams shut and Mike and Will are left alone once more.
The credit scene is two minutes away from starting now, which is probably what prompts Mike to break their tentative silence once more.
“Are you hungry?”
Will blinks, suddenly aware he hasn’t eaten anything since his morning cereal and it was apparently now dinner time.“Yeah, food sounds good.”
Mike springs up from the couch like a man on a mission and Will trails behind him a bit dumbly. His best friend was acting strange. It wasn’t like Will told him he hasn’t eaten in two weeks. He just said yes to some food.
“Stay there,” Mike tells him when they make it to the kitchen, gesturing toward the table. Will lifts a brow, intrigued, but easily complies. He was never able to say no to Mike, had never really wanted to.
Mike flings open the refrigerator, rustling around like a bear in a picnic basket. He grabs out a container, a clear Pyrex that Will clearly sees is full of noodles. “My mom made this, uh, earlier. Wanted to make sure we had something to eat.”
Will’s eyebrows raise slightly, an amused smile threatening to overtake his face. “Cool.”
Mike quickly busies himself with plates and sauce and the microwave, chirping about this and that, suddenly animated.
He presents the plate to Will with a flourish. It’s not on a paper one like Will would expect or even one of the cheap plastic bowls Mike liked to eat out of, but rather a real plate. The one toward the top of the kitchen cabinets with the yellow swirls.
“Oh!” Mike jumps up, darting toward the fridge. “I forgot the cheese.” He dumps a bunch onto Will’s steaming plate, an amount that would make most people crinkle their nose in distaste at the mound of parmesan.
It was exactly the right amount.
Mike doesn’t add any to his own, and returns to the table seconds later. Will hesitantly takes a bite only after Mike does, feeling like he was being allowed somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. A dog sitting on Mrs. Wheeler’s pristine white furniture.
“How was the picnic?”
Will curses himself once the question slips out. He was supposed to be avoiding thinking of that.
Mike’s eyes flickered up to him, slight surprise in the familiar creases of his face. “It was good. Like I said the turkey sandwich was great. I forgot how much better you make them.”
Mike was prone to this—praising every little thing Will did like he was something important, like he had some magic touch when it came to anything.
Will was Einstein. Will was Newton. Will was Michael Angelo. Will was Dickens.
“It’s just some bread, Mike,” he huffs, covering up the way his lips tugged up with a bite of pasta. “No, no, I mean it. I don’t know what you do but it’s like a million times better than when I do it or my mom”
“Mrs. Wheeler would be heartbroken to hear that,” Will tsks, waving his fork at Mike teasingly. “It’s okay, she knows I only eat the turkey when you make it.”
“I guess I’ll just have to be your personal sandwich maker til the end of time. I’m excited to put that on my college applications.”
“I’ll write you a glowing letter of recommendation.”
“Definitely going to make all the art programs jump to admit me.”
“They’ll already be doing that when you send in your portfolio. Only an institution run by psychos wouldn’t accept you,” Mike scoffs easily, like it was ridiculous to think Will might get rejected from schools.
Feeling warm, Will shrugs. “Let’s hope you’re right. Otherwise you’ll have to take care of me until we die.”
For some reason, Mike ducks his head, hiding his face from Will. He’s sure he sees the tips of the boys ears flush. “Deal,” Mike announces, like a promise.
That was another thing Mike did—spoke of their future in wide, ever encompassing strokes, always we, we, we. It would be one thing if it was the rest of the party too but it was always just Will.
Mike frequently made casual comments about college and apartments and the city, always framed like the two of them would be going together without question. Will hated how much he wanted it.
“Actually now that I’m thinking about it, you’ll probably have to split me with Holly.”
Mike laughs, eyes crinkling. “You’re right. How could I forget the cucumber sandwiches she wouldn’t shut up about?”
They share another laugh and lapse into a comfortable silence. Until Will decides to throw a grande into the center of the room.
“She said something about you agreeing that I would fit in at the pretty princess tea party?”
Will doesn’t know what on Earth possesses him to bring it up, doesn’t know how he managed to make it sound so teasing and nonchalant when it was eating away at him all afternoon.
“Oh,” Mike coughs out, ears pink. “Well, it’s true. You’ve always been…”
He doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t have to. The truth rings out: Mike thought Will was pretty.
Will schools his expression into something flat and unassuming. “You really think so?” He prompts softly, needing Mike to tell him again. The tone didn’t match his expression at all—too honest.
Mike’s eyes go soft, fondness plain on his face. “Yeah, I really do.”
Will ducks his head, staring at his half eaten plate because if he kept looking at Mike, he’d do something unforgivable like reach across the table and collide their mouths.
The silence is comfortable as they finish their dinner and before Will can even move to collect plates because Mike never did, his best friend is sweeping them up and actually rinsing them in the sink.
Will wonders if he hit his head on his way back from Hop’s cabin earlier. That had to be what happened because nothing else could possibly explain his behavior.
“Mike?” Will drums his fingers on the table, feeling nervous. “Are you feeling alright?”
Mike spins around, water droplets flinging off his hands from the abrupt movement. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?”
Will bites his lip. “You’re acting different, that’s all.”
Mike’s eyes aren’t on his but rather lower, near his chin. Self consciously, Will swipes at it with the back of his hand. He must have gotten spaghetti sauce on it. How embarrassing.
“I’m good. I’m really good, actually,” Mike murmurs and the warmth in his voice makes Will believe the words. He’s got this dazed look on his face that Will can’t exactly place and for some reason it makes him feel exposed.
He raises a brow, Mike tracking the movement. “You going to turn the water off?”
Mike jerks up and back around, slamming the tap down firmly. Will is surprised the sink hadn’t overflowed considering Mike never remembered to pull the stopper before rinsing anything. It was one of the various reasons Mrs. Wheeler was fine with her son never touching a dish.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s just, uh, go back downstairs,” Mike rushes out, hastily drying his hands on a dish towel. He all but herds Will back to the basement, hand warm on his lower back.
He’s always been remarkably easy when it came to Mike’s demands and so he follows it without complaint. Will really should learn how to say no to him, but he had always liked Mike guiding him.
The heart and leader of their party, Mike was.
Will resettles back on the basement couch, watching passively as Mike puts in another movie, not caring what it was. Since they already watched one of Will’s favorites, it would be Mike’s turn.
It’s dusk now and the T.V. is acting as the light for them. They could turn on a lamp but it wasn’t yet dark enough and they both found it distracting while trying to focus on the screen.
Mike is almost at the couch when his body jolts like he remembered something. “Oh!” He exclaims shortly, sprinting up the basement stairs.
Will sits up straight in alarm, wondering if Mike forgot to turn off the kitchen light maybe? His best friend appears moments later, backpack in hand.
Now Will’s very confused, brows drawing together. Mike doesn’t notice, fishing around inside it. Some of his dark hair flops in his eyes but he ignores it, making a sound of victory when he pulls something out.
“Here,” Mike says, shoving a red heart box at him. Will feels his heart stutter in his chest, feels his breath catch. “What?” He manages to choke out, grabbing it from Mike.
It’s one of those deep red boxes of chocolates, a typical gift, but built into the center is a clear window compartment holding—
A necklace.
The thing is slightly jostled from being in Mike’s backpack, the pendant flipped up and the chain a tad twisted, but he can clearly see an engraving on the circular charm.
It’s a W.
Will suddenly can’t breathe.
“I know we haven’t gotten anything for each other for Valentine’s in forever, but I saw it when I was at the store and it just made me think of you,” Mike explains, shoving hands in his pockets and looking nervous.
Will still cant breathe.
He and Mike used to exchange small gifts all the time, along with the rest of the party, for Valentine’s Day. They haven’t since they were ten—had long grown out of the cheap plastic toys and handwritten cards.
If it was just a stupid box of chocolate and an initial necklace, Will could excuse it as a purely platonic gesture. But, right now, with the charm flipped upside down, the engraving was a W.
When it would actually be on and right side up though, it was clearly an M. It didn’t even have the structure to be a W—lines too rigid.
Mike just gifted Will a necklace with his own initial on it. That was something he’s only heard of couples doing.
“Wow, uh, thanks,” Will stutters out, trying very hard to act normal. “I didn’t get you anything though.”
“That’s okay,” Mike soothes, looking pleased now that Will reacted somewhat positively. “It was just a heat of the moment sort of thing.”
“Right.”
Mike clearly didn’t realize the initial was the wrong one, not even looking slightly abashed. The necklace must have been simply been packaged that way in the store, and Mike, idiot that he was, didn’t put it together that it was upside down. He must have just thought it was supposed to be displayed messily in its packaging.
Will just wouldn’t wear it. That way, Mike wouldn’t be embarrassed when he realized what he did. Or, before he did, Will would simply restring the charm to be the wrong way so when he did wear it, it would be a W.
It was fine.
Mike wouldn’t have any idea and he wouldn’t have the opportunity to be embarrassed and make things awkward.
His best friend returns to the couch, throwing his arm over the back like usual, eyes focused on the movie. Will tentatively places the box down on left side, careful not to draw too much attention to it.
Maybe he should eat the chocolate now? So Mike didn’t feel like Will hated the gift?
Fuck, he didn’t at all.
He thought it was sweet that Mike had thought about him at all. He just wanted to avoid the embarrassment of Mike finding out what he inadvertently did.
“You going to put it on?” Mike asks him, hand brushing against Will’s should blade. Tone a bit too eager.
“Huh?”
“The necklace.” Mike jerks his head toward the box, eyes still focused on Jaws. Not a romantic choice by any means but one of Will’s favorites. Mike had put it in without question, same as Little Shop of Horrors even though Mike didn’t like it.
“I know you don’t wear a ton of jewelry, but you always really liked that sort of stuff, so I thought I would give you your first official piece,” Mike rambles a bit, gesturing the hand pressed gently against Will’s shoulder wildly.
Will’s shoulders tense and he hopes Mike can’t tell. “Yeah, I’ll try it on sometime.”
“You don’t like it?” Mike guesses with a frown, something grim overtaking his face. He feels Mike stiffen and sees the way he completely closes off, shifting so his arm was between them on the couch.
“No, no, I love it!” Will reassures earnestly because he did. Mike knew him so well, knew how he always admired the things he couldn’t have, even the stupid gaudy costume jewelry pieces Holly wore around when she was younger.
He just didn’t want Mike to realize he bought the wrong letter and be embarrassed.
Or.
Maybe he did know and just figured Will could flip it? Maybe the regular W’s were all sold out, even if it wasn’t a super common initial.
He wants to erase the look on Mike’s face right now, the look of failure, so he tugs open the box, setting the chocolate down to grab the square plastic piece holding the necklace on a flimsy cardboard backing.
The pendant flicks back down—the right way—and he quickly spins the necklace so Mike doesn’t see it. It was dark enough that maybe Will would get lucky and Mike wouldn’t even look too closely at it once he had it on.
Will fiddles with the clasp briefly, only having opened one a couple times for his mom and El. Eventually, he gets it and attempts to put it on himself but it’s difficult not being able to see. The jump ring keeps slipping from the teeth of the clasp, making the chain slide down his front a few times.
“Let me,” Mike murmurs, taking it from Will without waiting for a response. Will quickly turns for Mike, not wanting him to see the way his face was glowing red.
He feels Mike along fingers at his nape, feels the way he brushes away some stray hair. He’s never liked people touching the back of his neck—his mind always went hazy with memories of cold and a feeling that he was not his own.
Mike’s touch didn’t make his eyes glaze over with memories or his body tremble in fear. It made Will want to shudder in a pleasant way.
“There,” Mike breathes, resting his hands briefly just below Will’s nape when he’s done. His warm breath flutters over the skin and Will wants to shiver. It should make him uncomfortable, should make him think of Henry, but it doesn’t. It’s just Mike.
“Thanks,” he utters, turning back forward and cradling the pendant in between his fingers. The metal was cool and smooth to the touch minus the engraving. “Let me see.”
The request startles Will into turning toward Mike. His eyes flicker down to Will’s throat and his eyes catch on the necklace. He sees the exact moment Mike realizes it’s not a W engraved on the charm.
Will is quick with his damage correction, though, tilting his head to look down at it. From his angle it was a W. This didn’t have to be awkward at all. Their initials were inversions, it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s really nice. Thanks.”
Mike’s eyes don’t move from his neck and he suddenly feels really exposed. The faint traces of light make the angles of his face all the more sharper, Will’s mouth going a bit dry. He looked good and Will knew he would be trying to capture the expression on his face in his art for the rest of his life.
When Mike finally does talk, it’s with a slight slur, almost like he was drunk.
“Looks good.”
His voice is thick and deeper than usual and Will’s stomach swoops at the tone. He sounded—
Hungry.
But that just didn’t fit within the bounds of their relationship, not when Mike had a relationship. With Will’s sister no less.
Will lets out a trembling breath anyway, the sound too loud despite the noises coming from the television. Mike’s eyes still haven’t left the column of Will’s throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he sways forward. Just the tiniest bit, a subtle movement that could be easily brushed off, but Mike understands. He’s suddenly even closer, their knees colliding. Mike still has that drunk, almost possessed look on his face and—
He ducks his head down to Will’s neck, nose pressing against his pulse point. There’s no way he can’t feel the rapid beating beneath the thin skin, fast as a rabbits.
Will knots his hands into balls at his lap, forcibly keeps them there because he was really considering reaching out and yanking Mike even closer. He would fuse their bodies together if he could, would quite literally attach them at the hip. And something about the glazed look in Mike’s dark eyes moments ago tells him he wanted that just as much as Will did.
Mike’s hand comes up to rest on his sternum, thumb running over Will’s collarbone reverently, right near the base of his throat.
Will makes another punched out noise when he feels Mike’s lips press against his neck. It’s the barest hint of pressure, not enough to be classified as a kiss but not a casual placement either. It was like he needed to feel the thrum of Will’s body with his mouth, needed to taste it.
Will felt branded.
Mike’s initial around his neck, lips hot and insistent at his throat. It was—
“Mike.”
The heat of his best friend’s body vanishes and he’s left numb. Mike springs up from the couch, stumbling back and looking alarmed. Like a caged animal. “I’m so sorry, Will. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he forces out, tilting his lips up into a smile. It’s fake. He knows it is but he tries anyway. Of course Mike didn’t want him like that. He was probably just imagining that he gave the necklace to El or something. “Seriously, it’s fine. Let’s just finish the movie, yeah?”
Mike's about to flee, Will can see it. He doesn’t want him to leave. As much as he wants to curl into a ball on the couch and sob until he can’t breathe, he doesn’t want things to be weird with Mike.
He grabs Mike’s forearm and tugs him back down on the couch. “Just…stay. It’s fine.”
Mike doesn’t relax and Will doesn’t either. But, they watch the rest of the movie anyway.