Chapter Text
Mike was exhausted.
Hawkins High had just entered the last nine weeks of school, which meant finals were coming up.
Which, by default, also meant that Mr. Wheeler hadn’t slept a full eight hours in a long time. And when he did drift off, his dreams were plagued by essays and multiple-choice questions. His supervisors would occasionally pop up in there too, most times berating him for the terrible scores that he hadn’t even gotten… yet.
No, he had full faith in his kids. They’d been working hard all year, it’d be fine.
They’d be fine.
…They’d be fine.
Mike shoved his hands onto his face, and under his glasses. His palms found themselves pressed onto his eyes, and there, they started rubbing vigorously. He’d been nursing a headache for the past – shit – he doesn’t even know when it started.
He could credit the throbbing pain to his students. That much he knew that for a fact.
“Mr. Wheeler, is that essay you assigned– ” a student had started that morning, only to cut himself off abruptly. “WHAT ARE THOSE?!”
He’d pointed at Mike’s loafers – which were highly fashionable, thank you very much – and it was like someone had flipped a switch.
All of the teenager’s faces had lit up, evil smiles alighting all of their features, also pointing at his shoes and screaming, “WHAT ARE THOSE?!” while they were laughing, some may say uncontrollably.
Mike didn’t understand why it was so funny.
Matter of fact, it wasn’t funny. At all.
He was seriously considering docking all of their grades by five points. That would’ve been a fun conversation with the parents who would inevitably email him, wouldn’t it?
Oh, yes, you’re child was mocking my sense of fashion, so I, being the adult in this situation, decided to be petty and take it out of their essay’s score.
Yeah. He was sure that would go over well.
Whatever.
Mike let his hands slide upwards on his face, over his forehead and into his hair, taking his glasses from where they were perched on his nose with them as he began a slow, tired rake through his curls.
He had stopped using gel to style his hair a while ago, after Will had sat him down and told him he looked like an old man.
Well, that wasn’t actually what he had said, but it was implied.
With a sigh, Mike leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his hands still loosely gripping his hair.
He still had about fifteen papers left to grade.
And he’d been working for four hours straight.
Four. Hours.
He was probably the only person left in the building by now, everyone else having gone home to their loving families, probably laughing it up while having dinner–
His stomach let out a low growl, the dull throbbing of his head intensifying as thoughts of home crept in. Of food. Of Will.
His Will.
His husband.
He was probably already home, cooking dinner while listening to The Clash, humming absentmindedly while he pulled something out of the oven.
Will taught art at Hawkins High, and since art wasn’t a tested subject, he didn’t have nearly as much to worry about.
But he was Will. So, of course, he worried anyway.
Mike had heard through his very reliable sources (his students) that Mr. Byers had given them a study hall that period, telling them to, “take advantage of this time and study for your finals, I can help if anyone needs it.”
God, he missed him.
He’d been staying late every night, trying to finish up grading these essays he never should’ve assigned in the first place. Reading some of his students' handwriting was akin to deciphering hieroglyphics, and more than once, he’d had to fight the urge to just throw the damn papers away entirely.
Sure, he still slept beside Will every night. They ate breakfast together. Dinner too, when Mike actually made it home at a reasonable hour.
But he still missed him.
Once, Will had waited until nine o’clock to eat dinner with him.
He hadn’t even been upset.
He’d just smiled once Mike had walked through the door, soft and warm, like Mike could come home at four in the morning and he would still be just as happy to see him. Will had leaned in to give him a long kiss, only to pull away and tell him that he had made pasta, guiding him towards the table with a smile still plastered on his face.
Mike had been stunned into silence.
And then, as soon as they reached the table, Mike’s thinner arms had wound themselves over Will’s muscular shoulders, whispering thank you’s into the dip where his neck and shoulder meet. Granted, he had to stretch his head pretty far down, as Will was a few inches shorter than him, but it was worth it when Will laughed in response.
Will had then turned in his arms, hands settling at Mike’s waist.
He could feel Will smile from where his mouth brushed against his ear, teasing him for being so late. “Maybe I’ll leave the cooking to you next time, honey.”
Mike swallowed hard.
Holy shit, he missed him.
He missed him so much.
It would be so easy to just leave. He’d been working non-stop, surely he deserved a break.
The decision hit him all at once.
He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair backwards as he grabbed his bag, leaving the few remaining papers where they laid on his desk. He’d have to finish them on Monday.
He looked around frantically, lifting random objects that lay on his desk.
The tape? No.
The stapler? Not there either.
“Where the hell are my—” he stopped, spotting his keys hiding in the corner of his desk.
Oh, he kicked himself mentally as he grabbed the thing in question, shoving them in his pockets as he hurried out of his classroom door.
The walk (more like jog) down the hallway seemed to take forever. Even as he picked up speed, it stretched on and on.
He’d occasionally glance at the walls, which were covered in the students' artwork. Maybe, if he had more time, he’d stop to look at their masterpieces more closely, but today was not that day.
Today, he needed his Will more than anything.
Mike practically flew out of his car the second it was parked, his feet barely hitting the pavement as he sprinted across the parking lot.
He had no idea how his brittle bones (as his students so often called them) hadn’t snapped in half yet. This was, after all, the most exercise he’d gotten in far too long.
For his lack of physical activity, he hadn’t gained any weight. Matter of fact, he’d actually lost at least ten pounds, which Will was – of course – worried about.
“Baby, you need to eat,” Will had sat across from him while they were eating dinner one night, holding both of Mike’s hands as he stared him down. “Please, Mike. I mean– you’re practically wasting away.”
His stomach twisted sharply at the memory, taking the stairs to their apartment three at a time.
Will had looked so afraid, squeezing Mike’s hands with his own while intertwining their feet under the table. His eyes had been glistening as he told Mike about how pale he had looked recently, or about how his usually sharp cheekbones were even more prominent.
Will had watched Mike eat that night, and the night after that, and the night after that as well.
Sometimes, Mike still caught him carefully watching the food meet his mouth, only seeming satisfied when he chewed and swallowed.
He finally made it to their apartment floor, turning the corner with speed that would rival the flash. Their door was in his sights now. The door that Will was behind. His Will.
No one else's.
Mike didn’t even realize how hard he was breathing until he fumbled with his keys, hands shaking as metal clinked uselessly against the lock.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, missing the keyhole one too many times. “Oh you piece of sh–”
The door swung open.
“Mike?”
Will stood there, brows drawn together in concern, one hand still on the doorknob like he’d just opened it from the inside. Which he probably did, unless the door just took pity on him and opened itself.
No, Will must’ve heard him out in the hall.
For a second, Mike just stared, soaking up everything he had missed that day.
Will was in a soft sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A faint smear of something, probably paint, he mused, along the side of his wrist. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. The warm glow of the apartment spilling out behind him.
He was home. Finally, home.
“Hey,” Will said gently, his voice dipping with worry. “What’s– ”
Mike surged forward.
His bag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud, keys still clutched loosely in his hand as he crashed his lips into Will’s, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer, closer, closer. Like he was afraid he might disappear.
Will let out a small oof at the impact, which was muffled by Mike’s lips. His arms came up immediately, instinctively, circling Mike’s waist.
He broke the kiss, pressing his face into the crook of Will’s neck instead, breathing him in. Laundry detergent, a hint of paint, and something so warm, and just so familiar that made his chest ache.
“Woah– hey,” Will murmured, clearer now that his mouth was free. “Hi honey.”
“I missed you,” Mike said, and to his horror, he sounded seconds away from bursting into tears. A grown man, about to start sobbing into his husband's shoulder just because he missed him. How pathetic was that?
Will stilled for just a moment. Then his grip tightened.
“Mike…” he whispered, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his curls. “You saw me this morning.”
“I know,” Mike mumbled, voice tight against his skin as he clutched onto Will’s shoulders like it was his lifeline. “I don’t care.”
There was a small, breathy laugh that escaped Will, the air warm on Mike’s neck.
“Okay,” Will said, like that made perfect sense. Like it always would. Like it was a perfectly normal occurrence for Mike to come home and immediately latch onto him like a baby koala clinging to its mother for dear life.
Well…
They stayed like that for a moment, maybe longer. Will’s thumb started tracing slow, absent circles against Mike’s side. Whether it was intentional or not, the small shapes were grounding him, giving him something to hold onto before he fell apart.
“You’re shaking,” Will said after a second, pulling back just enough to look at him, his hands moving to rest on Mike’s arms. His eyes scanned his face quickly, checking for any signs that Mike was hurt.
Fuck, he loved him. So, so much.
“Hey… what happened? Are you okay?” Will’s eyes flickered over the rest of his body.
Mike hesitated.
The headache, the papers, the exhaustion, the stupid shoes…
None of it seemed to matter as much now, standing here with Will.
His Will.
He swallowed. “I just—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I needed to come home.”
Will’s expression softened immediately. Something in his shoulders relaxed, like he’d been bracing for something worse. His eyes stopped their relentless search, coming to rest on Mike’s instead.
“Okay,” he said again, quieter this time.
His hand slid down, fingers brushing against Mike’s before gently taking his hand and giving it a small squeeze. Mike continued to stare.
“I made dinner,” he added, almost shyly, gazing down at where their hands were joined. “It’s probably a little cold now, but I can heat it up?” He pulled Mike closer once again, until their chests were brushing against each other.
Mike shook his head quickly, squeezing Will’s hand harder, not quite ready to let go.
“Later,” he said. “Just– give me a second?”
Will nodded, “yeah. Yeah, of course.” Will let go of his hands, only to wrap around his midsection a second later, pulling Mike close and letting his head fall onto his shoulder.
Mike’s arms wrapped around Will’s shoulders, tighter this time, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He stepped closer this time too, his left foot coming to rest in between where both of Will’s feet were planted, and his right staying close behind.
For a moment, everything went quiet again. Just the steady rise and fall of Will’s chest against his.
One of Will’s arms had snaked its way up his body, his hand now softly raking through Mike’s hair, his other was rubbing small patterns onto his lower back.
Mike had never felt safer.
Will took a deep breath, tilting his head a bit so his mouth was brushing against Mike’s ear.
“You didn’t eat, did you Mike.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Will already knew, and he was just testing Mike, trying to see whether or not the truth would come out by itself.
Mike stilled.
“…I had coffee,” he said after a beat, which wasn’t technically a lie.
Will’s hand movements halted, and he pulled away from Mike. Just enough to look at him.
“Michael.”
He flinched at the use of his full name, but not at the tone in Will’s voice. No, it wasn’t sharp, or even angry. Not even disappointed. That almost made it worse.
“I was busy,” Mike tried, shrugging as best he could, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like his hands weren’t still trembling slightly where they rested against Will’s shoulders. “Finals are coming up, and I – I had a ton of papers– ”
He tried to lean back in, but Will put a hand against his chest, holding him where he was.
“Mike.”
Softer this time, but firmer, too.
Will’s hand slid from his chest down to his wrists, thumbs brushing lightly over the skin there. His gaze flicked over Mike’s face again, taking in the pale skin, the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he seemed just a little unsteady.
Will tilted his head upwards, and leaned closer, capturing Mike’s lips again, and again, and again. When he pulled back, Mike chased after him, a whine caught in his throat as Will evaded his attempts for more kisses.
“You need to eat,” Will said, his voice barely above a whisper now as he pressed their foreheads together. “You know that, right?”
Mike huffed out a weak breath, glancing away.
“I know, I just– ” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “I didn’t have time.”
Will’s expression faltered at that, pulling his head back to look Mike in the eyes, his brows drawing together with worry.
Mike hated to see him like this. He deserved to be smiling, not frowning. Will should never be upset, he was too perfect.
“You always say that,” Will murmured.
His grip on Mike’s wrists tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep him there. To keep him from brushing it off and walking away from it like he usually did.
Mike pushed air through his nose at an attempt at a laugh, jerking his shoulders a bit too much to look natural.
“I’m serious,” Will added, searching Mike’s face. “You’ve barely been eating, you’re not sleeping, you’re– ” he stopped himself, exhaling shakily through his nose. “You’re running yourself into the ground.”
Mike didn’t respond right away because – well – he didn’t really have anything to say to that. Because Will wasn’t wrong.
Instead, he leaned forward again, resting his forehead against Will’s shoulder, like if he got close enough, he could avoid the conversation altogether.
“I know,” he mumbled.
Will inhaled deeply, one of his hands coming to rest on the small of Mike’s back once again. His eyes met Mike’s, and he softened immediately.
Of course he did.
His other hand slipped free, coming up to cup the back of Mike’s neck, thumb brushing gently just below his hairline.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m not mad at you.”
Mike let out a small, humorless breath. “Could’ve fooled me.”
That earned him the faintest huff of a laugh.
“Okay, maybe a little,” Will admitted. “But mostly I’m just– ” he hesitated, voice catching slightly. “I’m worried about you.”
Mike’s grip tightened again, fingers curling into the fabric of Will’s sweater.
“…I know,” he said, softer this time.
There was a pause while Mike snuggled closer into his shoulder, breathing in deeply through his nose.
“C’mon,” Will murmured, nudging him gently. “Sit down. You don’t even have to talk. Just… eat something, okay?”
Mike hesitated.
Every instinct in him wanted to say later. To brush it off. To insist he was fine.
But Will was looking at him like that again, soft and stubborn all at once, and Mike felt something in his chest give.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Will’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
“Okay,” he echoed, quieter.
Will slowly lifted his hands to where Mike’s own lay on his shoulders, grabbing his wrist gently – oh so gently – and raising them up and off of himself. Then, he grabbed Mike’s hand, leading him into their shared space.
The apartment was warm, and as a bonus, it smelled really good, like grilled chicken. He inhaled without realizing it, trying to log the aroma to his memory.
“Here love,” Will said gently, giving his hand a small squeeze as he nudged him towards a kitchen chair. “Sit down.”
Mike obeyed without argument, which probably should’ve been concerning on its own.
Will shot him a look, a ghost of a smile passing over his lips, like he was thinking the same thing.
“Don’t get used to it,” Mike said as he sank down onto the chair, putting his head in his hands as soon as he could.
Will snorted. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Will moved around the kitchen with quiet familiarity, but not before briefly brushing his fingers over Mike’s shoulder as he passed behind him. It was nothing, just a quick tap, like he just needed to make sure he was really there.
The microwave hummed softly as Mike rested his elbows on the table, staring somewhere just past the surface.
His head still hurt, but it wasn’t as loud anymore.
“Chicken okay?” Will asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Mike blinked, like he’d forgotten how to answer questions. “Yeah,” he said after a second. “Yeah, that’s– that’s good.”
Will’s smile softened.
A minute later, he set the plate down in front of Mike, along with a fork and a glass of water. Water, not coffee.
Before pulling away, his fingers brushed lightly against Mike’s wrist, just for a second.
This man was driving him insane.
Said man then sat across from him, not eating, just watching.
Mike stared at the plate.
“…You gonna do that the whole time?” he asked, not looking up.
“Do what?” Will replied, his voice sounding far too innocent.
Mike glanced up, raising a brow and hiding a smile. “Oh, I don’t know, it just seems like you’re making sure I don’t forget how to eat.” He tilted his head to the side, “am I right?”
Will’s lips twitched. “…Maybe a little.”
Mike huffed, but there wasn’t any real bite to it. “Creep.”
“Starving yourself is worse,” Will playfully kicked him under the table, giggling softly when Mike scrunched up his nose in mock pain.
There it was again, that soft look that Will so often wore, wrapped around something firmer.
Mike rolled his eyes, but he picked up the fork and took a bite. It was good.
It was so good.
I don’t deserve him, at all. Mike closed his eyes, chewing while just basking in the greatness of the taste.
“Okay?” Will asked, leaning forward slightly without realizing it.
Mike nodded furiously, “Good?” He said, “Baby, this is fantastic!”.
Mike didn’t notice that Will’s shoulder’s held tension, but as soon as he said that, his whole body relaxed. It was a small shift really, barely anything, but Mike noticed.
A few bites in, Will finally got up to grab his own plate. When he came back, he didn’t sit right away.
Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers gently through Mike’s curls just once, quick and soft, pushing a piece of hair out of his face.
Will’s hand came around to cup his cheek, holding his face so delicately, like he was some fine art sculpture.
“You’ve got sauce,” he murmured.
Mike’s tongue instinctively stuck out of the corner of his mouth, searching for the substance. “Where?”
Will’s brows creased, and he didn’t answer, just swiped his thumb lightly at the corner of Mike’s mouth, wiping it away before his tongue could make it there.
The touch lingered for half a second longer than necessary.
Mike’s stomach flipped.
“I could’ve gotten it,” Mike said weakly.
Will huffed a quiet laugh, finally sitting down across from him.
“Was that a thank you?”
“No,” Mike narrowed his eyes jokingly. “I was saving that.”
Will scoffed, picking up a piece of cut chicken and flinging it at him. Mike dodged it while laughing, picking up a piece of his own and chucking it across the table.
Will caught it with one hand, keeping eye contact as he brought it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
Mike also swallowed, albeit a bit harder than necessary.
They fell into an easy rhythm after that, fork against plate, the soft hum of the microwave clock, music drifting faintly in from the living room.
At some point, Mike shifted in his chair, stretching one leg out under the table until it bumped lightly into Will’s.
Will’s foot hooked loosely around his ankle, like it belonged there.
He kept eating.
“…I think my students are trying to kill me,” he said after a while.
Will snorted softly, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. One of them made fun of my shoes today.”
Will raised an eyebrow.
“Your shoes.”
“They’re nice shoes,” Mike said, a little more animated now. “They’re fashionable.” Will didn’t sound nearly as upset as he should’ve, and this spurred Mike on more.
“Uh-huh.” Will said instead.
“They are.”
Will took a bite, very deliberately not reacting.
“They are!” Mike exclaimed. Will avoided Mike’s eyes, his smile growing by the second. “I thought you loved my shoes babe.” Mike pulled out his best puppy dog face, eyes growing wide as his lips turned down in a pout.
Will still wouldn’t look at him.
Mike’s eyes narrowed.
“They kept yelling ‘what are those’ at me for like– five minutes.”
Will choked on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking.
“Don’t,” Mike warned, pointing his fork at him, though he was already fighting a smile. “I don’t even know what that means Will, and they wouldn't stop! I was caged in there.”
“I’m sorry– no, I’m sorry– ” Will reached across the table without thinking, nudging Mike’s wrist lightly. “That’s just– wow.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m on your side,” Will insisted, still smiling. “Mostly.”
“Wow.”
“... You seriously don’t know what that is?”
Mike groaned, pulling one of his arms in to rest his head on. “No, I don’t.” He looked up, “why? Is it bad?”
“No– ” Will laughed. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just– funny.”
Mike raised a brow, “so I shouldn’t get them in trouble?” And Will laughed again.
So Mike laughed too, though this time it was real. Yes, it was quiet, and a bit tired, but it was real.
Will’s expression softened immediately at the sound, his foot pressing just a little more firmly against Mike’s under the table.
“I love you,” Will said easily, his gaze warm, and Mike believed him.
“I love you too,” Mike’s cheeks heated, which was insane, considering they were literally married, but Mike found it very hard to care when Will kept looking at him like that.
Another comfortable pause settled between them.
Mike took another bite, then another, until he was halfway through before he even realized it.
Will noticed, though he didn’t say anything.
He just reached across again, this time letting his fingers rest briefly over the back of Mike’s hand. He traced squares into Mike’s skin this time, leaving Mike’s skin tingling.
A silent I’m here.
Mike flipped his hand over without thinking, letting their fingers brush together for a second before pulling back just enough to keep eating.
“Hey,” Will said after a moment, a little hesitant.
Mike glanced up.
“Yeah?”
Will shrugged one shoulder, poking lightly at his food.
“We could, um—” he hesitated, then tried again. “We could watch something after this. If you want.”
Mike tilted his head slightly, studying him.
His cheeks were tinted pink, his mouth drawn up the right side of his face, just a bit. He looked adorable.
Mike smiled. “Yeah?” he said. “Like what?”
Will’s lips twitched.
“I don’t know. We could pick something.”
Mike was going to die.
He nodded instead, softer now.
“…Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Will smiled, though his eyes stayed glued to his plate.
Under the table, his foot didn’t move.