Archive of Our Own

It usually only happens at night. The first time, Mike is drifting in and out of sleep – never fully succumbing but making a sad attempt anyways, when there is a dip in the bed beside him. He blinks, propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, expecting to see Holly. 

He’s about to say yes, she can hang out here tonight, because it's not out of the ordinary for her to come here after a nightmare. But when he finally wipes the fatigue from his eyes and takes in the room – there's nothing there. Mike squints at the empty spot beside him as he slowly sinks back into bed. 

The second time it happens, Mike is actually asleep. It's a miracle, but it makes sense considering the last two nights were particularly bad, resulting in zero hours of sleep rather than the average two. So when Mike feels the dip in his bed and the light brush of his wrist, enough for him to wake, he’s a little irritated to see nothing again. He flops back into bed and shuts his eyes, fully aware that any more effort to rest tonight will be in vain.

At the breakfast table that morning, Holly is acting like normal. But Mike decides it wouldn't hurt to mention, so as they clear off their plates, he leans over and says softly, “Hey, you know if you have a nightmare you can always wake me up, right?

Holly turns to him, looking at him like he grew a second head. Which is a little warranted, because the Wheelers don’t comfort each other like this out of nowhere, especially in the bright of day reserved for sibling bickering. 

“...I know?” She says after a moment, confusion evident. Probably because she has woken him up before, and is wondering why they are bringing it up now. Which Mike doesn't have an answer to. He's just as lost as she is about this whole thing. 

“Okay, so– have you had any?” He asks stiltedly. 

Holly responds with a roll of her eyes as she washes her plate in the sink. 

“No, Mike. I haven’t. Stop being weird.” 

Mike accepts the answer quickly, wanting to end this conversation as much as Holly does. He shakes his head at himself, dismissing those nights as a result of his insomnia. Great, on top of everything, he gets to add hallucinations to the list. He yanks his bag from the floor and heads off to school. 

It becomes a bit of a routine – waking up to a soothing touch. The most common times are during a nightmare. He’ll be stuck in his head until he feels a hand on his shoulder or a strand of hair tucked behind his ear, and opens his eyes to a vacant room. 

This night was another sleepless one, he lies in a perpetually drowsy state when fingers begin to rake through his hair. He hums, leaning into the touch, but the hand retreats back quickly. Groaning at the sudden lack of warmth, he burrows his face into his pillow. A minute later it returns, a bit more hesitant than before, until sleep finally consumes him. 

Mike only confronts the strangeness of these – touches – the first time it happens during the day. At night, Mike can brush it off as the blanket wrapped around him or the pillow pushing against his head or the exhaustion finally catching up to him. But he’s actually been sleeping a lot better recently. Now he’s out of bed, attempting to find any inspiration to write, because Joyce told him it might help him feel more like himself. He had agreed without really intending to follow through, but then she smiled and said she'd love to read his stories again, and Mike was slammed with an aching nostalgia for when he used to share his writing with her. 

Will sported a big grin as he held up a drawing inspired by a scene from one of his many stories, and Mike would talk a mile a minute about his ideas, undeniably making it harder for Joyce to read as he spoke. At first, he was confused when she asked about it (since his own mom only showed interest if he brought it up) but Joyce quickly became one of the first people he went to, right after Will. 

Mike taps his pen against the paper, hunching over the desk with his head in his hand. He sighs, looking at his pathetic story outline with half of the bullet points scratched out. Shutting his eyes in defeat, he slumps back in his chair and acknowledges that's all he’s getting on the page for today. 

The sun pokes through the blinds, painting his eyelids red as he rubs his temples. 

Then he feels it. 

Clear as day. 

Something grips his shoulder, startling him so much his knee hits the desk when he jerks upright. His eyes fly open and the touch leaves as soon as it comes, but he swears there was a voice too. Something calling his name, but muffled, like it's spoken through thick layers of bedding and wool. It stopped abruptly though, cut off as if something else was meant to follow.

Mike whirls his head around, scanning his room for any movement – any explanation at all. But the door is closed, the room is clear, and everything is still. He grabs at his chair as he tries to regain control of his breathing, listening closely to see if his mom was calling for him. 

There’s only silence, then a buzzing of his lamp as it begins to flicker. His eyes zero in on it the second it happens. The air feels thick, more akin to molasses the way it seems to stick to his skin. It’s like he’s suffocating because he’s still not really breathing. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he watches the bulb flash on and off – almost rhythmically. He’s always a bit paranoid of lights now, but it looks so intentional his hands can’t help but drift back towards the pen in paper, wanting to record the order it flickers in. Long, long, short, short, long–

His door slams open.

“Mike. Don’t waste my time. Am I teaching you to drive or not?” 

Mike startles for the second time this evening, clutching his chest. He can't seem to decide between looking at his sister or the lamp on the desk. It sits there innocently, unblinking. 

“Jesus Nance. Do you knock?” 

Nancy pauses at his doorway, eyeing his likely disheveled state. She blinks, “You’re writing?”

“Trying to.”

“Oh,” she breathes. Her eyebrows raise and disappear beneath her bangs. “I just assumed you forgot we were practicing today.” 

Well in truth, Mike did forget, but she probably meant forget as in blowing off in favor of sulking in his room. Which he did. A lot. Maybe before – Nancy would have still been annoyed at Mike for forgetting at all – but this Nancy just looks stunned that Mike is actually doing one of his hobbies, which stings a little – but is fair. 

“Well,” she says, “you can keep writing if you want. We can reschedule.” Her tone is softer now, a little apologetic. It's very un-Nancy, and Mike hates that he is so pitiful that only writing a couple ideas down for a story is cause for such reaction. 

He squirms uncomfortably under her gaze before pushing up from the chair and grabbing his jacket. 

“No, it's fine. We can still do it.” He shoots one last look at his desk lamp and slips past Nancy through the door.

—

Mike Wheeler doesn’t cry. It’s something he’s known about himself for a long time. Growing up in a not very affectionate household would do that to anyone. Every interaction felt like the plastic dolls Holly used to play house with. Stiff. Family required conversation. 

His father was either working or had his nose buried in a newspaper, the occasional judgmental comments muttered as he read. His mother asked the routine questions about Mike’s day, but they always floated at surface level. Rarely would she take the plunge to dive any deeper. Any need for comfort, a squeeze of the shoulder, a hug, hell – even a pat on the back had a moment of hesitation. An uncomfortable pause just before it. 

So Mike learned to cut that pause out to begin with. No tears meant no comfort, but also meant none of that awful dread that coiled in his chest as the hand hovered awkwardly beside him.

To see Mike cry was rare. That was a good thing, he was told. He wasn’t supposed to cry. Maybe the rest of him was wrong, always angry, always too loud, always interested in the wrong things, but he had a sick sense of pride for this one part of himself. There was at least one thing right in him after all. 

But after all the Upside Down shit, he found that was one of the many parts of Mike that were taken from him. That fucking hellhole took his childhood, it took the one thing right about him and it took Will. 

It took Will and now it’s like his brain has flipped, deciding to make up for lost time and have his eyes wet as often as they were once dry. 

The lump that would lodge in his throat from time to time now feels like a permanent fixture. Since then, it’s always a little harder to breathe, harder to eat, harder to speak. 

When Will first went missing, Mike was so angry, and it felt good because anything was better than accepting that Will was gone. And even as Will’s body was pulled from the lake right in front of him, he clung to that anger. Turning to El with that stupid lump in his throat, raising his voice to cover up how it shook – You’re supposed to find him alive. You said he was alive! 

He still is angry, but not in the same way. Not in the way that he believed Will was out there and that no one was listening. Will wasn’t a mystery to solve, Mike had proof of that when Will lay dead, cradled in his arms. 

Mike is angry at the world, for how unfair it treated Will when all he did was be good. He hated how Will would make himself smaller in every room, like he’d merge with the wall if given the chance. He hated how this town would still find him, set their eyes on Will – who was always so good in a way Mike never was – and whisper about him, or sneer, or tell the other kids on the playground not to touch him because they might catch what he’s got. Will was good, and Mike wasn’t. He deserved those shoves and muttered slurs. He deserved those stares that followed and burned holes in Will’s skin. He’s not gentle or kind like Will. He’s sharp, his limbs are too long and he never learned how to move them. He’s sarcastic, he’s stiff, and – wrong. 

And he’s not good. 

It should’ve been him. 

He’s angry at the Upside Down for taking this perfect boy and making him suffer a curse that followed him until cutting his life short. For latching on to Will’s brain like it belonged there and for taking Will down with it.

And Mike is especially angry at himself for being too caught up in his own shit. For being scared of his love and what it meant, hurting Will in the process. For not telling Will.

And sometimes, though it’s always followed by a great wave of guilt washed over him, he is angry at Will. Angry at Will for leaving him. He’s not quite sure which time he means, but the feeling remains. It’s irrational and he hates himself whenever a thought like that worms into his mind.

But because this frustration won’t solve a mystery like it had before, Mike has nothing to stop the aching sadness that mixes with it. The melancholic dam that had been building up his entire life finally poured over into the rageful sea beside it. It blends perfectly. The soft, wet tears that fall down his cheeks are followed by a furious scrub at his eyes. His lip will quiver before it’s bitten harshly between his teeth. Nails will curl into his skin to prevent letting out another mortifying sob.

Currently, he’s holed up in the basement, sitting on the couch Will had slept on and looking through the binder of his art. It’s a little pointless to keep flipping the pages – his vision got blurry after a sketch of Mike the Brave and Will the Wise mid battle; Mike was drawn standing tall, protecting Will behind him with a look of impenetrable determination.

He refuses to blink because he knows afterwards his resolve will crumble. But as he takes small, measured breaths, a long shuddering one escapes and his eyes flutter. He curls up to be as small as possible. His small pants become frantic gasps for air, and he pushes his forehead roughly to his knees. Beneath the rushing sound in his ears he faintly makes out his own choked, “sorry, I’m sorry– Will, please–” as he tugs at his hair. 

Will had fallen to his knees when the Upside Down collapsed. He clawed at Mike's arms and back as the other held him. 

“Mike–” He had said, voice so broken and terrified, “Mike, it didn’t– I’m still–” and Mike shook his head, his face was tucked between Will’s neck and shoulder, holding him so tight they both struggled to breathe. 

The gates wailed as they began to close. They squealed like a thrashing, dying animal. The ground below them vibrated with the sound. Mike could feel it deep in his core, in every bone, and in Will. 

“I don’t wanna die.” Will whispered, sounding fragile and so, so small. And then louder, “I don’t wanna die. Mike, please, I don't wanna– I'm scared, I can’t–” he said it over and over, voice raising as he cried. 

“You won’t.” Mike gripped Will harder. “You won’t– I’m here, Will. I won’t let it take you.”

Will’s nails dug painfully into Mike as his sobs became screams. Mike welcomed the sting, leaning into touch, letting Will carve into Mike’s skin his fight to stay alive. Down his back, up his arms, in the nape of his neck, he would let Will mark him a million times over if it meant he was still here. 

“I can’t lose you again. I need you, Will. Please stay– I’m sorry. I need you–”

He stayed latched on to Will long after the other’s hold went slack. He’s not sure how much time he spent holding his cold, clammy body with a silent pulse. He remembers hands prying him from Will and muffled yells as he fought to reach back. He remembers having to be dragged away, kicking and screaming, seeing the blur of Will’s unmoving corpse.

Apparently he had broken Hopper’s nose, which he only learned from overhearing him complain to someone in the next room over. He never told Mike himself, though. 

They had known, when planning how to defeat Vecna and the Mind Flayer and the dimension reflecting their town beneath them, that Will was connected to it all. But it wasn’t until Will had told Mike – holding himself tightly and gaze held firmly to the floor – he could feel them, that they began planning ways to sever the connection. The hive mind had consumed so much of Will he felt it thrum under his skin. 

“Sometimes,” he croaked, “I can’t tell what's me and what's them.”

Mike had stormed into the WSQK building, demanding they stop all preparations until they found a solution that would save Will. 

His eyes are squeezed shut as Will’s pale, colorless face flashes through his mind, when a hand rests on his back, thumb tracing little circles on his shaking frame. The trembling subsides ever so slightly and he wipes his cheeks before looking up.

“Nancy?” He asks, and then stares at the empty space beside him. 

His brows knit together and he begins to entertain the idea that he actually has gone crazy, but it’s interrupted by a sudden crackle from the overhead light. He watches in awe as it flickers exactly like his lamp had yesterday. 

“What the fuck.” Mike says breathlessly, lunging for Holly’s discarded artwork and coloring supplies. 

He has enough mind to flip the paper on its back before scrawling down the pattern. Inspecting closely, he triple checks the order is correct and starts rifling through the desk drawers. Buried under piles of old campaign sheets, Mike pries out a forgotten morse code chart from when he and Will were kids.

The basement hums as Mike looks between the two papers. He places them on the desk side by side, because his hands are shaking so much he can’t read it at first. It feels like his heart is bursting from his chest, thumping against his ribcage as he writes each letter below the dots and dashes.

MIKE, it reads, wobbly in waxy, green crayon.

“Will?” Turning back to the light, he swallows, absently registering how dry his mouth has gotten. 

“Will? Are you– are you doing that? uh, blink– blink once for yes, twice for no.” 

His words tumble out fast, tripping over each other to get the question out. He has to know now before his hopes can get higher – from the skies to breaching the atmosphere – because he’s certain he wouldn’t survive the crushing reality of losing him again, even if it wasn't Will to begin with. 

The bulb stops the repeating message, and there’s a horrible pause that feels like eternity. 

Mike is one second away from throwing up. 

The light blinks once. 

“Oh my God. Oh my God, this is– this is insane. How did you– Where did you– What–” Mike paces back and forth, every question being steamrolled by a new one. He fails to pick where to start, until he stops abruptly, looking at the light. “I missed you.”

His voice cracks and wavers as he speaks, “Will, I missed you so much. You have no idea. I’m so sorry–” 

Mike’s jaw clicks shut, watching as the light flashes twice, then gapes incredulously. “No? What do you mean no? Yes! Yes, I'm sorry!” 

The light flashes twice again and then rapidly flickers on and off. Mike, still reeling from the shock of communicating with the dead, lets a small hysterical laugh escape his throat. He has gotten three sentences into reconnecting with his dead-best-friend-slash-love-of-his-life and they’re already arguing. The situation is so absurd he can’t help but laugh a little, probably making him look more insane than he already does.

The light kicks off into a new pattern, leaving Mike to scramble for the papers. He essentially throws himself onto the couch as he follows the code to decipher, all while muttering something along the lines of Holy Shit. 

This message, after consulting the chart, states: CLOSE EYES

Which – does not answer any of Mike’s questions, but it’s Will, and he’s not about to turn down Will. Will could ask to possess Mike right now and he would say yes in a heartbeat. (Is that what Will is? A ghost? Is that a thing he can do? Mike makes a note to ask that later.) He lets out a small, “Um, okay?” 

The basement is already pretty dark, only the warm overhead light and a couple lamps casting a glow within the room, so when he shuts his eyes it’s almost pitch black.

At first nothing happens, but then fingertips brush against his knuckles and a hand grabs his own. His breath hitches at the contact. Slowly, Mike brings his other hand up to Will’s wrist, then his arm, and then he swiftly grabs the boy kneeling in front of him and pulls him into a hug. 

He’s crying again, Mike realizes, but he can’t bring himself to care. Will is holding him back just as desperately and Mike thinks he could be crying too. 

“If I open my eyes, will I see you?” 

“Um,” Will says with a watery laugh, “I’m actually not sure. I’m still new to this.” 

He sounds far away. It’s similar to the muffled call Mike heard in his room, but a little less distant. He still has to strain his ears to make out each word though.

He brings Will impossibly closer, squeezing his eyes more solidly shut. 

“Let's not risk it.” 

Will smiles, Mike knows this because he can feel it where Will’s face is buried in the crook of his neck, and it causes his stomach to flutter with a million butterflies. God.

Will is warm, which is surprising. Mike didn’t think ghosts could be warm. He feels real, like Mike is just giving his friend a normal hug and happened to close his eyes.

He doesn’t smell like anything. Which is probably a weird thing to observe about your best friend, but Mike can't help but notice how the comforting scent of the Byers household laundry detergent is missing. Along with Will’s vanilla shampoo. But Mike’s not gonna mention that. Like a normal person.

“I can’t smell you.” Okay.

“What?” Will says, shifting back a bit. Mike frowns at the cold space between them. 

“Um,” he responds eloquently, his face rapidly heating by the second. “I can’t smell you. For some reason.” 

Will’s body moves, like he's nodding. “Uh huh.” 

“Shut up. I can tell you’re trying not to laugh.” He hides in Will’s shoulder, which shakes from silent giggles. “I’m going through a lot right now. This is crazy.”

“This is crazy,” Will agrees. 

He brings a hand up, carding it through Mike's hair, and it causes his entire brain to malfunction. This is the straw that broke Michael Wheeler’s back. His best friend is (sorta) alive, he is hugging him, and his hand is in Mike’s hair. 

If Will notices Mike’s sudden silence he doesn’t say anything, accepting the quiet falling over them gracefully. They sit there, arms wrapped around each other and Mike feels the rise and fall of Will’s chest. He has plenty of questions and concerns and confessions to share, but right now he just wants to keep holding Will like this. And he kind of wants to fuse with him forever. Is that too much to ask?

—

“It’s not fair that you can see me, but I can’t see you.” Mike juts his lip out into a pout. 

They sit side by side, turned to each other with their legs brought up on the couch, overlapping and tangled together. At some point during their very affectionate reunion, Mike’s brain kicked back into gear and he quickly realized if Will continued to stay as close as he was Mike may actually explode. So he reluctantly withdrew, not by much, and started his interrogation. 

“I mean– like, how do I know if you're really Will?” 

In truth, Mike is positive this is Will. He’s mostly just saying this to justify his complaints that he can't see the face of the boy he’s in love with. But Will seems to be taking this point seriously. A quiet, far away hum escapes him as he mulls it over. 

Two hands hesitantly circle his wrists, bringing them forward. 

“Well,” Will starts, he’s probably wearing an adorable sheepish grin right now, and Mike wants to punch a wall because he can’t see it. Will guides his hands to hover by his face, and Mike can feel the heat radiating from it. 

“Maybe this could help? Like to, uh, map it out. Or something.” Will’s breath grazes his fingers as he speaks, and – Mike takes back what he said before, this is what will inevitably cause him to explode.

Of course, because he’s an idiot, he nods dumbly. 

“Yeah–” His voice cracks on the word and he dies a little bit on the inside. “Yeah, that could work. Um.” 

He presses his lips together to prevent any more embarrassing squeaks from escaping and finally lets his hands rest on each side of Will’s face. Will’s grasp on his wrist slides down to his forearm and he gives an encouraging squeeze that is not helping Mike’s heart right now.

For a moment he’s sort of just… holding Will’s face, because he didn’t expect to get this far without spontaneously combusting and he’s not sure what to do next. But then Will pushes further into his hands, and Mike decides to actually start moving them. He traces his fingers up to Will’s eyebrows, pressing his thumb to where they start and dragging them across to the ends by his temples. His bangs brush his knuckles in the process. It's grown out, reaching the tip of his brows rather than half an inch above them. 

Mike lets his thumb follow the curve of his nose, comparing it to the one he’s always known. It’s exactly as he remembers, from the countless times his eyes had followed the arch in Will’s profile.

He swipes his fingers over Will’s cheeks, which are strangely warm, and glides them against his jaw. His ring and pinky finger rest on Will’s neck and Mike feels the muscle bob as he swallows. 

At the beginning of all this, Mike could barely make out what Will was saying, but now he can hear his breathing, loud and clear. It's a little labored, and he hears the catch in his throat as Mike’s thumb grazes over the beauty mark that lives right above his lip. 

The gap between them has definitely shrunk at some point. Mike’s not sure if he pulled Will’s face towards him or if Will had brought himself forward. Maybe it was a mix of the two. Tentatively, he lets his touch reach the top of Will’s mouth. He’s about to outline the dip in his Cupid’s bow when a sudden thud comes from upstairs and shakes the basement ceiling. He jolts back and spins around to look at the door. 

“Holly! What did I say about slamming doors?” His mom yells from the kitchen. 

Mike’s shoulders drop from his ears and he turns back. His heart is beating rapidly and he’s certain his face is bright red. When he looks over to Will, he isn’t there, and it takes him a second to remember that he was supposed to keep his eyes closed. 

“Oh. Oh! Shit– uh.” He shuts his eyes and carefully says, “Will?”

“I’m here.” He sounds much, much closer than any of the times he had spoken before this. So close he can make out the somewhat strangled tone of Will’s voice. His stomach flips at the deepness like it wouldn't stop doing when they first spoke back in Lenora. He had eventually gotten used to it, but it’s been a while. 

Their knees are still pressed together, and it’s jarring to feel the touch the instant his vision is blocked. “Hi,” he breathes, because he’s not exactly sure what else to say.

“Hi.” Will parrots, and Mike can hear him smiling. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“What?”

“My face,” he says as if that explains anything. Mike squints– as much as he can with his eyes already closed. “Am I Will?”

Mike’s expression clears in understanding. “Oh. Yes. You are Will.”

Will lets out a dramatic sigh. “Thank God.” 

Mike grins, “Whatever,” he says, and moves to shove at Will's shoulder. He ends up shoving his chest instead. Oh well. “So, like, what is this?” He gestures vaguely at Will, it probably looks extra stupid considering he can't see him. 

“Are you a ghost, or something? How long have you been like this? What do you see?”

The couch dips a little as Will shifts in his seat, and the movement stirs another thread of –holy-shit-Will-is-here-and-he’s-alive– to spin through his head because still can’t believe it. He thought maybe rubbing his hands all over Will’s face would help, but honestly it just made things more unreal. 

“Well,” he starts, bringing Mike back to the present, “I don’t feel like a ghost.” At that, Mike raises an eyebrow. “I don't know! I just feel normal, I guess? Like, when I– uh, died... I just woke up next to you. You were sitting on the couch and it had to only have been like, 9 hours after because I could hear everyone talking about it through the door.” 

By ‘it’ he probably means Mike’s reaction to his death. Everything had been a blur, but he remembers that he hadn’t spoken a word the entire night and the day after. He kept his gaze solely on the basement rug, even as his vision swam. Nancy forced him to drink water but couldn’t get him to eat. He could tell by the way she gripped the plate that she was frustrated and Joyce, of all people, had to step in and take it from her. 

She had kneeled in front of him and said he should get some sleep. Grief clung to every word she spoke and guilt festered in his stomach. It climbed up his ribs and burrowed next to the lump in his throat. He nodded mutely and she squeezed his hand. About an hour later he could hear them whispering about it, telling the others who hadn’t seen his outburst and were frightened by his hollow state. 

Will’s hand laces with Mike’s as he speaks, and Mike knows he heard everything. “I realized pretty quickly no one could see me. It just kind of felt like I was in the room, and everyone was ignoring me, you know?” 

“Thats awful.”

“Eh, it's nothing new.” Will lets out a small snort, but Mike just feels the guilt wrapped around his insides grow tighter.

“Will, I–” Mike is stopped by a hand placed firmly over his mouth.

“No, Mike– Sorry, that was a bad joke. Let’s move on.” Once he is sure Mike won’t protest, Will lets his hand slip from his face. 

“The most ‘ghostly’ thing I can do is not be able to move things. If I touch something, I’ll feel it, but I can't affect it. If I really try to push it, I phase through it. I don’t look see-through or anything, it's just– like– my arm in a wall. It happens with people too, if I don’t move out of the way. It’s weird. Makes me nauseous. I try to avoid it.” 

Mike leans his head on Will’s shoulder and fidgets with his hand, running the pads of his fingers over Will’s knuckles and the creases in his palm. “How were you able to touch me?”

“Huh?” Will says, sounding a little strained.

“You said ‘things aren't affected by you’ but I’ve felt you.”

“Oh. Um. That's a bit of a recent development. And it's different with you.”

His fingers playing with Will’s hand pause. “It is?” He asks, aiming for casualness and failing miserably. 

“Yeah. I think– I think this whole thing centers around you.” 

“What? Why?”

The couch rustles as Will shrugs the shoulder Mike isn’t leaning on. “I can’t get farther than like, 30 yards from you. I end up getting dragged along. And you’re the only person who's noticed when I make physical contact, even if it's just when your eyes are closed.”

Mike's jaw drops and he sits up to face where Will (assumedly) is, “You’re haunting me?”

“I guess?” Mike can imagine Will looking off to the side, scratching his cheek self-consciously.  

He places his hands on Will’s shoulders, turning the other to look at him. He definitely looks stupid – his eyes closed while simultaneously trying to stare at Will intently. 

“So you’ve been following me around this whole year?”

“Um. Yes?”

He groans, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit.” Will echoes. 

—

His mom poked her head into the basement not long after that and called Mike up for dinner, so they decided to put the conversation on pause. It’s a little weird to walk around the house now that he knows Will is there. He finds himself scanning the kitchen and dining room as if he’ll see anything and of course, he doesn’t.

Scarfing down his food quickly, he jumps from his seat and almost forgets to put his plate away. His mom has to yell for him to place it in the sink. 

She eyes him curiously, no doubt because this is the most energy he’s shown in... well, a long time. He ignores her, and rushes up to his room. The door nearly slams shut in his haste. Outside, the sun has set, and only his nightstand lamp illuminates in the dark. 

Embarrassingly winded from the short sprint upstairs, he closes his eyes and says, “Will?”

“This is really entertaining to watch.” Will responds, and he whips his head in the direction of his voice. 

“What, me moving around, calling after you blindly?” Mike walks over to his bed and flops down. The mattress dips beside him and he smiles. 

“Yup.” 

He elbows Will’s thigh before sitting up. 

“You sound quieter.” His head tilts in thought. “At first, I could barely hear you, and then it was like you were right there, and now you’re far away again.”

“I am?”

“You can’t tell?”

Will doesn’t respond, he might have been shaking his head, forgetting that Mike can’t see him because then he says, “Uh– no, I guess not. But earlier I did feel more… grounded, is the best way to put it. I didn’t realize how light I felt until you hugged me, and then it was like I could feel all my weight crashing back into me.”

Mike’s mind is spinning with the information, but gets stuck on the word grounded. I make him feel grounded. He needs me, he needs me– in his head. He grips the sheets under him and says, high-pitched and squeaky, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think maybe if you– ” Will stops abruptly, sounding very much like he regrets speaking. “Um. Nevermind.”

“If I what?”

“No, it’s stupid. Next topic.”

Mike bumps his knee against Will’s. “No way. It’s fine, just tell me.” 

No response. 

“Will. I won't make fun of you, I promise.”

There’s a sharp inhale, and then reluctantly, Will continues. 

“Maybe if you like– touch me? More? Like. A hug. Or something.” His words become increasingly more stilted as Mike feels his face grow far hotter than he thought humanly possible. He’s getting kinda lightheaded, actually. 

“Maybe it would tie me to the world better. I don’t know. I just thought, hey, if you can hear me better, then maybe you could see me, too–”

“Okay.”

Will’s jaw shuts with an audible click. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah– um,” Mike nods, perhaps a little too eagerly, “sure. Let's do it.” His mouth is very dry when he turns to Will, and their knees press together. One of Mike’s slides between Will’s as he pushes closer. 

“Should I just–”

“Yep,” Will cuts in. He seems just as nervous as Mike, which only serves to make his heart rate spike higher. 

Neither of them do anything, until Mike finally inches his hands forward and rests them on Will’s shoulders. It’s extremely awkward, so he quickly moves them down to his chest and feels Will’s heart beating fast beneath his palm. 

He’s sliding his hands up his arms when he realizes Will was probably expecting a hug, not... whatever this is. But he hasn’t said anything in protest – in fact, Mike doesn’t think he’s heard a single noise from him since he started – so Mike just keeps going. 

He lets his hands wander up Will’s neck, burying his fingertips into his hair and then slowly, back down his torso. This time lower than before, landing on his ribs that rise in fall with Will’s inhales and exhales. He can hear his breathing again, so their hypothesis must be correct. Will’s gasps are small and strangled, like he’s trying not to be loud, even though that's the entire point of this exchange. The effort is in vain, however, because while he attempts to silence them, the sounds ring like gunshots in Mike’s ears. 

Now confident their theory is working, he presses his fingers more firmly onto Will. He slides his thumbs across each rib and then his hands drift to take their place at Will’s sides. He rubs small circles into them, similar to the ones he would feel when floating in and out of sleep.

“Mike.” Will says, and he’s right there. He can hear every crease and fold in Will’s voice. How his lips move around his name as he whispers it – almost needy. Even the barely there hitch in his breath afterwards. “Look at me.”

He really, really doesn’t want Will to disappear, but he follows the command anyway.

Cautiously, His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the room's dim light. Then, all at once, the air is knocked out from his lungs. 

Will is there. 

His face is only inches away, staring back at him with a wide, searching look. 

“Will,” he chokes out, and throws himself into his arms. 

Something about actually seeing him adds another level to the surrealness of getting him back. He clutches Will with a new layer of desperation. And now that his eyes are open he refuses to blink, afraid that Will may suddenly vanish if he does.

Mike pulls back, only far enough to see Will's face, and his hands move frantically around the other. Back up his chest, down to his thighs and then eventually, they land at his hips. He falls forwards, forehead resting on Will’s sternum.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly. Then again. Over and over, like a prayer, as Will runs his hands through his curls. Each apology is more broken than the last, and Will shushes him softly. He finally stops when Will does a small, reprimanding tug at his hair and brings Mike up to meet his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Mike. It’s not your fault. It’s okay.” He cradles Mike's jaw, gentle, like he's something precious. It’s so different from how he scrubs his own face when a tear escapes, or how he bites his tongue when his voice quivers. 

Will has always held things kindly. His artist hands Mike's brain supplies. And how he glides his thumb over Mike’s cheek bones – so delicate, but intentional, like he’s painting him – is the final nail in the coffin for him. This is really Will. Not some fucked up, grief induced hallucination. Not one last Vecna vision from beyond. No, this is Will, in all his goodness and strength and bright smiles. 

—

They must have fallen asleep at some point, Mike laying next to Will and cataloging every detail of him like he had thousands of times before. He wanted to make sure his memory of Will had never faltered in the year without him. That there wasn’t a single freckle left forgotten. 

The morning sun shines unrelentingly, and he burrows further into his pillow. 

His pillow that moves. 

His pillow that smells like floral laundry detergent and vanilla. 

Mike bolts up to see Will, still sleeping, in his bed beside him. He wheezes as his insides flip and squeeze painfully, and when attempting to wipe away the furious blush eclipsing his face, the boy next to him stirs. 

Will lets out a small whine, twisting onto his side in a way that makes Mike’s heart stutter all over again. 

“What time ‘s it?” 

He tries to speak, but his brain is completely fried due to the sight before him. He must have taken too long to answer, because Will peeks open one eye in amusement and maybe a little concern. His stare is so overwhelming that Mike has to tear his gaze away as to not like, die, or something. 

“Uh, It’s noon,” he says, looking at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Will’s thigh is touching his, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to breathe normally if he keeps it there, so he shifts away and looks back down to see–

Nothing. 

Panic spikes in his chest as his eyes dart around the now vacant spot on the mattress. 

“Will?” He can’t help the anxiety that leaks into his tone when he repeats, “Will?”

He blinks once, twice, and then on the third, a hand circles his wrist and Will is there, looking alarmed with his hair ruffled from sleep. 

“I’m here. It’s okay, Mike, we’re okay.” He’s reminded of last night as Will reassures him. “Um. I think I have to touch you to stay visible. At least until I figure out how to do it myself.” 

Mike nods, a jerky, clumsy motion. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry.” He lets out a dry, self deprecating laugh, embarrassed at his miniature freak out. Will just frowns, tightening his grip on Mike's hand. 

“Stop apologizing.” His brows furrow and he turns to pick at a loose thread on the blanket. “You used to never say sorry, and now you do every other sentence. It’s weird.” 

“Oh.” Has he really apologized that much? It made sense, he has a lot to repent. It just seems right to tack on a “sorry” in place of a period. Most of the time, he isn’t entirely sure what he is apologizing for. “Sorry” just kind of covers all the bases. 

I’m sorry for wanting you more than I should. I’m sorry for being scared, and for taking it out on you when you didn't ask for this in the first place. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry for loving you. 

It feels like he could repeat it for the rest of his life, from his grave, till the dirt clogs his throat, and still not make up for all his wrongdoings. 

“Okay,” he replies, because he’s not sure what else to say.

Will fixes him with an unreadable expression that sparks a flame of irritation in himself. It used to be so easy to understand Will, a twitch at the corner of his mouth was enough to clue Mike in on his thoughts. Now, his expression is intentionally blank, and he’s worried he’ll never find those subtle giveaways like before. 

They sit there until Mike can’t stand being studied any longer and he promptly changes the subject. 

“Can you possess people?” It’s obvious, but Will lets the topic go mercifully.

—

They decided that morning to figure out if Will being visible was limited to only Mike or if other people could see him too. It turns out they didn’t need to wait long for an answer because Nancy had barged into his room (again) and her face instantly paled at the sight of Will. If Mike was more of an asshole, he’d probably make a joke about her looking like she’d seen a ghost. He chose not to do that, though. Instead, he gave her a weak grin and a stilted, 

“Hey, Nance.”

Things were a flurry after that. Nancy had actually run into the bathroom and vomited. Which he can’t blame her for, he threw up in his mouth, like, 3 times last night. It was hard not to imagine Will’s lifeless body when they spoke in the dark.

It was kind of funny, seeing how troubled Will was at her reaction. His mouth opened and closed like he couldn’t tell if comforting her would make it better or worse. 

Now, though, Mike stands in front of the Byers-Hopper family with the addition of Dustin, Lucas, and Max. His hands flex at his sides, now very sweaty, and he probably would’ve kept shifting from one foot to the other forever if Max hadn’t finally huffed, “Oh my God, Mike, just tell us why we’re here!”

“Yeah, okay, um.” He takes a big breath. “Let's do it.” Twisting his hand out, Will grabs it and appears by his side. 

The response is pretty much the same as Nancy’s – minus the vomiting part, although Dustin does look sort of green. 

There is a long, stunned silence that shatters when Joyce stands from her seat and says, “Will?”

A chorus of overlapping voices erupts, with a very distinct, “Holy Shit” from Dustin as he and Lucas launch off the couch to tackle Will in a hug. El beats both of them to it, as she essentially throws herself onto Will. He struggles to support her weight with one arm, letting out a small oof at the impact, until they finally teeter backwards and crash to the ground. In the process, Will’s hand slips from Mike’s grasp, and he disappears. 

El looks up from her place on the floor with a horrified expression. “I killed him.” 

Will re-claims his hold on Mike’s hand and Mike tries (and fails) not to let his heart jump in his throat. 

“No– El, you didn’t kill me.”

The entire group is standing like they also want to hug Will, but are unsure if it’ll cause him to leave again. Joyce steps forward tentatively, raising a hand to cup the side of Will’s face. He leans into the touch with a wan smile. 

“Hey, mom.” 

She wraps her arms around him in an instant, and Will is careful to keep his grip on Mike’s hand even as she’s squeezing the life out of him. Well – maybe he shouldn’t phrase it like that. 

Joyce’s hands flutter over him as she stammers out, “How– how did you. You’re here. What happened–” 

Her gaze darts back and forth from his face to his hand clasped in Mike’s, already analyzing the situation. It makes sense, after surviving the apocalypse, the whole Party has gotten quicker at understanding absurd circumstances. 

They both try to explain what they know so far: Will’s inability to leave Mike’s side, how he was essentially forced into an observer position as people moved on without him, how (and this causes his face to flush from forehead to collarbone) Mike’s touch is able to anchor him. Everyone's focus lasers in on their hands hanging between them.

“You’re haunting him?” Dustin balks, and yelps when Lucas smacks him on the arm. “What? He literally is!”

“Don’t say it like that, man. He’s not a ghost.”

“Then what is he?” At that, Lucas goes silent, and he rolls his eyes when Dustin says, “Exactly.”

“I think…” El speaks up, after staying mostly silent during Mike and Will’s summarization. “I think I felt Will’s presence, in Mike’s mind, but I had just accepted it, because Mike thinks about Will a lot.” 

She states it plainly, and while it's true, Mike still lets out an offended squawk at how everyone nods like this is a well known fact. Her lips pull into a grim line and she clenches her fists. 

“I should have noticed earlier. We could have found you so much earlier.” Will places a hand on her shoulder, and her face falls into a guilty expression Mike knows all too intimately. His heart breaks into little pieces that scatter across the hardwood floor when she rasps out, “I’m sorry.”

Will shakes his head firmly. 

“No. El, it’s okay– you aren’t responsible for this. Nobody here is responsible.” 

Will gives a pointed glance in Mike’s direction. He hates that Will has come back again, only to comfort everyone, rather than the other way around. He died, why is he so intent on relieving the guilt burrowed in Mike’s gut? Will was invisible for a year, as people grew up without him, and he looks – he looks like he accepted it. His face is settled like he’s happy to be back, but he knows it won't last. That it’s inevitable he’ll disappear for good and finally be left behind. 

Mike feels white hot anger bubble over from the sight – it eats at his insides, a boiling liquid that burns his tissue, hissing as it slides down the edges of a pot. He needs to know how Mike would never let that happen. He’d cling to Will till the ends of the earth, begging him to stay. It feels like his entire life has been a constant push and pull: losing him, getting him back, and losing him again. He is frantically scooping at sand that slips through his fingers. 

It’s this awful love. It sticks to his body like he’s a duck in an oil spill. He can see his fingerprints that brand Will. Ugly smears across his skin where Mike had let his wanting show too much. He would pull back, horrified, and when he tried to wipe it away, the smudges would only grow larger. It stains his clothes, the weight pulling him down even as he wrings out the fabric. 

Will would just stare, hurt, because somehow he couldn’t see the splotches that blemish his limbs. He just saw Mike stepping away, and then back, and then too close, and then back again. It was an endless cycle. He used to be able to reach out easily, until he noticed his hands left streaks of dirt, and a hesitance began leaking into every arm slung around his shoulder.

He couldn’t tell if it was worse to let Will think he didn't want to touch him or let him find out how much he really craved it. 

“So Will is connected to Mike’s mind?” Dustin’s voice shakes him back into the present. 

It appears most of the group has moved on, the room feeling lighter than before. His tone has switched from sentimental to something more analytical, the phenomenon in front of him being hard for a scientist to resist. 

“We know he died with the hive mind,” both Mike and Jonathan wince at the term “died” being used so casually, “was he able to latch on to Mike’s brain somehow?”

“How could he do that if Mike wasn’t also part of the hive?” Max asks, and her mouth flattens to an unimpressed line when Dustin just shrugs.

“I don’t know! Will had side effects from the Upside Down when he was first taken. Maybe he, like– siphoned off Venca’s powers and was able to wiggle his way into Mike’s head before dying.” The idea of Will making a home in his brain like a parasite should not make him as flustered as it does. 

It checked out. Will was deeply interwoven with the Upside Down. When it collapsed, his mind latched on to Mike's and because their lives are just as – if not more – intertwined, he was able to cling onto it as the Upside Down died inside and around him, like a snake shedding its skin. In return he lost his original body and the ability to leave Mike’s side.

He bolts up in his seat and turns to Will, cold dread washing over him like he’s plunged into icy water. 

“Have you– Can you read my mind?” Despite his attempts to hide his fear, Will still flinches at Mike’s intensity.

“No– I mean, I don't think so. I never tried.” His brows raise further upward when Mike slumps in relief. 

Lucas watches them both and squints. 

“You said at first, you could only touch Will, right?” Mike nods. “What if he’s projecting himself through our senses? Like, Will is really there, and we all sense him like he’s really there, but technically he’s not.”

“Will said he can interact with physical objects if Mike helps. How can he do that if he’s not technically here?” Everyone looks at El to answer Max’s question, knowing she understands mind stuff better than anyone.

“Maybe he’s like me,” she responds simply. “He could still be using Henry powers, but now they are his own.”

Dustin takes the idea and runs with it, interrogating Will with questions close to what Mike had asked when he first returned. This time, however, when he asks something like, “Can you possess people?” And Will answers, “I don't know”, Dustin quickly follows it with a, “have you tried it though?”

—

Joyce started dinner at some point and asked for them to stay the night. She probably assumed Will would sleep over, but due to the nature of the situation – she had to ask him and by extension, Mike. 

It’s a little awkward sitting at the table, since he’s right across from Hopper and his presence causes him to rapidly shrink in on himself. His nose is crooked, not by much, but it's enough that Mike has to avert his eyes when he sees it. Hopper never spoke to Mike about it, so he’s not sure if Hopper knows that he knows he did it. 

Having dinner with the Byers-Hopper family isn’t new. It was common for him to show up after a particularly bad night and Joyce welcomed him in with open arms. She kept a blanket on the couch, but never said anything when Mike would slip off to Will’s room after dinner. 

He eats with his left hand, the right one currently occupied with Will’s below the table. Will attempts to eat, but mumbles that he doesn’t really have an appetite anymore as he guiltily pokes at his food. He gives a grateful smile when Mike picks the meat and potatoes off his plate. 

All the noise from the hectic, emotionally draining day falls silent once Will’s bedroom door shuts with a click. Everything is still in place like it was a year ago, no one having the heart to pack anything up, and Mike suspects that he only made it harder by sleeping here so often. Which Will had seen. Humiliation burns hot throughout his skin at the realization, itchy and uncomfortable. The bed is still unmade from the last time he was here. 

“So,” Will starts, and Mike has to restrain how his body jolts in surprise. “Um, I guess we should change?”

“Yeah– uh, yup.” 

He stays rooted in place a couple more seconds before moving to the dresser. Some of his clothes are mixed in with Will’s, so he pulls them out. Will lets go of his hand, and he’s gone. Mike tries not to think about anything whatsoever as he grabs the hem of his shirt, but the moment he shucks it off, the lights flicker. 

He stops, looking at the bedside lamp and around the room. It’s unbearably quiet. The air is tense with the knowledge that Will is here somewhere, and he switches into a new shirt and sweatpants as fast as possible without tripping and breaking his neck on the desk. 

His heart leaps in his throat when Will grabs his hand again, staring pointedly at the floor as he says, “I can’t change without, you know.” 

Mike’s eyes go comically wide and he nods. “Oh, yeah. Totally. Sorry.” He grimaces at the glare Will shoots from the apology and whips his head in the direction of the wall when Will moves to take off his shirt. It’s probably difficult with one hand occupied, he thinks. 

Mike’s suspicions are confirmed when Will fumbles until he lets out a quiet, frustrated sound and shoves Mike’s hand on his hip beneath the fabric. His stomach lurches violently, fingers twitching at the contact. 

The light buzzes. Mike ignores it. 

“Thanks,” Will mercifully takes Mike’s hand away from his side, holding it again. 

“‘Course. No problem,” Mike all but squeaks as Will leads them to the bed. He climbs under the covers beside him. They lie on their sides, facing each other, similar to the night before. “Do you want the light on or…?”

“You can turn it off.” 

He twists and clicks off the lamp. The room is bathed in darkness except for the moonlight shining through the window. Once his eyes adjust, he can make out how Will’s face is outlined in a deep blue. It’s breathtaking, almost otherworldly. 

Will’s thumb traces over the nail marks on Mike’s forearm. It’s too dark to see any, but he follows the crescents and scrapes like he’s memorized them. It’s so knowing that his pulse picks up in response and Will definitely notices where his fingers lay on his wrist. 

Mike feels greedy. He’s just got Will back, for the millionth time, and he still wants more. Even after having Will essentially sewn to him forever and rubbing his hands over him when he had sworn himself not to, he wants more. Every taste he gets only serves to make his aching desire grow hungrier. There’s a twisted part of him that likes how Will can’t leave him now. 

Will didn’t ask for this, he has to remind himself. He didn’t ask to die twice, he didn’t ask to be stuck with Mike forever, and he certainly didn't ask to be the victim of Mike’s wanting.

He wishes he knew how to touch Will without it being so complicated. Without it being wrong.

Will is too kind to sneer at Mike if he told him. If Mike told him the boy he hugged, and changed in front of, and pressed his shoulder to as they read comics together, got butterflies when he saw Will stick out his tongue as he drew, he’d probably tell him it’s okay. But that horrible pause would return. The classic Wheeler hesitation before every touch, instead this time it’s with the most important person in the world. 

If he told Will, he would be hurt, but probably keep his disgust quiet. The real issue is he’s officially tied to Mike until death. Mike would have to know the boy he’s in love with rightfully hates him and is forced to follow him for the rest of his life.

His biggest regret is not telling Will the truth, but these circumstances are not making it easier. 

“I’m sorry,” Will says, and Mike is so caught off guard he just blinks in confusion. 

“What?” 

“For, um, these.” He clarifies with a small squeeze to Mike's arm. 

He immediately jumps to defend the scars, but as he opens his mouth, he realizes that saying something like ‘It’s okay, really, they remind me of you, and they show how I failed at protecting you after I promised to when we were kids, and I actually like that your nails have reached under my skin’ might be a bit much. 

He settles for, “Oh. It's okay.”

Will gives him a look, sighing and letting his eyes fall back to the space between them. “When…” He starts, trailing off.

“When…?” Mike supplies after a long stretch of silence. 

He regrets pushing the moment Will flicks his gaze back to him. “I saw you. After I was gone.” Mike just stares back. “You would sit by the edge of the quarry sometimes.” Will sucks in a breath. “Why?”

The whites of his eyes are stark against the dark room. The green around his pupils is nearly black. They dart across Mike’s face, heavy and scrutinizing. He’s convinced his heart stops for a solid three seconds and that Will can feel it in his wrist.

“I keep forgetting you’ve been here the whole year,” He eventually gets out with an empty laugh. 

He’s dodging the question, Will knows he’s dodging the question. His brows knit together in frustration. Or concern. Possibly both. Probably both. 

“Mike.” His hardened tone makes it clear he won't let the topic go. “Please,” he adds, and Mike folds at the waver in his voice. 

“Uh– I mean, I don’t know. It was just, like, a place to get out of the house and clear my mind.” 

If anything, the cliff’s edge made his thoughts louder. It just felt good, in a fucked up sense, to know there was a way to quiet them a few feet away. 

“I don’t think that's it.” 

“Well what do you think it is, then?” He snaps, tired of the attention.

Will ignores his poor attempt at deflection. 

“I want you to be honest with me.” 

His ability to resist Will is weak. It’s been true his entire life; Will could break down every wall Mike builds up with only a few words. When he died Mike felt like a puppy with a loose leash, wandering aimlessly for his owner. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about this, it’s nice to have some direction. 

He exhales, a shuttering, resigned sound of defeat and admits, “When we lost you – the first time – it was the worst week of my life.” 

The words seem too loud, though he’s talking barely above a whisper. 

“We saw your body get pulled out of the lake. Obviously it wasn’t you, but it looked just like you. The entire town believed you were dead.”

Will doesn’t console him, or nod to spur him on. He stays quiet, allowing Mike to take as long as he needs to get to the point.

“At the quarry, Troy ambushed us. He threatened to cut out Dustin's teeth if I didn’t jump.” 

The room is completely still, the only indication Will is listening is how his hold tightens on his arm. 

“When I walked towards the end of the cliff, my mind said it was for Dustin, but when I stepped off, I could only think about you. About seeing your body. It felt– it just felt right. To die in the same place.” He swallows thickly.

“Of course, El saved me and we found you, but– you know.” He doesn’t elaborate, knowing Will can put the pieces together of why he revisited that place. 

“Mike–”

“Don’t. I’m– I’m not even sure if I would’ve had the guts to do it. It was just… a reminder. I guess.” He brings his hands to the same marks Will handled with such searing gentleness. 

“But you did do it,” Will counters, and he sounds... he sounds scared. His grip on Mike has grown to something almost painful, like even talking about it could make him slip from his grasp. “You did. Do you still–” 

“No.” It’s not a complete lie, he wants to be here more than anything now that Will’s back, but he knows if he lost him one more time, it would be too much. 

“And if I do, I’ll tell you. I promise.” It’s also not a complete lie, but it’s more there to soothe Will’s worry. He doesn’t think Will would be there to tell if he felt that way again. 

It seems to work, because his shoulders slacken half an inch. 

He decides to be selfish, hiding himself in the crook of Will’s neck, away from the look on his face. Will looks too concerned, too scared, too worried, to the point that Mike can't stand to see it. He’d rather not make up delusions that Will cares as much as Mike does. 

“Just. Don’t leave again. Please don’t leave. I cant–” Any resolve he had left crumbles as Will wraps his arms around him. 

His chin rests on top of Mike’s head and he can feel the vibrations in his chest when he murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, I won’t leave.”

As he drifts to sleep, he dreams of a light press to his hair – like a kiss – and smiles.

—

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll just grab your hand again. Mike– it’s fine. Let's try it.” 

Mike frowns, but reluctantly lets go. 

Will disappears. Impressively, he waits a whole 5 seconds before calling out, 

“Will?”

“I’m here.” Says a voice in front of him, which is very new, and means their test is working. Mike’s face must indicate that he heard him, because Will asks, 

“You can hear me?”

“Yeah.” He grins. “I can.” 

It’s muffled like the first time they spoke, but his voice is undeniably there. 

“Okay, cool. Cool. Um, let me see if I can do more.” He’s getting less quiet as he talks, like the walls between them are thinning. 

They’re testing the bounds of what Will can do after Dustin had pestered them about it. El’s theory of Will adopting Vecna’s powers through the hive had inspired a lot to try out. 

This means they have to start with the main question: Can Will appear without Mike at all? 

There is a not-very-small, greedy part of him that hopes not. He hopes that Will has to hold his hand for the rest of his life and never know how much Mike enjoys it. He wants to keep this excuse, to reach out and twine his fingers with Will, and hide behind it when his love becomes too obvious.

He blinks and Will is standing in the middle of the room. His gaze moves from open air to immediately focus on him. Any disappointment about the discovery is dissipated by the blinding smile Will gives him when their eyes meet.

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of it,” he says, stepping forward. A perfect blush blooms over his face as he takes Mike’s hand again. For a moment, Mike thinks he’s holding it for the sake of holding it, but Will then adds, “It’s easier when I touch you, though. Without you, I have to put all my attention into being seen– it feels like work. This feels natural.”

That selfish part of him flares, taking over his body, and he grins wider without meaning to. Will needs him. He’s needed. It feels really fucking good. 

“Really?”

Will’s face grows even redder, and Mike has to resist, like, kissing him or doing something equally stupid. 

“Yeah. Really.” It would be so easy, he could just lean in a little further and–

He doesn't have a good response, so for a second they just stare at each other, until Will breaks the tension by moving backwards with a sigh. 

“Okay. Let’s see if I've got this mind powers thing.”

—

The answer is yes. 

They started with small objects and El walked in Will’s room to see them both staring very intensely at a pen on the floor. She brightened when they explained they were testing if Will actually had powers and offered to help. With a little guidance – that may or may not have been helpful because while El is amazing, she is not great with words – Will was able to tug the pen a little to the right. The action set in stone that the nature of all this must have to do with Vecna’s abilities. And if he can do mind-moving stuff he can most likely do the mind-bending shit too. Possession! 

After mulling it over, the concept of Will taking over his body is an idea Mike decidedly does not hate, if the way his face heats to unsafe degrees means anything. The unfortunate issue with it, however, is Will might see all the horrible thoughts he has and never speak to him again. So sadly possession is off the table. But luckily it doesn’t seem like Will was interested in doing any in the first place.

The nice part about Will learning to show himself without Mike’s assistance, is that there are less moments where Mike needs both his hands and Will is forced to disappear. Like currently, Mike is helping lug in some new music shelves for Will’s room. Originally, with them separated, he would get a sense of dread and an empty space beside him, but now he gets to see Will. 

Will, who is carrying the other shelf with his stupidly strong arms and broad shoulders. Mike has no idea what they fed him in Lenora to make him come back like that, and it hasn’t stopped driving him crazy since the airport.

He watches how Will’s hands flex as they re-adjust their grip, and he has to force himself to quit gawking when Will raises a brow. 

Will has been more – confident lately. It’s been over two weeks since he returned, and after figuring out the whole mind powers thing it’s like he’s accepted he’s here to stay. It’s amazing. It’s horrible. It’s making Mike’s heart flip and stop entirely. 

He’s smiling and touching Mike like it's nothing and it's like– it's like he doesn't even mind being stuck with Mike forever. It causes his stomach to swoop pleasantly, and it's horrible because this false hope inside him is expanding ever larger. He can feel what lurks behind it when Will inevitably finds out about Mike and realises he’s not good. That every touch Mike accepted had ulterior motives. He’ll finally see that dirty residue coated on every point of contact and spend the rest of their lives as far as the 30 yard distance he’s allowed, draining all his energy to be seen himself so he doesn't have to touch Mike.

His spiraling is put on pause when Will flops onto his bed dramatically. He does these grabby hands that are probably supposed to make Mike laugh, but instead it makes him flush from head to toe. 

When he walks to the edge of the bed, Will sits up to wind his arms around his waist and – holy fuck – rest his head on Mike’s chest. He knows this is because Will is tired from showing himself manually, but God, that does not stop his heart from beating like he just finished a marathon. He knows he’s not breathing and Will probably does too considering his face is leaning on his fucking ribcage. 

His hands twitch awkwardly at his sides until he finally jolts back into action and brings them to Will’s hair. He combs his fingers through the soft strands and Will hums appreciatively, pushing further into the touch. The sound alone is nearly enough to put Mike in a coma. 

Will eventually looks up at him (their faces are so, so close) and the instant their eyes meet there is a loud, electrical buzz as every light in the room flickers wildly. 

Mike startles and the comfortable look on Will’s face is replaced immediately with one of embarrassment. He draws back suddenly, turning away from Mike and muttering, “Sorry.” The pop and crackle of the bulbs stop with the motion.

Mike waves his hands in front of him. 

“No– no, it’s fine. It just surprised me.” 

Staring down at the bed, Will says sheepishly, “It’s just– nice. To recharge.” 

The explanation is completely unnecessary. Will does not need to give Mike any reasoning at all, as he will greedily take anything he’s given. 

“‘Course. Yeah.” Mike’s impressed with how level his voice comes out. “Don’t worry about me or the,” he gestures vaguely at the lamps, trying to find the words, “lights. It’s okay, really.”

Will somehow shrinks in on himself further at the mention of the lights, but appears to accept Mike’s (selfishly driven) assurance. He doesn’t wrap himself around Mike again, unfortunately, but he does take Mike’s hand. 

“You’ll tell me if it's ever too much, right?”

“You’re never too much,” he replies instinctively. Mike only realizes how revealing that statement is when Will’s eyes widen in response. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Okay.” 

Mike opens his mouth to backtrack, or somehow make his words seem less like a confession, but nothing comes out. 

It’s like everything he says brings Will one step closer to figuring out the truth. Will already watched Mike grieve for him and he can't even remember how much he gave away with those tears, because once Will returned, the year without him just blurred into a mess of bitter emotions. 

Had he spoken an “I love you” when begging Will to come back? Did he talk in his sleep? Were the nightmares he sugarcoated to Nancy still too obvious? It must not have been, because Will grins at him like he doesn’t know. He speaks to Mike like he doesn’t know. He touches Mike like he doesn’t know. 

His body slumps in relief every time but never without guilt stirring in his gut. It's not fair to keep him in the dark like this. Will deserves to know, but Mike isn’t strong enough to lose him.

It seems Mike's comment didn’t cross that line just yet, as Will gives a soft smile and pulls him towards the door. “Come on, El said she was redecorating too… we can shelve my music later.”

The anxiety in him loosens and familiar guilt takes its place. He muscles a smile, hoping it reaches his eyes. 

Will deserves to know. 

—

They fall into a routine quickly, due to the circumstances. Going through the day is mostly normal save for the large increase in handholding and small, steady touches. Will has been able to let go of Mike more often, which means they can be separated in a way that almost looks like they aren’t cosmically attached by the hip.

There’s something sacred about getting ready for sleep, however. Once they start going through the motions, their hands don’t leave each other. 

They haven’t shared a bed since they were kids, but after Will returned, neither of them have spoken about it. They silently crawl under the covers and it feels like second nature. 

Will looks at him, wordlessly asking for permission as his hand twitches. He responds by shuffling closer and Will slides his arms around his torso. 

And – God – he’s thankful they are laying down, because he feels dangerously dizzy when Will nuzzles his face in Mike’s neck. 

His breath hitches and Will must have noticed. He pulls back a little, but Mike can feel his lips brush against his skin when he murmurs, “Is this okay?” 

Will is right fucking there, in his arms, and he has no idea how much Mike wants this. He’s curled around him because every day is exhausting for him now, and the universe decided Mike was his antidote. It’s wrong for Mike to be enjoying this so much. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, breaking the rule Will had set on random apologies. He has to say it for his own sanity.

“What?” 

Mike realizes he didn’t respond to the question, so he brings Will further into his space in answer. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, “Just– it probably sucks, having to be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

“What? Mike, no. It doesn’t suck.”

“I mean– you say that now, but if you knew–” the words got caught in his throat.

Will shifts to meet his eyes. His brows are furrowed and Mike wants to wipe away the crease with his thumb. He grips the bedsheet instead. 

“If I knew what?” Will prods. 

Mike swallows and the glossy tears forming at his waterline are a thousand times more mortifying with Will right here in front of him. His mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words. 

When he finally speaks it comes out small, broken. 

“I think I’m a bad person,” he whispers, voice wavering in the middle of it. The crease between Will’s brows grows in confusion. 

“You– what are you talking about? Why would you say that?” Will’s face is etched in concern. Mike kind of wants to laugh at how distinctly Joyce he looks, his hair a little fluffed from the pillow and lines of worry carved into his expression. 

When Mike doesn’t say anything, Will speaks again. This time softer, as if Mike is a frightened animal. It’s embarrassing but probably not far off. 

“If I knew what, Mike?”

Despite himself, his eyes dart to Will’s lips and back up. He feels nauseous, panic mixing with the complicated flips in his stomach.

“You’d hate me.” 

He should've kept his mouth shut. Will was right, no more apologies. The heavy weight of his gaze backs Mike into a corner, and he attempts to wriggle out of his grasp to no success. His insides flail – like the Upside Down vines crushed between ground when the gates were sealed.

“I could never hate you.”

He knows Will won't let this go. He’s on the verge of figuring him out (if he hasn't already). It’s not like he can exactly leave either. 

Will brings a hand to Mike’s hair, pushing it from his face. It’s so unguarded, an action that could only come from not knowing and Mike would rather die than ruin this. 

But then his face inches closer. 

“Mike,” is all he says. 

It's enough. 

He’s always been weak to Will.

“You’d hate me,” a tear escapes him, crawling over the bridge of his nose and landing on the pillowcase, “if you knew how much I like this.” He can’t seem to look away, like a deer in headlights. 

“I like that you're stuck with me. It's awful. I like when you touch me, I like it too much. I’ve tried to stop it, but I can’t. Tell me–” Everything spills out of him, all his wanting and loving too much, “Tell me to stop. If– If you tell me to, then–” He doesn’t think he could stop even if Will told him to, but he’ll try anything at this point. 

Will’s eyes are wide as saucers, his mouth parted slightly. Even in the dimly lit room it's overwhelming. Mike tears his gaze down to the space between them, but when he starts to pull back, Will stays latched on to him. He anchors his hold, dragging Mike towards him by the waist until their noses are brushing. It’s so sudden that he only registers what's happened when he feels their breaths overlapping, Will’s exhales graze his lower lip. 

“Please don’t ever stop.” He says it in a rush, a desperate plea, as if Mike could really quit if he wanted. 

The hall light peeking from under the door blinks in and out, burning brighter than usual. It’s the only thing illuminating the room, besides the midnight blue through the window. The warm glow dances across the floor, more akin to a campfire than a lightbulb in the erratic movement. 

The air is heavy. It hums with an energy that reminds him of when Mike and Will were kids and first learned about static electricity. They spent the afternoon playing with balloons, rubbing their fingers against them and trying to surprise the other with a zap. 

Goosebumps prickle over his skin and the charge only intensifies when Will glances down to Mike’s mouth. He looks back up, eyes half lidded. Less than an inch separates their lips.

“Please,” Will begs, barely audible beneath the crackle of static – and he kisses Mike. 

The instant they meet, a sharp, sudden shock bites at his lips and leaves them tingling. Mike gasps but pushes back in before Will can do something stupid like move away and apologize. 

Will makes a surprised sound that is immediately swallowed by Mike. He slides his hand up Will’s jaw, tilting his head and – holy fuck he’s kissing Will Byers. His stomach swoops and twists in knots as his brain thinks of nothing but Will, Will, Will, Will– 

Then Will lets out a noise that can really only be described as a whine and Mike nearly passes out. He breaks the kiss, only straying far enough to breathe, their mouths still touching. Panting, he attempts to get any oxygen to his brain as he soaks in Will’s appearance.

His pupils are blown, overtaking the majority of each iris. His face is entirely flushed, reaching down to his neck and collar, but it hardly compares to the bright red of his lips. 

Mike did that. 

All the greedy thoughts he had tried so hard to bury now crawl from their shallow grave and take over. He lets himself want more. The way Will follows after him, choosing to be nearer, feeds the fire he’s been trying to stamp out his entire life. 

“Fuck, Will–” Mike cuts himself off by kissing him again, embracing the sting as it sparks from the contact. Will’s hands fisted in his shirt move to reach under the fabric. When his fingers meet Mike’s skin, the static pinches at them with a small click. 

He smiles into Will’s mouth, relishing in the pain. He can feel Will everywhere. Electricity clings to them, the weight of it blanketed over their bodies. 

“Sorry,” Will somehow says between kisses, and Mike bites his lip in reprimand. 

It causes Will to part his mouth wider, snaking his hands further up Mike's shirt, and he shivers at the trail of shocks peppered up his back. Mike takes the opportunity to press in closer, and Will honest to God moans. 

He’s dangerously lightheaded again, but he can’t bring himself to pull away, so he kisses the corner of Will’s mouth, his jaw, then down his neck. Will’s chest rises and falls rapidly and Mike feels it in the nonexistent space between them. 

One of Will’s hands tug at Mike’s hair as he nips the skin below his ear; It makes his insides flutter as heat rushes down his torso. He bites the spot, hoping for a harsher yank. 

A humiliating noise leaves him when Will’s fingers nestle and twist more firmly in his curls, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because Will pulls him up by the hair and crashes his mouth back into Mike’s. 

His brain stutters when Will throws a leg over and straddles him with such an urgency that Mike wonders if he’s wanted this for just as long. Will pins him down in a show of strength Mike forgets he has and it brings another whimper out of him as their lips reconnect. 

“Mike–” Will chokes out, needy and alive. Will is alive and he’s not grossed out, or angry, or scared of Mike. 

He’s alive and he’s here.

It’s everything he thought he couldn’t have and he’s never been so thrilled to be wrong.

“I love you,” Mike murmurs. Once it's out there, he says it over and over again in worship. “I always have. Ever since we were kids. God, Will–”

Will cradles his face, sweeping his thumbs across Mike’s jaw. Mike chases after him when he breaks the kiss, but stops short at the sight in front of him. 

Will looks absolutely enamored.

It’s intoxicating, seeing the spots on his neck bloom red. They mark his skin, but it doesn't feel dirty or wrong, it feels good. Half sitting and half lying on top of him, Will knows that Mike wants him and he’s still here. Will looks at him, eyes wide and dazed. When he speaks, it's breathless, like he can't believe this is happening. Mike can’t either. 

“I love you, too.”

Mike probably should’ve expected that, but it catches him completely off guard. He gapes a little in disbelief and Will gives a small, breathy laugh. 

“Since as long as I can remember,” he adds, leaning his forehead against Mike’s.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really,” Will grins and presses Mike further into the pillows. Mike acts as putty in his hands, following his lead like it’s gospel. His hands glide from Will’s thighs to his hips, two fingers slipping beneath his waistband, and Will kisses him. It’s deep and intentional, erasing any doubt that may linger in Mike’s mind. 

Will gasps into his mouth as his thumb traces the raised scarring of the fire poker. Mike does it unconsciously, touching every scar, freckle, and mole he’s memorized, checking that this is real. That it’s actually Will, here, with him. It’s hypnotic, feeling the muscles tense below his fingertips. 

His tongue brushes against Mike’s lip and he lets him in eagerly as Will pushes closer, closer until Mike feels suddenly weightless. Light and floaty, as if he’s been placed in one of El’s sensory deprivation baths. 

Will is gone. 

When he looks down at the empty space in front of him, it’s like he’s no longer attached to his body, eyes darting around beyond his control. 

It ends as soon as it begins. Will is back on his lap, now looking downright horrified. 

Mike is a little shaken, but his confusion melts quickly. 

He flushes in understanding, heart thundering in his ribcage as the puzzle pieces click in place. 

Will possessed him. Only for a second, but the idea of fusing at all makes his brain short circuit. 

“Sorry! Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, I swear. That was–” all color has drained from his face and his thighs hover a centimeter above Mike’s instead of fully sat, like he’s debating getting up and running away. 

“It’s okay,” he tries to tell Will, but it’s drowned out by the endless apologies he’s giving him. 

“–an accident. I’m sorry, I had no idea that would–“

“Will.” Mike’s hands reach for him again, resting on his shoulders. They nearly touch his ears with how he’s curled in on himself. 

“Will.” That seems to do the trick, as Will’s mouth snaps shut. 

“I promise you, it’s okay.” 

“Oh.” Will says, and he watches curiously as Mike ducks his head to hide the rising blush on his cheeks. 

“Oh.” A slow, teasing grin spreads across his face. 

Mike buries his head in his hands. “Stop.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” His voice is laced with amusement. Mike feels like dying. 

He flops back into the pillows. “This is so embarrassing.”

Will shakes in silent laughter. “Mike. Look at me.” 

Mike shakes his head. Eventually fingers wrap around his wrists and tug to uncover Mike’s scowl. 

“It’s not embarrassing.” Will looks good, hovering over him. He likes how the blue of the ceiling frames his face. “Um. It’s nice to know you didn’t hate it.” 

Distracted by the sight above him, he responds without thinking. 

“Yeah. Really didn’t.”

Now it's Will’s turn to blush, mirroring Mike's deep red. He hides in Mike’s shoulder. 

“Oh my God,” he voices into his collarbone. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” Mike says. He beams when Will groans at the cheesiness. 

They fall into a comfortable silence. He traces looping circles along Will’s shoulder blades as they sit there, enjoying the steady presence of each other.

After however long – Will now lying completely on top of him – Mike murmurs, “I love you,” again. Just for the sake of saying it out loud. He wasn’t sure if Will had fallen asleep at some point, so he’s somewhat surprised when Will shifts to meet his eye. 

He blesses him with a soft smile. 

“I love you, too.” 

Mike meets him in the middle for a slow, languid kiss.

Will gives one more peck to his lips, then another, and another. In his entire life, he thinks, nothing has ever felt this right.