Chapter Text
Will loves Friday nights in Mike’s basement.
In his opinion, there’s really no better place to be after a long week of pretending to have any attention span left for high school. Between everything he’s been through and the exhausting ailment called senioritis, Will can barely stand to keep his eyes open in his Friday afternoon history class.
But it’s all worth it once 2:45 rolls around and the bell finally rings. Will jumps up from his seat, slinging his bag over his shoulder and quietly ducking through the crowd to make his way to the west wing as fast as possible.
That’s where Mike meets him–at the bottom of the staircase, always rushing in four seconds behind Will and completely out of breath.
No matter how lame the world tries to convince Will Byers it is to spend Friday nights in your best friend's basement, he remains steadfast in his convictions.
There is nowhere else Will would rather be.
-
“Scoot.” Max says, inserting herself on the couch between Will and Jane. Mike makes room beside him, shifting over a few inches so he’s leaning against the arm rest now, the couch at its full capacity. “If any of you fall asleep during this movie, I will never watch a science fiction movie down here again.” The redhead threatens, with a particularly sharp look thrown at Mike.
“Sounds like your loss.” Mike shrugs apathetically.
Max scoffs. “Like you haven’t been fiending to make me watch War Games since Freshman year.”
“Nope. I just want to rewatch War Games.”
“Oh please, we all know you get off on making other people watch your nerd shit.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mike hums, and Will can tell he’s being a bitch on purpose now. Sometimes Mike likes to pick a fight.
“You’re a prick.”
Max always meets him on the battlefield.
“In all fairness, you did make Nancy watch Star Wars three times.” Lucas points out.
“HA! See–”
“Dude!” Mike gasps and Will snickers quietly. Of course it’s true–it’s Mike. Sharing media is practically his love language.
“What– hey,” Busted. “You're not supposed to laugh.” Mike pouts. It only makes Will snicker more.
“I mean– come on, Mike,” He grins, “You can’t pretend it’s not your life’s mission to cultivate a wider audience for Tron.”
“Oh god– we watched that like six times in theaters–” Dustin complains.
“Betrayal.” Mike scoffs, shaking his head, eyes still focused on Will solely. “And from you of all people–” He places his hand over his heart like it’s shattering actively, clutching at his chest. “I’m truly burnt, Will.”
Oh please– Will thinks, rolling his eyes at Mike’s obnoxious (but endearing) theatrics.
“What’s so special about me?” Will asks, playfully deflecting the guilt soaked shrapnel of Mike’s splintering heart.
Mike stops, his puppy-dog-guilt-trip-eyes (which were not working on Will, for the record) softening with a goofy smile. “What’s not special about you? You’re you.”
Oh.
Will’s stomach flutters like he’s just fallen through the floor.
“...uh-huh..”
Will blushes as he realizes Max is still staring at them, along with the rest of the party.
Mike seems to still be in a confrontational mood, because he crosses his arms and asks, “What?”, while pulling a face as he leans over to glare at Max.
“Oh, nothing.” Max shrugs, raising her hands defensively.
“Are you going to start the movie, or what?” He huffs, leaning back on the couch. “The sooner we get this chick flick over with–”
“What is chick-flick?” Jane asks.
“Just a term men like to use to degrade cinema for women.” Max sniffed disdainfully.
“What?” Mike scoffs. “That’s not–”
“Shhh,” Will whispers, leaning slightly into Mike’s space. “You’re not winning this one.”
“That’s not what I meant, though.” Mike pouts beside him, looking terribly cute. “I’m just not interested in a movie about dancing.”
“It’s dirty dancing, actually.” Will grins, cheekily. He’s seen the movie before. His mom was watching it a year-ish ago on one of those nights where neither of them could sleep and he ended up curled in a ball on the couch, trying very hard to focus on things other than Patrick Swayze’s hips. Trying, because he failed. “And I think you might like it.”
“Oh boy, because it sounds even better now.” Mike deadpans and Will elbows him weakly, rolling his eyes.
“Just give it a shot.”
At some point, Max had started the movie. But whispering through the opening sequence was respectable as long as the dialogue hadn’t started. That’s just common sense.
“Fine.” Mike says woefully, giving up on his stubbornness to invade Will’s personal space, leaning in close to whisper in his ear as the opening credits fade into real dialogue. “But just because I trust your judgment.” His lips tickle Will’s ear and sends little jolts through his veins and Will wants them to stay that close for as long as possible.
Actually, he's hoping Mike has a lot of opinions to share with Will about this movie.
-
“I don’t get it.” Mike complains as they pause the movie just after the first party scene to go eat dinner. “She carried a watermelon. Whoop-dee-doo.”
Max snorts. “If you didn’t get it, you were watching the wrong part.”
Will has to agree with Max on this one. In fact, it felt criminal of Mrs. Wheeler to call them up directly after he had to watch Johnny’s hips do all that. The last place he wants to be right now is at a table with Ted Wheeler.
“What? The dancing?” Mike asks.
“Uh.. obviously.” Lucas answers as they stand up from the couch.
“I like it.” Jane chirps softly from the floor.
“That's because you have great taste.” Dustin smiles, offering her a hand up. “Unlike Mike.”
“What?” Mike scoffs. “I just don’t get what the big deal is. They danced together slowly, with a lot of hip motion–you guys are acting like we just watched porn or something.”
“First of all–gross. Second, you’re thinking about this all wrong.” Max says, rolling her eyes.
“How?”
“Because it’s not about the sex thing.” Will answers before he can remember to filter himself.
The room gets too quiet, too fast.
Will blushes. “What?” He asks.
“Nothing.” Mike replies, too quickly.
Will pouts. “Okay– really, guys–”
“Sorry, Will,” Dustin shakes off the stunned effect. “I just don’t think any of us have heard you say the word sex before.”
Oh, for the love of–
“Really?” Will questions. “Was it that shocking?”
“Yes.” Mike answers, again, too quickly. His eyes dart down to the floor, back to Will, and then away.
…okayyy…?
The rest of the group shrugs.
“Whatever. Point is,” Will continues, “it’s about the experience. You’re supposed to imagine yourself in Baby’s shoes.”
“See? Will gets it.”
“Also, why is her name Baby?” He complains.
“Mike– it’s a movie made for the female gaze.” Dustin explains. “You have to let yourself relax and become immersed in the experience.”
Mike appears to simply be in a bratty mood today. “What does that even mean? I don’t have a female gaze. I’m a guy, incase you didn’t know.” He grouses.
“It means, shaddup and quit being so judgy.” Lucas replies, picking up a few popcorn kernels. “Even I can admit, Swayze’s hips have it going on,”
“What?” Mike flushes, cutting his eyes at Lucas, and Will rolls his eyes.
“Ignore Lucas,” Will says, sensing Mike’s discomfort. He’s always been a little jumpy at any hint of the gay thing. “Just enjoy the story.”
“And the dancing.” Jane smiles.
“Yeah, besides, I’ve seen you dance.” Lucas snickers. “If you aren’t going to enjoy the movie, at least let it be educational.”
“Hey– now what is that supposed to mean?” Mike sits up indignantly.
“It means, you dance like a praying mantis that's been stepped on.” Dustin teases. “Take notes, Wheeler.”
Mike turns to him, eyes wide and filled with exaggerated hurt. “I’m being attacked, Will.” He pouts, looking up at Will through those long dark lashes. “Totally harassed.”
Will grins, biting his lip. “I think mayyyybe you picked the fight this time.”
“Shhhhhh… That’s not what you’re supposed to say.” Mike whines, reaching up for Will’s hand and trying to pull him back down onto the couch. His hands are cold. They usually are.
Will plants his feet and uses the momentum to pull Mike up to his feet instead. They really need to get upstairs for dinner.
Mike freezes, looking a little caught off guard.
“What?”
“Um. You’re— Strong.” Mike answers haltingly.
Oh.
“Not that strong.” Will shrugs, blushing and dropping Mike’s hand. “You’re just light.”
Mike doesn’t look any less frazzled. He coughs, but he keeps glancing at Will, and then away, and he’s not very good at hiding it.
“Uh, you guys good?” Max asks.
Dustin doesn’t seem to care. “Come on. Let’s go before the food gets cold. I’m freakin’ hungry.”
“I’m not that light.” Mike mutters as they shuffle to the stairs, hands in his pants pockets.
Lucas laughs, shoving him with his shoulder. “I could probably bench press you, man.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude.” He mumbles, then quieter, “it’s not the same when you say it…”
Will flushes, ignoring the look Max throws his way.
-
Dinner with the Wheelers is..
Well. The food is always good.
“Pass the mash.” Mr. Wheeler drones from the head of the table, opposite Mrs. Wheeler. As predicted, his presence has completely countered the energy Dirty Dancing had conjured.
Politely, Will picks up the ceramic bowl, passing it down the assembly line, from Mike to Holly to Mr. Wheeler.
“So, how is your final semester of high school going?” Mrs. Wheeler asks, chirpy and bright like always.
“I’m almost passing all my classes.” Max grins, bluntly.
Karen blinks.
“Oh– well.. That’s great news.”
Will suppresses a laugh. It is great news. Really, it is. For Max to be graduating on time with the rest of them–given how far behind she is–how much she missed–it’s really a miracle.
Still, it’s amusing to watch her appeaseless candor baffle adults.
"Me too!" El announces with an earnest and sunny disposition.
A knee knocks against Will's under the table.
It’s Mike.
Will looks up to find his best friend poking the meatloaf on his plate like it’s radioactive. Will doesn’t quite understand. Mrs. Wheeler’s cooking is delicious. He could eat the whole pan if left to his own devices. But Mike has always had a certain aversion to meat that has been reshaped into a new mold. Particularly spam. Mike hates spam.
He raises his eyebrow at Will.
Want mine?
Yes. Will does.
Quietly, Mike attempts to plop his dinner from his plate onto Will’s.
“Michael.”
Mr. Wheeler catches him in the act.
“This is why he’s so skinny.” Ted complains and Will tries not to blush as Mike scrapes the rest of the meatloaf onto his plate anyways. “That’s called protein, son.”
“I’m just not hungry.” Mike shrugs. “Sorry, mom.”
Mrs. Wheeler is always the gentle counter balance. “It’s alright, honey. Just eat what you can.”
The attention is off them soon enough, as focus shifts back to Dustin, who–in the opposite fashion of Max–is going on a long tangent about his college acceptance letters. He’s still making up his mind between Carnegie Mellon and U-Mich.
Will presses his calf against Mike’s.
“Thanks.” He whispers, already digging into his next piece.
Mike’s eyes flicker back to Will, flickering down and to his plate then sort of all over him. He can feel Mike's gaze on his mouth, which would be embarrassing if he wasn't already so used to it. Mike has always had wandering eyes. He licks barbecue sauce off his upper lip shamelessly.
Mike hooks his ankle back around Will’s under the table.
“It’s protein.” Mike quips softly and wiggles an eyebrow, “to keep growing those muscles.”
Will blushes and elbows him.
Across the table, Max leans back in her seat.
Is nobody else seeing this right now?