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Iorebgyu3t4981u9e8gwvfurgviebs ia08t (hiiii! this is proof i’m not ai)
“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
Mike had yelled, face tight with anger and defensiveness that tensed his shoulders and balled his hands up at his sides.
Will felt a sharp, stinging sensation in his chest, like Mike had plunged a molten knife into his chest, and Will was too busy bleeding out to speak. The anger from his chest snuffed out and left a cold, hollow space. Will’s throat locked, a stone clogging his windpipes and stopping the words from escaping. He could only stare at Mike, watch his face shift from frustration to a mask of the deepest remorse he’s never seen his best friend wear before. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance, adding to the rush of rain that filled the thick silence that had draped over them.
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face slowly falling into something more tender. He looked like he wanted to snatch the words back, but they had already turned to smoke in the air, and he shook his head. “I’m not trying to be a jerk…okay? But we’re not kids anymore.”
Mike pushed a hand through his hair. “I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we’re just gonna sit in my basement–” he threw a hand out toward the house, “--and play games for the rest of our lives?” He asked incredulously, brows pushed together.
Will bit his bottom lip hard, using the jolt of pain to anchor himself as a hot, stinging, all too familiar sensation gathered behind his eyes. He could only breathe in ragged sips of the chilly night evening air, his voice lost somewhere beneath his ribs. “Yeah… I guess I did. I really did. Pretty stupid, huh?”
Mike’s eyes widened, and his lips parted, but Will’s already turning away, hands rubbing his arms as he mounted his bike, pedaling until his legs burned, plunging into the darkness as the sky dumped a deluge that soaked him within seconds, turning his clothes to a second heavy skin that weighed him down. The rain fell in thick sheets that stung his skin like a thousand tiny bullets, and Will had to strain his eyes through the tears and water and darkness to see the path in front of him.
“Will… WILL! Will, come on!” Mike hollered from somewhere behind him.
But Will didn’t stop. Didn’t let himself, at least, even as much as it felt he had left behind a part of himself back there in that poorly lit garage with Mike.
━━━━━☆━━━━━
Mike stared after Will with wide eyes, watching the rain blur the other boy’s outline until he was nothing but a smear of gray, vanishing into the downpour. A heavy, cold and unforgiving stone dropped into his gut, sinking deeper with the weight of his words. His mind wouldn’t stop replaying the sight of Will’s stricken face as the words left him, and Mike felt like throwing up, his stomach tying into knots. He was awful.
He really didn't know how it had happened – it all passed in a blur. One second, they were arguing about girls and El and the Party and how Will felt as if he were a second place medal in Mike’s life – and the next Mike had thrown the worst part of himself at Will.
“...Shit,” he cursed himself as he scrubbed a hand down his face, growling softly in frustration and an overwhelming sense of self-hatred so deep he could drown in it.
Lucas suddenly burst out the back door, shocked. “What the hell happened?” He blurted, glancing in the direction Will had left before back at Mike, eyes narrowing to slits, like he already knew Mike was to blame.
Mike bit his tongue until he tasted blood, eyes shutting as he struggled to compose himself. “...I messed up.” Mike hardly recognized his voice as he said it. It was small, and so quiet it was barely audible over the rain.
Lucas gave him a look. “You think? What did you do this time, genius?” He deadpanned.
Mike ignored him, already stepping forward, as if on autopilot. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going after him.”
Lucas’s hand shot out, trying to grab onto Mike’s wrist, but he was a second too late, fingers brushing empty air as his eyes followed Mike, now full of worry and unease. “Mike, dude, wait. You’ll get sick out there like this!”
Mike ignored him again, remorse acting as a thick fog that blurred his friend’s face and drowned out his voice until he was utterly isolated. He didn’t bother putting a coat on – with a swift kick to the stand of his bike, Mike was off, throwing himself into the torrential downpour that turned the night into a blurry mess. Lucas called unintelligibly behind him, but Mike hardly heard him. His carefully straightened hair got pulled wavy by the water, falling in front of his eyes and sticking to the sides of his face.
The cold, heavy drops struck like needles in the darkness, the breeze lashing at him only increasing the pain, but he barely felt it – it came nowhere close to the burning acid eating away at his chest cavity. It fell fast, but not fast enough to chase away the echoes of what Mike had said. It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.
Stupid. So stupid. Why would he say that? Why, when he, in total honesty, was no better than the bold statement he couldn’t even deny if the roles were flipped? It was hypocritical, really. He didn’t even notice he was crying until he tasted the salt biting his lips. He had to get to Will before he lost him altogether.
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Will didn’t bother putting the kickstand to his bike down when his house came into view. He stepped off and let go, and the bike hit the pavement with a jarring clang that echoed in his ears, but he didn’t turn back. His tears fell hot and fast, carving wet, salty paths as he moved into the tangled silence of the woods sitting behind his house, pushing through underbush, twigs scratching his legs – a dull, fleeting pain that he craved more of for some sort of semblance that he still had control over the situation.
He didn’t stop walking until Castle Byers came into sight, and he sought shelter inside the wooden fort, provided by a small portable lamp that bathed everything in a warm glow. Pulling his knees flush against his chest, he watched rivulets of water trail down the gaps between the damp branches overhead, dripping much slower onto his exposed legs and arms.
Outside, the rain was deafening, a manic drumming that made it nearly impossible to think. Inside, it smelled like pine needles and damp old throw blankets. It was supposed to be his – their – safe place, the place he’d built to get away from the small-town monotony, the place where they could hold hands without glancing over their shoulder. Now, it just felt like some sort of burden.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!
When Mike said it, there was anger. Defensiveness, obviously, as if he needed to prove something without saying it. Almost a projection of some kind, but Will shook that possibility away. Mike wasn’t like that. Still, it didn't change the fact that his words had felt like glass under Will’s skin.
A leak in the corner dripped with rhythmic precision onto a photo Will had set carefully onto the makeshift nightstand, illuminated by the light. He and Mike and the other two just over a year ago, in those stupid Ghostbusters costumes. Mike had his arm wrapped around Will, and all four of them were wearing grins so wide it looked as if their faces were going to break in half. Will remembered his bag prop fitting a size too big and Mike trading with him because of it.
Will took the photo into trembling fingers, feeling as if he were slowly splitting open and everything on the inside was spilling out.
“And if we’re both going crazy, then we’ll go crazy together, right?”
“Yeah. Crazy together.”
A sob tore involuntarily from Will’s chest, jagged and hot. “Stupid. So stupid.”
With a trembling, raw noise, he tore the soggy picture down the middle with a violent, frantic motion. He stared at the two jagged, soaked halves: Mike on one side, himself on the other, and he felt the rubber band of control snap inside of him. He threw the fragments to the ground, watched them turn murky from the mud.
Blindly reaching, he took the aluminum baseball bat he had leaning against the wood, and he crawled out the entrance. The sky was a bruised grayish-purple. Sheets of water lashed at his skin, hammered his shoulders; a relentless, icy beating. The bat became an extension of his breaking heart, and he channeled every ounce of despair and anger into the metal, bringing it down on the plywood with a sickening crack that shuddered and splintered the wood further with every violent swing of his arms. The vibration of each impact rattled the bones in his hands, bringing dull rockets of pain, but he hardly felt it.
Again. And again. The sound was deafening, a percussive explosion of rage against the rain. He hammered the walls, the roof, tearing the sanctuary, his childhood, to pieces.
A part of him wanted to stop. Wanted to curl into nothing. But the other part – the much larger and all consuming part – couldn’t. Couldn’t let the storm stop him.
The bat felt too detached, too clean, too soft for the hurricane raging inside of him. With a scream swallowed by the storm, he threw the bat away, watching it bounce and roll far off into the darkness. He reached out and began tearing at the structure with his bare hands, ripping twigs away, scratching his hands raw as swaths of skin gave way, welcoming splinters to imbed into the exposed flesh there, crimson and water smearing his fingers and the wood.
━━━━━☆━━━━━
When Mike toppled off his bike in front of the Byers household, the lights were off, shadows pressing hard against the windows from inside the house. Joyce’s car did not sit parked in front of it, and last time Mike checked, Jonathan was staying over with Nancy in her room back at Mike’s house. Mike ducked past the windows, peering into the one leading into Will’s, leaning close and cupping his hands around his eyes to focus his eyes. It was empty, and clothes were strewn about across the carpeted floor, covers kicked off the bed. There was only one place Will could be – Castle Byers.
As Mike ran through the woods, dim moonlight slanting through the trees and providing a small amount of light (that he was grateful for nonetheless) that lit the path in front of him, branches snapped at his bare arms, leaving red-hot welts that burned even as the cold rain soaked them. His shoes pounded the mud, intimating his racing heart, and he almost slipped and lost his footing several times, but he didn’t allow himself to stop running.
“Will! Will, please – where are you?! Will!” Mike yelled, the volume of his voice tearing apart the inside of his throat, cutting through the sticky night air, striking pine trunks and rebounding off the bark in harsh, overlapping waves.
Mike heard it: a loud crack tearing through the air, followed by the high-pitched shriek of shattering pine. Several cries of anguish and anger, short and sharp and broken.
Mike shoves into the clearing and stops dead, his heart crashing in his chest, eyes stretching wide. The fort, their secret kingdom, is more of a mangled carcass than a sanctuary now. In the center of the wreckage stands Will, hands bloodstained and caked unrecognizably in watery mud, tearing at the fort’s sign in a frenzy, shoulders wracked with sobs, wet strands of hair plastered to his face. Anger surged around him like wildfire that could not be contained, turning his tender demeanor to ash. Mike shot forward.
“Stop! Will! Will, STOP!” Mike screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of his own suffocation.
Mike lunged, a desperate, breathless blur, clamping his hands around Will’s arms, pulling him back until Will’s back hit Mike’s chest, and Mike moved his arms so they were tightly encasing Will’s waist instead. Will strained against the hold, muscles tightening like coiled springs as he tried to twist out the embrace. His elbow caught Mike’s rib, and pain exploded under the impact, but Mike still didn’t let go.
“Don’t touch me!” Will howled, his voice shredded. “Go back to her! Isn’t that where you’ve been all summer?! Go play house and pretend I or anybody else don’t exist!”
Mike felt his gut drop, a sickening plunge, and he felt his frustration crowd out the desperation and poorly held back fear for a moment. He forcibly grabbed Will’s shoulders, and spun him around to face him. Lightning flashed, and for a second, everything was bright. It lit up the war-torn tracks on Will’s face where hot tears struggled to cut through the freezing downpour. This close, Mike couldn’t tell where the rain ended and tears began – only that his face was melting into a watery, shattered mess. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were colored pink, a result of the chill and his tears.
As Will stared at him, his eyes narrowed to slits, burning with a hatred that defied the salt trailing down his face. Mike almost flinched, and his heart clenched. I did this. Still, trying to hold onto something that wasn’t real, he bit back.
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As Will felt Mike’s hands clamp onto him, the contact felt like an electric shock through ice water. Will’s skin rippled like a rejection of touch he used to crave. He felt the heat of Mike’s body pressing against the small of his back – the familiar scent of laundry detergent and lingering cheap cologne – and it felt like a betrayal. It’s the smell of the summer he lost. Mike pulled him close, arms wrapping around his waist, and it’s a cage.
Will spun around, yells leaving him as if by nature, hardly processing the words that fell from his quivering lips, his heels skidding in the sludge, ready to swing maybe a fist or another curse. But as his eyes locked onto Mike’s, the rage stuttered, and lightning lit everything up brightly.
Mike looked small. His hair surrendered to the moisture, unraveling from a sleek style into a wild, wet, tangled mess of spirals that stuck to his wet skin. His eyes are fixed and wide, pupils swallowing out the brown that had always reminded Will of exposed earth after a heavy rain, shining with a panic that Will recognized too well – the look of a trapped animal being hunted. Will saw the boy who whispered secrets in the dark of the fort, but it’s concealed by the boy who Will hardly recognized anymore. Will watched Mike’s face slowly harden into a stormy look, and he hesitated before replying sharply to whatever Will had said moments before, but there’s an undeniable edge of hesitation to every syllable.
“That’s not fair! I’m allowed to have a life! I’m allowed to have a girlfriend without you making me feel bad for every second I’m not there!” Mike yelled.
“It’s not about El!” Will barked, gesturing wildly at the half-standing ruins of Castle Byers. “It’s about the fact that the second a girl glanced your way, you started looking at me like I was some sort of liability! Like our entire lives were just a phrase you finally outgrew!”
Chest heaving, Will stepped closer, hands curling hard, nails biting into the sensitive skin on his palms, pain rippling through his hands. Blood dripped, pattering onto the earth silently. Will’s voice dropped to a low, jagged razor edge. His eyes never left the other boy’s.
“Is that why you said it? Because you think that if you say something awful enough to me, it’ll prove something to yourself?”
Mike’s eyes darkened. “You think everything I do is some secret code about you?” He snapped.
Will schooled his expression, forcing the anger to snuff out. “No. I think you’re scared.” His voice was more whisper than substance, his hands slowly unfurling.
He watched something flicker in Mike’s dark eyes, something akin to fear as the blood drained from his face. He opened his mouth, but only a soft, yet panicked intake of air came out.
“Stop,” Mike whispered, taking a step back, eyebrows pushing together.
Hot tightness coiled in Will’s gut again and burned through his chest, and Will inched closer, not letting the distance – both physical and emotional – grow between them. “No. I won’t. Not this time.” A beat, and Will’s chest shuddered as he forced himself to breathe. His gaze pinned Mike to the spot where he stood.
“I’ve spent all summer wondering what I did to make you stop caring. Maybe you just can’t stand that I still know you.” Will’s voice collapsed in on itself at the end, and he internally kicked himself for it. Mike’s face softened, but his jaw flexed.
“I never stopped caring, Will! I just–”
Mike’s eyes fell to the crimson smeared over Will’s hands, and his face paled. “I just – oh God, your hands.”
Will’s face tightened in anger and he shoved his hands behind his back. “Don’t do that.”
The world held its breath, broken only by the ongoing hiss of water sealing them in and the faint, guttural moan of thunder. The storm drowned Mike’s face, and the harsh lines around his eyes smoothed out, leaving behind a blank, unreadable mask. A sudden vulnerability mirrored by the way the drizzle was coaxing his hair into tighter curls around his forehead.
“You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like.” Mike’s voice hung in the air, trembling and brittle.
Will took another step closer, but froze when Mike backed away again. “Then tell me.” Will coaxed, desperation leaking into his words.
Will noticed how Mike suddenly couldn’t look him in the eye – found the earth much more interesting. “I… can’t.” It left him in a breath.
“You can’t, or you won’t?” It leaves Will before he could stop it. Much sharper than he intended.
Mike shook his head, a shadow passing over his face. “You just wouldn’t get it.”
Will clenched his hands hard, feeling his frustration stir hotter. “Try me. Or maybe it’s easier pretending I’m the problem?” He pressed, voice thin.
Mike suddenly lifted his head and exclaimed, eyes flashing, “It’s not about you!”
His voice pitched loudly, and suddenly the crickets briefly stopped chirping somewhere in the distance under the rain, as if listening in. Will searched Mike’s expression, stunned into shock and strangely enough, a tinge of worry and confusion.
“...What?” He murmured.
Mike lifted his hands suddenly, pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes for a second before dropping them back to his side, chest heaving. “You think this about you being annoying? Or clingy?”
The words start tumbling out of Mike like a dam broken, and he paced the ground in front of Will, mud squelching under his feet as he gripped his own wet curls, as if trying to ground himself to something. Will’s eyes only follow him, the words he wanted to say dying on his tongue.
“It’s not. It’s about–” Mike stopped himself again, and his jaw tightened. Shame and guilt and so much more colored his face. It’s almost like the word he was searching for was sitting right there, but he didn’t have the strength to reach out and grab it. “You don’t know what it’s like to sit at the dinner table every night and hear your own dad talk about people like they’re–”
Mike’s sentence died. He swallowed hard. “You don’t know what that does. You don’t know what it’s like to feel something and immediately want to tear it out of yourself.”
Will felt his face slowly slacken, despite himself – though the ice didn’t melt from his eyes. “So you tear it out of me instead.” It’s not a question.
Mike stared at Will’s bleeding hands, and he slowly stopped pacing. “I didn’t know how to make it stop. I’m scared, Will. I’m so tired of being scared.”
Will’s shoulders caved forward, and suddenly he’s walking forward, closing the distance between them step by step. His eyes plead with Mike not to run away, not after this. “You aren't the only one, I'm scared too. But you made me feel like I was something that you could get rid of.” He muttered, voice shaking, eyes beginning to sting again.
Mike doesn’t pull away. He looked up, and the silvery glow of the filtered moonlight caught in the depths of his eyes, reflecting off the glassiness of them. He shivered from the cold, but said nothing about it. The silence practically vibrated with the fear that Mike had let bleed out of him.
The frustration is still lingering, a dull throb in Will’s fingers that spread through his tendons and settled at his palms, but it’s being numbed by a cooling sting of recognition.
Mike reached out, and Will’s heart leapt into his throat, chest hitching. His fingers brush over the inside of Will’s wrist, ghost over his pulse point. His other hand mapped the edge of Will’s jaw with his trembling fingertips, then found the nape of Will’s neck, resting there. A sharp tingle bloomed where his hand made contact there, and Will’s heartbeat ticked up, thudding hard in his chest.
Will watches Mike’s eyes dart over his face, blown slightly wide with haunted panic, breath coming in short, quiet puffs that clouded between them. Will doesn’t lean away; he’s a statue of salt in the rain.
Mike leaned in, and he put his face against Will’s and kissed him. It wasn’t perfect like the movies made first kisses out to be – it was uncoordinated and messy and impulsive, yet long enough to still be real. His nose accidentally bumped into Will’s cheek in the process of angling his head to kiss Will better. It was a desperate, dry collision of lips that tasted like salt and rain and faintly blue raspberry slushie.
Will felt his heart nearly stop in his chest, eyes growing wide as he struggled to process where to sit his hands. He forgets to take a breath, his thoughts melting away until there was nothing but Mike and how good it felt. A gentle spark ignited inside of Will, spreading a soft, silent fire through his chest.
Mike pulled away as if the fire had burned him, and the fire went out.
Freezing cold rushed into the space between them, and Will’s eyes flew open. He blinked several times, lips parted slightly, his blood roaring in his ears, torn between fear and exhilaration. Mike’s still cradling the back of his neck, breathing too fast and eyes ten times wider than they were before.
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Mike’s lungs are burning. Every instinct Ted had hammered into him is screaming Move. Push him away. Do something normal. Still, his feet are cemented onto the ground. He’s waiting for the ground to fall out from under him, to feel the repulsion he’d promised himself he’d feel.
It never comes. Instead, there’s just the hollow sound of Will’s jagged breathing and a streak of mud across the plane of his cheek, and the way he’s staring at Mike as if seeing him for the first time again. It’s so quiet, and the rain is nothing but background noise. The stain Mike was so afraid of wasn’t some dark, oily thing – it was just Will.
The fear doesn’t evaporate, but it twists – it turns from a wall into a shove. If this was wrong, then at least it was honest.
Mike moved forward again, but this time he almost thinks of his dad or El who was probably expecting him to come crawling back to her like he’d been doing ever since she ‘dumped his ass’ or the headlines in the morning paper. But he only collapsed into the contact. His hands shot out and snagged the front of Will’s soggy shirt, knuckles stretching thin, and pulling Will forward until their chests pressed together.
The kiss is messier than the first. It’s the sound of only-god-knows-how-many years of “no” finally turning into “yes”. Mike’s eyes are screwed shut so tight it hurts, his face stinging with a mix of freezing rain and hot, heavy, humiliated tears. He’s kissing Will like he’s trying to steal the air right out of his own chest, like if he stopped, the world will start again, and he will have to go back to being the ghost his father loved.
For the first time in his life, the noise in his head is drowned out by the rhythmic, heavy pulse of Will’s heart against his own. He’s terrified, he’s changed, and he’s never felt more alive. The kiss doesn’t taste like a rom-com novel – it tasted like stolen time. It’s the metallic tang of rainwater and the salt of tears Mike wouldn’t admit he was crying. Beneath the chill, there’s a feverish, golden sunlight heat of Will’s mouth, a taste that is terrifyingly familiar; like a song Mike had been humming under his breath for years.
They pulled apart when their lungs started protesting for air.
Mike stared at Will, his fingers still tangled in the fabric of Will’s shirt, but he couldn't find it in him to let his hands drop back to his sides. It’s as if he’s afraid Will would vanish into smoke as soon as he did. Another jagged bolt suddenly tore the night apart, sculpting Will’s features in stark white fire.
Mike looked at his kiss-bitten, soft pink lips and the redness rimming his glossy eyes that were twin embers in the darkness. Rain dripped from the tip of his nose and off his long eyelashes that sat against his cheek. He never noticed how beautiful his best friend was, but now standing in front of him, his sun kissed complexion adorned with a blush bloomed across his cheeks, the mole next to his mouth, it was undeniable. He was a spark in the dark, a sunbeam in a dull world who casted a golden glow over everything he touched. He’d known Will his whole life, he didn’t know how he missed that.
Cold drops splattered against Mike’s face, ignored, vanishing into the warmth of his focus. The pause grew so long it became a living thing, watching them from the corners of the woods.
Mike’s tongue felt heavy, his mouth turning to quicksand. “I didn’t feel what I was supposed to,” he whispered, and a cold needle lanced through his chest. He could still taste Will on his lips.
Will looked at him, and it felt as if his familiar green eyes were stripping Mike to his core, and Mike almost wanted to shrink away. Mike wasn’t used to being seen like that. Will reached out and gently grabbed his wrist – a lifeline.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Will said, then his voice drooped to a fragile whisper. “I’m right here.”
Mike looked away, glancing toward the forest’s outskirts, where the trees thinned. His heart thudded against his ribs hard. His tongue tripped over itself trying to form the feeling he couldn’t put into words. “If anyone… My dad would…”
Will’s hand drifted up, fingers capturing Mike’s chin gently and turning Mike’s face back towards him, made him look in the eye. His gaze was a physical weight, an anchor that pulled Mike into his world.
“He’s not here.” Will replied gently.
Mike’s chest hitched. “I don’t know what this means.”
Will let his hands softly settle on Mike’s, bringing them together in a silent promise of I’m here. “We don’t have to know yet. We’ll figure it out, together.” Will said sincerely, his lips lifting in a ghost of a smile.
A jolt of heat raced up Mike’s arms when their fingers locked, chasing away the cold of the night. He couldn’t help but smile a little himself. Mike leaned forward, and he gently rested his forehead against Will’s, his eyes slipping shut.
“Don’t let me run again.” Mike mumbled.
Will’s grip tightened.
“Never again,” he said.
The rain began to soften – not all at once, but gradually, the heavy sheets thinning into a mist that clung to their hair and lashes. The thunder rolled farther away, grumbling instead of roaring. Mike’s eyes fluttered open, and reality crept back in through sensation rather than thought.
His sneakers squelched when he shifted his weight. A stream of water trickled down the back of his neck. His teeth knocked together, faint but undeniable.
Will’s nose suddenly scrunched, his gaze sweeping over Mike. “You’re shivering.”
Mike’s lips quirked slightly. “You’re one to talk.”
And as if on cue, Will’s shoulders gave a small, involuntary shudder, goosebumps rising on his skin. They both paused. Will huffed out the smallest, breathless laugh, eyes sparkling.
It stirred something loose in Mike’s chest, and before he could stop it, a quiet, disbelieving, slightly watery laugh slipped out of him, too. They were both drenched, and looked like a mess.
Mud streaked up Will’s legs. Mike’s soaked curls kept falling in front of his eyes. There was a stray leaf sticking to the back of Will’s collar. Mike reached out without thinking and plucked it away, his fingers lingering a beat longer than necessary.
Will looked down at it in Mike’s hand before glancing back up into Mike’s eyes, a smile stretching over his face slowly. “We look insane,” he said, light weaving into his voice.
“We are insane. What’s new?” Mike replied automatically, eyes crinkling.
Will snorted, and so did Mike. Quieter this time.
The storm had reduced itself to a whisper now, a fine mist moving through the trees. Will glanced toward his house, porch lights glowing warm and golden against the darkened windows, and they caught his eyes as he turned back to Mike.
“My mom’s working late tonight,” he said quietly. “We can… dry off.”
Mike hesitated for half a second – not from doubt, but awareness. Crossing that yard felt bigger than it should have. He watched Will’s back as he took a few steps ahead, noticed Mike wasn’t following like he’d expected, and turned back, eyes soft.
“It’s just me,” he added gently.
Mike nodded and straightened his shoulders. “Okay. Yeah.”
Will smiled and held out his hand, and Mike gladly took it, their fingers intertwining once more, warm against the chilly breeze that had just split the night air. Comfortable silence stretched between them as they grew closer to the house’s back porch, but Mike eventually broke it.
“If I get hypothermia, I’m haunting you.” Mike muttered, his voice not actually annoyed.
Will looked at him, eyes glinting with amusement. “You’d be the worst ghost.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Mike replied, smiling widely. “I’d critique your art. Lovingly.”
Will bumped his shoulder against Mike’s. “Monster. You wound me,” he said melodramatically, holding a hand to his heart. Mike laughed.
The wooden porch steps creaked under their weight. Will gently pushed the back door open with his free hand. Shadows dominated the narrow passage to Will’s house, broken only by thin, silver streaks of moonlight slicing through the windows. Though, it was a quiet, warm bubble, a world away from the shivering weather they’d left behind.
Mike could hardly see anything, but Will grasped his hand tight, guiding him around sharp corners and furniture in the dark. When they stumbled into the room, Will shut the door soon after Mike was inside. They had dragged muddy footprints through the carpet, and water droplets followed every shift of movement the two boys made, but Will didn’t seem to mind (right now, at least). Will’s hand blindly searched the air before finding the knob to the lamp, flooding the room with gentle light. Mike had to blink repeatedly to adjust his eyes to the sudden intrusion of brightness.
Will glanced at Mike, and the night’s gentle light reflected in his eyes, turning them into pools of quiet adoration Mike had grown well used to over the years he’d known him.
“You can borrow something,” he said. “Again.”
Mike’s mouth curved. “All your things are stretched out because of me.”
“They’re better that way,” Will said, but this time his smile wasn’t bashful.
Mike ducked his head, heat rushing to his face. “Shut up,” he mumbled, though he smiled.
Will huffed in amusement, moving over to his closet, opening it and tossing Mike spare clothing to wear for the night – just a pastel yellow cotton shirt and shorts. Will wears a lot of yellow, Mike realized suddenly. It made sense. The color always looked like woven sunlight on him.
Mike caught the clothes against his chest. Neither of them moved, and Will fidgets with his fingers, suddenly very interested in the carpet fibers. Mike looked up at the ceiling, feeling his heart begin to suddenly beat faster.
“...So,” Mike began slowly.
“Yeah,” Will replied, equally unhelpful.
A heavy silence settled, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension.
Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “Are we–uh.”
The tips of Will’s ears suddenly went pink. “I can use the bathroom,” Will blurted, voice shaky. He slipped quickly, almost timidly, into the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him.
Mike sat very still until he heard the muffled sound of the shower water running through the bathroom door. Mike peeled his soaked clothes off, wringing them out once before dropping them in a damp heap on the floor.
Mike pulled the shirt over his head, the soft fabric sitting comfortingly and warm against his skin, the cuffs of the sleeves hanging a little loose over his wrists. It smelled like laundry soap and acrylic paint. Like Will. Mike looked around, and realized nothing in the room had changed.
Same cluttered desk. Same posters and drawings pinned to the walls. Same warmth. But even then, Mike felt like he had stepped into an entirely different life.
━━━━━☆━━━━━
The bathroom filled with steam quickly, the mirror fogging until the world blurred at the edges. Will leaned forward, palms pressed flat against the cool tiled wall as the hot water rushed over his back and shoulders. The drumbeat in his ears made it hard to hear much else.
Mike had kissed him.
Mike Wheeler kissed him.
Twice.
The fact made something warm and bright unfurl in his chest, but then doubt crept back in like a shadow. What if Mike regretted it? What if Mike was sitting just outside the bathroom, wishing he could take it all back? Will looked at his hands, and thin red streams spiraled down the drain, and he hardly felt the sting of the wounds anymore – not even as the warm pellets of water hit them.
Even if Mike regretted it, at least now I know, Will told himself, but his heart squeezed. He scrubbed the grime from his hair and skin, rinsing away all evidence from the night.
When Will stepped out the bathroom, steam curling behind him, dry clothes hugging him loosely, his eyes landed on Mike who had himself perked on the edge of his mattress, his weight dipping it. He was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, and had a faraway look on his face. The yellow shirt bunched around his wrists, and his hair had mostly dried, which meant his curls were sticking out everywhere. Will stared, feeling his heart flutter a little.
Mike blinked when he spotted him, and he sat up straight, huffing defensively. “What?”
Will bit back a grin. “Nothing.”
“You’re judging my hair.”
“I am absolutely judging your hair,” Will retorted, walking over and plopping down beside Mike, poking at a curl before tugging it playfully and gently, enjoying how soft it felt between his fingers, watching it spring when he released it.
Mike leaned into the touch, a content noise leaving him, and Will openly smiled, repeating the process.
“You really should ditch the straight, sleek look. Your hair is cuter like this,” he commented, watching the way Mike’s face flashed red, sputtering in embarrassment. Will giggled.
Mike turned his face down to his hands, fingers playing with the sleeves of the shirt. “You’re just saying that.”
Will felt a strange stab of concern. He tilted his head, observing Mike closely. “Why would I lie?” He asked.
Mike didn’t answer right away. The small smile on his face fell away, like someone slowly dimming a light. His fingers then clenched hard into the hem of the shirt. The quiet stretched, and Will shifted, feeling his stomach drop a little.
“...Mike?” He gently prompted, reaching out and letting his hand rest on Mike’s back.
Mike swallowed hard, his voice growing rougher than before. “About earlier.”
Will slowly retracted his hand, letting it settle on the bed between them, the fingers trembling slightly.
Mike stared at the floor. “I meant what I said. About being scared.” He let out a weak laugh that didn’t sound like humor at all. “I just didn’t think I’d actually… say it out loud.”
Will watched him carefully, the initial rush of heat tempering into a gentle, lingering glow. Mike kept going, unable to stem the tide of his own words.
“My dad—” he started, then faltered. “He talks about people… like this, like they’re… wrong. Like something’s broken about them.” His jaw tightened. “And I guess I just thought if I pretended hard enough that I was normal—like with El, or whatever—then maybe it would go away.”
Will’s chest ached hearing that.
Mike’s voice then dropped to almost nothing, but it shook with emotion. “But it didn’t.” Mike looked up again, meeting Will’s gaze, his eyes glassy. “And instead I just kept hurting you, and pushing you away.”
A pause. “I’m so sorry, Will.”
Will scooted closer, his hands finding Mike’s cheeks, holding his face as if something fragile. His thumbs caught Mike’s tears and tenderly swiped them away.
“You did hurt me,” Will confirmed quietly. Mike flinched a little, and shrank into himself.
“But,” Will added, turning Mike’s face back towards him, “you also came back. You told me the truth.”
Mike shook his head weakly, more tears slipping free, his face contorted in anguish. “And I already screwed everything up.”
Will studied him for a moment, then he gently tugged Mike closer until he could feel the warmth rolling off his skin. “You didn’t screw everything up,” he murmured.
Mike blinked, wonder coloring his expression now, the tears slowing. Will noticed his breath caught.
Will’s voice was just above a whisper. “You kissed me, remember?”
Mike’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to answer but couldn’t form the words yet. His gaze dropped to Will’s lips, and Will felt his heartbeat spike for the dozenth time that night.
One of Will’s hands slid down from his cheek to the back of his neck, letting his fingers drag over the soft skin there, and he felt Mike shudder under his touch, exhaling shakily. Will’s fingers sank into the curls that sat there, still slightly damp.
Mike went very still, his eyes roaming Will’s face as if memorizing it. “Will–” he started, uncertain.
Will didn’t let him doubt. He leaned in and captured his lips tenderly. It was slow, careful, like testing the warmth of sunlight after a long storm. Will angled his head slightly, their noses brushing as his lips pressed softly against Mike’s.
Mike made a small sound – half relief, half surprise – and Will felt Mike’s hands find his wrists, fingers encasing them and gripping them like anchors. Mike’s lips pressed closer, turning a soft brush into a lingering promise.
When they pulled back, Will was still close enough to feel Mike’s breath fanning warm over his lips, for their foreheads to gently bump.
“...Oh,” Mike murmured, eyes heavy lidded, sounding a little dazed.
“Yeah. Oh.” Will huffed a bashful laugh, but something nervous twisted his chest. His fingers were still softly gripping the back of Mike’s neck, his eyes roaming all over Mike’s face as if silently counting the freckles dusting his cheeks.
Mike opened his eyes further into Will’s, searching for something, eyebrows creasing slightly, as if he could sense his anxiety. “What is it?”
Will hesitated. He could feel his heart starting to beat fast again, that familiar fear creeping back — the one that’s kept his mouth shut for years. But, Mike had just told him the truth, and he could too.
“I think…” he started, voice catching slightly.
Mike waited, hand finding Will’s, thumb gently brushing over his knuckles, and Will felt a wave of warmth, and it gave him the courage to push on, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess himself.
“I think – no, I know – that I’ve been in love with you. For a while.”
He swallowed. “Probably since forever.”
For a second, Mike just stared at him, like his brain was trying to catch up. Then, something in his expression softened.
“...Yeah,” Mike said quietly.
“Yeah?” Will blinked, bewildered.
Mike’s lips twitched into a small, uncharacteristically shy smile.
“I kind of figured,” Mike admitted, “And I…”
Mike struggled with the words, and Will squeezed his hand encouragingly.
“I think… I might love you too.”
Mike’s face instantly went an obscene shade of red.
“That sounded less terrifying in my head.”
Will couldn’t help but break into a huge smile, feeling something bright and warm unfurl in his chest. He pulled Mike closer and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.
Mike smiled wider, and his shoulders dropped an inch, finally letting go of the tension. Then, he pressed a fist to his mouth and yawned.
Will snorted, eyes crinkling. “Wow. Romantic.”
“Hey,” Mike protested in a soft mutter, “it’s been a long night.”
Will glanced at his bedside clock, which glowed 11:11 in bright digits.. He winced. “...Mike, it’s almost midnight.”
For a second, he nearly laughed. Make a wish, people always say. But sitting here with Mike pressed against his side, warm and real, Will was sure he didn’t need one anymore.
Mike trailed his gaze to the clock. “...Wow.”
The air in the room grew taut, filled only by the soft noise of softening raindrops pattering against the bedroom window. Mike threw a quick glance at the bed, shifting awkwardly.
“So…” Mike said slowly.
“We’ve shared beds before,” Will pointed out defensively, reading Mike’s mind.
Mike’s cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah–! But not after — you know,”
Will raised a brow, amused. “After kissing?”
Mike groaned and tilted his head back, though he smiled sheepishly. “You did not have to say it out loud.”
They both slid under the covers, the mattress sinking slightly as Mike settled in beside Will. Will reached over and turned off the lamp, allowing the moon to drown the room in silver shadows through the window. For about two seconds, everything was still.
Then, out of the blue, Mike inhaled sharply. “Holy—it’s freezing.”
Will shivered as the cold sheets pressed against his legs. “I knew I should’ve grabbed extra blankets just in case.”
Mike made a small noise that sounded somewhere between a complaint and a laugh.
Without thinking about it, they tucked themselves closer, becoming a single, warm unit beneath the covers, and Will melted into the familiar weight of Mike. Being in his arms felt like coming home, a safe harbor of the scent of warm skin and rainwater. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Will let out a small breath, feeling a smile stretch across his face. “Okay. That’s better.”
Mike hummed softly in agreement, and Will felt Mike tuck his chin over his head. Mike snaked one of his arms around his waist, holding him closer as their legs naturally tangled together.
Then, “...Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t move. You’re warm.”
“That’s probably one of the nicest things you’ve said to me.”
“Shut up.” Obviously flustered.
Will grinned into the dark, settling deeper into Mike’s arms, deciding he didn’t want to move either.