Archive of Our Own

Despite Mike's earlier protests at their graduation ceremony, they do end up going to Stacey's party. 

While Will was excited in the beginning, nervously asking Dustin whether they should take up Stacey's offer, there was still skepticism lying behind his question. He was worried that he was going to stick out like a sore thumb in the party. Because deep down, he knew that the other members of the Party would have no trouble fitting in. 

Not Lucas who was already famous for playing on the Hawkins High Tigers basketball team. Not Dustin who has managed to impress the whole school when he flipped Principal Higgins off during his valedictorian speech — a defiant act that will go down in the history books. Not Max who, in spite of her sharp tongue and sarcastic wit, was able to snag the attention as well as the respect of their classmates after waking up from a near-fatal coma. Not even Mike, the most closed-off person Will has ever met with his resting stoic face, who awkwardly fumbled his way into befriending other people by reviving the AV Club. 

Will was afraid that he was going back to being openly stared at and judged by his peers, back when he was titled as the Zombie Boy — the boy who came back from the dead. He had resigned himself to the fate of sticking to the walls, a classic red solo cup of horrible punch in his hand that he would refuse to drink as he remained forgotten by the surrounding crowd. He was used to being unnoticed his entire life. Tonight wouldn't be any different, right? 

It turns out that he was utterly and completely wrong. 

As soon as they set foot in Stacey's traditional two-floor white suburban house, Will is met with a cacophony of deafening noise. The bass of the music thrums loudly, each beat of the song vibrating in his ribs like a second heartbeat. Voices layer over it: laughter, shouting, and bottles of beer clinking. Light flashes across the ceiling in rotating colour.

Will has always been wary of loud noises. He used to flinch away, his tiny body shaking in fear whenever Lonnie used to cruelly shout at him. Even though his mom or Jonathan used to stop him from raising his hand at him just in time, Will would still feel the phantom pain of a harsh slap on his cheek. 

Shaking his head to get rid of thoughts revolving around his abusive and homophobic father, he scans the crowd. To his surprise, no one is peering at him with disgust or distaste. In fact —unless his eyes are playing tricks on him— there is a girl excitedly waving at him with a huge grin on her face. She is standing far back in the kitchen, a can of beer clutched in her hand. Surrounded by her friends who are giggling behind their hands, the girl is encouraged to wave harder at him. 

Will squints his eyes in recognition, trying to put a name to her face. She is in the same art class as him, sitting two rows in front of him. He used to catch her staring at him red-handed and she would avert her gaze whenever Will made eye contact with her, her cheeks flushed red. In order not to seem rude, he hesitantly waves back. After all, he was raised as a perfectly respectable gentleman by his mom.

“Who is that?” 

Mike, who was already standing behind Will, plasters himself closer to his back, his palm resting on the back of his waist. Even though there is a perfectly thin barrier in the shape of his striped cotton shirt between his skin and Mike's hand, the contact burns. 

Will steps away from Mike, shrugging his shoulders. He instantly chastises himself for missing the warmth of Mike's hand. “No one. Just a girl from art class.” 

“That doesn't seem like a nobody to me,” Mike bitterly remarks. 

Max, familiar with Mike's childish antics by now, tiredly sighs. Lucas and Dustin pay him no heed, already engrossed into an engaging conversation with the host of the party herself. She is telling the boys to join the ongoing beer pong game happening near the pool outside in her backyard. His two friends immediately agree, following her with matching stupefied faces. 

Even though he has his back to his best friend, Will can vividly make out the frown in Mike's face, his expressive eyebrows scrunched down to make way for lines of creases in his forehead. Mike has always been weirdly territorial about him. There's nothing else to decode from that statement. 

Once upon a time, Will would have racked his brain, staying up all night to overthink about Mike's statement and looping every single interaction he had with him. He would constantly be on a tightrope, jumping from one conclusion to another — blooming hope to rotting despair. It was a never-ending cycle that Will had willingly trapped himself into. 

But, he is a changed person now. He has moved on from Mike. He had buried his feelings for his childhood best friend six feet underground with a shovel when they were heading to the final battle to defeat Vecna; he had no intention of digging them back up now because they were long dead.

For once in his life, he is not going to read into Mike's behaviour. He came out here to have fun —one last activity that he can cross off from his to-do list before he permanently leaves this haunting town to the promising lifestyle of New York— and he fully intends to fulfill that promise. He owes himself that much. 

He tries not to let the booming racket of the party or Mike's smoldering stare get under his skin. Maybe he needs to get drunk tonight. Will had planned not to consume an ounce of alcohol tonight but trust Mike Wheeler to throw a wrench in the works.

‘‘Come on. Let’s go get a drink.” Max offers as she encircles her hand around his wrist and drags Will to the kitchen, leaving a disgruntled Mike behind. Grateful for the escape, Will squeezes Max's hand as a gesture of thanks as they escape into the noise and light.

──────

On his fourth cup of alcohol —a cocktail mixture of vodka, pineapple and orange juice with a sprinkle of ginger ale which surprisingly left a sweet taste in his mouth— of the night, Will learns three new facts about himself: 

1. He is a lightweight.
2. The alcohol presumably not only strips him off his irrational fears and inhibitions but his shame as well because he is currently dancing in the living room. 
3. He is a chick magnet. Unfortunately, for them, he is not attracted to them at all.

The last one is not exactly new information to him. The Party always used to tease him about it; how he simply could gather a group of swooning girls just by batting his pretty hazel eyes. And now he’s in the middle of the dance floor proving their point.

As he twirls and whirls to the fast tempo of Fire In My Heart, he is hyped up by the shouting and hollering of the girls also dancing with him. Max who's sporting the widest grin on her face, looks proud of the way Will is slowly coming out of his shell. One of the girls grabs his hand and twirls him under her raised arms like her mom used to do when he was little. He nearly stumbles because the alcohol makes him lightheaded. They all laugh —with him, not at him— and Will welcomes the difference. He didn’t realise that his goal of enjoying himself was going to be truly met tonight. 

Then, he makes the mistake of spinning once and makes eye contact with Mike from across the room. Mike is leaning against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles and hands stuffed in his pockets. He is staring unashamedly at Will, his gaze tracking every swaying movement of his body before settling on his face. 

The overhead blue light is behind him, essentially casting shadows on his face but Will can easily visualise every single feature on his face. He didn’t memorise every crook and cranny of Mike's face, resulting in him drawing his best friend from only his memory just for nothing. 

His eyes are midnight dark, luring Will with its addictive depth. Mike is clenching his jaw so hard that his cheekbones appear sharper, his cheeks hollowed in. He keeps staring at Will without blinking, as if he’s terrified of losing sight of him.

Mike is standing safely at least thirty feet away from him but Will is unable to fight his gravitational pull — that same unyielding and undeniable tug of the invisible string tied to Mike when they first became friends on the swingsets. One that he swore he had permanently cut off eighteen months ago. 

Will sharply turns around, breaking the silent staring match that Mike had accidentally started. He is no longer playing but he can still feel Mike's gaze boring holes in the back of his head. Mike is undoubtedly winning. 

No. He is not doing this again. There is no way he is going to let himself be ensnared by Mike when he is over him. It’s a done deal; he had made sure of it. He diverts his attention back to the rhythm of the music, lightly jumping up and down with his arms above his head. He closes his eyes. 

Then, out of nowhere as if his brain is on a mission to prove him wrong, a myriad of memories consisting of him and Mike starts flashing behind his eyelids. 

“Hey, if we both are going crazy, we’ll go crazy together, right?” came the comforting voice of a smaller version of Mike, who had fuller cheeks and who wore his heart on his sleeve. “Yeah, crazy together,” Will had replied with a teary smile, his heart skipping a beat at being truly understood.

Will shakes his head sideways, in the hope that his brain will stop coming up with the flashbacks. It doesn’t. 

“We really need some magic up here,” Mike earnestly said, the total belief in Will’s abilities bleeding into his voice and sunlit face. He had looked so beautiful in the field, the setting sun reflecting the brown orbs in his eyes, luring Will in. In a unique act of boldness, Will had shoved a fist against his chest. Mike lightly stumbled backward as he didn't break eye contact with Will.

The memories play like a broken-record, past bleeding into present in bright, sharp fragments.

A dishevelled and panting Mike, blood smeared at his temple after nearly getting himself killed by a Demogorgon, running towards Will to pull him into a tight hug. “A sorcerer. A real life honest-to-god sorcerer,” the wonder struck expression not moving an inch on his beautiful face as he continues, “you did it. You really did it.”

They only get more intense, playing one after the other. He wills his brain to make it stop but it doesn’t listen to him. 

Two little boys, having no concept of fear, shame and the cruel expectations of the world, run down to the basement together. They had just stumbled across a new game called Dungeons & Dragons, trying to learn the rules and rolling its unique multifaceted dice in their hands. 

Mike who stayed by his side while Will was lying on a hospital bed, under the clutch of a shadow monster. Will who was slowly forgetting his loved ones —even his mom— instantaneously recognising Mike, his very first friend. Mike who had looked so happy at being remembered had bashfully smiled.

“But… what if you wanna join another party?” Mike had questioned. “Not possible,” was Will’s answer because he couldn’t fathom playing the game that they had both discovered together with strangers who would never understand him as much as Mike did. The blinding smile Mike had beamed at him was soothing enough to lighten the pain of leaving his life in Hawkins behind. 

Will drags his hands across his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars start forming behind his eyelids. It’s a futile attempt at making the memories stop. Why won’t they stop?

Will who was waiting with abated breath as he handed Mike his painting at the back of a cramped pizza van in the middle of the desert. Mike, who had grinned as he unfurled the paper, had praised his gift. Will, who was so tired of these scary feelings he had tamped down for Mike, spitting it out as a confession in the name of El, hoping that they would at least give him a modicum of solace. “So, yeah, El needs you, Mike and she always will.” He did it; he had ripped off the band aid. Then why did it hurt so much? 

The room feels constricted, the walls closing in and stealing the oxygen right out of Will’s lungs. He glances around the dark room, desperately searching for an exit. Mike is still watching him, as if the throng of bodies dancing in front of him is background noise and Will is the center of his undivided attention. He promptly looks away, the memories flashing so fast that he stumbles forward with the force of them. 

“We won’t let him,” Mike had stated with such conviction that Will had no choice but to believe him. He had confidently reached out to hold Will’s shaky hand and the warmth of his palm had seeped into Will’s bones and chased off the dreadful cold that was slowly becoming part of him. Mike reassuring him that he was a super spy had momentarily put his mind at ease —maybe he could be helpful for once. Mike always knew what to exactly say to Will to make him feel right again. 

“Do you remember the first day that we met?” Mike’s soft, familiar voice floated in the stale air as Will was awoken in an unknown place. Will whipped his face to look at the boy —Mike, a small voice in his head reminded him, how could you forget Mike? There was a single tear cascading down his face, his voice scratchy and fierce. “It was— it was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody. I had no friends.” Mike looked down, more tears falling out of his eyes as his voice cracked. “I— I just felt so alone and so scared but,” he bravely stared at Will now, “I saw you on the swings. You were alone too… just swinging by yourself. I just walked up to you and I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend and you said yes. You said yes.” At the back of his mind, Will could faintly paint the memory. “It was the best thing I’ve ever done.” Will’s lips shook as the cloud of fogginess controlling his mind momentarily dissipated. He was able to help his friends and family to put an end to the Upside Down by discreetly using his hand to tap out the message in morse code against the leg of the chair he was tied up to. The same hand that Mike had held earlier, the warmth still tingling down his fingers. 

Will can feel the telltale signs of an upcoming panic attack. With his heart racing a mile a minute, his lungs spectacularly fail to do their designated function of inhaling air. His head is starting to hurt, the pain spreading from the base of his skull to his temples. He needs air. He needs to get out of this suffocating crowd and go home where he will be safe, away from these feelings. These feelings that he was convinced had disappeared. 

He starts clumsily weaving his way through the crowd. Sensing his distress, Max approaches him with a gentle hand at his elbow. The contact helps to ground Will but it’s not enough. He can still feel the room spin around him. Distantly, he thinks that Mike’s touch would have done the job and he immediately hates himself for entertaining that kind of thought. 

God. What was he thinking? Coming to a party, getting drunk and acting normal as if his life hasn’t been permanently altered since he was twelve years old and was kidnapped by the Demogorgon. As if he wasn’t different from everyone else even before he got horribly entangled into the whole interdimensional monsters’ mess. 

“Hey. Will, what’s wrong?” Max asks worriedly. 

“I- I just need some air,” Will informs her as he cranes his head to see the bathroom door being slammed open in the hallway and makes his way towards it. He takes huge strides towards his destination, dodging a girl who was going to thrust another drink in his hand.  

He needs some space but as Max follows him, he can’t seem to ask her to leave him alone. How pathetic of him, really.

Thankfully, the bathroom is vacant. Will marches towards the sink, hands gripping the marbled edge. He tries not to stare at his reflection or else he is going to have a mental breakdown right fucking now. He hears Max locking the door shut behind them. Clearly, she is aware that whatever Will is going through is serious and that anyone barging into the room will definitely not help.

Max approaches him slowly, repeating her earlier question. “Will, what's wrong?”

And Will has done his utmost best to keep his feelings hidden his entire life. It’s a bad habit that is ingrained into his DNA and no matter how much he wants to change that, he just can’t do it. Bottling his feelings and chucking them in the vast ocean where they will inevitably drown is what he does. But, there are some feelings that always have a way of coming to the surface no matter how much you quell them. 

“He's not my Tammy, Max. He never was,” he pants out. 

Max scrunches her eyebrows in a confused frown. “I shouldn’t have forced you to chug down that last vodka shot.” 

His brain feels foggy. Will wants to throw up but instead of the disgusting alcohol that he had drunk in the past hour, more rambled words come out of his mouth. His heart is finally in sync with his brain and there's nothing he can do —the alcohol has only deteriorated his progress so far— to break the connection.  

“Y-you don't get it, Max. I lied eighteen months ago and I've been lying to myself ever since. But… but I can’t pretend anymore,” Will gabbles in a panicky way, “he's not my Tammy. Never was. He's just my—” 

Max cautiously grips Will's shoulders and angles his body towards her, trying to better read his facial expression. “Will. You need to calm down. Who are you talking about?” 

“Mike.” 

There it is. The pure truth spelled in the forbidden four-letter word. He's back to square one. Will thinks he never left that damn square. He's trapped in a hedge maze, walls as high as the sky where the distance between him and the exit keeps on growing and growing with no escape in sight.

He glances up at the ceiling, focusing on the tiny patch of mold forming in one of the corners. Breathing heavily, he tries to keep his tears at bay but it's in vain. He fails once again. He keeps failing his entire life. Max's silence encourages him to keep talking. Now that he’s unlocked the deadbolt on his repressed feelings for Mike, he has to let them all out or else he's going to choke on them and die. 

“Shit, Max. Who am I kidding? I'm always going to be in love with him. It will never g-go away,” Will sobs out. 

He brings up a fist to his chest and bangs repeatedly at the area where his heart is thumping rapidly beneath his ribs. “Th-this crushing feeling,” he swallows audibly as tears fall freely down his cheeks, “it just keeps coming back, Max.” 

“Will,” Max whispers and her tone is filled with so much sadness and devastating pity that Will laughs despite himself. Pity was an emotion that he was used to receiving from people all around him —everyone except Mike— but it didn't mean that he liked it. 

Will is shivering, goosebumps rising all over his body. If Mike was here, he would have noticed in an instant and he would have wordlessly peeled his jacket off him and wrapped it around his shoulders. The gesture itself would have sent Will's cheeks flaming in red. Had Will been a little bit braver, he would have confessed to his best friend that his touch alone was enough to warm him up. It has been like that since he was possessed; Mike's touch had a history of having a solitary power of bringing Will back from his trances of the Upside Down.

“Will, it's okay,” Max says, stepping closer to him. “You're just drunk. You don’t know what you're talking about.” 

That fills Will with so much anger that he sees red. Max doesn't understand. She can sympathise with him but she —in truth, no one— will never understand what Will is going through. 

“No!” Will snaps, gritting his teeth in a hiss. If Max is offended at his sudden raised tone, she doesn’t let it show on her face. Will's rage flares down and he deflates, shoulders slumping down in defeat.

“You don’t get it, Max. Mike. He-he makes me feel safe. He has taken such good care of me ever since we were chil-children and he has never made me feel bad for being different. I know that he has hurt me in the past before. Okay? I know that. But he has always come to me to apologise first and-and he comforts me when I have nightmares, Max. He’s so good to me and… he makes me laugh so damn much. He makes me feel so loved.” 

Will sniffles while he uses the back of his hands to wipe his tears. Max stands silently, her hands rubbing up and down on his arms to console him. It makes Will want to cry more but he bites down on his lips to stifle his sobs. 

And here's another fourth fun fact about him: Will can outrun the Demogorgon but he can never outrun the truth. It's always going to be lurking in the shadows, coming out to jump at him and scaring him whenever he lets his guards down. 

“It’s Mike.” He shrugs his shoulders dejectedly. The two words ring in the air with such a dead finality that even Max doesn't anticipate it. “It’s always going to be him. No one else.” 

Max slips her hands from his upper arms and hooks them behind Will's neck to bring him into a hug. Will melts in her embrace, his face burrowing in Max's neck as he tightly hugs her back. 

“I'll never be over him. What am I going to do?” Will sobs, his words coming out garbled against Max's shirt.

“It's okay, Will,” Max whispers, gently rubbing circles on his back. “You'll be okay.” 

Will is grateful that she doesn’t refute his words this time. He may have been in denial of his feelings all this time but Max shooting down them as merely a rambling consequence of him being drunk would have been his last straw. Listening to Max cooing reassurances at him makes him realise that she knew all along. She knew that Will was still in love with Mike and that’s what further breaks his heart — because this just means that Will wasn’t subtle at all. 

It's only when his sobs slow down that Max releases him. Will squeezes her hands in thanks once again. If Max wasn't here with him tonight, Will doesn’t know what he would have done. “We're gonna get you some water and then we'll get the hell out of here, okay?” 

Will nods meekly. “Okay.”

“You're gonna be okay, Will. I promise.” He believes her. He hangs on the certainty laced in between her words and her tone. He's going to be okay. He has to. There’s no other possible option for him. 

“MAX! WILL! Are you guys in there?” Mike's booming voice comes through the locked door.

Will is not going to be okay. 

Panicked, he stares at Max with wide eyes. He absolutely cannot confront Mike right now — not when he just came to terms with the resurgence of his old feelings about him. Will is genuinely going to throw up this time.

“Max! I know you are in there with Will.” His voice is loud with concern and desperation. “Is he okay? Please. I just need to see if he's okay.” 

Will's traitorous heart melts and his stomach swoops as butterflies take flight, free from their cages. This is exactly why he cannot move on from Mike. He keeps giving himself to Will, piece by piece and it's going to kill him one day because Will keeps on continuing taking and taking.

Max walks towards the door, one hand clutching the door knob. “Don't worry, Will. I'll make him go away.”

Mike is relentless as he thumps the door repeatedly. “Open the door right now, Mayfield or else, I will break it down.” 

She glares at the door, her free hand resting on her hip. “With your twigs-like arms? I don't think so, Wheeler.”

Will, despite the deep sadness coursing through every vein of his body, can't help but snort. Her remark hits the bull's eyes resulting in Mike guffawing in offence. Will can imagine him forlornly staring down at his arms, lips downturned in a childish pout, as it always does when he and Max fight.

“My arms are not like twigs. Fuck you.” 

Will laughs. He's so in love with Mike that he feels stupid. He cannot believe that he was crying over him a few seconds ago and now he's giggling because of him. Only Mike could have that effect on him. 

Max wrenches the door open to hurl a litany of curses at Mike which he gladly returns back. Their bickering is familiar enough that it provides a cocoon of safety for Will. He can almost forget about the mental crisis he had about Mike. Almost. 

He pads towards the door, heart picking up its pace whenever he gets near to Mike. So much so for moving on. How can he possibly move on if his organs stop operating normally whenever he finds himself in Mike's vicinity? 

“... you're the one with a stupid fa—” Mike, at once, forgets the insult he was shouting at Max when Will appears in the doorway. 

His eyebrows shoot upwards with worry as he thoroughly scans Will's face. The red-rimmed puffy eyes combined with the dried tear tracks on his flushed cheeks must not paint a pretty picture. Will can exactly see when the alarm bells go off in Mike's head upon seeing his condition. “Will. What happened? Are you okay?” His voice drops down an octave, gentle and soft as always when it comes to him.

He leaps forward to reach Will but Max interrupts him, breaking his momentum. She shoves herself between them, acting like a barrier that Mike can't pass through. 

“What the hell? Max. Move.” 

Max is not deterred by the thundering furious look on Mike's face. Maybe it's because she's so used to being on the receiving end of Mike's glowering demeanour that she's immune to it by now. 

“Will,” Max says, turning back to take a quick glimpse at Will, “is fine. He was not feeling well so I was going to take him home until you interrupted us.” 

If it's even physically possible, Mike's frown deepens, wrinkles forming in his forehead. Will is tempted to smooth down the lines with his thumb. He doesn’t like when Mike is upset; he prefers when he is smiling. It's that specific thought that confirms that he is still very much drunk. 

“Move, Maxine.” Mike easily pushes her off to the side. 

Max is unable to fight back since she's also drunk, her body not cooperating with her and ultimately betraying her. She staggers sideways, resembling a new-born kitten unable to stand on its trembling legs. He doesn’t have the time to check whether she’s fine because Mike invades Will's personal space. He was right earlier; his sheer presence promptly puts Will at ease, warming him up better than any alcohol could. 

“You okay, Will?” His hand grips one of Will's shoulders, his fingers possessively curling around the bone. Will wants him to never lift his hand away. 

“He’s fine,” Max sarcastically replies in his place, “no thanks to you.” 

The last part of the sentence is said under her breath, with the aim of being unheard under the blaring volume of the music. Nevertheless, Mike still manages to catch it because the universe hates Will, apparently. Will freezes as Mike snaps his head so sharply towards her that it's a miracle that his neck hasn't cracked. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Before Max can elaborate on what she was saying, Will redirects Mike's attention towards him. He places his right hand atop Mike's hand, patting it lightly. The action has the intended effect. Mike is staring at him again, bending down to be at the same height as Will. It makes his heart flutter. 

“Nothing.” Will squirms uncomfortably in place. He just wants to go home, fling himself on the bed and probably cry himself to sleep until he forgets how a disaster this night turned out to be.

Thankfully, Max jumps right into saving him before Mike can stubbornly press for an answer. She clears her throat. “Yeah. It’s nothing. I'm going to take him home now.” 

Mike grimaces at her while his hold on Will tightens. “No way. I'm taking him home.” 

“No. I will.” Max argues back.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of Will,” Mike says as a matter of fact, “I've been doing that since forever.” How he can say those things easily, seemingly unaware of the impact they have on him, will remain an unsolvable mystery to Will. 

“Besides, you're drunk out of your mind while I, on the other hand, am completely sober so I'm driving him home. End of discussion.” He takes out his car keys from his pocket and gloatingly twirls it around his finger, a smirk framed on his face as Max seethes in anger. 

“We could always walk home.” 

Mike gasps. “Are you stupid? Will's house is at the other end of town.”

Their disagreement over being Will's chaperone rises dangerously in decibels and it amplifies the pain of his headache. Both of them are obstinate but Mike is a tad bit too overprotective when it comes to Will. There is no way he's going to back down from the argument and Max who likes to antagonise him on a daily basis will not let him win. They will be here all night if Will doesn’t intervene. 

Will decides to put them out of their misery. “It’s okay, Max. Mike will take me home. You stay and have fun with Lucas and Dustin.” 

Max narrows her eyes in suspicion. She sounds reluctant as she asks, “are you sure, Will?” 

Will offers her a smile that he hopes reaches his eyes. “I'll be fine. I promise.” 

She doesn’t look too convinced but she eventually concedes after she finds whatever she was looking for in his eyes. Will is grateful that she trusts his judgment. She gives him a tight hug as soon as Mike removes his hand from Will's body, demanding him to let her know when he's reached safely as soon as possible. He doesn’t have the heart to inform her that she hasn't brought her walkie talkie with her so Will has no means of contacting her. 

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Mike states as he wraps a steady arm around Will's waist and leads them out of the party. 

It's going to be the longest drive of Will's life.

──────

“We're here,” Mike announces as he turns the engine off, the rumbling of his car coming to a stop. When Will lifts himself from the headrest and tiredly gazes out of the window, he is greeted with the sight of the Wheeler’s house. All the lights are out meaning that everyone is asleep already; it must be pretty late. 

Will blinks in confusion. “I thought you were taking me home.”

“Yeah,” is all that he gets as an explanation from Mike who refuses to meet his eyes now. It’s hard to reconcile this shy, uncertain version of his best friend with the earlier one at the party who confidently took the reins from Max; the difference is bewildering. 

Will is too hammered to decipher the meaning behind his reply. He is still feeling woozy. He is already regretting not listening to Max earlier. Sure, walking to his house would have taken them hours but at least, he would have sobered up by the chilling gust of the wind and her occasional quips directed at Mike. At least, in her company, he would have been able to spill all his thoughts and feelings about Mike without the risk of getting his heart broken again. Here, with Mike in such close vicinity, Will’s unrequited love for him is begging to be shouted from the top of his lungs. 

Will unbuckles his seat belt. When he sluggishly opens the door to get out of the car, Mike is already waiting outside, slightly out of breath. How did he get here so quickly? He was literally sitting in the driver’s seat one minute ago. Did he jog here as fast as he could just to be by Will’s side? 

As soon as Will’s shoes hit the gravelled asphalt of the Wheeler’s driveway, Mike slips a hand around his waist after shutting the passenger’s door behind him. The way he casually grabbed Will, like it’s a force of habit, makes Will’s knees buckle in weakness. Losing his balance, he ungracefully stumbles into Mike who uses the leverage he has on Will’s waist to drag Will closer to him. He sends a quick prayer to any deity out there that the starless midnight sky serves as the perfect cover for the reddening blush dusting on his face.  

“You okay? Do you think you can walk?” 

It reminds Will of five Halloween nights ago where he and Mike had found themselves in a similar situation. Clad in their ghostbusters costumes with their Proton Packs strapped to their backs, Mike had promised, with a secure hand around his shoulder, a terrified Will that he would take him home after having another episode about the Upside Down. He eventually landed at Mike’s house. Just like tonight. He wonders if Mike knows that for Will, home is wherever Mike is. It had been like that back then and it still stays true today. 

Will nods. “I’m fine, Mike.” Then he attempts to pry off Mike’s hand on him by wiggling away from his hold but Mike doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls Will closer until they are standing chest to chest. Will’s heart skips a beat.

Before he can fully process his sudden proximity with Mike, he makes matters worse by bending down and gliding his other hand beneath Will’s knees. Will’s vision shifts from the Wheelers’ front door to Mike’s face as he is smoothly swept off his feet. Mike is carrying Will bridal style, cradling him in his arms. His arms are awkwardly bent in front of chest, his hands balled into fists. 

“Mike!” Will squeaks out in embarrassment. “What- what are you doing? Put me down.” 

“No,” Mike counters in his commanding voice. The one that he uses whenever he switches to leader mode. The one which leaves no room for argument. The one where he doesn’t have to raise his voice to make a point. The one where his voice is smooth, deep and so reliable that Will has no choice but to listen to him. The one that has made Will swoon since he first learnt that he liked Mike, back when they were still kids and his feelings for Mike were far from being scary. “Hold on tight to me, Will.”

Will obediently slinks his left hand around Mike’s neck and uses the right one to form a loop, grabbing on the cotton fabric of Mike’s t-shirt. Mike is clearly taken aback by Will’s immediate acquiescence. He probably was expecting more grumbled protests falling from his mouth, ready to deflect all objections raised by Will.

His shocked expression is soon transformed to a pleased one, the corner of his mouth tugging up in an arrogant smirk. As Mike attempts to fight off the smirk from fully forming on his stupidly beautiful face, Will realises that Mike likes it when he listens to him. Will hates that he has accidentally revealed one of his weaknesses pertaining to Mike to the object of his affections. In order to regain an upper hand in the situation, Will rolls his eyes, muttering a sharp, “Shut up.” 

Mike has the audacity to laugh, the sound travelling straight to Will’s chest and settling deeper in the home he’s already built in Will’s heart. His eyes twinkle with mirth and mischief which is the usual side effect of Mike teasing him. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn't have to,” Will replies. Instead of annoyed, his tone comes out fond and endearing. Will can't help himself — he always had had a tendency of slipping up when it comes to Mike. 

“Ready?” Mike, then, hoists Will upwards, ensuring that he has a firm grip on Will. He seems determined not to drop him down. Max was definitely wrong earlier; Mike doesn’t have twig-like arms. Because if he did, then they both would have unceremoniously fallen down the minute he picked Will up. 

The action brings Will’s face closer to Mike’s. At this angle, he has the privilege to view every tiny freckle splattered on Mike’s cheeks. Will’s breath hitches in his throat when Mike tilts his head downwards to stare at Will. Their noses are almost touching. This is dangerous. Will needs to put some distance between them by turning his head sideways. But, he is unable to tear his gaze away from Mike. For some implausible reason that Will does not have the capacity to examine right now, Mike is also staring down at Will, his eyes flickering on every feature of Will’s face as if he is memorising them. He even lingers on Will’s mouth for one excruciating second too long. 

It’s too much for Will. He is the one to break eye contact, coughing awkwardly to snap him out of whatever delusional dream he is having. There is no way Mike was staring at his lips just now. That is merely a fantasy that his brain conjured up to satiate the impossible desire brewing inside of him all of these years. 

Mike takes his cue and starts walking towards the house, his fingers tightening around Will’s waist. Mike stealthily makes his way around the Wheeler’s household in the dark without making any noise and alerting his asleep family members.

He expects Mike to steer towards the basement — a familiar and comforting place for Will. But, Mike takes him by surprise by climbing the stairs, expertly avoiding the wooden steps which usually creak, as he makes his way towards his own room. Will opens his mouth to tell him that he is fine sleeping downstairs in the basement but seeing the steel look on Mike's face stops him. 

Mike's room is dark but the moonlight streaming through the half-closed blinds helps Will to make out the mess in his surroundings: dirty clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor, stacks of flying paper placed in a disorderly manner on his writing desk and an unfolded blanket bunches up in a heap of tangled sheets on his unmade bed. He doesn’t apologise for the untidy state of his bedroom. 

Once Mike delicately deposits Will on his bed, he moves to switch on the vintage lamp situated on his nightstand table. Will is immediately hit with the scent of Mike's cologne with a hint of the familiar floral detergent that Mrs. Wheeler has been using since he had had the permission of having a sleepover at Mike's place. The familiar smell of Will's childhood relaxes him and he is able to breathe more freely. 

Mike disappears into his closet, rummaging through his clothes as Will waits patiently, letting Mike take the lead. He is already feeling a bit sleepy.

“Here.” Mike stands in front of him again, holding a navy-blue hoodie and grey sweatpants in both hands. “Change in these while I get you a glass of water.” 

Will thanks him as he gratefully accepts the clothes. He was slowly working up the courage to ask Mike for a change of clothes since his shirt was sticky on him from all the dancing he did, uncomfortably clinging to him like a second skin. His hands were itching to take the damp material off as soon as they left the party. Mike, as usual, is one step ahead of him.

By the time Mike reappears with a cold glass of water, Will is already dressed in Mike's proffered clothes. His own clothes are neatly folded and placed on the carpeted floor at the end of Mike's bed. However, he stops in his tracks when he sees Will, one hand tightly clutched around the glass of water. He scans Will up and down, releasing a shaky exhale. He seems transfixed by the hoodie draped around Will. 

“What?” 

“No-nothing,” Mike stutters. He gulps as he crosses the distance between them and extends Will the promised glass of water. “I- just. The hoodie looks really large on you.” 

Will grabs the glass from Mike's hand. Their fingers brush which sends an electric jolt throughout his body. He decidedly doesn't focus on that. It's just his body reacting to him consuming alcohol for the first time. After drinking every drop of water —Will didn’t even realise how thirsty he was— he puts down the empty glass on the nightstand table. 

Will glances down at the hoodie. Mike is right. The garment is so baggy on him that he is practically swimming in it. Will loves it — it feels like getting a big and warm hug from Mike. 

“I mean, yeah.” Will shakes his arms around in the air where his hands barely skim past the cuffs of the sleeves. “You are so much taller than me.” 

Mike’s fingers twitch at his sides, like he has to stop himself from reaching out. He bites the inside of his cheek as he forces his gaze away from Will. Is he okay? Why is he acting strangely about their very obvious difference in the size of their clothes?

Will is suddenly overcome with the urge of lying down. He really wants to sleep this night off, ready to permanently delete this terrible night from his memory. Still sitting in an upright position, he is about to bend down to remove his shoes when he is halted by Mike. Again.

“Wait,” Mike volunteers, scrambling to kneel down on the floor between Will's legs, “let me.” 

Will watches in awe as Mike takes his sweet time unlacing his shoes and taking them off his socked feet. Mike's taut back muscles move under the tight sweater he's currently wearing. Without thinking, Will's hand shoots out with the intention of tracing the entrancing muscles but he is able to restrain himself in time by pulling his hand inwards and placing them on his lap. 

God. What is he thinking? What if Mike had seen him? What kind of flimsy excuse would Will have to come up with to defend himself? Zero is the answer. 

“There. All done,” Mike declares with a proud smile on his face. He hooks his fingers against the collar linings of Will's sneakers and dumps them behind him. 

Will realises with a stark realisation that he is falling in love with Mike all over again. Not that he ever stopped. It’s hard not to love Mike Wheeler when he's right in front of him, solid and real. Taking care of Will as if it's his No.1 job and priority in the world. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him. 

It's so easy to fall into the daydream that Mike loves him back. Maybe, in an alternate universe, it would just be Mike, fulfilling his role as a boyfriend and Will wouldn’t have to think twice to bow down and peck him on the lips to show him how grateful he is to have Mike in his life. 

Mike is still on the ground, peering up at Will through his eyelashes. The lamp on the nightstand casts a soft amber glow that outlines Mike's profile — the sharp slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the crease between his brows that never fully goes away and the collection of freckles varying in different shades sprinkled across his cheeks. Here, on his knees for Will, Mike looks even more ethereal than one of his paintings. 

Will's heart clenches with pain and want. The temptation to reach out and trace Mike’s face with his fingers is almost unbearable. He shouldn't. He is well aware that he will be crossing a line if he does it. But, the alcohol must have crosswired his nerves in his brain, sending the wrong electrical signals down to his hands. 

Before he can second guess what he is doing, Will slowly raises his right hand, floating in the air a few inches away from Mike's face. He half-expects Mike to flinch away the moment his fingers get close but he doesn’t move. Will hesitates, his hand hovering between them for a moment before his fingertips finally brush against Mike’s forehead. The contact is feather-light, almost tentative, like he’s giving Mike every chance to pull away. Mike’s breath catches softly, but he stays still, shoulders stiffening. 

Emboldened by Mike's silence, Will lazily drags his fingers downward, tracing the slope of his brow and the bridge of his nose. Mike’s breath stutters at the touch. Will pauses when his fingers reach the tip of Mike’s nose, suddenly aware of how close they are. His own breath catches and soon, the room is just filled with the sound of their erratic, heavy, breathing. 

Then his fingers drift lower, ghosting over Mike’s lips. 

Mike’s eyes droop closed instantly, his breathing growing heavier, the sound of it warm against Will’s skin. He doesn’t pull away — if anything, he leans slightly into the touch, as if his body is craving more of Will's touching, begging him to get closer. The movement is so small Will almost thinks he imagined it.

Will’s heart pounds in his chest, goosebumps erupting all over his body. His fingers move again, reverently tracing past the corner of Mike’s mouth before sliding along the curve of his cheek. Without thinking about the consequences of his action, Will’s hand shifts until his palm cups Mike’s cheek fully. Mike’s eyes open at that, his throat moving as he swallows. Will feels his own mouth going dry as he follows the movement of his Adam's apple.

For a second, neither of them moves. Will holds his breath. He's afraid that by speaking up, this tender moment between them will snap and he will have to go back to being normal. Mike doesn’t look away. His gaze stays fixed on Will’s face, intense and searching, like he’s waiting for something.

And yet, Will has to ask. He has to know. He's been wondering about it ever since he came to terms with his undying feelings for Mike in that dingy, smelly bathroom back at the party. He hopes that Mike has the answers to his question like he always did when they were children. 

Mike. His paladin. His knight in shining armour who vowed, bound by oath, that he would protect Will from all the bad things existing in the world. Except Mike didn’t take into account that he also was included in the things that would ultimately hurt Will in the future, whether it was on purpose or by mistake. 

“Do you think,” Will whispers, his voice so low that it is barely audible in the little space carved between them, “it's going to last?” 

Mike frowns. “What?” 

“The pain of loving you.” 

The words land between them like shattered glass. Mike stops breathing, his eyes taking on a haunted look. For a moment he looks like he might speak —his mouth even opens slightly— but the words never come.

Will knows he should stop talking. He needs to shut up before he ruins his friendship with Mike — the one good thing that has defined Will's entire life and inspires him to keep living. But, after his little painful epiphany, he thinks that their friendship will never be able to survive the blow of Will's feelings no matter how much he tries to persuade himself otherwise. 

And God, Will is so tired. He is so fucking exhausted, the weariness settling in the marrow of his bones. He can't pretend that his heart isn't breaking into a million tiny pieces whenever he looks at Mike. Which is why he decides to let it all out, repercussions be damned. 

“I c-can’t ke-keep doing this anymore, Mi-ike,” Will hiccups as his words tumble out in a slurry manner, “I tried so so hard, Mike. You-you have to believe me, okay?” 

His throat closes up as fresh tears cascade down his cheeks for the second time tonight. He can’t quite grasp what Mike is thinking because he appears blurry, masked behind the continuous tears filling up Will's eyes. He's glad that he cannot properly see Mike because Will wouldn’t have been able to survive seeing the rejection in his eyes once again. 

He removes his hand from Mike's cheek, the touch turning from comfort to pure torture. He cards his quivering hand through his hair, yanking at the roots in the hope that the pain will anchor him and prevent him from further putting his foot in his mouth. It doesn’t work. 

“Will I-,” Mike starts. His voice sounds rough, like the word scraped its way out of his throat.

But Will interrupts him. “I wanted to erase everything, you know? Your memories. Your smile. The way you look at me.” 

Mike makes a choked noise in the back of the throat, like Will's words physically hit him like a freight train. His eyes are red and blotchy, tears gathering in the corner. His jaw is clenched and this time, Will is able to hold back from reaching out and touching Mike's face. He no longer has the right to comfort Mike. Not after essentially confessing to Mike that he still loves him and will continue loving him till the day he dies. 

Will brings his hands down on his lap, clasping them together. He hopes that Mike doesn't see how badly he is shaking. Mike notices because of course, he does. His gaze drops briefly to Will’s trembling hands before snapping back to his face. “I'm so sorry, Mike. I tried so hard but…” 

He trails off, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. He doesn’t have to continue his sentence for Mike to understand him. He has the habit of filling up the blank space left behind by Will anyway. But, this time, Mike doesn’t. Will wouldn’t blame him.

It feels like an eternity passes before either one of them moves or speaks. The silence is suffocating. Will wants nothing more than to get up, run away and never come back to collect the broken pieces of their friendship. But, he simply doesn't have the energy to even move a muscle. 

“Will,” Mike whispers finally, his name coming out as a jagged, shaky exhale. He sounds like he's on the verge of breaking down and Will curses himself for putting Mike in this very position. 

This is all Will's fault. He always ruins everything because he is incapable of not touching something good, something precious in his life and letting it burn to the ground with only his touch. He should have never opened his mouth. Never went to the party and got drunk. Never fallen in love with Mike in the first place. 

Mike pushes himself off the carpeted floor, loitering above him. Even now, Will feels safe in his towering presence, like he’s being wrapped in a warm, soft blanket. He is so stupid. Pathetic.

He waits for Mike to ask him to get out of his house and never speak to him again. But, it never comes. Will redirects his gaze to the wall behind Mike because he can’t bring himself to look at him for long. The shame burns too hot under his skin.

Staring at the blue wall without blinking causes Will’s head to spin. The alcohol is catching up to him again, turning the room slightly sideways. Mike bends down halfway to steady him immediately, hands landing on his shoulders. “Easy,” Mike murmurs. His voice is so reassuring that Will could easily drown in it. 

His touch is warm and infuriatingly gentle. Mike's kindness is not something that Will deserves after he basically ruined their night. So, he swallows thickly and continues to avoid looking at him.

“You should lie down,” Mike says after a moment. It isn’t a question.

Will's throat is too dry to come up with an affirmative response so he dips his head into a nod. Mike relaxes instantaneously, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as soon as Will listens to him. If Will was sober, he would have fought back but alas. 

Mike maneuvers Will, who feels like a puppet whose strings have been cut off, with a tender hand at the back of his neck. He goes compliantly, letting himself be guided towards the headboard until he is being lowered to Mike's pillow. 

As Mike pulls the blanket over him where the scent of him multiplies tenfold —it acts as a relaxing comfort against his frayed nerves— Will is suddenly hit with an unexpected intense wave of drowsiness. With half-lidded eyes, he watches Mike shuffle around his room, picking up the discarded rumpled garments on the ground and dump them in the empty laundry basket. 

Mike's eyes dart around the room once he completes the task, as if he’s desperate to keep his hands busy. He often does this when he has a lot on his mind — when his thoughts are far too intertwined for him to disentangle into coherent ones. It’s clear that he is doing his utmost best to forget about Will’s confession. After he realises that there’s nothing else he can do, he lingers awkwardly by the bed beside Will. 

Even though the guilt is eating Will alive for breaking Mike’s brain like this, he has to admit that he is endlessly charmed by Mike’s habit. It’s endearing and it’s quite frankly disturbing how in love Will is with him. God. He really needs to get a grip. 

Mike is shifting his weight from foot to foot, glancing between the closed door of his room and the space on his bed next to Will. He’s being indecisive. Will sighs out loud and decides to put his mind at ease. If the next words he suggests to Mike end up benefitting Will more than him, then that’s between him and God. He already destroyed their friendship; he might as well go all in and be selfish for one last time.  

Will’s hand drifts weakly across the blanket beside him, fingers brushing the empty space like a small, uncertain invitation. “Mike,” he calls softly.

Mike’s head snaps up even before his full name comes out of Will’s mouth, like it’s an automatic reflex. Like his body immediately responds to Will’s voice. It’s a credible theory since Will accidentally found out through Dustin that Mike had recognised Will through his breathing when he had disappeared back in 1983. The thought makes Will’s insides burn. 

Will doesn’t miss the way Mike faintly sways forward, ready to clamber towards his side. The only giveaway that he stops himself from joining Will is his continuous clenching and unclenching of the fists. He studies Will, his gaze consuming, waiting for permission. To do what? Will doesn’t know but he is about to find out.  

The words sit heavy on his tongue, threatening to dissolve before he can force them out.

“Will you stay?”

The vulnerable and soft-spoken question hovers in the air, waiting for an answer from Mike. The room goes very still. If Will didn’t know any better, he would have thought that his powers also extended to stopping time indefinitely. Mike doesn’t answer right away; Will can practically hear the gears turning in his head, making a pros and cons list of his two possible answers. 

He stands there at the side of the bed, looking down at Will like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with pieces that refuse to fit together. His gaze flickers briefly toward the closed bedroom door, then back again. Will’s stomach twists painfully as a hot sting of tears pricks behind his eyes. Of course Mike doesn’t want to stay. Why would he? Will just dumped the most humiliating confession of his life at his feet and now he’s asking him to— 

The mattress dips suddenly beside him which makes Will flinch in shock. His gaze which never left Mike tracks his every movement until he is sitting down on the edge of the bed. Slouching, he cautiously glances at Will. He shoots a small, warm smile at Mike, hoping that it will make him more comfortable. It does. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice quiet and rough around the edges, his dark eyes unwaveringly steady on Will, “I’ll stay.” He pretends that Mike is promising him that he will stay forever. Relief spreads slowly through Will’s chest, warm and dizzying. It mixes dangerously with the alcohol already fogging his head.

Will’s eyelids are growing heavier by the second. The room has stopped spinning violently since he laid down but he fears he will not be getting a proper rest until he is actually asleep. Will can hear the quiet rustle of Mike shifting slightly on the mattress, the springs of the mattress creaking under his weight as he also lies down. 

Will slides backwards to give him more space to settle down next to him, lifting the blanket. Mike gets under the covers until he is pressing close to Will. So close that Will can easily make out every distinct feature of Mike’s face. Mike curls on his side, his hands tucked in front of his face. Will mirrors his position which brings his own hands closer to Mike’s.  

The warmth of Mike’s calming presence beside him settles over Will like a second blanket. He tries to keep his eyes open, but it’s a losing battle. At some point, his hand unconsciously drifts across the tiny distance between them. His fingers bump clumsily into Mike’s wrist. Will freezes but his brain is too slow and tired to react properly. Instead of pulling away, his fingers curl weakly around Mike’s pinky finger, searching for more of his warmth so that the deadly cold permeating his body, his skin, even his bones vanishes completely. 

Mike stills beside him. For a brief, terrifying second, Will expects him to pull away. Mike surprises Will for the umpteenth time tonight by creeping closer, just enough that Will doesn’t have to reach as far. 

Will lets out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The steady warmth of Mike’s hand under his own hand feels grounding, solid in a way the rest of the room doesn’t. Sleep pulls at him harder now, dragging him down inch by inch.

The last thing Will registers before everything fades is the faint sensation of Mike’s thumb resting lightly against the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse beats fast and uneven beneath the skin.

And this time, when the darkness finally takes Will, he is not scared. 

──────

The first thing that Will picks up on when he is released from the clutches of his dreamland is that it’s hot. Too warm. It takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to open his eyes. An egregious mistake on his part — the bright sunlight hits him square on the face, forcing him to scrunch his eyes shut. Will groans in pain as the effects of a hangover crash over him. 

He never really understood why Jonathan used to bemoan the pounding headache he got as he trudged in the kitchen, complaining about his aching muscles long after the sun was already high in the sky. With his hair all mussed up, strands flying in different directions, Jonathan could barely sit straight at the kitchen table while their mom placed a glass of water in his hand — not before teasing him about it.

In his very honest opinion, Will thought that having a hangover couldn't be that bad; Jonathan was definitely exaggerating. Well, he is going to call his older brother and apologise for ever thinking that he was putting up an act because right now, Will wants to die. His body aches all over, every muscle protesting. It’s worse than getting run over by a car which, unfortunately, Will knows the feeling of.

As he tries to stretch his arms and legs, he realises he can’t. An arm is slung heavily across his waist, holding him in place. He’s trapped in Mike’s embrace. Slowly blinking his eyes open —letting them adjust to the bright light so that he doesn't go blind— he turns his head to the right and is greeted with the sight of Mike's face pressed against his neck. Will freezes as Mike's warm breaths fan against his skin. 

Somehow, during the night, they went from sleeping face-to-face to cuddling together. Their limbs are tangled, bodies pressed together. Will takes the opportunity to observe Mike — he hasn’t seen his best friend in this particular state since forever. Not since they were still kids when having sleepovers after begging for their parents’ approval was their biggest problem. 

Mike’s dark curls have gone haywire, probably from all the tossing and turning. Will likes that, at least, one thing about him hasn’t changed as Mike continues snoring peacefully. He still sleeps like a log; he used to sleep through his alarms and ended up being late to school or any other important event. Half of his face is puffy, lined with pillow creases and his freckles appear more brown than usual in the morning. Will’s fingers itch to pick up his sketchbook and charcoal so that he can draw him until all of the pages are filled with this version of Mike. Raw and vulnerable where he doesn’t keep his walls up. 

He carries on staring at Mike, committing what his face looks like in the morning to memory. Not for the first time, Will wonders with an aching heart what it would be like to wake up to this sight every morning. How in a world where Mike loved him back, as unconditionally as Will loved him, he would have turned around in his arms and burrow himself further into Mike until he wouldn't be able to tell where Will began and Mike ended. How Will would have peppered Mike’s face with open-mouthed kisses trailing from his face to his neck just to wake him up. How Mike who hated being woken up would grouse annoyingly that he needs five more minutes to wake up. How he would instantly melt into Will’s hug and immediately start retaliating by pressing loud and wet smacking kisses on his face which would result in Will being giggly since he was so ticklish. How in an alternate and perfect world, Will was able to have what he wants. 

But, wondering is all Will can do in this world. As his brain starts rebooting properly, the memories of what transpired last night slam into Will all at once: the party, Mike driving him home and taking care of him, Will confessing his love to Mike. Will doesn’t think wondering is allowed anymore. Not after what he did last night. 

He needs to get out of here before Mike wakes up. Before he has to confront the direct consequences of his drunken, on a whim actions. Before he has to sit and listen to Mike beat around the bush about Will’s feelings for him. Before Mike will admittedly remind Will that they are friends —best friends— and that’s all they will ever remain, yet again. He is too weak and sensitive to go through the same conversation they had on the tower eighteen months ago. 

Will attempts to carefully lift Mike’s hand which is currently in a vice-like grip on his waist. It’s a fruitless try because Mike who, despite sleeping soundly, can still sense an attempt to slip out of his grasp. In fact, he tightens his hold on Will’s waist and draws him closer. 

“Mhmm,” he hums sleepily, “five more minutes.” His morning voice is deep and gravelly as it vibrates against Will’s neck. It has already dethroned Mike’s laugh in the list of Will’s favourite sounds which primarily consists of noises related to Mike.

As if Will isn’t already being tortured enough, Mike nuzzles closer into his neck until his lips are pressed against the juncture between his neck and shoulder blade. Will remains rooted on the spot, in fear that if he unconsciously moves an inch, Mike will wake up. Will waits. Only when he is sure that Mike is still sleeping, he cautiously extracts his hand from Mike’s hold. He detaches himself from Mike's legs and silently slides off from the bed.

He is very proud of himself for making his way around the bed without looking at Mike for one second. The space left behind by Will is too enticing, luring him to come back to bed and lose himself in Mike's arms. For a second, Will debates on whether he should change back into his own clothes. It’s not worth it — he doesn't want to risk waking Mike up even if he's a heavy sleeper and can sleep through a catastrophic storm. 

He tiptoes toward Mike's desk, crouching down to grab his discarded sneakers. When he steals a glance through Mike's window, he is shocked to see that the sun is hiding behind a grey blanket of low clouds. There is also a light drizzle tapping softly against the glass pane. The deteriorating weather only cements his decision of staying in Mike's hoodie — the thick polyester fabric will be a better heat insulator than his thin cotton t-shirt. 

That’s the only reason why he is not returning Mike’s hoodie. It is definitely not because he likes wearing Mike’s clothes. Or because it makes him feel closer to him. Or maybe, it allows Will to imagine him as Mike’s boyfriend wordlessly stealing his clothes while Mike secretly likes it. 

The red digits blinking on the screen of Mike's alarm clock reveal that it's past ten in the morning. Shit. There is no way he will be able to make it past the front door without getting caught by Mrs. Wheeler. Or worse, Ted Wheeler. The only viable way to escape is to leave through the garage door. 

Yes. That's the perfect plan. Since Mike drove him here last night, Will doesn’t even have a way to get home. He could walk but he's starting to feel dizzy again. He doesn’t want to faint in the middle of the road. He’s pretty sure the old bikes they used to ride to school —back when they were under military surveillance— are still somewhere in the garage.

Satisfied with the strategy that he just came up with, Will walks stealthily in the middle of the room where there is space for him to wear his shoes easily. He slips his sneakers on as quietly as he can and straightens up, taking a moment to steady himself.

Against his better judgment, Will glances at Mike once. Mike is still sprawled across the bed, one arm stretched over the empty space where Will had been moments ago. It would be so easy to slip back in beside him and pretend that last night didn't happen.

He could fake a hangover and say he doesn’t remember anything from last night. After all, he’d been drunk out of his mind — it would be a piece of cake to blame the confession on the haze of alcohol.

It would be the flawless excuse. 

But, it's still a lie and if he has learnt anything from last night, it's that he is tired of lying. Lying about the intensity of his feelings about Mike. Lying to himself. And most importantly, lying to Mike. 

Lost in his thoughts, he barely misses the sound of the sheets rustling. He freezes, pure terror icing his veins. Mike stirs in his sleep, one hand coming up to absently scratch his cheek. He, thankfully, doesn’t wake up. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Will starts walking towards the door. In his haste to bolt out of the room, he forgets to tie his shoe laces properly and trips on them. He falls down on the carpeted floor with a loud thud. The noise echoes in the quiet room like a gunshot — a signal of his impending doom. 

Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up. Maybe if he repeats the phrase like a mantra in his head, he will actually manifest it into happening. Any hope that Mike hasn't been woken up from the sound of Will's fall is quickly quashed when he hears a groggy, “Will?” as the mattress creaks behind him. 

Slowly, he pushes himself up and turns around. Mike is sitting up in the bed, squinting through his half-lidded eyes, still heavy with remnants of sleep. Will, for the life of him, forgets how to move as he watches Mike rub his eyes to get rid of the last traces of sleep. His t-shirt is slipping off one of his shoulders, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone. Will averts his eyes quickly, his mouth going dry at the sight. 

Mike looks disoriented. “Will, where are you going?” 

His voice, still deep and throaty from sleep, makes Will shiver. He really needs to get a grip. He cannot allow Mike to have that kind of effect on him — at least not in front of him. He’s embarrassed himself in front of his best friend enough times already. Mike, who is too distracted by Will’s current state, misreads his shuddering. Will can see it on his face; how his eyebrows pull down in a worried frown. 

“I’m going home,” Will says as an explanation to his previous question. 

His eyebrows knit further into confusion. It’s an almost painfully adorable expression. “Wait - what?”

Will bends down to tie his shoelaces effectively this time, tucking them neatly inside the soles so they won’t come undone again. “I’m going home,” Will repeats himself, in case Mike didn’t hear him. He stands up, expecting understanding on Mike’s part but bewilderment is still present in his face. 

“Will. You’re still hungover,” Mike argues. He gestures toward the window where the rain has intensified into a steady downpour. “I’m not letting you go out in this weather.” He crosses his arms over his chest, one eyebrow arching to make it clear he’s not taking no for an answer.

Well, too bad for him because when Will sets his mind to it, he can be twice as irritatingly stubborn as Mike. Will lifts his chin in defiance, heading to the door. “I’m fine, Mike. I can take care of myself.”

Unfortunately, his argument falls apart because when he turns the doorknob in his hand and steps outside in the hallway, he loses his footing. He stumbles but manages to balance himself by gripping the edge of the white wooden door frame. The dizziness hits him so suddenly that he has to close his eyes firmly. His legs tremble beneath him, threatening to give out; but the universe grants him some form of mercy so he doesn’t fall again. 

Mike, bearing witness to yet another discomforting moment about Will, scurries from the bed, sheets swishing in his wake. In the blink of an eye, Mike is by his side. He places a composing hand on Will’s shoulder.

“Hey. You okay? Do you need to sit down?” Mike's voice is soothing and so gentle that Will's discomfort evaporates within seconds. The warmth of Mike’s hand spreads through his shoulder like some calming and anchoring weight. 

Mike doesn't gloat about the fact that he was indeed right about Will not feeling well. He doesn’t say I told you so in his annoyingly pretentious voice that he uses whenever he has just proved someone wrong. Most of the time, he uses this derisive voice to talk down to Max. On less frequent occasions, Dustin and Lucas also receive the same condescending treatment. Will, on the other hand, has never once been on the receiving end of Mike’s mockery.

“I'm fine,” Will snaps, a bit harshly that he intended. Mike is only trying to help but he cannot deal with his kindness without bursting into tears. Instead, he channels his melancholy into irritation. 

He flicks Mike's hand away from his shoulder and makes his way towards the stairs. He thanks the stars that he is not wobbling but he grips the railing for balance as he climbs down the stairs. 

“Will. C'mon,” Mike pleads. He follows him instantaneously, his steps thunderously loud as he also climbs down behind Will. “You can barely stand straight. Just stay here. Please.” 

God. Why can't Mike leave him alone? Why does he keep doing this to him? Why does he keep being kind and nice to Will even if he knows that Will secretly wants more than his friendship? Why can he not love Will back? 

Fuck. Will can feel the irritation bubbling inside his chest, rising dangerously till the resentment towards himself and Mike forms a lump around his throat. Will hates himself right now. He hates Mike for always worrying about and for always taking care of him. Hates him for chasing Will whenever he runs away from him. 

Will speeds up, skipping two steps at a time to get further away from Mike. Mike, who still hasn't fully regained the control over his limbs, isn't able to catch up to Will despite usually having longer strides than him. Having an advantage over Mike, Will flits through the empty living room as fast as lighting and reaches the garage door in record time.

Mike is a few paces behind him now. “Will. Seriously stop.” 

Will grabs the handle and heaves the door open. It swings open, creaking eerily but before it can slam shut back into its hinges, Mike slips through the door. Cool air immediately spills in from the garage, carrying the faint earthy scent of rain and wet pavement. Will steps outside, grateful for the breath of fresh air.

The soft drumming of rain against the garage door echoes through the space. His eyes track the shelves in the corner of the garage under which the bicycles are stacked against the wall. He barely makes it two steps towards his new destination before Mike eventually catches up with him, jumping to prevent Will from leaving. 

“Will.”

Mike grabs his wrist. Will doesn’t know what overtakes him —maybe it's because he can no longer ignore the unadulterated desperation and fear lacing in Mike's voice— but he stops. Mike's hand remains gently enclosed around his wrist. His fingers twitch against the skin as he's afraid that if he makes one wrong move, Will will disappear. 

It's inevitable, Will thinks. They always find themselves circling back to here: at the edge of the Wheeler's garage as heavy rain pelts down, with Will's heart breaking in the process. He wonders if Mike is having a weird sense of déjà vu just like him. 

Mike's tough demeanour seems to dissolve like sugar in the rain. “Why do you keep leaving?” He whispers brokenly. The me goes unsaid but he hears it anyway because he's been cursed to be attuned to every thought, every word and every sentence that goes through Mike's head. 

Will's heart skips a beat at the insinuation. He deflects the question. He reluctantly turns around to face Mike who doesn't let go of Will's wrist from his grasp even if Will is right there. He hasn't left. Yet. 

Before Will can even string a sentence to defend himself, Mike interjects. “Stop running away from me.” 

Will's jaw clenches with frustration. Why can't Mike just let him go? Why can't Will let him go? Why is Will putting himself in this type of situation over and over again, breaking his heart into such minuscule pieces that he simply can't glue them back together again? 

“I'm not running away,” Will replies sternly. “I-I just wanna go home and take a shower. I feel gross Mike.” He ends the sentence with an awkward chuckle, hoping that it will melt this all-consuming tension between them to a certain degree. 

It doesn’t. Mike grows more serious than ever and Will knows that this time, he cannot run away — no matter how much both his heart and his brain are begging him to run for the hills. 

Mike uses his thumb to rub slow and torturously gentle circles on Will's wrist, right where Will is sure he can feel how his pulse is thudding. His breath gets stuck in his throat, temporarily forgetting how to breathe. Will is sucked into Mike's orbit once again. He never left in the same way that the moon hasn't stopped rotating around the earth. 

“You know that's not what I'm talking about.” 

That's when it hits Will that he is referring to his confession last night. Mike remembers. Of course, he remembers. Will was dimly aware of the impact his words had on Mike. He was clinging onto the admittedly dwindling hope that he was not going to bring that painful topic up. Clearly, Mike had other plans. Being Will's opposite in every way, he often had the tendency to push where Will would rather retreat.

Mike's stare is overwhelming; too knowing for Will's liking. He ducks his head, breaking the intense eye contact with Mike and stares at his sneakers. His laces are tightly tied together unlike the tangled knot in his chest which is unraveling at an alarming rate. 

His throat tightens, choking off his words. The urge to lie straight out of his teeth is irresistible —a coping mechanism he's developed to protect himself— but he tamps it down. Mike is not an idiot and Will is not going to insult his intelligence by pathetically lying once again. He opts to stay quiet in the end. 

When it dawns on Mike that Will is not going to further contribute to the conversation, he sighs out wearily. He nervously gnaws at his lips, struggling to get the words out. Mike cards his free hand through his hair as he waits for Will to say something. He remains silent. 

“Last night-”

Will yanks his hand free, like Mike’s touch is actively burning him. Mike’s hand swings back at his side, his fingers flexing as if they want nothing more than to resume their position around his hand. Will unintentionally rubs at the spot where Mike was just touching him. “I- Forget it. What I said last night.” 

Inexorable shame curls low in Will's gut when he lifts his eyes to look at Mike. He looks like he's just been harshly slapped in the face. His eyes are blotchy red, hurt glistening in them. Will barely fights back the tears from rolling down his face. 

“Will,” Mike cries, voice cracking with anguish, “you said that your love for me was killing you!” 

Will flinches without meaning to, taking a step back. That's not true. That's not what he said. 

Killing. That's an ugly word. Will dislikes how Mike is twisting his words —his love for Mike— into something hideous. Killing means stifling the life out of someone or something. How could a feeling this pure, this natural be deserving of such a cruel title?

While his love for Mike has been undeniably painful, like having a dagger stabbed directly into his heart, it also has been something he would never trade for anything. 

Loving Mike came naturally to him; it was as easy as breathing. Will doesn’t regret loving Mike. And he can attest to that because if given the opportunity to go back and change this part of his life, he would never take that chance.

“Why does it matter, Mike?” Will knows he is ignoring the elephant in the room by purposely dragging on the conversation. 

“Of course, it matters Will,” Mike explains, gesticulating with his hands and pointing them at Will. “It matters because it’s you.”

Outside, the sky continues to unleash torrents of rain, mirroring the storm forming inside Will. Each drop against the pavement feels deafening, like it’s urging something out of him — a truth he isn’t sure he’s ready to face, let alone hear out loud. 

He has no idea what to say anymore. Words used to consistently fail him which is why he turned to art as an outlet to pour out all of his unspoken feelings. Spreading paint with his brushes on the canvas soon became a comfort more than a hobby. 

The look on Mike’s face is indiscernible in the shadows and it’s unsettling. Will from countless summers ago would have been able to decode every micro expression passing through Mike’s face in a heartbeat. But, as they grew up, something worse than interdimensional monsters came between them, reducing their sacred communication channel of silent and shared looks to ashes. Now, it seems like words are not enough for them to even properly communicate with each other. 

It’s far too complicated. 

Will had no intention of directly confessing his feelings to Mike last night. It would be a great disservice to his love for his best friend to take the words back. But, he feels like he has no choice. Maybe, Will can still salvage their friendship by taking his words back. Mike will not be convinced in the slightest; that will not stop him from trying though.

“Look, Mike,” Will says, wringing his hands in agitation. His fingers keep brushing against the soft material of Mike’s sweater which gives him some sort of encouragement to power through another heartbreaking confession. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I was drunk and just said some nonsense.” 

The words taste like ash in his mouth. He cannot believe he’s doing this all over again. Accepting his love for Mike and then reducing it to something meaningless. Something so insignificant that he could erase it from his heart in a span of a few days. He used to believe that by downplaying his love for Mike, it would protect him from the grief of unrequited feelings. But, it hadn’t worked eighteen months ago and it will not work for the rest of his life. 

“Just forget it, okay?” Will begs. “For my sake, please.”

Not wanting to see or hear Mike’s reaction, Will turns around and steps into the downpour. This time, when the hot tears stream down his face, he doesn’t bother to wipe them off. No one would notice the difference between the tears and the raindrops rolling down his face.

What he does not see coming from a mile away is Mike following him a second time. Will stops in his tracks when Mike steps in front of him in the middle of the driveway. He stands with his shoulders drawn up and chest heaving up and down. His eyes are sharpened with determination. Everything about his stance screams that he won't be deterred from achieving his goal from finishing this conversation. 

Will bites back a groan of exasperation. He doesn’t even attempt to side step Mike because he knows that Mike will not be budged from his place — at least not until he's satisfied with whatever answer he wants from Will. 

“I don't believe you,” Mike states. The rain has soaked his t-shirt in mere seconds and the fabric clings to his skin. Will is glad that Mike is not wearing a white shirt or else he would have fainted on the spot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, droplets of water flicking from his strands. “I don't want to believe you.” 

Will's patience is running thin; everything hurts and Mike not letting this go is only making it worse. He always makes it worse. Will's jaw clenches in anger as he tries to breathe properly. In and out. In and out. In and out. He hates that he is rapidly losing control over his emotions. 

“I'm not letting you take your words back.” 

Will’s face distorts into a confused scowl. The notion of what Mike just said is so astoundingly different from what he was expecting that his brain short-circuits in real time. “You-what?” 

Mike steps closer, closing the distance between them until there’s barely any space left. Like a moth to a flame, Will leans in too, chasing warmth he knows he shouldn’t want.

“You heard me.” Mike nods, his breath coming out unevenly. “I'm done pretending that you didn’t mean it. That last night didn't happen.” 

Will’s chest tightens. It feels like a humongous task to inhale under Mike's gaze. He's so sick of this push-and-pull game they've got going on — a relentless game of tug of war where neither side is winning after countless hours of pushing and pulling. 

Flames of fury unleash inside of Will. “I don’t know what you want from me, Mike. I laid myself fucking bare last night. What more could you possibly want?” he shouts, his voice jumping several octaves. 

Shock flickers across Mike’s face and Will wouldn’t blame him. He rarely gets angry and even if he does, he doesn’t raise his voice. Even Will is taken aback by his outburst but it’s been a long time coming. The puzzled expression on Mike’s face disappears as quickly as it came. His face hardens as his jaw clenches.  

“What do I want? What I want is for you to stop giving me mixed signals.”

Will blinks like an idiot, having a hard time to digest Mike’s words. “What?”

“You said I was just your crush— That you were over me,” Mike starts rambling. His words are coming faster now, tripping over each other like a dam has broken inside of him, the truth spilling out. “And then at the tower you wanted to stay friends and I respected that—”

“I did—”

“But then last night—” Mike cuts him off, voice rising and then he trails off. Blood is rushing in his ears; Will feels like he’s submerged underwater but Mike’s words sound crystal clear. One of Mike’s hands comes up, suspending between them. He almost cups Will’s face but then, he thinks the better of it and drops it down. Will's cheek burns anyways. “Last night you looked at me like you used to.”

Will stills, heart beating so fast that he is afraid that he is going to die of a cardiac arrest. What a way to go, right? 

“Like you still loved me. Like you still love me,” Mike continues, softer now, but no less intense. “You literally said it last night. And now you’re acting like you didn’t mean it. It’s not fair, Will. It’s not fair.”

The last part comes out accusatory. Mike doesn't get the right to blame Will for labelling him just as his crush. He doesn’t get to act heart broken after assuming that he seemingly moved on. He doesn’t need to look so affected by all of this. Why should it bother him? It's not like Mike planned to return his feelings one day. Not when he had ensured for the billionth time that they will always be best friends. 

And how dare he turn this on Will when Mike was the one who had been feeding him morsels of hope when they had been living together in the Wheeler household when they came back from Lenora. He followed Will like a shadow, attached to the hip to the point that Will forgot how to function on his own. A brush of the knee. A bump in the elbow. A shared look. All these stupid signals that snowballed into an avalanche of nothingness in the end. 

“Well what about you?” Will fires back, the words snapping out before he can stop them.

Mike recoils slightly. “What about me?”

“You are the one who’s confusing Mike,” Will says, stepping forward now, anger and hurt bleeding through the cracks of his voice. “Acting all weird and-and possessive when it comes to me like you can’t handle seeing me with anyone else—”

“That’s not—”

“And then you keep treating me differently from the others,” Will barrels on, talking over him. Mike has to know. He has to know why Will can’t move on. “Caring for me. Taking care of me. Looking at me like you— you lo—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, breath stopping short at the words that he was going to blurt out without thinking. About what these words were going to insinuate. The sky rumbles with a booming thunder, in sync with the almost-confession tumbling from Will’s mouth. 

Mike’s eyes lock onto his, a challenge shining in them, silently daring him to finish that sentence. “Like I- what?”

Will swallows, throat tight. He’s not going to be the one who irrevocably crosses the line again. Not after placing his heart in Mike’s hand and watching him drop it and then gluing back to its original state again. If they are actually going to change the nature of their relationship —for better or worse— then, it’s Mike who has to pull the trigger.

“You know what.”

Mike lets out a short and disbelieving laugh. He shakes his head, fondness dripping in every inch of his face as if he had foreseen Will’s pushback. He doesn’t back down. In fact, he relaxes in a confident posture that is so unlike the Mike he’s gotten used to that it causes Will’s head to spin. 

Silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. It’s only broken by the relentless sound of rain hitting the pavement and their heavy pants. Will’s wet hands curl into fists at his sides, fingers digging in his palms to ground himself. The more Mike stays quiet, the more Will feels he’s doing it deliberately. 

“Yeah,” he confesses, steadier and self-assured than Will feels. There is not one single tremor as he talks. “I know what.” Mike inhales sharply. There is a beat and in that moment, it feels like time stops indefinitely and time passes quickly simultaneously.

“I look at you like that because I love you, Will.”

The words land between them, heavy and irreversible. They are swallowed almost immediately by the heavy pelting of the rain but they are not lost. Not to Will. He hears them loud and clear as if Mike had grabbed a megaphone and shouted them to the whole town on the top of the hill. 

“I’m in love with you,” Mike repeats for good measure in case Will was going to misconstrue his words. As if he expected Will to reject them and interpret it as platonic love. And the worse thing is that Mike would be right. The knowing glint in Mike’s eyes is what jolts Will out of inaction. 

A hysterical sob tears out of his throat as he shoves Mike in the shoulder. Despite being a strong movement, Mike doesn’t move an inch from Will, feet firmly planted on the pavement. It irks Will further. 

“I hate you,” Will chokes out, repeatedly hitting his chest with the heel of his palm. He’s openly crying now, his words coming out wobbled and shaky. “I hate you.”

Mike leans closer, an enlightened smile forming on his face. He knows that he’s got Will cornered, with nowhere left to run. He just lets Will keep hitting him, absorbing each blow like a champion. God, Will hates him so much. Then, Mike’s hands come up to catch Will’s wrists before he can pull away. 

“I hate you!” he reiterates, louder this time. His voice is hoarse from all the shouting. His hands keep pushing at Mike but they are growing weaker with each attempt. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

Every single one of them sounds like an unavoidable I love you. Mike tightens his grip on his hand and Will doesn’t know how to navigate this situation anymore. The smile has been wiped away from his face and suddenly, the tension between them grows tenfold. Will can feel the charged electricity buzzing around them travel to Mike’s fingertips wrapped around his wrist. Will has never felt more alive.  

“I hate you!” Will whispers one last time. His resistance falters until he stops hitting Mike completely. He doesn’t pull his hand away; it’s pressed flat against Mike’s chest under which his heart is pounding like a war drum. His own heart’s rapid palpitations could give Mike a run for his money.  

The words die on his lips when it dawns on him how close they actually are. They’re too close. Close enough that Will can feel Mike’s breath, warm despite the cold rain, ghosting over his mouth. Close enough that when Mike slightly tilts his head sideways, his nose brushes with Will’s nose. 

His entire body is on fire and even the rain falling drenching him can’t keep his body temperature down. This time, when Mike’s eyes drop to his lips, it’s an unmistakable movement — one that he has no platonic explanation for. 

Will nudges his head forward and bumps his nose against one side of Mike’s noise. In reciprocation, Mike leans down until their mouths are brushing. Mike breathes out through his mouth and Will inhales the air. The contact is everything that Will has ever dreamed of and so much more that a helpless whimper escapes him. 

Mike closes the distance. The kiss is clumsy —it’s more a collision of their lips than anything else— and he’s pretty sure that this counts more as a peck than a real kiss. Will jerks back immediately but he doesn’t go too far. His face is still a few inches away from Mike and the way he is looking at Will right knocks the breath clean out of him. 

Mike’s eyes have gone fully dark, completely dilated. He’s gasping for air as if he just made out with Will for hours straight and it makes Will’s stomach swoop. His eyes flicker to Will’s eyes for a second, to gauge his reaction and when he finds no negative emotion swirling in them, he focuses on Will’s lips again. Like he can’t help being mesmerised by them. Like he has to be staring at them at all times. 

Simply put, Mike looks hungry. 

For a heartbeat, they just stare at each other, secretly waiting for the other to take the bait and make the first move. Rain is dripping down on both of their faces and they are definitely going to catch a cold since they are soaked to the bones. The only sound apart from the rain falling steadily is their chests heaving. Will watches in real time how Mike’s defenses come crumbling down. Will understands because he is on the same page as Mike, after such a long time. 

Will surges forward and this time, he meets Mike halfway.

The second kiss is nothing like the first. It’s desperate and messy. It’s pent-up frustration and romantic tension finally spilling over. Their lips slot and slide against each other so perfectly that Will mourns all the time they’ve lost doing nothing but kissing. There is a small insecure voice in the back of his mind that is reminding that he should probably slow down given it’s Will’s very first kiss — except he is too occupied to give a damn.

Not when Mike is kissing him like it’s the end of the world and it’s the last thing he’s allowed to do. Will’s hands fist in Mike’s shirt before gliding upwards to the back of his neck where the strands of his hair are wetly plastered against the skin. Will lets instinct take over, trusting his body and most importantly, his heart for once. His brain has fortunately shut down, too weak to process the reality of kissing Mike Wheeler, the boy who he has been in love with his entire life and who by some miracle, loves him back. 

His fingers mindlessly grip Mike’s hair and tugs. Mike lets out a startled moan against his mouth which promptly draws a high-pitched whimper out of Will. Mike deepens the kiss, using both his hands to cup Will’s face in order to have a better hold of him and consequently a better control of the kiss. 

Will stands on his tiptoes and drags his other hand until they are looped behind Mike’s neck, all of his fingers entangled in his hair. He kisses Mike back fiercely and he rewards Will with a tiny nip on his bottom lip. It sends Will staggering into Mike’s arms who doesn’t let him fall. 

Will licks into Mike’s mouth until he gladly opens up and before he can question him, Will’s tongue is inside his mouth — exploring, sucking and biting with Mike returning the favour. His toes curl in his shoes with the pleasure coursing through his veins. 

They kiss like they’re trying to prove that this is real and truly happening. They pour all the anger, all the confusion, all the love and all the things they’ve been too afraid to say in it. They kiss and kiss and kiss until they have to break apart for air. 

Will rests his forehead against Mike's, processing the last ten minutes of his life. Holy shit. He just kissed Mike. He actually kissed Mike —not the innocent and sweet kiss that he used to fantasise about when he's still in middle school— and Mike is the one who initiated it. Mike is the one who took the leap of faith and Will is extremely grateful for it. 

The entire situation is so absurd that he can't help but laugh. He laughs, the sound so foreign to his own ears but contagious enough that it sends Mike giggling as well. Even when Mike, who has gulped enough oxygen in his lungs, leans down to press his lips on his mouth, Will is still laughing. 

“Shut up,” Mike whines, frustrated that he isn't able to kiss Will properly like this. It only breaks Will into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. 

Once his laughter dies down, Will reciprocates the kiss. It’s not as heated as the second kiss but it's still swooning and intoxicating. Will is usually not so presumptuous but he is quite confident that this, by all means, won't be their last kiss. 

Mike pulls away, looking dazed as if he’s seeing Will in a new light. His cheeks are dusted with blush, practically begging Will to bite them. “How the hell—” he interrupts himself by kissing Will again, “are you so—” another kiss, “good at—” followed by a long pressing kiss, “this?”

Seeing Mike flustered because of Will awakens something primal in him. He rarely catches Mike off guard like this, except that one occasion on the field when Will had tried and failed to flirt with him. When Mike had abruptly left his side without returning his playful shove, Will had seen it as a rejection. Now, he’s seeing it all clearly now — Mike had run because Will had thrown him off balance. Filled with the urge to make him react like that again, Will pretends to lean in for another kiss. 

Mike leans forward a bit too eagerly causing butterflies to erupt in Will’s stomach. However, Will stops him from kissing him by tugging at his hair again. Mike complies and Will discovers that he’s quite fervently getting addicted to the power of being the only one to bring Mike Wheeler on his knees, both literally and figuratively. 

“Didn’t you know that I’m a sorcerer,” Will whispers seductively, arching an eyebrow, “and that my powers are innate? That probably explains why I’m so good at kissing.”

“Oh my god.”

Mike actually blushes. His entire face goes red, eyes flicking down to avoid Will’s eyes and hands gliding down to hold Will’s waist. He drops his head on Will’s shoulder, groaning in sheer embarrassment. Will snorts, amazed by seeing the direct effect he has on Mike. Taking mercy on Mike, Will merely chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair to calm him down. 

Now, when Will thinks about his love for Mike, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. The acute pain has dulled to a throbbing ache, one that goes away as time flies. The pain is still present although it has converted into a good kind of pain; it’s similar to the way your stomach hurts from laughing too much with your loved ones. 

He is well aware that they are long overdue for a conversation, although no force in the world could convince him that they won’t come out of it okay. For now, he lets himself enjoy the moment: the afterglow of a first kiss, the comforting pitter patter of the rain and of course, Mike in his arms. 

But, evidently, the universe is out to get Will today because Mike suddenly jerks in his arms and returns to his full height, still wrapped in his embrace. And then, with the most serious and forlorn expression, he says, “Now I’m obligated to ask… who the fuck is Tammy?”