Chapter Text
Will has known for a long time that he and Mike would wind up being roommates once they came of age to go to college. It was hard not to know, with how Mike came up to him every summer since he discovered it was an option to not live at home once you were having your tertiary education, rambling in detail about how their house together would look like.
He had doubted it, for a short period of time, during those years their friendship became strained and Mike poured his attention to the girl Will now calls his sister. He thought Mike would forget about wanting to move to a new home together, perhaps to move in with El, instead.
And sure, at some point, Mike's ass was dumped (rather messily, which had lead to an awkward three month lasting split of the party before everyone caved and started hanging out together again), but Will still assumed Mike would find himself someone else he wanted a future with. He told him this when they were hanging out on the couch in Mike's basement during their senior year of high school, after finishing an essay that Will needed some help with.
Mike had looked at him like Will told him he killed his entire family and put their heads on pikes in his backyard.
"Of course we're still gonna move in together," he said with a huff, wrapping an arm around Will's shoulder to pull him closer than he already was. "That's been our plan since we were seven. You think you're gonna get rid of me?"
Will tried not to smile too brightly, lest it become too obvious he was over ecstatic about sharing a home with the man he told everyone with veiled words that he already moved on from. He let himself snuggle into Mike's side, basking in his warmth.
So yes, Will has long been aware Mike would be a part of his life for a very long time, and would probably never leave it.
Of course he hadn't hesitated to get into Mike's car as they drove to New York to look for flats together. Of course, everything he wanted in a home perfectly suited what Mike wanted. Of course, he's here today, sitting on a couch beside the man he's known since he could form memories, watching some shitty horror movie on their okay television.
Like everything else about the two of them, they got on with living together as naturally as they had first met. It helps that they already had experience during the two years that Hawkins had gone apocalyptic due the Upside Down seeping into the surface, the only difference being it was just the two of them now.
Will sets a pot of coffee going despite not liking to drink it himself when he's the first to wake up, Mike pours orange juice he's not a fan of and heats up oatmeal when it's him. Will has long since abandoned wearing his own jackets in favor of Mike's, much warmer, in both of their opinions. Mike has taken to stealing Will's socks the moment he runs out, because he decided laundry was a thing he'd do when he felt like it.
And the two of them— well, they've always been touchy. Will had sparsely ever let go of Mike's hand when they were in middle school, and when they'd gotten unwanted attention for it, Mike hardly ever dropped his arm from around Will's shoulders. It doesn't come as a surprise to him that Mike will touch him just to touch these days, a hand on the small of his back or his hip when he passes him in the kitchen, a groggy good morning greeting coming out of his mouth. Or how he'll just come up behind him when he's standing in front of an easel and canvas, propping his chin on his shoulder and silently watching him bring life to something blank.
Will is used to this touch. He is.
He's just not used to the new factors into the touch.
See, a few months into their first year of college, Dustin had knocked at their flat and wordlessly planted a box of silver rings on their kitchen counter. "I didn't know the guy was giving me this many," Dustin had said, sheepish as Mike inspected one studded ring. "I thought he had, like, four to spare, or something. This is the third box. I gave one to my roommate."
Mike had taken to the rings instantly.
He liked to use them all interchangeably, and Will doesn't think it's far fetched to believe he's keeping a secret schedule of which set of rings to wear for each week. Today, he's wearing the studded one he likes running his thumb over on his right middle finger. On his right index is plain but thick one that shines under the light of their television screen. Will notes these rings specifically, and not the ones on Mike's left, because it is Mike's right hand that settles on his thigh.
Mike has done this countless of times before, and Will never thought much of it, because as previously stated, they're touchy. It's their thing; Will has his personal space, and Mike co-owns it. Their personal space.
But Mike didn't have rings, before. And now he does, and Will can feel the coolness of the metal seep into the heat of the skin of thigh and he has to be normal about it, apparently. He has to just pretend the drag of them against him is just like any other time Mike's got his hands on him.
It's Will's fault, actually. He should've thought it through before he decided to wear shorts for their movie night. He should've predicted Mike, grabby as he is, taking his leg to let it rest across his own, to be used as some sort of fidget toy.
As if Mike hasn't had enough of unknowingly tormenting him, he decides to start honest to god gripping Will's thigh, kneading the fat of it under his fingers, and subsequently digging the rings deeper into his skin. Then, he starts patting, and Will wonders if he notices the unintentional numbers he's patting into his inner thigh, five taps with four of them lingering, another five with the fifth lingering, and a final five with the last two lasting.
One, four, three, repeated after one set of patting is done. A song with the same rhythm of the pats, maybe, though Will can't think of one that would make that beat sound good, or has it in the first place. He'll have to ask when his brain stops melting out of his ears.
He doesn't think he's taken in a single word from the movie the moment his leg was hauled into Mike's lap. Or perhaps when he started registering the cool metal on his thigh. Who even knows anymore? Not him, certainly.
But despite the rings being a recent development, it's not like Will is a stranger to Mike driving him crazy and not even knowing it. It's been the life he lived since he was thirteen and realized he was in love with the boy he met on the swings. Will has grown accustomed to the feeling of wanting someone to bash his head into a wall when Mike makes him feel certain emotions, both positive and negative.
What he actually isn't used to? Mike keeping things around with no meaning to him.
Do not mistake this for Mike keeping things of no use, because Will is quite familiar with the useless painting he'd wept over still posted on the wall above Mike's desk in their room. Useless, because it didn't even keep the couple he'd used his veiled feelings to keep them together, well, together. And yet, there it stays, because Mike is sentimental. He gets it, he's always been like that.
What Will doesn't get is the ring that Mike never wears.
The thing about Will Byers is that he's very attuned to Mike Wheeler, just as much as Mike is to him. It's hard not to be when you've known and loved someone for so long that any other people who come into your life have to know who they are to truly know who you are in return. Thus, he notices things.
Mike uses every ring he owns, except one with the neat function of being able to adjust the size, a sizable, rather, and keeps it neatly tucked into a small carton box next to the box of the other rings he collected on his desk.
And no, Will isn't exaggerating. He's truly seen every single ring in the bigger box worn and lovingly toyed with by Mike over the course of the few months he's gotten addicted to the damned things, and yet, the one ring in its own separate, special box, is never taken out. Never used. Just lying around there, with a value Will doesn't know of.
And he's normal, okay? He's fine with Mike having some secrets. He knows he has plenty of his own, the lip gloss like a burning brand at the bottom of his bag. But every single morning, that box with that stupid, ominous sizable sits at Mike's desk, and Will wonders what the hell it's for.
It's fine. Some things about Mike Wheeler's brain will just be unknown to him, and that's okay.
For a while, he thinks he's going to go the rest of his life never knowing what the ring is for. Until the night before he and Mike were due to visit Will's parents in their cabin in Montauk.
Will hadn't meant to wake up, really. It's just, his back was a little sore from standing upright all day in the studio, finishing a piece last minute as a gift for his parents at his mom's request. She wanted a canvas from him to light up the place, and he wanted it to be perfect. So he focused, even though his legs were starting to cramp from doing a whole lot of nothing, and his spine was seeking revenge for the years he spent hunched over tables and coloring away.
His spine continued its ruthless vengeance deep into the night, to the point of dragging him out of the pleasant dream he was having of his old dog Chester napping on his legs while he sketched a doghouse for him to rest in.
He whimpered as consciousness started seeping in despite his closed eyes, immediately feeling a big, soothing hand run through his hair and sweep the fringe to the side, which would startle any normal person, but Will has spent most of his life getting used to Mike just manifesting at his side at any sign of distress, and Will would know that big hand and those writer and guitar callouses anywhere.
The tension in his shoulders eased away, and he doesn't bother to open his eyes, knowing he's going to fall asleep again anyway, now that Mike's beside him. It almost happens, too, until he feels Mike take his left hand and slip something onto his fourth finger.
A ring.
He stills, but doesn't tense up again, curious. Will's not the ring collector like Mike and Dustin have become, but he likes them enough. Sometimes he'll borrow one from Mike's box when going out with some friends from the art department, though he thinks he kind of prefers gold to silver. His friend from art history mentioned gold complimented him more, nodding to the earring Will had gotten on a whim. Maybe he should think about getting a few rings of his own, someday.
He's about to fall back asleep and just let Mike do whatever he wants with him, until he feels the ring being adjusted to fit his finger better.
His eyes almost snap open. Almost.
The sizable he's had on the back of his mind for months. Being used. By Mike, on him.
Huh.
He stays as relaxed as possible, as to not give himself away, letting Mike tug on the metal until he deems it accurate. Then, he starts running his thumbs over his knuckles, his other hand wrapped tenderly around Will's wrist, tapping that same pattern he did on Will's thigh that one night.
Will stays quiet in pretense of still being asleep, feeling Mike play with his fingers, the tips of them running over the band on his fourth with a loving motion.
Then, Mike lifts his hand to his lips, right over the ring, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the metal. "One day," he murmurs, still holding his hand, before finally lowering it.
He hopes Mike doesn't clue in on the jump of his pulse.
Gently, Mike slips the ring off his finger, and Will insanely mourns the loss as he feels Mike leave his bed to stand up and place the ring back in its box. Then, Mike returns, kneeling in front of the bed to soothe his hair again, leaning forward to press his lips to Will's forehead.
He leaves a final time to, Will is guessing, return to his own bed on the other side of the room.
He thinks about spending the rest of his night thinking about this. Then, he thinks about the worry on his mom's face when she immediately clocks he hadn't slept, and decides he'll address the ring sized elephant in the room come morning.