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Mike Wheeler is no stranger to a hangover.
From just a shitty little headache to the toilet's best friend for the day, he’s had them all. Yet, they never seem to get any better and he never seems to remember to take any precautions the night before. Even a simple advil he’d be grateful to his dumb drunk self for.
But alas, he is still waking up in his childhood bedroom after a night out with Lucas, Dustin, and Max, his head pounding and everything in his stomach reminding him of the toxins he was drinking like water last night. He groaned, not daring to move out of fear for how his body would react.
Despite how often he does it, Mike does not actually enjoy drinking very much. He thinks the taste of alcohol is too strong and he hates who he becomes after a few—all moody and sad—and he hates how in order to change that he drinks more and he hates that version even more. The loud, obnoxious, overcompensating version of himself that somehow ends up on a table at the bar yelling and hey watch this! before doing nothing impressive and getting kicked out.
That’s the version of him that landed him the ring on his left hand.
It was a typical Thursday night for him. His friends—who he’d hardly call friends, they were just the rest of the stoner burnouts in the writing club but they were people to hang out with on a campus he didn’t know anyone else at—were going out to their local bar that didn’t ID because if they did they’d have no business. Thursday was karaoke, Mike despised karaoke but after a few shots and a steady stream of beers for the night he had to be pried off the stage.
Mike’s song selection at a sober time of day isn’t exactly uplifting, so when it comes time for his drunk self to pick a song he finds himself on the brink of tears singing Are ‘Friends’ Electric by Tubeway Army and his stupid friends are hyping him up when he knows he doesn’t deserve it.
He finishes the song and chugs the last bit of his beer. As he’s making his way to the bar for another, a girl stops him.
She’s short, maybe 5’4, long brown hair, bangs covering her forehead, and lots of eyeliner. She’s wearing a black tank top and tight jeans. She’s clapping slowly, a smirk plastered on her lips as she looks up at Mike through her mascara soaked eyelashes.
“I love that song!” She shouts to be heard over the next song starting.
Mike’s booze soaked brain lagging a second behind reality, all he does is stare at her and blink for a minute. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, me too!”
She laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Mike laughs too, because maybe it was.
“You’re funny. Buy me a drink?”
Mike didn’t think much of it, he just agreed. They spent the rest of the night shouting over the music at the bar and Mike realized this girl—Kate, he learned was her name—was actually really cool. She was majoring in biology with a minor in art. They liked a lot of the same music, she liked a lot of Will’s music specifically (which Mike might have mentioned immediately when she mentioned The Clash).
Mike actually liked her, the first person in his entire year and 2 months of being here he finally found a single person who he actually enjoyed talking to. She even seemed to like to talking to him which was an even bigger win. But eventually her friends came over and dragged her out of the bar, maybe to go to another one, truthfully Mike wasn’t listening, and he waved her a kind goodbye. One of his friends, Devon, came up and smacked him upside the head as Kate walked away.
“Dude, are you crazy? Go ask her out!” He yelled.
Mike stared at him, then at Kate’s shrinking silhouette, absolutely dumbfounded. He was drunk, more drunk than he wanted to be for something like this. So when Devon forced him out of his seat and pushed him after her his feet took over and started running until they caught up with her, and then his mouth started running and he was asking her out.
Eight months later they’d been dating for a while, he’d even met her family. Everything was fine, she was beautiful, she liked him, sex was cool he supposed but he didn’t really understand all the hype. He figured this was an alright way to spend his time and it’s nice to have someone around. That is, until one day, they were sitting in her dorm on opposite sides of her bed reading comics, when she mentioned it.
“Have you ever considered getting married?”
Mike’s head shot up, eyebrows twitched together. He hadn’t expected that question. “Um, I guess? Not like, recently. In passing, sometimes.”
That was technically true, although the last time he remembered even thinking about the concept of marriage had been when he found out Jonathan was going to propose to Nancy. He remembered feeling freaked out, she was only 19, they hadn’t even saved the world yet. He remembered needing to tell someone, he remembered agreeing with his best friend that they would never get married that young.
“Everyone keeps asking me when you’re gonna propose.” She says idly, flipping to the next page of her comic.
“What?” Mike yells, she raises an eyebrow at him. “We haven’t even been dating for a year?”
She shrugs. “That’s what I said.”
Mike sits there, unable to think about anything else. He can’t stop thinking about that conversation he’d had at 16 years old.
“Have you? Thought about it, I mean.” He says.
“Yeah. I think every girl does. I mean, sometimes I’ll fantasize about it, about us, you know. And we’d get some real sweet tax benefits.” She laughs. Mike tries to reciprocate but it comes out strangled.
A few days later they were out with friends, both drunk as shit and the conversation came back around. Mike’s drunk ass yelling some shit about how he thought she was super cool and loved having her in his life, how he never wanted her to not be in his life or something—it makes him sick to recall because he cannot remember what he had said for the life of him. The only thing he remembers is she said she wanted the same thing and then:
“—Should we get fucking married?!”
He remembers this part too. It makes him cringe to recall, the memory of the heat in cheeks from the alcohol and the way his vision blurred just enough that when he looked at her he could imagine him, and he’s never been able to say no to him. So, he says:
“Sure! Why not!”
His headache that next morning was almost as bad as this one, except he’d had someone there to make him remember what happened. Now, all he has is this stupid cheap wedding band that was reflecting sunlight into his eye, and the more he stared at it the more he started to feel sick.
Oh shit, he was gonna be sick.
He scrambled out of bed in his underwear, making it to safety just in time.
As the demons from the previous night expelled out of him, his recollection of said night also dawned back on him. He remembered Lucas asking way too many questions about the wedding, Dustin begging for a plus one despite not actually having a girlfriend to bring, and Max who pulled him aside and asked the question no one else was brave enough to.
“Have you told Will yet?”
His stomach dropped at his name. Mike avoided her eyes and he took a swig of his drink. She punched him in the shoulder, he almost choked.
“What!”
“I cannot fucking believe you. It’s been a year and you still haven’t told him?” She yells, the sounds of the bustling bar hiding the sound. She moves her head to catch his eye, she knows when he’s avoiding it, he knows she’ll see through him if he doesn’t. “You’re getting married in a month!”
“I haven’t had a chance—“ His voice is pathetic, even in his own ears.
“Bullshit. You haven’t told him because you’re a coward.” Max spat. He knew he didn’t deserve sugar coating, but it still hurt to hear.
“I’m not—“
“Yes, you are, Wheeler. You need to tell him. Soon.” She walked away, leaving him alone in the corner of this fuckass bar in their fuckass hometown.
His stomach churned, he knew she was right. He knew he had to tell him—tonight.
Those two extra shots and two more beers of courage are exactly how he landed himself pathetically hunched on his bathroom floor.
Oh shit.
Yep. It’s all coming back now.
The weight of the phone in his hand as he dialed Will’s number—the number he had memorized even in his altered state because he found himself dialing it far too often after his nights out. He vaguely remembered the way he couldn’t quite get his words to stop slurring together, he remembered feeling like he could see Will’s shiney hazel eyes as he spoke—like he was right in front of him, tangible.
He remembered begging.
Please Will… I need you there. Please.
His stomach convulsed again at the thought.
Fuck.
—
“You look like shit.”
Mike stumbled down the stairs, the smell of the eggs Nancy was scrambling hit him with another unwelcome wave of nausea.
“Fuck you.” He muttered, throwing himself into a chair and dropping his head on the table.
A plate clattered in front of him, shaking his brain around in his skull.
“What the hell—“
“Eat.” Nancy dropped two pills in his hand and a large glass of water onto the table. “Take that, drink.”
Her stare was less than comforting, arguably humiliating as he did what he was told, downing the medication with three large gulps of water leaving it only half full now.
Nancy sat diagonal to him, at the head of the table, pushing the plate of eggs and bacon at him. He accepted, but as he picked up a piece of bacon his stomach made a displeased noise at him. Still, he managed to force it down.
“So, why do you look like shit?” Nancy said bluntly.
Mike rolled his eyes. As if instant karma, it pinched the nerves behind his eyelids making him wince in pain.
“Went out with everyone last night.” He muttered between his chewing. He fixed his gaze out the window, dark clouds were rolling in.
Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Everyone?”
Mike shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Including Will?”
Mike tensed. His jaw paused its chewing for a half a second too long because now Nancy was crossing her arms like she’d just won something.
“Right,” was all she said.
He knows he’s not the best liar, he’s not particularly good at hiding his emotions. Unfortunately for him, his face reflects pretty much exactly what he’s thinking. But he didn’t think it was that obvious.
He and Will weren’t close like they used to be, that much was fair game. He knows it’s his fault too, he knows he should’ve tried harder after what happened. But Will’s face as he left him in the basement that night, embarrassed and hurt and terrified, Mike thought the best thing to do was to ignore it. He thought that when Will wanted to talk about it again, he would be ready. Ready for what, he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe just saying literally anything though, was kind of his main plan.
Except, Will never brought it up again. He actually just downright avoided Mike in every way. He was always the first to leave the hangouts, he wouldn’t sit next to Mike during movie nights or for D&D, he hardly would even make eye contact with him. Everytime he did actually speak to him it was painful, for both of them—neither daring to say anything other than polite small talk or topical off-handed comments. He even chose the earliest move-in date for school, which Mike didn’t find out about until he’d already left. He had to learn this through the rest of the party who all got to see him off at the airport while Mike was none the wiser.
That’s what broke through the armor, that broke his heart.
That’s when he realized that feeling that weighed down on his chest every time he looked at Will was something very real and very intimidating because that meant this thing he’s spent his whole life convincing himself wasn’t actually there or wasn’t what he thought it was—it was all lies to make himself feel better and he had nothing left to hide behind.
The worst part was it wasn’t even the being a queer thing that was freaking him out. Despite his efforts to ignore it, he couldn’t. He’s never really understood his feelings for boys or girls, everything felt jumbled and confused and he knew something was different but if he looked away from it then it wasn’t there. But he knew, and then after everything with El and then with Will.
Everything with Will was so different than anything he’d ever felt before. Having his hands in his air, his lips pushed against his, access to any and every part of him—it was liberating.
He couldn’t ignore that feeling anymore, not fully. It always lingered. That part didn’t scare him anymore, it just made his soul ache.
The terrifying part was accepting just how in love he was with his best friend, how long he’s been in love with him, and how he could’ve had him if he had just said it sooner.
But he fumbled, he doesn’t get to have the one thing he truly wants because he’s proven time and time again he’s incapable of deserving it. He thought maybe this is the third best case scenario, engaged to a cool girl who seems to like him. If he has this then no one will notice how he shuts down at the mention of Will’s name, or the fact that they haven’t had a proper conversation in years.
He’s wrong, of course.
Max noticed it immediately, as in the very same day that Mike figured it out for himself. She didn’t say much to him, only just something to haunt him for the rest of forever.
“Figure your shit out Wheeler, not just for him. Do it for yourself, dumbass.”
As far as pep talks go, it was pretty shit. But, in terms of a reality check it’s definitely done something.
Mike pushed the eggs around his plate with his fork. “Would you stop that?” He grumbles.
“Stop what?” Nancy replies, feigning innocence.
“Looking at me like that, it’s weird.” He shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth, trying not to gag.
He doesn’t know how Nancy figured it out. Despite what they’ve been through together, he knows surprisingly little about his sister. It feels unfair that she could potentially know more about him than he does her, so she can’t. She’s not allowed. That’s Mike’s rule.
She don’t know about this rule.
“I’m not looking at you in any kind of way.”
“Yes, you are. It’s annoying.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How am I looking at you?”
Mike stabs the eggs, slamming the fork prongs into the plate “Like you think you know something, but you don’t, okay? You don’t.”
Nancy hums, thunder rumbles in the sky. He can see her smirk in the corner of his eye as he watches the first drop of rain hit the window in front of him. “What do I not know?”
“You don’t know about me and Will, okay?” Mike yells, throwing the fork down, lightning flashing through the room. “Everyone thinks they know what’s going on but you’re wrong! You’re wrong! And everyone just needs to leave it alone because I know I fucked up and he’s never going to forgive me and I don’t want to be reminded of it anymore!”
He’s breathing heavy, the rain outside now a violent downpour. Nancy’s looking up at him, because apparently he’s standing now, her eyes wide with shock. She looks like she can’t decide between being proud of herself for getting him to explode or going into big sister mode and giving him a hug.
Mike's stomach twists at the sight.
He bolts, rounding the corner and finding the trashcan.
Man he fucking hates eggs.
He feels Nancy start to rub soothing circles into his back, which only makes him feel worse, further spilling his guts until there’s nothing left to spill. Tears stain his cheeks, he’s gripping the edge of the trashcan so tight his knuckles have gone white. Nancy pulls him away from the bin, pulling him into her.
He’s sobbing. He doesn’t remember when he started sobbing but he was. He clutched Nancy in his arms, air struggling to make its way into his lungs. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t make a single sound, just keeps her face pressed into his chest as she squeezes him tight until he’s calmed down.
His breathing evens out enough for her to loosen her grip and tell him to go sit back down. He does, pushing the remaining eggs away from himself. He hears the faucet running, then Nancy’s socked footsteps approaching. She grabs his chin, not very gentle, and turns his head up to look at her. Her expression is neutral again as she runs the cool cloth along his flushed cheeks. He doesn’t look at her, shifting his eyes to stare out the window some more.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you.” She says, pulling his attention again. Only, she won’t meet his eyes now. “I wasn’t… I shouldn’t assume anything but, it’s kind of hard watching my little brother suffer while pretending to be whatever he thinks he’s supposed to be. It’s bullshit.”
She runs the rag over his lips before tossing it to the floor and placing the half-full water back in front of him. He takes a sip.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s happening with you and Will. And while I want to believe it’s your fault, I also have to believe he’s not totally innocent in this either.”
Mike sets his glass down. “I mean, I guess. But I’ve made it worse.”
Nancy sits next to him. “What’d you do?”
Mike winces. If he had anything left in his body he thinks it would’ve tried to evacuate again. “I… I called him last night, when I was fucked up. I don’t remember all of it but I remember…” He takes a steadying breath, the sound of the rain distracting him from Nancy’s concerned gaze. “I finally told him. About the wedding. I begged him to come,”
He looks at Nancy now, “I begged him. I said I couldn’t do it without him.” Her eyebrows shifted upwards like they do when she’s worried, Mike thinks he’s doing the same thing. “I miss him so much.” He whispers.
Nancy pulls him in for another hug, her arms awkwardly around his back while he rests his head on her shoulder. His headache won’t seem to leave him alone either.
“You’re so dumb,” She says, a ghost of a laugh in her voice as she says it. He should be offended, instead he finds himself chuckling alongside her until both of them are fully laughing. He looks up at her, she pushes the hair off his forehead and musses it up like she used to when he was little and he’d whine until their mom yelled at her to stop.
“Alright, here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go take a shower and brush your teeth cause you are gross right now. Then, you’re going to take my car, go over to the Byers’, and use your words like a fucking adult. You got it?” Nancy’s smiling, Mike is smiling too. He nods.
She ruffles his hair again, he bats her hand away with little force and gets up from the table.
Use your words.
He can do that, he knows words. It’s fine, it can’t be that bad.
—
The Byers’ new house was unfamiliar to Mike. He’d been there only a few times, actually stepping foot in it maybe once. It wasn’t a big house, a cute little one story with a finished basement, something to call home. Not to Mike though, he didn’t have any memories of playing wizards and knights in the yard here, or scary movie nights where Mrs. Byers made them cookies, or watched Will draw while Mike narrated his action figures like a puppet show.
He supposed he also doesn't have any memories of the way Will woke up in a cold sweat while being possessed here. Or the way his body laid lifeless on the couch because of it, or monsters flying through windows.
He doesn’t blame them for moving on, he just hates what had to be left behind because of it.
The rain had yet to let up. If anything it’s only gotten angrier. Mike took a few deep breaths. Nancy’s words got jumbled up with what Max had told him a few years ago, leaving him a weirdly helpful mantra that looped through his head.
Use your words, dumbass.
He stepped out of the car, the rain immediately soaking through the old hoodie he’d thrown on in place of a raincoat, because he doesn’t have a raincoat and he figured this would be good enough.
He was wrong, he was drenched in seconds.
He ran through the rain, knocking on the front porch before he’d even had a second to compose himself.
Joyce opened the door, her face shifting in surprise as she recognized him.
“Oh! Mike, honey, what a— what a surprise!”
“Hello Mrs. Byers, sorry to stop by like this. Is Will here?”
She nodded, “Yeah, yeah he’s just in his room, I’ll…” She pointed, stepping back and calling out Will’s name.
There was a distant response, Mike could just barely make it out over the sound of the rain.
“Will, you’ve got a visitor!” She yelled, then turned back to Mike. “Oh dear, honey come in before you catch a cold,”
She pulled him in, taking away his lame excuse of a jacket. Just as she did, a door opened down a hallway that Mike couldn’t see. But he heard it, the creaking of the floorboards, and then there he was.
Emerging out of the hall was the one and only Will Byers. Mike hadn’t seen him in… God, he doesn’t even know how long.
Too long.
He was just in pajamas, an old band t-shirt that clung a little too tightly around his arms and some checkered pajama pants. His hair was messy, but in a nice way, like he couldn’t help but try and make it presentable after he’d woken up just because he wanted to. The thought warmed Mike’s heart.
“I couldn’t really hear you mom, what were you—“ he stops, mid-step as he catches Mike’s eye. “Oh.”
That’s not what he wanted to hear.
“Hi.” Mike says, not sure if it was the right thing to say but it was probably better than nothing at all.
“I’ll go hang this downstairs to dry.” Joyce smiles, likely sensing the tension and attempting to excuse herself. Mike thanked her nonetheless, and turned back to Will.
He wasn’t looking at him anymore, now picking at his fingertips instead.
“What are you doing here?” He says.
“Hi, I, uh, I just, I wanted to,”
Use your words, dumbass.
“Can we talk?”
Will looks up at him, his eyes wander all across his whole body for a second and then back to his eyes. For a second, Mike expects him to say no. He has a look on his face that looks like he’s about to yell at him for daring to show up here and to never contact him again.
But this is Will, his Will.
“Yeah, okay. Take your shoes off.” He turns back down the hall.
Mike freezes for a minute, a little in awe that he’s made it this far. Once Will is out of sight though he realizes he does not like that and kicks his shoes off and follows him down the hall with haste.
Will is standing in the doorway to a room at the end of the hall, a smirk grazing his lips. Mike’s heart jumps.
“What?” He asks lamely, just wanting to hear Will speak.
He shakes his head. “Nothing, come in here.”
Will steps out of the way to let Mike in, shutting the door behind them. Mike takes it all in. The room smells unfamiliar, almost stale, like it’s never really been lived in. Cardboard boxes are stacked up in the corner with a few of Will’s old drawings plastered up on the walls. The bed is messy in the way a hotel bed is messy, the top layer thrown askew but the sheets look almost fresh. The walls were dark blue, the ceiling a much lighter shade, nearly white. A suitcase laid open with clothes tossed around messily inside and around it in the closet.
A cute room, it wasn’t Will’s though.
Will cleared his throat, drawing Mike’s attention back to him. His hands clasped together behind his back, his mouth a straight line, as he rocked back and forth on his heel.
“Right, um, can we talk?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, you already asked that. I already said yes.” Will responded plainly.
“Right, sorry, I just… You know it’s been kind of a while and we were all out kind of late last night so I’m still a little foggy so—“
“Mike,” Will cut him off, his voice as gentle as Mike remembered it. “What do you want?”
Mike's heart dropped. “I don’t want anything I just—“
“I know you want to talk, what do you want? Spit it out, please.” Will sounded tired, like he was using everything in him to get his voice out.
Mike swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat.
He wanted to see Will. That was what he wanted. He wanted to see him and prove that he was still real, that he was just as perfect as he’d left him the last time and the time before and the time before. He wanted to hear his voice, he wanted to know about college and New York and about all of his Big City friends and about his most recent portfolios and his opinion on the new Star Wars movies and if he read the new Spider-Man comics. He wanted him to roll his eyes at him with a smile on his face and say his name the way he always said it—like he was never tired of him and like he wanted to say it for the rest of time.
That’s what he wanted, and he knew it was unfair because he’d left Will in the dark and then called him with a bomb to drop and then showed up at his house. But he wanted it so badly.
“I wanted to ask how you’re doing.” He almost whispers it, like his subconscious was taking over to fill the silence.
Will laughed. Not the bright, joyous laugh that makes Mike dizzy, this was dry and sarcastic and disheartening. “You want to ask how I’m doing? I’m fantastic, Mike. Thanks so much. Good to see you, get home safe,”
He starts opening the bedroom door, Mike panics.
“No!” He leaps at the door, pushing it shut again. His hand covering Will’s on the doorknob.
They look at each other. This is the closest they’ve been since that fateful Tuesday in 1987. Mike briefly takes advantage, attempting to count all of Will’s eyelashes to make sure they’re all still there, check in to make sure every freckle and mole is still in their place.
They are, everything is just how he remembered.
His Will.
“I’m sorry.” Mike says.
This surprises the other boy, his eyebrows jumping briefly before knitting together, his eyes searching Mike’s face for some sort of hint of something that made sense. He pulled his hand out front under Mike’s, leaving the cold metal to burn under his palm.
Will steps back, crossing his arms. “Sorry for what?”
“All of it.” Mike answers immediately. Will scoffs.
“I mean it,” Mike continues. “I’m so sorry Will. I’m sorry for what happened in the basement. I’m sorry for not talking to you, I’m sorry for letting us drift away, I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot.”
Will’s making a face Mike has never seen before, He hates it. He wants to do anything to make his smile come back.
“I’m sorry that I called you last night. I didn’t want you to find out like that, I didn’t mean to say it and I didn’t, I don’t mean it.” He says.
Will blinks at him, his hands have shifted so he’s hugging himself now.
“What?” His voice cracks. Mike's heart goes with it.
“I didn’t mean it, what I said on the phone. I can’t have you there.”
Mike can see tears welling in Will’s eyes now—this isn’t what he wanted.
“Okay? Cool. I wasn’t going to go but good to fucking know I guess,” His voice is so hoarse now, Mike wants to stab himself in the gut.
“No, that’s not what—“ Mike starts to explain himself before Will’s sentence finally catches up to his brain. “You weren’t gonna go?”
Will looks at him, incredulous. “No, Mike. I wasn’t planning on going to your fucking wedding that you couldn’t even be bothered to send me a real invite to, that I didn’t even fucking know was happening until a month in advance! You probably don’t know this because you’re only twenty fucking years old getting married before you’re even out of college, but drunk dials don’t count as real wedding invites!”
Mike doesn’t think he’s ever heard Will yell before. His voice cracking and still carrying the weight of every word and tears slipping down his face like it’s nothing. He hates it.
“I’m sorry,” Mike repeats, his own voice hardly working anymore.
“Yeah, you said that already. Unless you have something new to say you can get the fuck out.” Will turns away from him, facing the window. The blinds were slated to let in the light, except the rain was still pouring with a mission and thunder shook the house.
“I lied.” Mike said, forcing confidence in his voice. Will dropped his head, a barely audible Mike slipping from his lips.
He continued anyway.
“I told you that I needed you at the wedding because I couldn’t do it without you and that was a lie. You wouldn’t be able to be there because if you were I couldn’t go through with it.”
Will’s head perked at that, snapping over to look at Mike.
“I could only go through with it without you there because if you’re there, in a suit and tie like that I… I wouldn’t be able to stop imagining that she’s you and I wouldn’t be able to do it.”
Will looks forward again and shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t be mean, you’re not mean,”
“I’m not being mean, Will, I’m being the most honest I’ve ever been in my life!”
Mike takes a step forward. Will flinches and he has to pretend like that didn’t hurt.
“Will, please look at me.”
Will is crying, he’s trying not to but his whole face is red now and he’s choking between shuddered breaths. He looks up at the ceiling, a few broken gasps, and then to Mike.
His beautiful eyes look brown in this light, glossed over with tears and years of heartache being brought to the surface. Mike hates that he knows that it’s his fault, he hates that this couldn’t have been easier. He wants to make this easy for him to believe.
“I don’t want to get married,” Mike whispers. “Not now, not to her. She’s- yeah she’s great and I should want this, I should love her, but I can’t. She’ll never be you.”
Will looks around, exasperated, something between a dry laugh and a sob escaping his throat. Mike gently tugs at one of the hands holding Will together and much to his relief, he’s able to pull it away and curl their fingers together.
“Please,” Will sobs. “Please don’t say that shit unless you mean it Mike. I’m serious, I can forgive you for so many things, but I can’t forgive you for that.”
Mike brings his free hand to Will’s face, wiping the tears off his cheek with his thumb. He realizes now that he’s crying now too, the lump in his throat catching him off guard as he tries to speak.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me.”
“I don’t know how to believe you, either.”
Mike does the only thing he can think to do. He slides his hand to the back of Will’s head and pulls him in, tucking him gently into his shoulder as he wraps his arms around him.
Will moves pliantly, his own arms trying themselves tightly around Mike's waist.
When they were kids, Mike would hug Will all the time. Excited hugs, proud hugs, lazy hugs, all of the above. His little kid arms couldn’t get enough of him. He’s only hugged him a handful of times since then, honestly not enough for his liking.
But not a single one has felt like this.
Like the two of them were charging each other up. Like they’ve been apart for eons and finally have come back together to form as one again. Their bodies fit together so perfectly, like the final piece to a puzzle that had long gone missing and just found its way back to the board. Mike needed it, he’s been living the last five years, maybe even his whole life, without oxygen and he finally has it here, in his arms squeezing him back, he can’t believe he’s made it this long. He can’t believe he’s deprived himself of heaven for so long.
“I missed you,” Mike whispers into his hair, just needing it to be in the air with them.
“I missed you, too.” Will mumbles into his sweater, still damp from the rain.
Mike presses a kiss into the top of his head, subconsciously, like he’s done it a thousand times.
“I love you.”
There it is.
The only thing that’s ever scared him more than any interdimensional monster, or wizard, or even death itself. The whole, honest to god, truth:
He, Mike Wheeler, loves Will Byers.
He’s loved him since that day he saw him swinging alone, since they had their first D&D session that consisted mostly of Mike nerding out to Will while he played with the dice. He’s loved him since their first sleepover where they watched horror movies despite not being allowed to Mike hid Will from the especially scary scenes, and then told him lovely magical stories before they went to sleep so he wouldn’t have nightmares. He loved him that night he went missing, that week he spent trying to find him. He loved him throughout being possessed even though he was so fucking scared he’d never get his Will back again. Even through that girlfriend bullshit and the move to California.
Not a single moment of his life could he say that he was not in love with William Byers.
And now he’s said it, he never wants to not have to say it again.
Will pulls himself off Mike’s shoulder, tears having dried up or smeared off his face. His cheeks and eyes are red and puffy, his eyelashes dark from the tears as he looks up at Mike through them.
Mike smiles, watching Will try to brace himself for a punch that isn’t gonna come.
“I love you, Will Byers.” He repeats, his hands framing his face now.
His eyes search Mike’s face. “You do?”
Mike nods. “Yes. So much it makes me feel crazy.”
They both laugh at that, incredulous, pure laughter.
“It makes me feel crazy too.” Will breathes, his wandering eyes sticking on Mike’s mouth now and Mike can’t take it anymore.
He pulls Will’s face up, meeting him halfway and connecting their lips in a desperate, needy, genuine, perfect kiss.
It’s not like what happened in Mike’s basement, there is no hesitation here. There’s no lust, not confusion, no curiosity—this is pure honesty. A prophecy being fulfilled, a quest being complete, simply fated destiny.
The weight they’ve been carrying for decades lifting off of them now, the truth unable to contain itself any longer because they finally have the whole world to themselves and none of the rest of it matters.
Will’s hands grip Mike’s waist, anchoring him to reality, proving more that this is real and it’s his, theirs. Mike hums into Will’s mouth, desperate to have him closer.
Will breaks their kiss, breathless. Mike did that, he took his breath away.
“I love you, too. So much.” He whispers between breaths.
“God I love you so much,” Mike says again, because now he’s addicted to the way it feels in his mouth, rolling off his tongue like he’s stating the weather or what he wants for dinner. “I love you.”
He pulls him back into his lips again. Now with more fervor, desperate to make him understand just how serious he is and make him finally believe him.
Will hums in surprise, Mike swallows the sound. It spreads right through his chest and he believes he could start glowing right now.
Will guides them back to the bed, blindly, only barely tripping on the random shit thrown across the floor. Every second their lips come apart one of them is whispering I love you into the other person's mouth, just to confirm that it’s true and that it won’t be forgotten.
Will pushes Mike back to sit on the bed, he immediately grabs Will’s hips and pulls him on top of him, connecting their lips back together with record speed. The kiss has become sloppy, a mess of tongues and spit and want and Mike feels like he’s walking on air—he’s never felt like this before. He never knew that just making out could be so goddamn ethereal but holy shit is he on a whole other planet right now.
The dip of Will’s waist beneath his fingertips and the pressure of his thighs straddling Mike's hips, the weight of his body in Mike's lap, Will’s hands roaming around Mike like he’s exploring a foreign land. The way his fingers curl into his hair and remind him just how real he is, pulling a moan out of him and right into Will’s mouth. He doesn’t even care, Will could ask him to bark like a dog right now and he’d do it with zero hesitation. He’d do anything Will wants if it will keep him like this forever.
“You’re so perfect,” Mike gasps, trailing his lips across Will's jaw. “You’re so fucking perfect, Will. You’re everything, you’re so beautiful like this,” He rambles compliments all the way down Will’s neck, he squirms on top of him, holding his lips in place over his pulse point.
“Mike,” he pants, making him feel feral. He could die right now and he’d have already seen heaven.
Mike hears himself between kisses along the other boy's throat just repeating please please please, he doesn’t know what he’s begging for but he knows he needs something.
Then, there’s a knock on the door.
Mike doesn’t even hear it, so caught up in the sound of his own heartbeat rushing in his ears and the heavy breathing of the boy in his lap. But it pulled Will’s attention off of him, almost pulling a disappointed whine out of him. He should probably have felt that as a wake up call, but not when he could see Will’s perfect flushed face and plump, bruised lips like this.
Will was talking to his mom through the door, something about lunch or sandwiches or something. Neither of them had made any effort to move off each other in the case that she’d potentially enter. Just the thought though of not having Will this close made him ache, he gripped his hips even tighter.
“Thanks mom!” Will yelled out, finally turning back to Mike. That bright smile was back on his face, Mike’s heart swelled.
Will pushed him so he was laying flat on his back on the bed, surely he was smiling like a dope but he didn’t care, not when the rain clouds had finally passed by and a sliver of sunlight was hitting Will Byers freshly kissed face. Mike holds this face in his hand.
“I love you.” He repeated. Will rolls his eyes, smile on his face
“Yeah, you’ve said that like, a hundred times.” He tries to be sarcastic, but the blush across his cheeks tell Mike everything he needs to know.
“So you believe me?” Mike rubs a thumb across Will’s cheekbone. Will rests his own hand on top of his.
“Yeah, I believe you.”
“Good,” Mike props himself up on an elbow, needing Will to be way closer than he is right now. “Because I’m never gonna stop saying it now.”
Will’s smile softened, Mike wanted to kiss every inch of that smile.
“What about your,” Will cleared his throat, pulling Mike's hand off his face, “Your fiancée.” He whispered, keeping his eyes locked on Mike’s fingers.
“I called her before I came here. I told her I couldn’t do it, told her everything really.”
Will looked at him, worry in his eyes. “Really?”
Mike nodded. “She understood, she said it made sense. We never really fully clicked, you know?” Mike pinched Will’s chin between this thumb and forefinger, pulling him close. “Not like this.”
He locked their lips together again. Gentle and steady, no rush, no urgency, just sweet time on their side.
Will smiled into the kiss, it made Mike want to do everything he could to keep him smiling like that. Still, Will pulled away.
“Are you really sure? You really want this?”
Will said it like a question, like there was something to back out of.
But this is it, nothing in the whole world could ever compare to the way Mike feels about this boy, about all of this. The way he feels in his hands and the way his lips taste on his, the look in his eye when Mike reminds him that he loves him. This is his only choice, he’s never never been forced into taking what he wants like this—he loves it.
“I do. I want it more than anything.”
Will smiles, he gives a small nod and the whisper of an okay falls from his lips, but he’s already pulled Mike back in to kiss him. Mike is more than willing to comply, except he stops himself.
“Do you? Want this?” He asks.
“Shut up and kiss me Michael.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.