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The metal rung bites into Will’s palm as he hauls himself up another step, the tower vibrating faintly with every movement from the people above them. The whole structure hums in the wind like it’s alive, thin November air slicing through the gaps in the steel bars and whipping past his ears. It’s cold enough that his fingers ache, but he keeps climbing anyway, because the alternative is looking down—and Will has learned through many, many unpleasant life experiences that looking down when you’re already this high up rarely improves the situation.
Besides, if he lets himself think too hard about the situation they’re currently in, he might actually lose his mind.
Because if someone had told him two years ago that he’d spend a Friday night climbing a cursed radio tower so they could break into another dimension from another dimension and kill the evil wizard who’s been tormenting him since middle school, he probably would’ve believed them. At this point, his life has been weird long enough that almost nothing surprises him anymore.
He just would’ve been really, really pissed about it.
Above him, Dustin is shouting something that sounds suspiciously like an argument about rope knots with Steve, their voices carrying faintly down the hollow tower frame. Somewhere below, Lucas mutters something that sounds like a prayer or a threat directed at gravity. The ladder creaks under all of them, the metal vibrating through Will’s hands and up his arms.
And right above him—
“Wait. Stop for a second.”
Will pauses mid-climb and looks up.
Mike has stopped on the rung just above the small landing platform, one sneaker braced awkwardly against the ladder as he twists halfway around to look down at him. His hair is getting blown around by the wind and he looks slightly out of breath, though whether that’s from the climb or from whatever thought just ambushed him mid-ladder is unclear.
Will blinks at him. “We’re halfway up a cursed tower, Mike,” he says, trying not to sound as winded as he feels. “Define ‘stop.’”
Mike squints down at him like this is a completely reasonable request. “I mean like… thirty seconds.” His gaze flicks briefly over Will’s face, then down to his chest. “You’re breathing like Dustin after gym class.”
Will huffs a quiet laugh despite himself, dragging himself up the last couple rungs until his feet hit the metal grate of the landing. His lungs burn a little as he straightens, leaning both hands on the railing while he catches his breath.
“That’s rude,” he informs him. Then, after a beat, “Also accurate.”
Mike climbs the final rung onto the platform, boots clanging softly against the metal. “Just—hold on.”
He immediately grabs one of the vertical bars beside the ladder and starts fidgeting with it, fingers tapping and shifting against the cold metal like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Which, to be fair, is a familiar sight. Mike Wheeler has never in his life known what to do with his hands when he’s nervous.
“I need to say something before we get up there,” he adds, not looking at Will.
Will straightens a little, still leaning against the railing. The wind whistles past them through the open framework of the tower, tugging at Mike’s jacket and making the metal beneath their feet rattle faintly.
“That sounds ominous,” Will says.
Mike shakes his head immediately. “It’s not ominous.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what ominous things sound like.”
Mike doesn’t answer.
He just stands there for a second, staring at the ladder rung like it personally offended him. His fingers keep tapping against the metal, restless, and Will feels a strange flicker of curiosity stir in his chest. Mike doesn’t usually pull him aside like this unless something is actually bothering him.
Eventually Mike exhales, like he’s been holding the breath in for too long.
“About what you said earlier…” His voice drops slightly. “I’m sorry.”
Will frowns.
“What are you sorry for?”
Mike hesitates, mouth opening and closing once before the words finally come out. “It’s just… when you told us everything you’ve been going through and… and…” He trails off, clearly hitting a wall somewhere in the sentence.
Will waits.
Mike’s gaze drops to the platform beneath their feet, his jaw tightening slightly like he’s physically wrestling with a word he doesn’t want to say.
“…what was going on with you,” he finishes instead.
Oh.
Will feels something small and complicated twist in his chest at the awkward detour around the obvious word, but he doesn’t call attention to it. Mike looks uncomfortable enough already.
“I felt like a piece of shit,” Mike continues quickly, the words starting to tumble over each other now. “Because I’m supposed to be your best friend and I didn’t even notice—”
“Mike, it’s okay—”
“No, don’t say it’s okay.”
The interruption comes fast and sharp, Mike looking up at him suddenly with an agitation that isn’t directed at Will so much as it’s directed at the entire situation.
“You always say that and it’s not okay,” he insists, shaking his head. “It’s not okay. Nothing about my behavior towards you has been okay.”
Will blinks at him, slightly startled by the intensity.
Mike is pacing now—or at least as much as someone can pace on a tiny tower landing thirty feet in the air. His sneakers scrape against the metal grate as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“When you told us this secret you’ve been carrying,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with one hand, “I couldn’t help thinking about that day in my garage. It was raining and you were upset because I was abandoning you and the party to hang out with El and I—”
He cuts himself off, swallowing.
“Do you remember what I said to you?” Mike asks quietly. “In the garage?”
Will doesn’t trust his voice enough to answer that.
Of course he remembers.
He remembers the rain hitting the driveway. He remembers the smell of wet asphalt drifting through the open garage door. He remembers standing there with his stupid bowl haircut dripping onto the concrete while Mike looked at him like he didn’t understand him anymore.
So he just nods.
Mike drags a hand through his hair, clearly bracing himself.
“I… I said… I said that it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t like girls.”
The words hang between them, thin and sharp in the cold air.
Mike winces slightly. “Which is such bullshit,” he adds quickly. “And I’m sorry if that—and whatever bullshit I pulled after—made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me.”
Will stares at the metal floor, watching the wind push dust through the tiny gaps in the grate.
“We used to talk to each other about everything,” Mike says, quieter now. “And I want to get back to that. I mean… these last few months we’ve gotten close again, but it still feels like there’s…”
He gestures weakly between them.
“…a wall.”
Will doesn’t answer right away.
Because the thing is, Mike’s not wrong. There is a wall. There has been for a long time now, sitting quietly between them like something neither of them quite knows how to climb over.
What exactly is Will supposed to say here? Hey, sorry this metaphorical wall is my fault. I’m kinda maybe definitely in love with you. Friends? Yeah, he’d rather jump off the tower than admit that.
But there’s one question that keeps circling in Will’s head, louder than everything else Mike just said.
Before he can stop himself, it slips out.
“Why did you say it?”
Mike looks up.
“What?”
Will lifts his gaze to meet his. “Why did you say what you said to me that day in the garage?”
Mike freezes.
Just for a second—but it’s long enough for Will to notice.
Then Mike looks away again, shoulders stiffening slightly.
“I… I’m not entirely sure.”
The lie lands immediately.
Will feels irritation spark hot in his chest. “Mike, you’re lying.”
Mike’s head snaps back toward him.
“Why are you lying?” Will presses, frustration creeping into his voice before he can stop it. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to get back to our ‘close relationship where we tell each other everything’? Well, being honest is included in that, you know.”
Mike’s expression tightens almost instantly.
“What do you know about honesty?”
The words hit harder than Will expects.
For a moment he just stares at Mike, completely thrown by how quickly this conversation has swerved from apology to argument.
Then indignation rises in his chest, hot and immediate.
“Fine,” Will scoffs, pushing himself away from the railing. “Don’t tell me.”
He turns toward the ladder again, grabbing the side rail.
“I’m gonna continue climbing,” he mutters. “The world needs saving, and I really don’t have time for whatever this is.”
He barely gets one foot on the rung before a hand grabs his arm.
“Wait, Will.”
Mike’s grip isn’t harsh—just firm enough to stop him from moving.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Please, stay.”
Will closes his eyes for a brief second.
Because this is the problem with Mike Wheeler. No matter how irritated he gets, no matter how many times Mike says something that makes him want to throw himself directly into the nearest alternate dimension, he’s still—
Well.
Mike.
So when Will turns back around, he stays.
Mike releases his arm slowly, looking almost relieved.
“Before I tell you,” he says, quieter now, “can you tell me something first?”
Will rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I— I guess?”
Mike hesitates again, clearly trying to organize the thought in his head.
“Back at the Squawk,” he begins slowly, “when you were telling everyone everything and…”
He stalls.
Will waits, watching the familiar crease form between Mike’s eyebrows.
And then, abruptly—
“What the hell is a Tammy?”
Will stares at him.
Of all the questions Mike Wheeler could ask in the middle of an emotional conversation on top of a radio tower while the world is literally ending, that one was not even remotely on the list.
“You’re kidding,” Will says.
Mike looks mildly defensive. “It’s just been bothering me.”
Will blinks. “Mike, what—” Because he really, really does not want to answer this question.
“The Tammy thing,” Mike insists. “This guy you have—or had—a crush on is your Tammy? What does that even mean?”
Will tries very hard not to laugh. He really does. But the combination of Mike’s extremely serious expression and the absurdity of the question wins out, and a small laugh escapes before he can stop it.
Mike crosses his arms, looking offended.
“It’s just a metaphor someone told me,” Will says once his giggle dies down.
Mike squints at him. “What does it mean?”
Will rubs the back of his neck again, suddenly wishing this conversation had stayed on literally any other topic.
“Uh… that this person—this guy—that I liked…” He winces slightly at the phrasing. “…was only a crush. Nothing more.”
The words feel wrong the second they leave his mouth.
“And like I said back at the Squawk,” Will adds quickly, “he wasn’t— isn’t—like me, so…” He trails off, aware he’s starting to ramble.
Mike tilts his head. Will is looking at anything other than Mike.
“How do you know?”
Will blinks at him. “What do you mean?”
“That this Tammy guy doesn’t like you back.”
Will looks away automatically. Because he does know. He’s known for years.
“Because,” he says quietly, “I just know. He’s not… he’s not like that.”
Mike doesn’t look convinced. “And you know that how?”
Will exhales slowly. “Because I know him. I’ve known him for a long time, and I just… I know.”
Mike studies him for a moment.
Then he asks softly, “Who is this Tammy guy?”
Will’s stomach drops. Fuck. Will’s not sure if he even wants to answer. It seems like Mike has it all figured out already.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s ruined everything. Eleven years of friendship down the drain because he couldn’t keep his stupid heart in check. Maybe he can convince Mike that it was just a phase, and it won’t happen again.
“Mike…”
“Please,” Mike says. “Just tell me.” He swallows. “Is it… is it me?”
Will changed his mind. He wants to throw himself off the tower. Scratch that, he wants to disappear from existence entirely.
Will freezes mid-breath, heart hammering so hard he can feel it in his throat. Every instinct in him is screaming at him to run—up the ladder, into the wind, anywhere but here—but his feet remain planted. Because he can’t. He just can’t. Mike’s eyes are wide, pleading, so impossibly earnest that the question itself feels like a physical weight pressing into his chest.
“Yes,” he finally whispers, and it comes out softer than he intended, almost swallowed by the wind whistling through the steel beams.
The moment stretches, and Will is acutely aware of every detail. The way Mike’s eyebrows knit together as if he’s holding his own breath. The slight tremor in his hands. The way the wind tugs at the hem of his jacket like the world itself is trying to pull them apart. Will’s own palms are sweating against the railing, gripping until his knuckles whiten, but he can’t look away. He can’t stop staring.
“Why did you say it?” Will asks, voice breaking slightly, a mix of terror and desperate curiosity. If his friendship was ending, he might as well know.
Mike swallows hard. “I was scared,” he admits, low and ragged.
“Of what?” Will asks, though a small part of him already knows.
Mike glances at him, brown eyes glinting in the cold November light. “Of… of what I was feeling. I thought you were getting too close to the truth, so I shoved it back into your face. Everything I felt—everything I… didn’t know how to handle—it came out wrong. I treated you like shit that entire summer, and I’m so fucking sorry, Will.”
The words land like heavy stones in Will’s chest, dragging him down and yet somehow leaving him suspended in the moment. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, the sheer weight of the confession pushing against the years of fear and doubt he’s carried.
“When you moved to California,” Mike continues, his voice catching, “it felt like half my heart got ripped out and taken with you.”
Will feels his stomach twist. The sting of tears is already there, waiting just beneath his lashes. “..Why?” he manages, barely audible.
“Because you’re my best friend. Because you’re the only one who understands me. Because I need you. Because… I love you.”
The words—simple, terrifying, utterly devastating—hit him with a force that makes him tremble. Will’s breath catches, a single tear slipping down his cheek, and he can’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way his heart suddenly feels too large for his body.
Mike steps closer, lifting Will’s hands into his own, fingers warm and trembling, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I know you said that you’re over me, and that I’m too late, and I’m so sorry that I—” he pauses, swallowing, “I made you wait so long. But whether you’re over me or not… I still love you. I will always love you. I will always be in love with you.”
Will’s own tears spill freely now, trailing down his face as he whispers, “Mike…”
Mike leans in, brushing his thumbs gently over Will’s cheeks, and Will leans into the touch without thinking, because it feels like coming home. The air is sharp with cold and adrenaline and fear, but none of that matters.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, Mike,” Will finally says, voice raw. “I just said what I said at the Squawk because I thought you’d never love me back. But it was all lies. Well… some of it, anyway. I downplayed how I felt because… because I was scared. Because… because I need you. Because I love you. Because I’m in love with you, and have been for a very long time.”
Mike chuckles softly through the tears, the sound shaking with relief and disbelief. “The world is ending, and we’re confessing our love to each other.”
“Story of our life, huh?” Will manages, a small, shaky laugh escaping him.
Mike grins despite the tears, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pauses, looking a bit more sheepish. “Can… can I kiss you?”
Will doesn’t say a word. He just nods, eyes darting from Mike’s to his lips, a pulse of anticipation ripping through him. Mike closes the gap, pressing his lips gently to Will’s, slow and deliberate.
His brain was on a constant replay; MikeMikeMikeMikeMikeMikeMikeMike—
Will’s hands find their way to Mike’s collar, clutching the fabric, while Mike cups his face in his hands, careful and grounding.
Mike is kissing him. Mike is kissing him. The world was ending, but Will didn’t care because Mike was fucking kissing him.
The kiss deepens, the world narrowing until the tower, the wind, the falling sky—all of it ceases to exist beyond the heat of their shared breath.
The spell breaks with a shout from above.
“What the hell are you guys doing down there?! The sky is falling, let’s GO!” Dustin’s voice booms, distant but piercing, full of equal parts panic and disbelief.
Will and Mike break apart just enough to look at each other, laughter bubbling out uncontrollably, their foreheads pressed together as they try to catch their breath.
Mike smirks, eyes still sparkling with unshed tears. “We should—"
“Yeah,” Will says, still laughing, voice catching between breaths.
Mike steps back onto the ladder. “You go first. I’ll be below you in case you fall.”
Will smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Too late for that.”
Just a couple hours ago, Will sat shaken and tearful in the squawk surrounded by people he knew and loved and people he didn’t know. He sat there and confessed this deep secret he’d been keeping half of his life, feeling defeated, feeling loved by the people around him, but not by the person he wanted it to be. Or so he thought.
And in that moment, despite the tower, despite the wind, despite the world literally collapsing around them, Will can’t help but feel like everything has finally, terrifyingly, beautifully… fallen into place.