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Mike watches Will walk up the stairs, and all he can think is don’t go.
The door closes quietly and his heart sinks, even though they’re about to have dinner together, even though they have the whole summer before college starts. No matter how close Will is, he’ll always be too far to reach, a beacon of gentle light while Mike’s trapped in the harsh dark of his fear. Mike can pretend all he wants, but he can’t find it in himself to be brave enough to escape.
He slides his binder onto the shelf next to Will’s, the same one he’s had since they were little, in the only place that feels right. The names align, Will and Mike, how they always find their way back to each other through everything. Their friendship survived the end of the world, but it’ll be Mike’s traitorous, wanting heart that ruins it.
Running his thumb along the space where their binders join, Mike swallows a sob. It’s not like he has any right to be heartbroken when he’s the one who’s been so awful, who’s known Will in all of his kindness and wonder and has done nothing but crush it in his fist. And still Will’s never hated him for his past cruelty, his present inadequacy.
As Mike’s hand falls from the binders, the door creaks open again and Mike exhales in utter relief as Will reappears at the top of the stairs. He smiles gently, a tiny furrow of concern between his brows, and it’s the most beautiful sight that's ever been put before Mike. His heart hammers in his chest as Will makes his way down, foolishly half-hoping that Will’s going to walk right up to him and kiss him.
He doesn’t, of course. Will stops right in front of him, hand warm on Mike’s arm, and Mike wants so badly to pull him closer. But his mind is flooded with terror, his body shaking with it. He turns away, hiding his stupid, teary face.
“Mike,” Will says softly, his hand anchoring. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know,” Mike mumbles, his forehead pressing into the shelf. He knows summer will drag by, then he’ll pack his things and all of them will be out of Hawkins, except for one. El never got to leave, and she never will. His chest burns with the familiar guilt, ears ringing with the memory of the explosion and the silence that followed.
“You wanna stay down here a bit?” Will asks.
“Yeah." Mike presses his knuckles to his chest, dulling the pain. "...stay with me. Please?"
“Of course.”
Will stays. Mike gets his breathing back to normal, matching Will’s steady intakes of air, wishing desperately to be so much more, to be someone who deserves him. He’s had Will all his life, excluding that week where his absence felt like a tear in the universe, and those months where they were a five hour flight apart and Mike had ached with some unbearable homesickness despite already being home. He’s had him in this past agonising year, with Will being the only one who could make him smile or laugh when he hadn’t in days. Piteously, he keeps asking Will to sleep over at his because it’s the only way he can sleep, his dreams turning from ceaseless violent death to soft and sweet imaginings when Will’s in the same room.
He wants to have Will like this for the rest of his life, with their skin touching and breaths syncing, but he wants to have him in other ways too, selfish ways. But cowards don’t get to be selfish; they don’t get to have what they want.
“Sorry.” He sniffs and swipes the back of his hand across his eyes. “Just needed a minute. Today was…weird.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Will says. “I mean, high school sucked, didn’t it? It’s good to be done.”
Will’s eyes still look red rimmed, shining, and Mike remembers how he’d looked at him across the table just now – smiling but with a hopeless sadness, like he’d lost something and was trying to be okay with being without it.
“Yeah. It did,” Mike agrees. “Do you wish we were going to that party?”
“Not really. Maybe it would’ve been fun, but it’s not us. Being here with you guys is better.”
Mike raises his eyebrows, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So you liked my campaign?”
“I like everything you write.” Will smiles back, then his cheeks go pink.
Mike’s breath catches. He stumbles over his words. “Well, Max kinda put me on the spot. The ending could’ve used some work.”
“It was good. Sure, it was easy,” Will says. Hesitates for a moment. “But it’s nice when things are easy, right?”
“Right,” Mike says weakly. He stands completely still, his brain short-circuiting. It’s like Will’s seen right through him, knocked down the precarious walls he’s tried to put around himself.
Mike has always tried to go down the safe route, but it only ever seemed to turn out a trap, a long road ending in a cliff and an impossible downfall. He’d gone for easy with El, and had instead ended up spinning a web of lies that she got tangled in. As much as he tries to convince himself otherwise, she died caged, believing that was what love was – fighting and never making up with a careless boy who couldn’t tell her he loved her. He was just too wrapped up in his own trivial fears to tell her how much he did, how differently he did than he was supposed to.
It isn’t that Will was ever hard to love. Loving Will is the easiest thing in the world. The hard part, for Mike, is not hating himself for it.
Will’s smile has fallen, and he’s fidgeting with his hands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, suddenly nervous too, thoughts racing with all the possible questions he might have to avoid. “Anything.”
“When you said there was a story you could never tell,” Will starts slowly, “what were you talking about? You told us the story of the mage, but…” he trails off, eyes darting back to the stairs like he’s on the verge of escape.
The room spins and Mike wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. He wasn’t sure if Will had caught that, but now he is. What is he supposed to say? I want Will the Wise to take me to Vallaki with him. I want him to find his place with me. I want to be the reason for his happiness.
Everything he tries to say gets stuck in his throat, choking. Will came out to a room full of people, and Mike can’t even do it with his best friend.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Will says, voice soft with understanding. Except he can’t understand. If he knew all that Mike’s holding back, his words would be laced with the sympathy of a rejection.
“I trust you,” Mike says, forcing himself to look into the earnest hazel of Will’s gaze. His own desire is terrifying. It’s exhilarating. “Fuck. It’s just—you’re a part of it, I guess. So you’re kind of a…difficult person to tell it to.”
Will’s curiosity grows, his eyes widening with it. “You think I wouldn’t like it?”
Mike’s hands are trembling again, so he crosses his arms across his chest to hide them. “I don’t know what you’d think, Will.”
“I meant it when I said I like everything you write. All your stories.”
“The storyteller likes to hide behind his stories,” Mike says, with some bitterness. “In real life, he’s just scared.”
“That’s okay.” Will’s whole face softens. He chews on his lip, like he’s trying to think of the perfect thing to say, not knowing that Mike would hang onto every word no matter what it is. “Sometimes it’s better to speak even if it scares you. Especially if it hurts more to keep it inside.”
God, it hurts. The secrets feel like glass shards inside of him, the sharp edges about to pierce through his skin and expose themselves. Mike remembers the pain in Will’s voice at the Squawk, convinced by his tormentor that he’d lose everyone for who he was. He must have only amplified that fear, sitting frozen and being the last to hug him, too lost in the memories. Reminding himself of every time he’d ignored Will or made him think he wouldn’t want to be friends because of his sexuality.
Mike doesn’t deserve to rid himself of the hurt, not when Will struggled in silence for years. And yet Will’s here, an extended hand, although Mike never did the same for him.
I love you. “I haven’t been completely honest,” Mike says instead. “Not for a long time.”
Will looks more relieved than mad, to Mike’s bewilderment. His body relaxes, a contrast to Mike’s tenseness. “Me neither.”
“We used to tell each other everything.” Mike lets out a humourless laugh. “What happened?”
“What didn’t happen?” Will replies, and his tone is light but Mike’s stomach turns. Maybe if their teenage years had been normal, he could have figured it out sooner. He could have been on time.
“I want us to be honest,” Mike says. “Tell me something you lied about if I do?”
Will twists his necklace around his fingers as he thinks and Mike’s eyes are drawn to the motion, moth to a flame, fascinated by everything Will does. “Okay,” Will says finally. “You first.”
Behind the door, they hear cutlery clanging against plates and voices. The others must have started without them. “You can go up if you want,” Mike says.
“Hey, don’t try to get out of this,” Will grins, trying to soothe Mike’s nerves even though he’s wracked with them too now, his breathing more rapid. “It was your idea, remember?”
He goes to sit on the couch and Mike follows suit, staring at the blank television while Will stares at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike can see that there’s still a stray piece of confetti in Will’s hair, and he longs to thread his fingers through and take it.
He sifts through the piles of lies in his mind, finding the least incriminating one to tell. “I did call when you were in California,” he decides. “The line was always busy – your mom’s work.”
It shouldn’t matter anymore, a fight forgiven three years ago, but it feels important. Mike remembers California like it was yesterday; he’d do anything for a redo, to change all his choices. Hug Will. Defend El. Be a good friend instead of fucking everything up and losing everyone.
Will lightly elbows him in the arm, frowning, but Mike can tell he’s not truly mad. “Why didn’t you say that?”
Mike shrugs miserably. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me!”
“I always want to talk to you,” Mike counters, before he can stop himself. “Especially when you were gone, I–I’d want to talk to you about something that no one else cared about, or…or think of some stupid joke and realise that I couldn’t tell you.”
“You could have written it,” Will says, like it’s that simple.
But then I couldn’t have seen your laugh. “I know,” Mike says. “Your turn.”
Will sighs but lets it go. “Do you remember the painting I gave you back then? In the van?”
He flushes immediately but doesn’t avert his eyes. He’s always evaded the topic, so Mike’s surprised he’s the first to bring it up.
“Yeah,” Mike says.
“El didn’t commission it. I thought of the whole thing on my own,” Will blurts out, the words escaping him in a rush. “I’m so sorry, Mike. I get it if you don’t forgive me, I know it was important to you–”
“Wait, wait, hold on,” Mike interrupts, rubbing at his temples. “There’s nothing to forgive, okay? Of course it’s still important to me. Just give me a second.”
Deep down, Mike’s known that Will lied about the painting. He’d sensed something was out of place when Will turned to the window and fell silent for hours. He noticed Will’s eyes drift to the painting whenever he entered Mike’s room, the slump in his shoulders. When he tried to ask El about it, El who knew nothing of D&D, she hadn’t understood and he hadn’t pressed any further. Because he was afraid of what he’d feel if he knew it was from Will all along. Afraid to realise who his heart already belonged to.
“Everything you said in the van…” Mike says eventually, “was it all a lie?”
“No. Not at all,” says Will, quiet but sincere. “I lied when I used El’s name instead of my own. I know it was wrong to do that. She deserved to tell you how she felt herself.”
“So what you told me…it was all how you felt?”
Will nods. Drops his gaze.
Will is painting a lot…maybe it is for a girl. I think there is someone he likes. Will might have liked someone. He might have made a painting for them. It might have been the same one he gave to Mike.
The question is on the tip of Mike’s tongue. But when Will looks up, his eyes are filled with tears. He gives the barest shake of his head. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Will,” Mike says, his heart clenching. “Please know it’s just as special to me if it’s coming from you, alright? And you shouldn’t ever feel like a mistake.”
Will doesn’t respond, his eyes downcast. The gap between them on the couch feels like a million miles, and Mike wants nothing more than to close it.
“I really mean that,” he says, staying where he is. “Choosing you will always be the best thing I’ve ever done. When I said my life started when I found El in the woods, that was another lie. I just…I didn’t know what to say to save her. I never did.”
He thinks about those moments in the void every day, but he still doesn’t know what he could have said to make her stay. He thinks about that night in the shed with Will, too, and how naturally the story of their first meeting came to him. The way Will’s fingers twitched against the chair and everything made sense. When he was with El, it was all like a puzzle he had to solve, and the full picture never looked quite right.
A tear slides out of the corner of Will’s eye and the sight of it sends such a sharp stab of pain between Mike’s ribs that he moves closer than ever, wrapping his arm around Will’s shoulder like he always did when they were kids – back when Mike was brave, when he was worth the space he took up.
“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean it. Please believe me.”
“I do,” Will sniffs and presses his palms to his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t know why–it was so long ago. I promise I’m not upset about it anymore.” He takes a deep breath, but keeps his face hidden. “It’s just–I owe you another truth.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Mike says.
“I think I owe you this.” Will removes his hands, his lower lip quivering. “I was going to tell you this last year, but then Vecna took me again and made me see–”
He cuts himself off, shivering despite the warmth of the basement. A rage stirs within Mike, so visceral he feels sick with it. That fucker should have gotten so much worse than an axe to the neck, deserved to suffer infinitely more than Will had.
Mike tightens his arm around him, thumb brushing his shoulder, and Will inhales sharply, continuing. “I couldn’t tell you after that. But I know now that you wouldn’t do what you did in the visions.”
“What did I do?”
Will, sensing Mike’s guilt, gives a tiny smile. “You didn’t do anything, Mike. Vecna didn’t know you.”
“But you do,” Mike says. “You know me. Nothing would change how I think of you.”
“This will.” Will’s jaw clenches with conviction. “When I said I had a crush on someone, that wasn’t the truth. What I felt was so much more than that.”
“He wasn’t…your Tammy?”
“I can’t believe you remember that name,” Will says with a faint note of amusement.
“I still don’t know what it means.”
“Only Robin does. And Steve, I guess.”
“What?”
“Uh, never mind that. She was just someone Robin liked in high school, but she wasn’t like her. She never felt the same way. But Robin accepted herself because she never needed Tammy to do it, and she ended up finding Vickie, which you know.”
All Mike can do is nod and listen, waiting to discover what this is leading up to. He’s a disaster of emotions, hoping not to fracture.
“I thought that was how my story would turn out,” Will admits. “That’s why I said that. I knew how different our stories were. But I wanted to move on like she did, so I tried to tell myself they would end in the same way.”
“Your story,” Mike echoes. “Has it ended yet?”
“I don’t know if it ever will,” Will whispers.
“It doesn’t have to.” Hope flutters in Mike’s stomach. “Not if you don’t want it to.”
“Mike,” Will says, defeated. “You know who it was, don’t you?”
Mike tugs on the collar of his shirt. He’s not breathing. “Do I?”
"Come on, don't pretend. I looked right at you when I said it. And all the signals shit...I was so obvious."
"Signals? What are you talking about?"
"It doesn't matter," Will says, but his voice is cracking with hurt.
"Of course it does."
"Stop that." Will sighs. “You don't have to be so...kind about it. You know it was you. Who else could it be?”
Will's hands shake, and without thinking about it Mike grabs both of them, feeling them go still under his touch. “I swear I didn’t know. Shit, I must really be the biggest idiot. I didn’t think you would ever…I thought you just wanted to be best friends.”
“I do want that,” Will says with a sad, brittle smile. “But I wanted more, too. I’m sorry.”
“Why’re you sorry?”
“Because I was supposed to get over it.” Will looks down at their tangled fingers. “I thought that telling you would help me move on, but I don’t think it’ll ever go away. All you’ve done is be good to me, and I’m just ruining everything with my feelings–”
“Stop,” Mike croaks, his tongue moving clumsily. “There’s nothing wrong with your feelings. But you’re wrong about me – I know I haven’t been good enough to you. I don’t understand why you’d want more.”
Will glances up, slightly stunned. “You’ve been good, Mike. Maybe…less, when we were younger, but you’ve made up for it. You’re kind. You treat me differently, but not like I need to change. You make me laugh.”
“I love your laugh.”
Will extracts one of his hands from Mike’s grip and scrubs it over his face. “And you say things like that,” he says. “Which makes it impossible not to fall in love with you.”
Mike’s breath hitches. He has the urge to pinch himself because of how many times he’s dreamed of this, but he doesn’t want to let go of Will’s hand. “You’re in love with me?”
The light from the dim lamp is shining on Will’s face, and he’s beautiful, but it doesn’t terrify Mike to think that anymore. He’s changed – he smiles a lot now, he speaks his mind more, he’s braver to be who he is. Mike loves him as he always has, with all the ruthless intensity of a wildfire, a blaze that never dies down. He can’t fathom the fact that Will loves him just the same.
Will’s looking at Mike like he’s always looked at him, as if they’re the only two people in the world. It’s an answer in itself.
“You know,” he says to Will. “In all the good stories, the love’s never really unrequited.”
Will takes a long time to respond, his eyes big and searching. “Is mine a good one?”
Mike wants his love to be believable, for Will to know that it’s the realest thing he’s ever felt. “Better than that. It’s my favourite.” Then, tired of the metaphors, he says, “I’m in love with you too, Will. In the stories and in real life.”
“Oh.” Will’s face had been pale, on the verge of crumpling like he’d been expecting the worst disappointment of his life, but now it floods with colour, lighting up with a smile. “Oh. Really?”
“Yeah. Really, really, really in love,” Mike bumps their shoulders together, staring at him. He’s never seen Will so happy, and it’s like seeing him for the first time and falling in love all over again. “You’ve got confetti in your hair,” he tells him, his voice soft with affection.
Will reaches a shaky hand up to brush it off, but Mike catches it and cards his other hand through Will’s hair. The piece of confetti flutters to the floor, but Mike doesn’t take his hand away, just moves it to hold the side of Will’s face.
“I love you,” Will says, his voice breaking with the astonishment of allowing himself to say it. A tear slips down his cheek.
A matching tear slips down Mike’s. “I love you. I’m so sorry I’m only saying it now, you deserved to know so long ago. I love you.”
“I don’t mind,” Will whispers. “We’ve got so much time to love each other now.”
Mike presses his lips to Will’s nose, making him laugh, the loveliest sound in the world. Then he leans in again, aiming lower, but it turns out there’s not a lot of time at all. The rap on the door makes him pause with great reluctance. He clears his throat.
“What?” he shouts.
“Come up and say goodbye!” his mom shouts back.
Mike heaves out a massive sigh and turns to Will with distress, but Will just laughs at him again. “After dinner,” Will says.
“Dinner,” Mike agrees. “And then dessert.” He tries to wink at Will but he doesn’t really know how, so he sort of just blinks at him.
“Oh, god. Just go,” Will giggles.
Mike doesn’t go. He wraps his arms around Will’s middle, dropping his face onto his warm shoulder. The hug is a familiar motion now, something they’ve needed a lot of especially this past year and a half, but this is one of gratitude. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for loving me no matter how hard I made it to.
Will melts into him, his happiness almost a tangible thing. “You’re brave, Mike,” he whispers.
”For you, I can be.”
Mike offers his hand and Will takes it as they walk up the stairs — this time, together.
They stutter through their goodbyes at the door, red faced and glancing at each other in a way that couldn’t be misconstrued as friendly, and their friends can clearly tell something happened but don’t broach the subject. The two of them eat their microwaved lasagna, smiling shyly each time they meet each other’s eyes. Will kicks Mike’s foot under the table. Mike switches his fork to his left hand so he can hold Will’s hand with the other.
After dinner, Mike pulls Will into his room. Will’s gaze drifts to the painting on Mike’s desk, but this time there’s a soft smile spreading across his face.
Mike closes the door behind them and plants his hands on Will’s waist, gently guiding him to the bed. It’s late but it’s summer, so it’s still bright enough for Mike to see Will propped up on his elbows, peering up at him through his lashes, trusting.
He knows Will’s never been kissed before. An absurd concept to grasp, that Mike’s the lucky first to get to do it. It has to be perfect.
He hovers over Will, his heart thumping like a wild animal. This is his best friend of thirteen years, the love of his life and whatever comes after that. This is how he knows magic is real, right here in the form of his person.
“I think about this,” Mike murmurs, “all the time.”
Will swallows visibly, and Mike can’t help but trace the line of his throat with his finger, watching how Will’s eyes fall half shut as he tilts his head back, just a little.
“So do I,” Will says, hoarse.
When Mike kisses him, shattering the distance between them, all thoughts of perfection evaporate. It doesn’t matter if it’s messy, if the angle’s slightly off, if they’re unpracticed and fumbling, because it’s Will, and holy shit, he’s kissing Mike back.
The wildfire becomes something consuming, and Mike kisses Will with a passion he thought he didn’t have in him anymore. The walls of pretense he built up crash down when Will’s soft lips press into his and it’s freeing, finding the version of himself who can love bravely. It’s like he can fly.
He tells Will he loves him every time they separate for air, making up for all the times he wanted to say it but choked on the words, seeing their wrongness instead of their truth.
Will’s smiling against his mouth and Mike pulls back to see it. He’s seen Will smile plenty of times, but never like this – sparkling hazel eyes, swollen lips, a tiny scrunch in his nose that Mike can’t resist pressing his lips to.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, his voice rough. He touches the centre of Will’s lower lip, damp with his own spit.
Will’s positively beaming now, his eyes crinkling. Mike can’t wait to grow old with him and watch the smile lines form on his face, to be the reason for them.
“You’re beautiful, Mike,” Will says, blushing.
Mike shakes his hair out of his eyes, all messed up where Will ran his hands through it. He doesn’t mind. “You really think so?”
“I’ve always thought so.” Will cups the back of Mike’s head to push him down again, and Mike loses his ability to doubt as their mouths connect again.
Mike’s kissing Will in the same bedroom he’s had all his life and he’s still a little lost, still a little scared, but the summer after high school has only just begun. There’s a whole world outside of Hawkins, and he’s going to see it.
He's still a bit of a mess, and there will still be days where he can’t drag himself out of bed, nights where he lays suffocating under the weight of his regrets, but between it all there’s moments like these. Times where he can see himself in a terrifying, true light, and it feels so good to make it out of the dark.