Archive of Our Own

1. ‘Cause I always had a vision of us standing like this

July 1986

The first thing Will's bleary eyes see that morning is Mike's face.

Literally. He's standing so close that nothing else is visible, just his dark eyes staring at Will's face and his faint freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He's looking… amused, a bit fond, and something else that Will can't quite name.

Ohhh, it's a dream, Will realises, and lets his dream instincts take over, allowing a content smile to take over his face. Mike mirrors his smile. Will wonders if they will kiss, and his heart skips a happy/terrified beat. 

Then a pillow hits his face.

He sits up, spluttering. “Ow!”

Yep, not a dream. Dream Mike is nicer.

His eyes are still unfocused, adjusting to the pale yellow light seeping through the cracks of the basement door. He locates Mike, sitting primly at the edge of the pullout sofa, staring intensely at Will. 

Will glares at him. “What the hell was that for?”

“El and I broke up,” Mike responds.

…Huh.

Under the covers, Will pinches himself because he's still not 100% sure whether he's dreaming or not. Most of his dreams (the ones he's deeply ashamed of, at least) start out this way. Ow. Definitely not a dream.

“Mike, I am not in the mood to be your relationship therapist right now. Cry to Dustin about it,” Will mutters irritatedly, letting himself fall back down onto the pillow.

He hears Mike huff out an amused laugh before his face appears in Will's vision again. Persistent, this one. “I forgot how grouchy you are in the morning.”

Will snorts despite himself. “This is Mr. I-can't-walk-straight-unless-I've-had-coffee talking here.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Is that seriously your reaction to this earth-shattering news?”

Will sighs. This is how his morning starts, apparently. Consoling his best friend/unrequited love interest that his ex still wants him. Jesus. “She'll get back with you eventually. Just get her some purple flowers and apologise.”

“Will, you're not getting it,” Mike says, and this time there's a strange sense of urgency in his words, like he's done joking around. Will wonders what Mike did this time that's got him sounding like this. 

“We're not getting back together.”

Will frowns, even though his traitorous heart does a happy dance at the thought. “Surely you can't have screwed up that bad.”

Mike shakes his head. “Will,” he says. “I broke it off.”

Interesting.

Will is, without any doubt, fully awake now.

Unfortunately, because Mike is still Mike, he drops this bombshell on Will first thing in the morning, and then promptly hops up cheerfully and drags Will to breakfast. Will is baffled, to say the least. He briefly wonders if Vecna has made his move and somehow replaced Mike with an alien version of himself, because the Mike Wheeler he’s known for the past couple of years would not be this okay, nay, happy even, on the occasion of him and El breaking up. Will is simultaneously worried, annoyed, and, guiltily, relieved at the news, but he instructs himself not to feel any way about it until he has more information. Why did they break up? Why did Mike break it off? He feels a dull anger on behalf of El, too, because friendship be damned, if Mike did anything to hurt his sister—

Well, Will would be put in a tough spot, that’s for sure. But again, he doesn’t have any information.

He silently curses Mike out the entire way up the stairs, but it's hard to remain mad at someone while stuffing your face with Karen Wheeler's delicious bacon and syrupy, fluffy scrambled eggs. It’s a quiet morning. Ted Wheeler is nowhere to be seen, which automatically makes Will feel safer, and the rest of them are engaged somewhere else. He tries his best to give death stares to Mike over breakfast. However, Mike is too enthralled in his food to care much. He doesn’t look up at Will once. 

Something is definitely up.

Afterwards, Mike ambles back to the basement and settles down on the couch, evidently expecting Will to do the same. However, he opts to remain standing, arms crossed. Mike doesn’t take notice of that. He rests his arms above his head, tapping his fingers on the sofa in deep thought, and a tiny strip of skin on his torso reveals itself, and Will doesn’t take notice of that.

“So we can go to the arcade today before we have to meet the others to plan the next crawl,” Mike says conversationally. Is he serious? “I'll have to steal some quarters from Nancy's room, though. Well, Nancy and Jonathan's, at this point,” he wrinkles his nose in disgust. “The walls are very thin.”

His older brother's sex life is apparently Will's breaking point. “Michael,” he says pointedly, and blessedly, Mike looks up. “We can't do any of that.”

Mike frowns. “Why not?”

Is he really that dense? “Because—because you and El broke up!” Will splutters, and Mike looks even more confused than before. “Aren't you upset about that?”

Mike shrugs. “Not really. I mean, we'll still be friends.”

Will feels like he's about to explode from the suspense. So far, Mike has given him absolutely nothing. He feels a bit wary of asking for more details though, lest he come off too engrossed in Mike and El’s relationship. “You don’t want to, I don’t know, talk about it?”

“About what?”

Will throws his hands up. “The break up! Are you being this dense on purpose?”

Mike splutters. “I—there’s nothing to talk about, Will! We’re just not compatible. Plus, there’s a million other things we should be focusing on right now, you know? And a relationship doesn’t really make the cut.”

Irritatingly, Mike’s right. Their interpersonal relationships are hardly a cause for concern right now, what with the apocalypse and all. It was a big part of why he and Mike managed to get past the fray in their friendship, and Will really shouldn’t fan any flames right now, but he’s always been a curious person. “Compatible?” He echoes.

Mike fiddles with his fingers. “Yep, we’re not compatible.”

“But… but you love her,” Will says, a bit numbly. He finds this a bit ridiculous. Mike and El are compatible. Hell, they’re in love. It was Mike telling her he loved her that saved El’s life in the pizza dough freezer. Incompatible people can’t do stuff like that. Mike, Will decides, is confused. However much it pains Will’s heart to admit it, he and El love each other. They make each other happy. Surely they can’t let each other go this easily.

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t. Not like that. And she doesn’t, either.”

Will, surprisingly, feels a bit angry at this. He didn’t tell Mike the painting was from El just for their relationship to crumble three months later. No, he has to fix this again. Because he cares about his best friend and his sister. “Well, how do you know that? You loved her in the pizza dough freezer. What changed?”

Mike avoids Will’s gaze as he looks at a wall behind him, fingers knotting together in his lap. He looks a bit red, probably because of the heat. The basement tends to overheat in the summer. “I can’t tell you that. But I know I don’t love her like that. Romantically,” he clarifies, as if they could be talking about anything else. “She’s just—she’s a good friend,” he mumbles, eyes still fixed on the spot on the wall.

Will, to say the least, is perplexed. Well, if he can’t talk Mike out of this, he should just be there for him instead. He makes a mental note to ask El about her side of the story later. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. Mike just shrugs with a tiny smile on his face. “Is—is there anything I can do?”

Mike looks at him consideringly. His dark-as-night eyes seem to see right through Will, looking at him quizzically, like he’s said something weird. Will panics for a second. He hasn’t, has he? It’s a normal thing for him to ask someone who’s just gone through a breakup. Mike’s one of his best friends, and El is his sister; it’s not like he’s throwing himself on Mike, he’s just trying to be a good friend. Like he has been trying throughout this cursed spring break.

He really, really needs Mike to say something. 

Will clears his throat awkwardly. Mike straightens up, snapping into focus, eyes losing that hazy look they held seconds ago. “Um,” he says hoarsely, “let’s just…walk?”

“Walk.” Will nods. “I can do that.” Mike laughs a bit, which Will regards as a victory, and they both get up and head out towards the woods.

It’s midday by now, and the woods are illuminated by the hot July sun. Normally, Will would have reservations about going into the woods, even in broad daylight, considering everything that’s happened to him since the last time he ventured out there by himself, but he doesn’t feel as scared about it when he’s with Mike. Granted, logically, Mike’s not any better at defending himself than Will is (if anything, he’s worse; at least Will can wield a gun semi-professionally), but that’s not the quality that Mike possesses that allows Will to lower his defences against him most of the time. 

Will has always found it mildly amusing how protective Mike is of anyone that he loves despite basically being all bark and no bite. Sure, if it were a slam poetry competition or a physics test that would save them all, Mike would have no problem acing any of those. However, somehow, Will doubts that being able to alliterate effortlessly would be an effective tool against the flowery face of a Demogorgon.

Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable. There’s only so long Will can listen to the high-pitched chirping of the birds and the faint rustle of the forest floor underneath their feet before he breaks. “So,” he says, attempting to sound casual, “is this helpful?”

Mike huffs and looks at him, eyes glinting with amusement and—something else. It doesn’t help that the sun is making his eyes look molten, like glowing amber, and the way he’s looking at Will… if he were less experienced with Mike’s push-and-pull, his mannerisms, he would say—

It would almost look like—

“Yes,” Mike says softly, interrupting Will’s rapidly derailing train of thought, “the woods are beautiful, don’t you think? I wish I could paint as good as you,” Mike says wistfully. “I’d paint a really cool scenery of this.”

Will shrugs. “I could make it for you, if—if you like. If I manage to get my hands on some material. All I have right now is my sketchbook and an inch-long pencil.”

Mike turns his focus away from Will, kicking a rock as they go. “You mean commission something again?”

Will stops dead in his tracks. Does he know? Is that why he brought Will here, in these secluded woods, so that he could call him out on his lie about the painting? Will’s heart starts jackrabbitting against his ribs. Are all their weeks of painstakingly rebuilding their friendship from ground zero about to go to waste? He swallows thickly, and says,

“What?”

Mike turns around to face him. There’s something desperate in his eyes, and the way he’s standing is… defensive, his body angled away from Will, like he’s expecting to be punched in the face. 

“Will,” Mike blurts out, “I—”

He stops as his gaze flickers beyond Will, snagging on something in the distance. Without warning, he breaks into a run, leaving Will no choice but to follow. Mike sprints a short distance through the woods with Will fast on his heels, and narrowly avoids barreling into Mike’s back as he comes to a stop in front of something, gasping, hands balanced on his knees. Will’s not in much better shape—yeah, they definitely could not outrun a Demo if it ever came to that— but he manages to heave out, “What, Mike, what?”

Will’s heart sinks lower than he ever thought it could when he sees what it is.

Castle Byers. Well, the ruins of it.

He’d sworn to himself he’d never come here again, after that day in the rain. It was pointless, just another shattered relic of his childhood that served as a reminder that he had never truly gotten the chance to be a kid again after November 6th, 1983. The day everything changed.

It hurts to look at. Every emotion Will has been holding in since then threatens to spill out of his throat. His eyes sting with unshed tears. Beside him, Mike is still. Unnaturally still. His face is blank, betraying no emotion. Will can’t make out what he’s thinking, or feeling, something that’s become all too common lately. 

“Mike,” he says in a low voice, “let’s go. The others are probably waiting.”

He wants to leave. He wants to leave and forget about it and bury the fucking hatchet so that he can have what little of Mike he still can.

Mike drops to his knees on the forest floor.

Gently, he picks up a piece of the broken sign Will had put up at the front. It’s now split clean down the middle, its other half lost in the rubble somewhere. It’s half-rotted with moss covering it, yet Mike traces a finger across it. His hands are slightly shaking. Will is… he’s feeling a lot of things. Confused. Scared. Even a little bit of that residual anger he felt that day.

Because Mike has no right to act this… this reverent. Not right now. Not after that day. If it weren’t for what he said that day, Castle Byers would still be intact. Their friendship would still be intact. Will could keep hopelessly pining after him in secret, and Mike could go on happily dating his sister, and all would be right in the world.

A sudden wave of loathing rears up in his throat. For himself, for having this stupid crush on his best friend who’s not rotten on the inside like him, for the shitty situation that he’s put them both in because he’s—

“I’m sorry.” Mike says it so softly that Will almost misses it. He’s not facing Will. The tangle of his shoulder-length, jet-black hair is ruffling in the soft wind.

Will doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Mike repeats louder, voice thick and wet with unshed tears, which is so jarring to Will. He doesn’t remember the last time Mike cried in front of him. Or maybe ever. Mike’s not a crier. This is uncharted territory to Will. The roles are reversed, usually, with Mike comforting Will as he sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out again, “I’m sorry, Will, I’m so sorry.” 

Mike sounds like he’s choking on thin air, like he can’t breathe. This snaps Will out of his stupor, and he leans down to face Mike, whose face is wet and red with tears. 

“Mike,” he says softly, wanting to cry himself, but that wouldn’t be helpful right now, “Mike, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“It’s not,” he sobs out, shoulders shaking. More tears pour out. His eyes are wild with grief, such a deep sadness that it couldn’t possibly be just about that night. “It’s not, it’s not okay, I hurt you so much, on and on and—and in the fucking van—”

His sentence dissolves into tears. Will’s heart crawls up into his throat. 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he does the next best thing: he wraps his arms around Mike, holding him tight as he works through whatever it is he’s working through. Because Will is almost entirely sure this isn’t solely about him anymore.

Mike clings to him like he’s the last thing on Earth. His arms are trembling with the effort with which he’s holding Will. He buries his face into Will’s neck and lets it all out, and Will lets him. He feels a sense of imminent doom come upon him like a black cloud, with Mike shaking in his arms, apologising like he’s committed the worst crime anyone ever could.

Eventually, the tears stop. But Mike keeps his face firmly tucked where is it, soft breaths snuffling over his neck. Will doesn’t want to let go, either. But he likes this too much, the proximity. He’s taking advantage of his best friend’s pain. So, reluctantly, almost painfully, he pulls himself out of the embrace.

He takes a look at Mike’s face, his downcast eyes, the way his posture is so defeated. He irritatedly brushes away some hair that keeps getting caught in his lashes, and Mike takes notice.

Slowly, he brings his hand up to Will’s face, and Will’s heart starts beating so loud it drowns out all other sound, logic, and reason. What the fuck is going on? Gently, with more care than Will had thought Mike capable of, he brushes the strands of hair stuck to Will’s forehead with sweat away from his face. He brings his hand down, caressing Will’s cheek, a featherlight touch that burns like a brand in its wake. Will can’t breathe. What is happening?

“Mike,” he chokes out, “are—are you okay now?”

Mike seems caught in a trance. He’s following the movement of his hands with his eyes, fingers now trailing a path down Will’s neck, coming to rest at his rapid pulse.

“Mike,” he tries again, “It’s okay. Really. I forgive you. You’ll always be my best friend, okay?”

Mike’s eyes snap up to Will’s, and he can’t help but let out a little gasp at the force with which their gazes meet. “Best friend?” He echoes. Will nods quickly, plastering a reassuring smile on his face.

Mike’s hand drops from where it was resting on the underside of Will’s jaw. He looks crushed for a brief moment before his face goes blank and a similar, watery smile appears on his face as well. He meets Will’s eyes again.

“You’re right. And—I’m sorry. Again.” A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of him. “It was just… overwhelming. Everything with the gates, and Max, and all… it just came out—I don’t know why I reacted like that.”

Will is completely lost. He wants to call Mike out, to discuss at length what just happened, but he’s had enough emotional breakdowns for the day, so he says: “It’s fine, Mike. You don’t need to explain it to me.”

Mike looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. He hoists himself up and extends a hand to Will. His skin tingles at the contact.

“We should go,” he says. “The others are waiting.”

Will nods fervently, and follows Mike, ignoring the persistent, niggling whatthefuckjusthappened in his head.

2. All pressed up in the bathroom line

November 1986

The Wheelers’ basement has always been a sanctuary for Will. It was the place he ended up in when the screaming in his own house got too much for him. It was the place of countless adventures, stories of wise clerics and brave paladins working hand in hand to save fictional towns from evil. Even when his own life turned into something straight out of a D&D campaign, the basement always remained a place on which he could look back with fondness.

So, even though Will really should’ve known it would happen, it comes as a shock to him when he flails awake from one of his awful November nightmares in the basement.

He doesn’t even remember what he’d been dreaming about, just this feeling of his throat being constricted, slime all around him… and then darkness. He remembers waking up with a shudder, eyes blurry with tears adjusting to the blackness of the basement, and not being able to breathe. Remembers feeling a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Will, breathe,” Jonathan coaches him smoothly through the routine, the one they’ve been doing since he came back from the Upside Down. His lungs refuse to obey the command. A choked-off sob escapes him. Will feels like he is dying. “Come on, bud, you got this, just breathe.”

He tries to take a shuddering inhale once more, but all he can feel is the slime. The cold and the slime and the unmistakable presence of evil. More tears stream down his face.

Then another face appears in his vision.

Mike looks at him, concern evident in his eyes, a tiny divot forming between his eyebrows. Will lets out an incoherent jumble of words, before finally—finally, some air enters his lungs. Mike nods encouragingly, and he’s saying something but all Will can hear is a high-pitched ringing in his ears. If the oxygen were entering his brain, he’d probably be embarrassed that Mike saw him like this. But all Will can do right now is focus on the tiny opening in his airways, put all his energy towards breaking through the goo and letting the precious, non-toxic air into his lungs.

“—yeah, that’s it, just breathe, Will. What’s five things you can see?”

Will swallows, his throat feeling sticky, and forces out, “Mike.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What else?”

“Jonathan. The sofa. The… the candle. The sheets.”

Will can finally breathe. The tears slow.

“Good,” Mike says softly, hesitant fingers fluttering, unsure where to land. “What’s five things you can hear?”

Will doesn't meet Mike’s eyes. “I’m fine now,” he mumbles, voice scratchy and cracking. “Thanks.”

“You sure?” Jonathan asks. Will wipes the tears and sweat on the back of his sweater sleeve and tries not to scream. He can still hear his heartbeat. He nods shortly.

“How’d you get here anyway?” Will asks Mike. “You should be asleep.”

A wry smile curls on Mike’s face. “So should you.”

“Yeah, well, I have an excuse,” Will mutters and lowers himself back down on the sofa, wrapping the thick blankets around himself, trying to dispel the lingering feeling of the slimy coldness of the Upside Down.

“I came here to ask you something,” Mike says. Will looks up quizzically at him, but Mike shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter now. You’ll be okay, right?”

Will wants to snap at him, to tell him that he can take care of himself. But can he? He can’t even breathe himself through his nightmares; he has to be coached by two fucking people. He hates feeling this… helpless. It's like he's twelve again, shivering and curled up pathetically on the forest floor, the atmosphere itself trying to kill him. 

It’s Jonathan who speaks up. “Yeah, Mike. I got it. Thanks. Go back to bed.”

Mike still looks hesitant, but eventually makes his way upstairs. Will and Jonathan lie back down. The nighttime silence is eerie. No crickets chirping, no owls hooting. Just him and his ever-swirling thoughts.

God, he's pathetic. They should've gone away by now. It's been years. He's even fine with the icy Indiana winters most of the time. Granted, he hasn't felt one in a while, but he likes to imagine he would be.

Soon enough, Jonathan starts to snore softly. Will stays wide awake, even though his eyes feel crusty from his tears and are begging him to shut them. Something inside him, though, is scared to fall asleep again. Everything inside him wants this to be over.

After a while—it could have been minutes or hours, for all Will knows, seeing as it’s still pitch-black outside—Will decides he’s stewed enough in his thoughts. Sleep still evades him, so he quietly pulls the covers back and makes his way upstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He peers through the living room window and realises that it’s not as dark as he’d thought outside. The sky is the hue that’s just between black and a very, very dark blue, bordering just on the edge of dawn. He fills his glass up and lifts it up to his lips. Just when he takes a long, greedy gulp, he hears a creak from behind him and startles so badly that water goes spilling everywhere, splashing on the countertop and dripping down the edges.

“What the fuck—”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mike whispers hastily, and rushes down to clean up the spill. 

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Will says. Stupidly, he feels tears prickle up again, pressing behind his eyes. Mike grabs a couple of tissues from the cabinet on top of the sink and crouches down to clean the floor. Will does the same, but on the counter.

“Will, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Mike says, disposing of the tissues in the bin. Will watches him for a bit, dark, tousled hair mussed from the pillows, bangs that are long overdue for a haircut hanging into his eyes. He looks away, pushing down the overwhelming urge to brush them away. 

“Sorry,” Will repeats, but it’s not for the water. Mike looks up at him with fond exasperation, and Will finds himself smiling slightly, too.

“What are you doing here?” Will asks.

Mike leans against the counter and looks at him, confused. “You mean in my house?”

Will rolls his eyes. Dumbass. “I mean, in the kitchen. At this hour.”

Mike raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked you first.”

Mike makes a face. “I heard you, okay? I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to… see if you were okay.”

“It could’ve been Jonathan.”

Mike’s eyes soften imperceptibly. “You think I can’t tell by the way you walk?”

Will bluescreens. What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

“Sorry. For waking you up,” he says eventually.

“Will, if you apologise one more time, I swear to God—”

Will fights the urge to apologise again. He smiles shortly, keeping his eyes trained on the window, the rapidly lightening sky. 

“Did you get some sleep?” Mike asks. And Will is so sick of lying to Mike all the time, about how he feels, about the stupid fucking painting that Mike still keeps pinned up in his room like it's a prized artifact. So he chooses to say the truth for once and shakes his head slowly.

“I’m just… tired. Of all this. And the worst part is, even if—when—all the Vecna stuff is over, they’ll still be there. The nightmares. The memories.”

Mike is watching him with a pained expression. Even though he can’t see his face, he can picture it: the despair in his eyes, the way his eyebrows gather in the middle, his chin quivering with the force of keeping it together. He hesitates once, before wrapping a long arm around Will’s middle and tugging him closer. Will’s heart lurches painfully in his chest, but he lets himself be pulled. He resists the urge to break down in tears and takes it all in: the soft fleece of Mike’s sweater scratching his cheek, the slightly musty smell mixed with the strong smell of shampoo, the chirping of crickets in the background. 

Mike rests his chin on Will’s shoulder and smooths his hand quickly down his back. Will shivers involuntarily. Even though he knows it’s a bad idea, he lets himself relax minutely into Mike’s embrace. He’s warm, and solid, and Will can hear the rapid hammering of Mike’s heart where his cheek rests. 

“Come to my room tomorrow,” Mike says suddenly.

Will freezes. He pulls back slightly to look at Mike’s face. In the early morning light, it’s shadowed with hues of pink and blue. He can make out the painfully earnest expression on his face. 

“What?”

“If—if you can’t sleep,” Mike explains, stumbling over his words, “come up to my room. I could help. Probably. Hopefully. It’s nicer than the basement, at least. Warmer.”

A cold feeling floods into Will’s chest. Pity. Mike’s pitying him. He wrenches himself out of the hug. “You don’t need to say that, Mike.”

He frowns. “Why not? You know it’ll be better up there.”

“I don’t need your charity. I can handle myself. It’ll blow over soon enough.”

There’s a hint of defensiveness in Mike’s tone now. “Will, I’m trying to help you.”

Anger flares inside Will. “Yeah, well, I never asked for it. Go to sleep, Mike.” Will turns abruptly, ignoring Mike calling back for him, and marches back down into the basement.

The lack of sleep catches up to him in the morning. Will is half-asleep on the toilet when a loud pounding on the bathroom door jerks him awake.

“Nancy!” Mike screams. “Stop hogging the hot water!”

“Jesus, Mike, I’m here,” Nancy’s annoyed voice floats out, muffled by the wood.

“So who’s in there?”

“Give me two minutes,” Will calls out.

“Oh.” There’s a short pause. “Sorry, Will. Take your time.”

Nancy mutters something unintelligible from outside.

He avoids Mike’s eyes at the breakfast table, choosing instead to focus on the din of eight people trying to get their share of the bacon and dash out the front door at the same time. Yep, he definitely does not sneak a glance at Mike’s face in between all the chaos. And he definitely does not notice how pale he looks, paler than usual, the bags under his eyes accentuated from the events of last night.

A knot forms in Will’s stomach. He knows he should apologise for what he said. But he doesn’t get the chance to do so all day. Holly rides with them to school. As soon as they enter the senior building, Dustin falls into step beside them.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Will observes. Dustin’s hand flies to his upper lip and comes away red.

“Shit,” he mutters, hastily wiping it on the back of his sleeve, so much like El. 

Mike looks at him, half-worried and half-exasperated. “Anything you wanna tell us?”

“Don’t worry,” Dustin snarks, “I’m not gonna go flying up in the air and have all my limbs broken.”

“Yeah, you’re just going to go crashing down in the ground when Andy and the rest of them find you again,” Lucas says, joining them. Dustin waves him off.

“You didn’t need to save me. I had it handled.”

Will feels a jolt as he recognises his own words. I don’t need your charity. I can handle myself. Before he can speak, Mike says quietly, “Dustin, Lucas was just trying to help you. He cares about you. We all do. And—and we’re all trying our best here. It’s not… charity or anything. I…we wanna help.”

Dustin softens. “I know.” He looks down at his scuffed shoes. “I’m sorry.”

The group is silent the rest of the way. Will tries to look at Mike, but his eyes are steadfastly fixed in front, expression blank. He ducks away into a room first, then Lucas with a tiny wave. Dustin leaves next, but just as his hands reach the door handle to his class, he pauses.

“What the hell was Mike going on about charity?”

“Um…” Will fumbles. “Well, you know Mike. He’s a… speechy person. It was probably heat of the moment stuff.”

Dustin tilts his head analytically, like he doesn’t quite buy it. “Alright. See you, Byers.”

Will raises a hand and walks away, feeling like the worst person on the planet. Well, second worse. That title is reserved for Vecna and Vecna alone.

Will stays a bit late in school, working on an AV project. It’s nearly dark when he steps out, even though it’s not that late. He hops on his bike and is nearly about to cycle in the opposite direction—the one he used to take for his old home—when he remembers.

When he reaches the Wheeler residence, his mom is sitting out on the front porch, a cloud of smoke around her. She doesn’t even try to hide it these days. She smiles with relief when she sees him, and stretches upward to place a quick peck on his cheek.

“I was worried when you didn’t come home with Mike. Tell me next time you have to stay back at school, okay?”

Will resists the urge to roll his eyes. “It wasn’t planned.”

“Still. Call me or something.”

Dinner is a somber affair, as usual. Ted Wheeler looks like he’s permanently been sucking on a lemon. Karen Wheeler drinks three glasses of wine in half an hour. Holly picks apart all the peas in her meal and scrapes them surreptitiously into Mike’s plate. Nancy is absent, probably just scarfing down a microwave meal like she normally does at the Squawk. Jonathan keeps looking at the empty seat wistfully.

Normal.

When it’s time to go to sleep, Mike, to his credit, doesn’t push the bedroom issue further. He bids Will goodnight, and Will watches him go upstairs.

When he shuts off the basement lights, though, and settles into the sofa, sleep evades him.

Tired as he is, Will can’t stop his heart from feeling like it’s trying to punch its way out of his chest. He constantly feels like he’s short of breath. He inhales once, deeply, before exhaling long and slow, like Dr. Owens had taught him years and years ago. When that doesn’t work, he gives up. He’ll just ask Mrs. Wheeler to brew some extra coffee tomorrow.

He senses, through the dark, Jonathan staring at him, and something inside Will just snaps.

“I’m not going to disappear if you look away, Jon,” Will mutters, eyes still firmly shut. When Jonathan doesn’t laugh like Will had expected him to, he opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. 

Despite the dark, Will can see the gleam of his older brother’s eyes. An odd emotion seems to be buried in there, a hurt that seems years-old, like a fossil that’s been dug out from the soil. “Do you know,” he starts softly, “what I regret most about that week?”

A lump forms in Will’s throat. He hates talking about it. Every single thing in his life is a reminder of that awful week, how his life was never the same after that. But Jonathan looks like he needs to get this out. So Will shakes his head, hair rustling against the pillow. 

“I regret doubting Mom. She was so insistent that you were still there, with her Christmas lights and—and hacking the walls down, and I just thought she was having a mental breakdown because you weren’t there, and I didn’t believe it. I thought you were dead. I—” He cuts himself off and turns his head to look up at the ceiling. “I planned your funeral,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” Will says automatically. He doesn’t know what else to say. But he is. It doesn't seem like this guilt of everything going wrong because of him will ever go away.

Sometimes, Will likes to imagine a reality where nothing went wrong. Where Brenner wasn't a psychopath, and El got to live a normal life with her mom as Jane, and Will wasn't fundamentally doomed even before the events of November 6, 1983. But he can't say that. Not to anyone. Some things are too heavy to burden others with.

Jonathan shakes his head.

“Not your fault. I’m not a very imaginative person, you see,” he chuckles wryly. “But my point is that it’s instinct, taking care of you. We don’t do it ‘cause we pity you. We do it because we’re scared of losing you. And I know you feel babied by all this. But, Will, it’s okay to have others take care of you. You don’t have to carry things by yourself all the time.” He looks back at Will meaningfully.

“We?” Will echoes. “Who’s we?”

“Who do you think?”

Will squints at him. “What did you hear?”

“Enough.” Jonathan says simply, turning his back to him. “I’d tell you to sleep, but clearly you’re not able to do that, so.”

He pulls the covers up to his head. When he was a kid, and terrified of ghosts, he used to hide under the blankets and believe that if he couldn’t see the bad things, they couldn’t see him either. As he grew up, he realised that that wasn’t true. But still, sometimes, he liked to pretend anyway.

After a while, his arms start to ache, so he pulls back the sheets. Jonathan’s back is contracting and relaxing rhythmically, and Will winces as the sofa creaks when he gently lifts himself up. He pads up the stairs into the kitchen, and takes a deep breath before continuing the rest of the way up, making sure to avoid the creaky fourth step.

The door to Mike’s room is slightly ajar, which Will finds odd, considering how adamant Mike is about keeping the door firmly shut. When Will turns around to shut it, it closes with a sharp click and he hears Mike inhale sharply behind him. “Will?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Will whispers, embarrassed. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Mike slurs out, clearly half-asleep. He pokes his head up from his bed, and the sight is so impossibly endearing that Will finds himself smiling softly. He hates when Mike is right; somehow, his room isn't filled with all the emotions Will is keeping tucked inside, the way the basement is.

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “So… where’s the inflatable bed?”

Mike looks at him like he’s crazy. “Do you really think I asked you to come up, leave the couch, just so you could sleep on an inflatable bed?” He pats the empty side of his bed—his bed, as in Mike Wheeler’s bed, his freaking bed Jesus fucking Christ—and looks at Will expectantly.

Will wants to scream. And bolt back to the safety of the basement. He wants Mike to stop being so confusing and looking at him like that, with so much concern and—and love, platonic, friendly love, and—

And he wants to climb into bed with him.

The thought reverberates around his brain. Just once, he wants to know what it feels like. To wake up next to him. To see what he looks like fast asleep, face clear of the usual worry, to feel his warmth next to him. And before Will can even process what is happening, his feet take him across the wooden floorboards of the room. Mike exhales softly, almost like he wasn’t expecting this to happen.

Will hesitates before pulling the thick blanket back. “Is this okay?” He asks. Mike’s eyes shine in the dark, the bright spot inside his irises gleaming as he nods vigorously, and Will slides inside next to him.

They both settle on the opposite sides of the bed. Will simultaneously wishes the distance between them were less, and that he was far away from here. He tries to regulate his breathing, and not move much.

“Your shoulders are tense,” Mike observes.

Will turns his head to look at him. He can’t make out his expression in the dark. He tries to relax, to unspool the thread of tension winding inside his gut.

“I’m sorry,” he replies. Mike opens his mouth to respond, probably scold him for apologising so much, but Will has more to say. “About yesterday. I shouldn’t have gotten mad. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Mike is silent for a moment, then he says, “Do you really think I was just, like, doing you a favour or something?”

Will bites his lip. “Why else would you want me up here?”

“Will.” There is hurt in Mike’s voice. “I wanted you to come up because—because I care about you. I can’t stand to watch you like this—and it’s that time of the year, too… I thought I was helping. I didn’t mean to force you.”

Its the same thing Jonathan said. Will tries not to find it surprising that Mike would care that much about him.

He's not stupid; he knows that Mike cares. It's just that he doesn't let himself believe it sometimes. To protect himself.

He turns onto his back, staring up at the neon green stars on the ceiling. They’re not as bright as Will remembers them. A lot of things, Will thinks, are not as he remembers them. 

“You didn't,” he says eventually. “I don't know, I just—I hate the thought that people think I'm fragile or something.”

“I don't,” Mike says quickly. “You're the strongest person I know. I don't know anyone else who could've gone through what you did and made it out so… kind. You're so kind, still, even after… after everything with the Upside Down.” He looks at Will then, a strange vulnerability outlining his face that, Will suspects, is only reserved for nights like these. “You talk about charity, but sometimes I think you're doing me charity by still being friends with me.”

“Mike,” Will says, appalled. “Why wouldn’t I still be friends with you?”

Mike purses his lips. “Just… you know,” he says quietly.

The thing is, Will does know. And he’s always blamed himself for it. For not being normal. For having his feelings written all over his face. 

“Mike, you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

He smiles a little. “Can’t take it back now, Byers.”

He wouldn’t want to, anyway.

“Why were you really awake last night?” Will asks.

“I had a nightmare too,” Mike confesses. “It was about… you. In the hospital. You were… screaming and you were in so much pain and I just—I was useless. And so scared. And then I woke up and—and I needed to see if you were okay, and then I came down to the basement and you were… you know.”

“Yeah,” Will says. “I didn’t know you got them too.”

“They’re not as bad as yours. I’m okay once I realise you’re still here.”

A lump forms in Will’s throat. “You’re not useless, Mike,” he says. He wants to reach out so badly, to hold his hand, to feel his slim fingers between his. “You’re the heart, remember?”

A strangled laugh leaves Mike, and Will feels him shift minutely closer, the warmth that always radiates through him touching Will ever so slightly. Will hears a rustle before Mike’s hand nudges Will’s, fingers intertwining. Mike squeezes his hand. “I’m not letting you go, Will. Not this time.”

Will feels like he’s dying. It’s like all his organs are imploding inside him. He inhales silently and turns on his side, away from Mike so that the pillow catches his tears. Their fingers are still loosely tangled together.

When Will falls asleep, all he sees is darkness.

Will wakes to the sound of a bird chirping right outside his window. For a second, he’s confused—the basement doesn’t really have windows, considering it’s, well, a basement. So how’s a bird—

Oh. Wait. Nevermind. He’s in Mike’s room.

Will’s eyes fly open. Feeble sunlight is streaming into the room, outlining it with shadows. He turns his head to look at Mike, who is, thankfully, still asleep. And also very, very close to Will, he realises. He can make out the individual eyelashes feathered over his eyes, the few freckles scattered over his face, the three short hairs poking out of his chin, beginnings of a beard. Will wonders how he didn’t notice this, the boy he used to know slowly turning into a man. Even though his brain is screaming at him to look away, Will’s eyes trail down, mapping the soft flutter of his lips as he exhales, the hollow of his throat. His arm is still outstretched towards Will, like he was reaching out subconsciously. 

Will turns away, his heart pounding. He wants to escape back into the safety of the basement, back to the dark, because it all feels too real in the morning. Away from Mike, he can pretend. Pretend that these feelings aren’t real, like they don’t consume him. Like the slightest generosity from Mike doesn’t make him dizzy with hope and nauseous with guilt.

He gently pulls back the sheets and shivers as the cold air bites at his skin. The wood is cold under his feet. He winces when the bed creaks as he hoists himself up, but something stops him.

He glances back again at Mike. His forehead is now slightly creased up, even though he’s still asleep. His hand keeps twitching like he’s trying to reach for something.

Will sighs softly, settling back down. He really has no sense of self-preservation, does he? Everything inside him knows that he’s going to be heartbroken in the future. But he cannot, in this moment, with Mike’s soft breaths tickling his face, find it in himself to care. Not when Mike's forehead relaxes as Will returns.

Just as he slips his eyes shut, Mrs Wheeler shouts from downstairs, “MIKE! WILL! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!”

3. You’re looking like an angel on the walls of Versailles

February 1987

Truthfully, even before Will realised that he was gay, he never really liked the tradition of Valentine’s Day.

It’s becoming easier to think about. To accept. The fact that he is everything those bullies used to say about him in school. Everything his father used to call him. He often wonders if there was something about him, some scent enveloping him, that made people recognise that aspect of him before even he knew. He used to hope it was just a fluke, something he’d get over with time, but given the past precedent, it’s very unlikely. So, he’s trying to be okay with it.

Also, he’s discovered, there’s stranger things in life to be worried about than boys liking boys. Namely, interdimensional, flower-faced monsters and their psychopathic overlord.

But back to the Valentine's Day thing. Aside from the gay thing, he’s always found it kind of… cheap. Like, why do couples need to show their love and devotion to one another only on one special day of the year, and that too with mass-produced material possessions that serve no purpose other than to pollute the planet with waste?

He’s not bitter or anything, though. It’s just all very capitalistic.

Will had always been neutral about it, up until a couple of years ago, when everyone started making such a big deal about it. He remembers Lucas being kind of adorably nervous about what to gift Max so he wouldn’t be dumped a third time. He remembers Mike being less… adorably nervous and more like a stress-filled snapping turtle. It was his first big couples milestone with El, so he wanted it to be perfect. Of course, there hadn’t been a big date or anything, but he’d gotten her a doll and they’d watched a movie with Hopper angrily third-wheeling them. Or so he’s heard from Mike. Not that he was particularly interested or anything.

Will doesn’t even remember being truly jealous back then, not like he’d been later on. Blissful ignorance. He remembers being… weirded out, mostly. Even Jonathan, who is notably anti-capitalist, seemed to want to participate in it. Dustin was mopey because he had no one to spend Valentine’s Day with, so he and Will hung out at the arcade together while everyone else was off with their lady loves. Still, even back then, something didn’t quite feel right with the whole thing.

Thus, given his natural aversion to the day, Will should’ve been happy that no one was in the mood to celebrate it this year. But he’s not that selfish. 

When the four of them walk into school that day, it’s utterly, obnoxiously, pink. Pink banners hung up on the wall, pink posters pinned up on the pink board. Someone has pink hearts flowing out of her locker. Someone else is literally dressed as Cupid. El would like the pinkness of it all, though. All around them, people have their tongues in other people’s mouths. This, Will thinks, would be how Vecna would torture him. Just… straight people being horny in front of him.

Mike, who has had his face set in a scowl ever since they left home, somehow, impossibly, sets his face in an even deeper grimace. Dustin looks indifferent, much like how he usually does these days. Lucas just looks sad. He’s the only one Will actually feels bad for.

Mike shoves a couple who genuinely had their hands up each other's shirts away from his locker. “These people have gone mad,” he mutters. Dustin nods in approval.

“Glad to see you’ve opened your eyes, my friend. Humanity is doomed.”

“I miss Max,” Lucas sighs. Will places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll see her today,” he says, cringing at his utterly useless attempt at reassuring him. Fortunately, Lucas is an angel sent from heaven and takes it in his stride.

“Yeah, I will. I got her a card and all.”

Will does not mention that Max would probably not care about anything Lucas got her considering she is, well, in a coma. “Cool.”

Lucas departs. Mike, who had been listening in, emerges from the depths of his locker.

“Hey, Will, are you doing anything today?”

Will snorts. “I live with you, Mike. You know exactly what I’m doing today.”

“Still. Just asking, in case you got a hot date or something.”

Will bursts into laughter. Mike just looks confused.

“Mike—” he wipes tears from the corners of his eyes. “I assure you, I do not have a ‘hot date’ tonight.”

Mike laughs too then, an almost relieved laughter, and leans against the locker door. “Cool. Have a nice day, then.” He leaves, brushing Will’s shoulder in the process.

Weird. But then again, it’s Mike.

The rest of the day passes in a vomit-inducing haze of people making up, breaking up, and everything in between right in front of him. When the final bell rings, Will stumbles out the front door with the knowledge that the things he has endured inside that building will haunt him forever.

Mike joins him with a similar expression. “Next year,” he says, “Valentine’s Day, we skip school altogether.”

“Definitely,” Will says.

Upon acquiring Holly, when they start to bike home, she asks a question.

“How do I know if a boy likes me?”

Mike’s head whips around so fast he almost crashes into a tree. “A boy likes you?”

Holly shrugs. “Hannah says Derek likes me. I don’t think so.”

“Derek? Dipsh—” He cuts himself off. Will stifles a giggle; foul-mouthed as Mike is, Will’s always admired his commitment to not swearing in front of his little sister. “He likes you? Why does this Hannah think so?”

“Well, he keeps bothering me. Like today. He pulled on my braid and tripped me. Hannah says that when boys are mean to you, it means they like you.”

Mike frowns. “Holly, that’s terrible. Do I need to talk to your teacher? This sounds more like bullying.”

“Yeah,” Will chimes in. He may not know much about boys liking him, but he could write an entire thesis on bullies. “Plus, boys shouldn’t be mean to you if they like you.”

“Then how do you know if someone likes you?”

Well, Will wouldn’t know, would he? After a pause, Mike speaks.

“He’d treat you nicely. He’d want to be your friend. Your best friend. To spend time with you. Maybe hold your hand. He’d… buy you gifts because you deserve only the best things.” He clears his throat. “Stuff like that, basically.”

Holly hops off her bike and parks it on the stand next to the garage. She eyes Mike suspiciously. “Would he make me mixtapes?” She asks innocently.

Mike turns violently red and starts coughing. Holly looks at him consideringly. Then she nods to herself, like she’s confirmed something.

“This was very informative. Thanks, Mike.”

“Yep,” Mike chokes out.

Will is just finishing up his AP Calculus homework when Mike pokes his head down in the basement.

“I’m hungry. Wanna get some food together?”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t Mom cooking dinner, like, right now?”

“Will,” Mike says seriously, “I love your mother, but what would you rather have: a delicious burger from Carrie’s, or microwave pasta?”

Will laughs. “Alright,” he says, getting up. “Where are we going?”

Mike looks back at him with a cryptic smile. “You’ll see,” is all he says.

They sneak out the basement door and hop onto their bikes, Will following Mike’s lead. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees and casts golden patterns on the grey asphalt as they wind through the streets they grew up in. The fading winter wind still makes Will shiver; too late, he realises his flimsy old sweater probably wouldn’t be enough to keep him warm when it gets late, but their moms would surely catch them if they went back. So Will decides to just tough it out.

They end up at Carrie’s, formerly known as Benny’s. It’s decorated in an old-fashioned 50’s manner, with vinyl booths and red checkered tablecloths. It probably opened after Will left for Califormia, because he has never been here. Mike, apparently, has, though, because he’s on a first-name basis with all the waitresses.

“Hey, Audrey!” He waves amicably at the cashier. “One regular burger and a vanilla milkshake for me.” He turns to Will. “What do you want?”

Will blinks. “Uh, the same, please.”

Audrey smiles at him. She’s pretty. Older than them, probably. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Will says. She tilts her head.

“I think I would’ve remembered you, though.”

Will smiles nervously. Before he can respond, Mike cuts in, sounding more clipped than before. “To go, Audrey. Thanks.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and disappears in the back. Will and Mike slide inside a booth nearby, waiting for the order.

“We’re not eating here?” Will asks. Distantly, Will wonders if Mike is worried about how it would look. Two boys, eating alone on the most romantic day of the year. Will knows he is. It’s not that he’s ashamed of being seen with Mike, it’s just that he knows how people who are perceived as queer are treated in this town. All over the world, really. 

What a depressing stream of thought. Then again, most of what Will thinks is like this.

“Hello? Will?”

He blinks himself back. “Yeah, sorry, I zoned out.”

“I was saying, I know a really cool spot that I wanted to show you.” Mike looks at him curiously. “Unless you wanna stay here and flirt some more with Audrey.”

Will looks at him, confused. “What?”

Mike stares back. “Audrey. She was flirting with you. She literally used the ‘I don't think I’ve seen you here before’ line.”

“That’s a flirting tactic? And how do you know her anyway?”

Mike flushes. “Me and Dustin used to come here with the Hellfire club.”

Will goes quiet. He knows how much Hellfire and Eddie meant to Mike. He's been coping with the loss better than Dustin, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel it.

“Wheeler! Your order’s here,” Audrey calls. Mike doesn’t push the conversation further, not when Audrey smiles at Will (definitely flirtatiously this time) and tells him to come back again. He just quietly mounts his bike and rides in front of Will, leading him to whatever mysterious hideout he discovered.

After a few miles of biking in the woods, Will can make out the metal fence bordering Hawkins. If he squints, he can catch the red Come Again Soon! sign. 

“Mike, we’re at the boundary,” Will says. “They’re not gonna let us pass.”

“Just a few minutes more,” Mike replies, veering sharply to the left. The plastic bag hanging on his handle jiggles dangerously.

Finally, they enter a clearing overlooking a small pond, not Lover’s Lake, but close to it. Mike parks and pulls out a blanket out of his backpack and smooths it out on the grey rocky shore. The water looks cool and a deep azure blue. 

It’s beautiful.

“I didn’t know a place like this existed in Hawkins,” Will says, marveling at the view. His fingers itch with the urge to draw it, to immortalise it.

Mike smiles. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s so pretty. How did you discover it?”

Mike shrugs, settling down on the blanket and opening the takeout boxes. “When you were in California, I came here a lot. Just to be alone sometimes, when it all got too much,” he says. “The best part isn’t even here yet. You’ll have to wait ten minutes or so for that. The sunset’s gorgeous.”

It’s clearly an intimate place for him. And he showed it to Will. “Does anyone else know about it?”

Mike shakes his head. “The food’s getting cold,” he says, nudging a burger towards Will.

The food is delicious. Will does kind of want to go back to the place in the future, regardless of Audrey. And Mike was right: as Will is sipping on his shake, he looks up at the sky and his breath is stolen away.

The sky is bursting with hues of pink and orange, wispy clouds floating lazily overhead. It looks like a burst of paint, vibrant and enchanting. 

“It’s beautiful,” Will whispers. Somehow, he feels that talking in a normal voice would break the sanctity of the moment. 

“You want to paint it, don’t you?” Mike says. Will chuckles and nods, looking at Mike, and his breath stalls in his lungs from the way Mike is looking back at him. The sunset contrasts his sharp cheekbones, making them look more prominent, his eyes gleaming darker in the shadows. He’s looking at Will the way he imagines he was looking at the sky. The thought makes Will’s heart skip a beat.

He looks away. This is ridiculous. It’s wishful thinking. He’s projecting on Mike because he’s hopelessly in love with him and it’s Valentine’s Day and—

Wait, is this a date?

No! No, of course not. Will suddenly feels claustrophobic despite the cool breeze from the lake. He wants to go home. He wants to sleep this sudden burst of emotion off and most of all he wants to get the fuck over Mike. 

“Will?” Mike peers at him. “You okay?”

Surely Will is stronger than this. He’s survived an alternate dimension. He’s been possessed, and burned, and almost killed over and over again. Mike should not have this much power over him. Mike, Will decides, will not have this much power over him. He exhales sharply and turns his head towards Mike with a small smile.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little cold. We should head back, or my mom’s going to worry.”

Mike looks worried. “You didn’t bring a jacket?”

When Will shakes his head, Mike shrugs off his sweater and tosses it over to Will, and lies back down on the blanket, now only clad in a thin long-sleeved shirt. “What—” 

Will stares at the checkered patterns of the sweater. “Mike, put it back on. You’ll catch a cold.”

Mike brings his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. “No, I won’t. But you might.”

“Stop being difficult and just take it back!”

Mike cracks an eye open. “Will,” he says placidly, “I want you to have the sweater. And I don’t want to go home right now. If we don’t go home right now, you’ll be cold, and I don’t want that. So you stop being difficult and put it on so that we can enjoy the lake.”

Will, annoyed, says, “Why is it always about what you want? What about what I want?”

He realises he’s being petulant. But he just made the resolve to get over Mike, by hook or by crook. Mike’s just making the process more difficult by being so sweet and considerate and acting all Mike. Will wants to scream. 

Mike frowns. “I don’t understand what the big deal is. Do you want to be cold?”

Will scowls. Then a particularly icy breeze blows, and Mike looks at him, unimpressed, and then Will scowls a bit more before angrily pulling on the sweater. 

“Thanks,” he mutters. Mike smiles in triumph, and no sunset or scenery could compare to how beautiful he looks like that.

And that’s when Will realises: there’s no getting over this. Not if he wants to come out of it with Mike still in his life.

He could do it. He knows he could. Cut him off, run away somewhere far, far away after everything is over. Starve himself of these feelings, choke them until there’s no life in them. They’d just be dead weights in his lungs, but they’d be dead. The price of that would be losing Mike. 

But he’d be losing him anyway, wouldn’t he? If he found out how Will felt about him?

Will stares off into the lake as he comes to another realisation, that that’s what he thinks would happen. He’s speculating. Who knows; maybe he’d be okay with it. Maybe he’d even reciprocate. The last part is unlikely, but the one thing Will knows for sure is that getting over Mike would come with a price: not having him in his life at all.

And Will simply can’t take that chance.

He lies down on the blanket too, parallel to Mike. The vivid hues of the sky are fading, being replaced by a slow and steady navy blue. 

“I can’t wrap my head around that conversation with Holly today,” Mike says eventually. Will chuckles.

“Yeah. It’s weird. I still think of her as that three-year-old who used to barf up her baby food on your jeans.”

Mike wrinkles his nose. “Christ. I think of her like that, too. I don’t know when she grew up enough for boys to like her.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Will’s just closed his eyes when Mike speaks again, “Hey, what’s your type?”

Will’s eyes fly open, and he turns his head to look at Mike, who is staring back with an unreadable expression. “What?”

Mike shuffles. “Just, we never talk about girls, y’know. Since it’s Valentine’s Day and all, I thought I’d finally ask.”

This, Will realises, is the perfect segue into finally telling Mike. Actually, I don’t talk about girls because I’m not into them. The words are just at the tip of his tongue when something stops him.

He looks at Mike, at the hesitance hiding behind his brown eyes, the affection hiding even deeper within. They’re the same eyes that saw him at the swings when they were kids and decided he was someone worth befriending, that saw him laugh and cry, at his best and at his worst. Would this be the catalyst that causes that affection to fade? That drives a wedge between them? Will thinks he’d rather die than ever let that happen. 

If hiding this part of him was what kept Mike around, he’d do it. It would be a life of lies, but it would be a life with Mike. And as Will has recently discovered, he’d do almost anything to keep that.

So he decides to bend the truth a bit.

“Curly hair, I guess,” he says softly, willing his eyes upward towards the sky. “Jet black. Um, dark eyes. Kind of feisty,” he says, hoping it’s vague enough for Mike to not get the hint. It’s not hard, though, considering Mike’s never been the type of person who got a hint. “Yeah, that’s it, I guess.”

Mike exhales softly. “That’s—that’s good. Sounds hot,” he says with a short laugh. Will laughs too, because oh, the irony.

“What about you?”

Mike hums consideringly. “My type would be… shorter than me, of course. Brown hair. Very… open, I’d say. Emotionally. Not afraid to call me out when I’m being dumb.” He smacks his lips. “Yep, I’d say that’s it.”

Will turns his head. “Sounds like El,” he jokes half-heartedly.

For a brief second, Mike looks disappointed. His lips purse and his brows come together. Then his face clears and he gives Will a brief smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

Will feels drowsy. He knows it’s not a good idea, but he slips his eyes shut anyway. It’s been a long day.

Will wakes up with a gasp, eyes adjusting to the darkness. He tries to move, but there’s a weight on his chest. Not a metaphorical one; something heavy is keeping him pinned to the blanket. He looks down, and Mike is there, on top of him.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel as terror-inducing as it used to. Sure, Mike is asleep on him. He probably got cold and naturally drifted towards him. It’s a thing people do. 

Will takes in the night sky littered with stars for a few more moments before he gently shakes Mike. “Hey, wake up. Our moms are gonna kill us.”

Mike’s eyes flutter open, confused. His eyes widen as he realises how close they are and he awkwardly (hesitantly? Wait, he can’t go down that rabbit hole right now) scrambles off him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

His cheeks are flaming red. 

It’s cute. 

Will smiles. “It’s okay.”

“Wait, what time is it—shit,” Mike says, face horrified as he checks his watch. He scrambles up, offering Will a hand as they both hurry to throw away the garbage and gather their stuff. Mike almost falls off his bike trying to get up on it. Will doesn’t think he’s ever pedaled faster in his life.

Needless to say, his mother is furious when they get home. Mrs Wheeler, too. Will gets grounded for two weeks, but he saw it coming. Mike gets grounded, too, though, so it’s okay. Everything is okay when he’s around.

4. The most alive I’ve ever been

March 1987

Regardless of his exterior as the sweet, shy, artsy kid, anyone who truly knows Will knows how much of a pessimist he is. 

He didn’t really expect much out of his sweet sixteen; his last birthday had been such a disaster—what with Mike and El totally sidelining him, and then El breaking that girl’s nose with a roller skate, and then getting basically kidnapped—that, as the big day grows nearer, he finds himself… disillusioned with the concept.

His friends, however, don’t seem to think so.

It’s the first day of spring break. They’d all convened early in the morning at the Squawk to plan an impromptu crawl as they got intel that the army, in Hawkins’ own little version of the Pentagon, was planning an unscheduled burn for reasons that only the army knew. 

It was, of course, to no avail. Hopper came back alive, but empty handed. The only real action they got was Nancy getting so pissed she kicked a wall and cracked her toe, and Jonathan and Steve arguing over who would take care of her. Robin did it in the end and was shooed away within thirty minutes, after which they all went home. Will, Lucas, Dustin and Mike ended up in the Wheeler’s basement, like they’d done so many times over the years.

Currently, they’re lying in various positions all over the floor, which is scattered with books, comics, and video games. 

Everyone’s doing their own thing. Will is not noticing how close Mike is to him, and how their thighs are basically draped over one another. He’s getting better at hiding the whole crush-on-his-male-best-friend thing nowadays. He’s proud of that. However, Mike seems to have made it his personal mission to invade Will’s personal space as much as possible recently. He keeps… touching him. 

Not, like, in a weird way, but casual touch. The kind he hasn’t initiated ever since they all hit puberty. Not hesitating to swing an arm around his shoulders, even in public. Intertwining their hands together. And hugs. So many hugs. And this isn’t Will complaining; God knows he’s longed for this forever. 

It’s more that he’s baffled. Because Mike’s acting…

Every time this thought pops into his head, Will tries his hardest to push it down. It’s simply unrealistic, and Will’s already made his peace with his crush being unrequited. Entertaining those thoughts will simply complicate things. Besides, Mike’s always been the type of person who expresses things through touch.

Yeah, with me, Will’s subconscious thinks dryly. 

Shut up.

“Hey, Will,” Lucas says suddenly, looking up in his direction. Mike startles, his thigh sliding off Will’s. He mourns the loss. “What are you doing for your sweet sixteen tomorrow?”

Will frowns. “This hardly seems like a time for celebrating.”

“What?” Mike protests. “That’s not true. It’s your birthday! Of course you’ll celebrate.”

“Mike’s right,” Dustin says. “A wise man once said, ‘You fight all day, and dance all night, because the dance is what you’re fighting for.’”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Was that wise man you?”

“Yes,” Dustin says solemnly.

Will sighs and turns so he’s lying down on his back. “Well, even if I wanted to do something, I couldn't do it without El. Or Max.”

“Max would want you to have fun on your sixteenth birthday,” Lucas points out.

“Yeah, she’ll be there in spirit,” Mike says. Dustin shoots him a dirty look.

“She’s in a coma, dude, she’s not dead,” he says. Mike turns beet red and starts spluttering.

“And as for El,” Lucas interrupts, “we can arrange something.”

Will scoffs. “Have you met Hopper? He’s not letting her out of his sight for a second. And he’s right, too. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if the military caught her.”

Lucas’ eye gleams with something that Will isn’t sure he likes or is extremely scared of. He looks at Dustin with a sly grin. “Don’t worry about that, dude. We’ve got it.”

They did not, in fact, got it. Lucas and Dustin’s entire plan hinged on them having enough persuasiveness to convince Jim Hopper, the stubbornest, crankiest middle-aged man Will has ever had the pleasure of meeting, to let his daughter, his heavily-superpowered, extremely-wanted-by-the-government-for-nefarious-purposes daughter, out of his sight for the night.

Needless to say, they got the door slammed shut on their faces the first time they went.

Will accompanies them the second time. Hop opens the door again, looking unimpressed.

“You brought the cavalry. Still no.”

He moves to close the door, but Will stops him.

“Hopper—wait, just hear us out!”

“Kid, I thought you knew better. You know damn well I can’t let El out of my sight, not with the military cracking down. It’s hard enough through the tunnels. I’m sorry, I can’t risk it.”

“I get that,” Will says placatingly, “but it would be good for her. She’s been cooped up here for so long, and we all miss her. Please. Just an hour?”

Hopper sighs and rubs his face with his palm. “Jesus Christ, kid, it’s not about fun! It’s about her safety, don’t you get it?”

“What’s going on?”

El emerges from behind, peering cautiously over her father’s shoulder. Will doesn’t get to see her much these days, and she’s a sight for sore eyes. Her hair is curling just below her ears now, still not long enough to tie up, but long enough for her to require a headband to keep the loose strands away. She’s dressed like she often is these days, in sweats and a baggy flannel Will suspects is his. And as always, she looks tired, her brown eyes betraying the constant anxiety she lives in day and night, hidden away from a society she longs to be a part of.

Will makes a decision.

“Nothing,” he says. He turns to Hopper. “You’re right. We were being… immature.”

Lucas and Dustin start to protest from behind, but Will raises a hand and they fall silent. Hopper’s eyes soften.

“Look, once we defeat this son of a bitch and the military leaves us alone, El won’t have anything stopping her from being just as normal as all of you. Until then, she’s just going to have to stay indoors. Happy birthday, Will.”

El perks up. “Oh, yeah! Happy birthday.” She raises a sad hand to him in goodbye. Before Hopper can slam the door shut again, Will blurts out, “Can I hang out here today, at least? Since El can’t come tomorrow.” 

Hopper looks like he’s on his last thread of patience, but he just grumbles underneath his impressive moustache and opens the door wider to let him in. El looks delighted. As he turns back towards the door, he catches Lucas and Dustin’s dumbfounded expressions. He’s never been a suave person, but he winks at the two of them.

Soon, he mouths. He’s not sure if they get it, but oh well.

“Okay,” he says, once they’re in El’s room and the door is firmly shut. “So you wanna get out of here tomorrow, right?”

She looks conflicted. Will absolutely hates seeing her like this. “Well, yes,” she whispers, “but it isn’t possible. Hop just said—”

“Oh, screw what he said,” Will says irritatedly. Yeah, he’s not a big fan of his mom’s new boyfriend. El lets out a surprised giggle. “Do you want to go or not?”

“Duh,” she says, eyes glimmering with a rare excitement. Looking at her, Will feels bolder about this absolutely insane decision he’s made.

“Okay, so first we have to contact the rest of them. Tell them to be ready tomorrow.” He grabs the walkie-talkie from her dresser. “Mike, do you copy? Over.”

“Why do you say ‘over’?” El asks. 

“To signify that my sentence is over,” Will responds. El nods understandingly.

A crackle comes from the speaker. Then Mike picks up.

“Will? Did the plan work?”

“Say ‘over’, Mike,” El says. 

“El, hey! Are you coming tomorrow?”

“Say ‘over’ first,” she insists.

Mike sighs. Will stifles his laugh. “We don’t need another Dustin to police us about radio etiquette, El,” he says. Silence, then he begrudgingly adds, “Over.”

El smiles with satisfaction. “So Hop said no. But Will says he has a plan. Over.”

“I do,” Will says, “over.”

“Well, that’s good,” Mike says, “but wouldn’t it be dangerous? Over.”

“I thought you were not scared of Hop, Mike. Over,” El says.

“Not Hop, the military. Over.”

Will scoffs. “The military’s useless. They didn’t even question us when we first came back to Hawkins! It’s not even that big of a town. If they haven’t found her by now, they probably won’t ever. Over.”

Mike hums consideringly. “True. Fuck it, I’m in. Let's do this.”

“Over,” El and Will say at the same time.

Unsurprisingly, Lucas and Dustin need little to no convincing.

“Will Byers, you naughty boy,” Dustin says over the walkie, which briefly makes Will consider dropping the plan altogether. “I can’t believe you’re doing something so… anarchist.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Well, believe it. And be in position by eight tomorrow.”

The big day rolls around. For once, Will doesn’t wake up dreading the day to come. Today, he is a man on a mission.

Mike corners him as he comes upstairs. He looks nervous. And also weirdly put together for eight a.m. Will catalogues Mike’s jet-black hair neatly combed down—he got a haircut recently—and Will kind of misses the old look, but this one suits him too. Oh, who’s he kidding? Of course he thinks this suits him. Will thinks everything suits Mike. He just has that type of bone structure. Delicate, but also defined elegantly. 

Whatever. Mike is looking good, is the point, and Will is acutely aware of his own hair sticking out in various different directions. As Mike drags him upstairs to his room, Will tries to discreetly smooth them down. 

“Okay,” Mike says, “It’s, like, criminally early right now, but since we’re both up, I wanted to give you your gift first thing in the morning.”

“Mysterious,” Will comments. Mike turns and gives him a sweet smile, the one that turns Will’s insides to mush. Then he crouches down and pulls something out from under his bed. The edge of a cardboard box peeks out from underneath, too, and Will briefly wonders what’s inside it before turning his attention to the package wrapped in yellow wrapping paper. It looks like two different things wrapped together. Will gently takes it from Mike’s hands. Their fingers brush, and the point of contact tingles. 

“Wow,” Will says. “You wrapped this yourself?”

Mike grins. “I bribed Holly. Some things are just beyond my skill set.”

“Yeah, I was wondering how you got it to be so neat.” He peels back the tape bit by bit to save the pretty paper. Mike watches him patiently. He gasps when he sees what’s inside.

Will stares at it in awe for a few moments before looking back up at Mike. “Mike, these are, like, really expensive paints. And the sketchbook, too—I don’t think I draw well enough for these.”

Mike waves him off. “Bullshit. You painted that, didn’t you?” He points to the painting, which has been hung up proudly above Mike’s desk ever since they got home. It’s the reason Will avoids coming into Mike’s room much; he can’t stand to look at it for too long. His smile flickers.

“Yeah, I guess. Um, thank you. So much. This is so cool.”

Mike looks at him with a curious, indecipherable glint in his eyes and a strange smile that feels like it’s been stretched on there. “Maybe now you could make me something that you commissioned.”

Will laughs nervously, bordering on hysterical. They both sit in the awkward silence that follows. Will feels like a criminal.

Then Mike looks away. “Oh, I almost forgot, I have something else for you, too.”

Will frowns. “Mike, you didn’t have to—”

Mike places a hand on his mouth to keep him quiet as he rummages through the mess that is the underside of his bed. Will tries not to breathe too much, which is a challenge, considering, you know, he needs air to live. He stares incredulously at his hand, the long, slim fingers pressing against his lips and suppresses a shiver.

“Aha!” Mike produces a rectangular shape, packed decidedly less neatly than the last one. Not bothering with preserving the paper, Will tears into it. 

Inside is a mixtape labeled: For Will. Love, Mike.

Love, Mike.

A mixtape.

Will feels dizzy.

“Uh, it was kind of my first idea. ‘Cause I know you like music. I can’t say I know as many songs as you, but I gave it my best shot. All these songs reminded me of you when you were in California.” Will looks up at him. He’s smiling nervously, teeth clamped down on his lower lip. “Happy birthday, Will.”

Stupidly, Will feels himself start to tear up. “I—This is amazing,” he says softly, tracing a thumb over the plastic casing. “I—I love it. Thank you so much.”

Mike’s smile widens. The soft sunlight shining down on him makes him look ethereal. Will is surprised his heart hasn’t given out on him yet. This stupid, wonderful boy, who can make Will feel like he’s the lightest cloud in the sky and make him cry like no one else. Who keeps reminding them that they’re friends, best friends, and then makes him mixtapes and signs them with Love, Mike.

Against his will, his eyes fall down to where Mike is still worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. Will gets the sudden urge to bite down on it. He flashes hot, shame and want both battling in his brain. He forces his eyes upward, praying that Mike didn’t notice, only to find Mike’s gaze focused somewhere below his eyeline.

Will might faint.

“Will! Happy birthday!” Holly bursts into Mike’s room, and he startles so badly he drops the mixtape. It clatters on the floor as Will involuntarily scooches away and looks up at Holly’s excited little face. He forces a smile, despite how loudly his heart is thudding.

“Thanks, Holly,” he manages. “You did a really great wrapping job.”

Holly beams. “Thanks! Also, Mom’s calling for breakfast.” With that, she bounces off.

Will doesn’t look at Mike. He doesn’t know what the hell just happened. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He feels like Mike would take one look at his face and see all those pent-up feelings written there, clear as day.

“We should go downstairs. Fuel up. For the night,” Will says.

Will catches Mike nodding furiously in his peripheral vision. “Yeah. Yeah, totally.”

After breakfast, Will uses the tunnels to walk up to Hopper’s cabin, telling him he wants to spend his birthday with his sister, no matter what. He looks surprised, but complies without many questions. For once, Will is grateful for the naive, innocent image of his he knows he’s somehow cultivated. Maybe it’s the bowl cut.

“Stage one: infiltration, complete. Commencing stage two: stakeout. Over,” Will whispers into El’s walkie.

Stage two, as dramatic as it sounds, is simply hanging out with El the whole day. He really hadn’t been lying when he said that he wanted to spend the day with her. He just… didn’t specify what he wanted to do at night.

They read comics. El shows him this really old movie she apparently really likes. It’s cheesy and a little sexist.

“Romantic, isn’t it?” She sighs dreamily.

“Yeah,” Will says absently.

As it turns dark, the walkie crackles as Will says, “Commencing stage three: nauseation.”

Stage three is more intricate than the others. It involves more finesse, more emotional manipulation. Fortunately, after having a hand in killing multiple US soldiers, Will finds that he has no qualms with that. 

Blood drips steadily from El’s nose as she closes her eyes and focuses on giving Hopper the nastiest migraine of his life. Sure enough, five minutes later, they hear Hopper clatter into the bathroom. Will peeks out the door to see him down two headache pills. He turns around and nods to El, who blinks her eyes shut and pushes her brows together, intensifying the headache. Will hears Hopper curse before he hears heavy footsteps outside the door. El barely has time to wipe the remnants of blood from her nose and stick her face in a magazine before Hopper yanks the door open.

“Uh, I’m not feeling very well. I’m going to bed. You staying here?” He asks Will, who shakes his head.

“Okay. Get home before nine, or your mom’ll have my head.” 

Will nods and Hopper retreats. The door to his bedroom slams shut next. Will signals the start of stage four: navigation on the walkie, and, upon receiving the affirmative from Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, listens tentatively for the telltale snoring to emerge.

After ten minutes, it does. Will breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Are you here? Over,” El whispers. The device crackles and Mike responds, “Yup, waiting in the bushes.”

“Commence stage five: extraction,” Lucas says.

Bit by bit, they pull the creaky window in El’s room open. When it’s fully open, Mike’s head pops up from outside. He helps the two of them step out. Mike’s hand is warm and reassuring on Will’s back as he steadies him.

They shut the window and tiptoe outside. Miraculously, Will can still hear the faint snores coming from inside the house. Dustin and Lucas are waiting, Dustin carrying a large crate of… something. Upon further inspection, he discovers it’s beer. Dustin catches Will looking at it and grins.

“I figured if we’re breaking the rules, you know, might as well go all the way. Hope you don't mind.”

Will finds that he does not mind at all.

Since they still do care for El’s safety, they use the tunnels to travel to a secluded part of the forest, a grassy clearing away from the eyes of the military. Once there, they make camp.

Dustin hands out a can of beer to everyone. Will takes a tentative sip and decides he hates it. It tastes like nothing he’s ever tasted before and nothing that he’d ever want to taste again. However, after a while, he feels loosened up enough to take another sip. And another. And another. Soon, he’s giggling at something he can’t remember.

The rest of them aren’t faring so well, either. El, surprisingly, downed her can the fastest, and is now face down on the grass, admiring its softness. 

“Just feel it,” she insists. “It’s so… wavy. And it smells nice.”

“It smells like cow food,” Mike complains. Lucas cracks up. 

“That’s because it is!” 

They all burst into laughter and fall back onto the grass. The stars look amazing tonight, bright and glowing in a way they don’t usually. Will wants to paint them when he gets home. Maybe he will, with those new paints.

“The stars are beautiful,” he says out loud.

“I wish I could do this every day,” El says softly.

“You will. Someday,” Dustin says. 

“I don’t. That beer was nasty,” Mike draws out the last word and collapses in giggles.

“But, like, weirdly good, too, right?”

Mike snorts. “Oh my God, Will, you liked it, didn’t you?”

“Did not!” Will protests.

“Did too!”

“Children,” Lucas mumbles, eyes half-shut, and Dustin and El cackle.

They lay in silence for a while. Will closes his eyes, the night breeze tickling his skin. The alcohol coats everything in a hazy filter, making things seem softer. In a rush of bravery, Will finds Mike’s hand next to him and interlocks their fingers together. Mike’s head turns sideways, eyes surprisingly clear. Will stares back at him steadily.

“I wish Max was here,” El says in a barely-audible voice.

“I wish that every day,” Lucas says. Will can’t seem to look away from Mike.

“I wish Eddie was here,” Dustin says.

“Me too,” Mike adds, eyes not leaving Will’s.

“I wish we all just ran away,” Will whispers. “Somewhere nice. Where people don’t mind freaks.”

“Don’t we all,” Dustin sighs.

“I wish,” Mike says, and somehow it’s different, like these are words he’s pulled deep out of himself, “that I wasn’t so scared all the time.” He stares out into the endless sky. “I wish I didn’t feel so guilty all the time.”

“What do you feel guilty for?” Will asks.

“We all think this is our fault, don’t we?” Lucas murmurs. Upon the collective affirmative sounds of the rest of them, he sighs deeply.

“It’s not, though, is it? It’s Vecna’s. And Brenner, and the military. I bet they don’t feel guilty at all.” There is a rare bitterness in his voice. Sometimes Will forgets that Lucas, well-adjusted as he is, is hurting just as much as the rest of them. Another thing to add to his stockpile of guilt.

“I’m too sober for this discussion right now,” Dustin slurs. 

“Same,” El groans. “Ugh, I feel bad.”

“Please don’t throw up here,” Mike mumbles, sounding half-asleep.”

“We should get going.” Will manages to get up and stagger… somewhere. Everything is spinning. God, he didn’t even drink that much. Is this how it always feels? Why does anyone ever like it? He feels like he’s losing control of everything.

The world tips sideways, and a pair of bony arms catches him and steadies him upright. “There we go,” Mike says, breath hot against Will’s ear. He chases the warmth. “Nope, Will, stay upright. We gotta… get to the tunnels.” 

Will groans. His mouth feels liquid. 

Somehow, the five of them manage to enter the tunnels without falling and splattering their brains everywhere. They get lost a few times before finally reaching Hopper’s cabin. El throws up in the bushes. Logically, Will knows they’re making too much noise and Hopper could wake up and make Vecna seem like a cartoon villain, but Will’s brain is too fogged up for logic. It’s a team effort, but they manage to get the window open and push El in. There’s a thud on the other side. Then El struggles up and leans her head on the window and smiles. “Thank you, Will. Happy birthday.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot it was your birthday.” A loud, hiccuping laugh bubbles out of Dustin before Lucas slams his palm against his mouth.

“‘Night, El. Radio me if there’s any problem.”

El doesn’t respond. 

“El!” 

She jerks awake. “Yeah. Good night.” 

She lowers the window. 

“Does anyone else hear snoring?” Lucas asks, looking confused.

Mike giggles. Then Will giggles. The four of them stumble into the woods, trying and failing to stifle their laughter as they make their way home under the cover of darkness.

They drop Dustin home first, then Lucas. He gives a loud, wet smooch on Will’s cheek before disappearing indoors. Will doesn’t even register it at first.

“Bitch,” Mike mutters, glowering. Will cackles.

They get the basement door open with some difficulty and collapse on the mattress. Will is so sleepy, he doesn’t even care that he and Mike are practically cuddling. He settles deeper into Mike’s chest and listens to the rapid thudding of his heart.

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” Will says, “if we did this every day?”

When Mike doesn’t answer, he tilts his head up to find his eyes shut and mouth wide open. It would, Will thinks, and closes his eyes, too.

5. But kiss me

October 1987

Even though many things in Will’s life are different from what they used to be in his childhood, his love for Halloween is the one thing that’s remained constant. 

Objectively, it’s the best holiday. It’s not centred on romance like Valentine’s Day, or patriotism like the Fourth of July, or religion like Christmas. Plus, the weather’s perfect. Neither too hot, nor too cold. The crisp brown autumn leaves carpet the street, and pumpkins are lined up on every house. It’s the last day he can truly enjoy before the dread that comes with November seeps in. It’s bad every time, but this time it seems… different. Things have changed too much for this to be just a normal autumn.

For one, Vecna is still missing. El still has to evade the military. Max is still in a coma. Even though they’ve all tried to stay positive, Will can feel the hope draining from the group. Slowly, but steadily, everyone’s giving up. Eighteen months is, after all, a long time, even if it feels like it all went by in a blip.

Honestly, even Will would’ve given up a long time ago. He would’ve given up the first time, when he was trapped in the Upside Down, or when the Mind Flayer possessed him, but the thought of Mike was what kept him going. Still does. Mike’s one of the only people these days who genuinely believes they can defeat Vecna. Every time Will feels like throwing in the towel, Mike comes along and reminds him why he needs to fight. 

Mike's always been his anchor, his tether to the human world when everything was going to shit. For as long as Will could remember, it was MikeandWill, bound together like twin stars. Naively, Will had believed they'd always  be that close, an intimacy toeing the lines between platonic and something more, both of them too young to recognise what it exactly was. So it was a sudden blow when El showed up—this mysterious magical girl who replaced his role in Mike's life. That’s what it looked like to him when he was fourteen and at war with himself. When El was not his sister, but his… competition, almost. The thought sickens Will, now.

Lately, the relationship between Mike and Will has become eerily similar to the way it was before the Upside Down. But it is not comforting the way it used to be. Now, it’s threaded with a longing so intense Will chokes on it, sometimes, and Will feels like he’s unraveling whenever Mike does something that wouldn't have made twelve-year-old Will blink twice, but reminds sixteen-year-old Will how fragile it all is. Soon, Mike will get another girlfriend, and he’ll go distant again, carve a safe gap between them again. 

Logically, Will should be wary. He shouldn’t humour Mike whenever he sneaks downstairs in the middle of the night to sleep next to Will, or laugh along whenever he says something Will would take to be romantic if it were anyone else. But Will’s resolve has never been that strong. And sometimes, in his loneliest moments, he lets himself believe. That Mike feels the same. That all these things he does are signs. 

It’s the same tonight, lying in Mike’s bed at one a.m., listening to his steady breathing. He can hear the distant hoots of the stragglers in the distance, drunk high schoolers roaming the streets long after the trick-or-treaters dispelled, and if he closes his eyes, he can picture them too: colourful streets flooded with teenagers, a variety of costumes, and an ominous chill in the air that will disappear as soon as the first rays of the sun peek out.

Holly’s occupying the basement for the night to have a sleepover with some friend of hers, so Will is staying in Mike’s room for the night. He’s done this a couple of times before, so he knows it’s no use trying to sleep in the inflatable bed, because Mike will never let him. 

He shakes himself out of these thoughts. Ultimately, Mike’s friendship has always been the thing he’s cherished the most. Even if Mike doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, having him as a friend would be better than not having him at all, he reminds himself. He swallows, realises how parched he is, and quietly tiptoes downstairs for water. 

In the kitchen, he can hear Holly and her friend giggling and screaming at whatever horror movie they’re watching. Will smiles softly to himself, remembering a time when he was that small, in the basement with Mike. It’s cute, he decides, and then walks back upstairs to try and get some shut-eye.

He pries the door open slowly, making sure it doesn’t creak, but it’s no use. The bedside lamp is glowing softly, and Mike is wide awake, hair slightly mussed, looking expectantly towards the door. He smiles as Will makes his way in.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks. Will shakes his head. “Me neither.”

“Liar. You just woke up.”

Mike grins wider, not bothering with denial. “So, since we’re both awake, what should we do now?”

“Go to sleep,” Will retorts. “We have to be at the Squawk at six tomorrow.”

Mike waves his hand dismissively. “I’m, like, wide awake right now. It’s like I had coffee or something.”

“Fine, be an owl. But I wanna sleep.”

“Will,” Mike whines, “don’t be boring. Come on! The night’s still young!”

Will rolls his eyes, trying his best to put up the front, but who’s he kidding? He’s pretty sure he’d let Mike talk him into burying a body if he used that voice. “Alright, what do you want to do?”

Mike shrugs, raising himself up on the bed. “I dunno, talk?”

How anticlimactic. “What do you want to talk about?”

Mike purses his lips, eyes darting all around Will’s face like he wasn’t expecting Will to actually cave. “Oh. Uh… you didn’t tell me much about Lenora, not really.”

Will blows out a puff of air. “Not much to tell. It was miserable most of the time. El and my mom were grieving Hopper. Jon was pining after Nancy. I was—” Missing you, he wants to say. “Missing my friends. But the weather was better. The sky was too cloudless, though.” 

Mike listens attentively. “You didn’t have any friends? Or—or a girlfriend?”

Will snorts. “No, where’d you get that idea?”

Mike shakes his head. “Nothing, just something El wrote to me in a letter once.”

“That I had a girlfriend?” Even saying it sounds wrong. Mike nods.

“She said you were… painting something?”

The air vanishes from Will’s lungs. Even though he tries not to, his eyes flicker helplessly to the painting, which is still pinned up above Mike’s desk. He prays Mike didn’t notice the slight lapse in his judgement.  “Um,” he squeaks, “not really. I wasn’t painting anything for anyone, really.” He laughs nervously. “Artist’s block.”

Mike tilts his head inquisitively. “But you—”

“My turn,” Will interrupts. “Tell me about freshman year.”

“I’m pretty sure you know most of it from what the rest of them told you.”

“Well, yeah,” Will says, “but I want to hear about your experience.”

In the dim lamplight, Mike looks unreachable, remote. He smiles strangely. “It was weird. It was the first time in my life I was without you. You already know most of it, though.”

Will thinks back to their conversation in Lenora before the Feds shot up the house. “Yeah. Tell me something nice, though.”

Mike pauses to think for a moment. “Hellfire,” he says after a while. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement, a faraway expression on his face. “It was the only place where I felt I could be myself. It temporarily used to make me forget you weren’t there. And Eddie…” He laughs. “He was so fucking—weird. He was, like, twenty, and he sold drugs after school, and the love of his life was his electric guitar, and he was just so unapologetically himself. He made high school… not better, exactly, but definitely more interesting.”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Will says. The way Mike, Dustin, and even Lucas talk about Eddie makes him feel like a mythological figure to Will. He’s not sure he’ll ever get him the way they did.

Mike smiles wistfully. “He would’ve loved meeting you. Another sheep under his wing, like he used to say. I’m pretty sure I annoyed him a lot, though, by how much I talked about you. Not just me, of course,” he adds hastily, “Lucas and Dustin too.”

Even though, logically, Will shouldn’t be, he is surprised. “You did? What’d you say?”

Mike scratches his head awkwardly. “Just… that you loved D&D. And you drew really well.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

They fall silent for a while, long enough for Will to think Mike’s fallen back asleep. But then:

“Will.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yes,” he says dryly. “I’m sleep-talking.”

Mike snickers. “What’s the first place you’re going to go to after they lift the lockdown?”

Will snorts. “Nice of you to assume my mom’s ever going to let me out of a ten-foot radius from her.”

“Seriously. Where will you go?”

Will thinks for a while, even though the answer is immediate in his head. “New York,” he says eventually.

“Why? What’s in New York?”

“Nothing.” Everything. “It’s just so different from Hawkins. I think I’d like it.”

Mike looks at him consideringly. “Yeah, you’ll fit right in there,” he says.

Will frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“Just… you’re too good for Hawkins. New York would be nicer to you.”

“I’ve never fit in anywhere.”

Mike waves him off. “You just haven’t found the right people.”

But he has. The right person is in front of him, eyes dark and bottomless as the sea.

“What about you?”

“Same place.”

“Really?” Will’s eyebrows shoot up. A small smirk plays on Mike’s face. “Why?”

“Because you’d be there,” Mike says simply.

See, Will from a year ago would analyse that statement to hell and back. He’d dissect the tone, the inflection, the word choice. He’d mull over the context, scrutinise it to death. He’s gotten used to it now. It doesn’t cause him the same confusion. He’s evolved. Yeah, his best friend makes semi-flirty comments to him from time to time. Yeah, they sleep in the same bed, faces inches from each other. Yeah, Mike would follow Will to another city. That’s just the kind of friendship they have. And sure, it kills him a bit inside when he thinks of how all this might change, but he doesn’t care.

Liar.

“Will?”

“Hmm.” Will zones back in, redirecting his focus on Mike. It’s not hard, considering most of his thoughts revolve around him. The downside of being inseparable from someone your whole life is that you cannot unwind yourself from them. Your threads form the same tapestry, and unwinding them would leave you incomplete, left to deal with gaping holes the size of your heart.

“Do you really think we’ll win?” Mike asks. He turns towards Will, settling closer to him. Will mirrors Mike, lying on his side.

“Honestly? I don’t know. There’s just so much we’re not aware of. It just all seems so pointless sometimes. I think I lost hope a while back,” he admits. The truth sits heavy between them. Mike’s eyes soften, and he lays a reassuring hand on Will’s arm, slender fingers curling into the hem of his sleeve. Even though he’s the one comforting Will, he seems like he needs this just as much.

“I get that. Sometimes… I just feel so hopeless about it all. There’s so many things that could go wrong. I’m just terrified for everyone every single day. Like, what if Hopper doesn’t come back one day? Or—or some civilian gets caught in the crossfire? Or El gets taken or you—” His voice breaks, along with Will’s heart. He sniffles and smiles weakly. “Sorry, I got carried away. But my point is that when I feel like that, you keep me going. I think about how brave you are, and how you haven’t given up all this time, and how you still find it in yourself to make art, and I find hope.” He reaches out slowly, as if giving Will time to retreat, and places his fingers on Will’s sleep shirt, right above his heart. “You give me hope, Will. So don’t lose yours.”

Christ. And just like that, Mike’s punched through his defences once more. There’s no way he could rationalise this, compartmentalise it into the box of their friendship. He’d be lying to himself, but most importantly, he’d be lying to Mike. 

Without meaning to, Will finds himself moving closer to Mike. Horrified, he stops himself, breath stilling in his lungs.

Mike inches forward, too.

His fingers tighten on Will’s shirt. His body starts overheating with the rapid pounding of his heart. The air feels electric, buzzing with everything they’re not saying to each other.

Something violent lurches in his stomach. Is this it? Is this what they’ve been circling around? All these months of enforcing boundaries, of dancing around his words, of hesitant glances and controlled touches, culminating in tonight. It’s silent outside, as if the trees themselves have stopped rustling in anticipation. The only thing Will can hear is his and Mike’s harsh breathing. He wills his deadened muscles to move, breach the small barrier between his and Mike’s lips. To be brave.

Mike’s gaze drops below his nose as he edges further, as his breath tickles on Will’s lips. He’s trembling in anticipation. Just as they’re about to touch, his eyes flicker back up to Will’s eyes, and they’re full of hesitance and fear.

Something freezes in Will.

With a gasp, he scrambles backward. He can feel his heart in his fingers. Clumsily, he tumbles out of the bed, as far away from Mike as he can. Mike sits up too, and the split second that Will sees his face is enough for him to avert his eyes. He looks—he looks crushed. Ashamed. Guilty. He looks exactly how Will feels, and he can feel tears prickling, hot and sharp, at the corners of his eyes.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I can’t do this.”

“Will—” Mike’s voice is pleading, almost desperate, but for his own sanity he can’t let Mike speak any further.

“I’m so sorry. Can we—please, let’s just pretend we didn’t—” He’s hyperventilating, now that it’s all catching up to him. He fumbles for the doorknob, almost falling backward. The hallway light floods in the door and stupidly, he risks another glance at Mike. If he looked devastated before, he looks resigned now. Withdrawn. 

Stupid. 

Will is so unbelievably fucking stupid.

The hesitance was what felt wrong, Will thinks, as he lies on the couch. He huffs angrily and turns over. He wishes he could just turn his brain off. But it keeps replaying the moment. The closeness between them. The warmth of Mike’s fingers through his shirt. The smell of his mint toothpaste. The fear in his eyes, like he was doing something wrong. Forbidden. 

Will has felt a lot of things after he realised how he felt about Mike, but he’s never once doubted those feelings. He knows exactly how deep this runs, how it sits in the marrow of his bones.

Even if, by some miracle, Mike wanted to kiss Will, his feelings would never hold the same depth that Will’s do. At best, he’d be an experiment to Mike. And he knows, he knows how stupid this sounds, how much of a moron he is for not kissing the guy he’s had a crush on for what feels like forever, but he can’t. He just can’t be something that Mike’s just trying out. After everything, that would be the thing that breaks him—if this isn’t as permanent for him as it is for Will. Call him crazy, call him high maintenance, but that is how he feels.

Will wipes his eyes and turns for what feels like the hundredth time. He knows he made the right choice. This isn’t something he can take a chance on. Now, at least, he’ll still have his friendship with Mike. The sky is lightening rapidly, and he can hear someone clattering around in the upstairs bathroom. He hears footsteps and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping no one sees him.

It’s the cowardly thing to do, but Will rushes out the door before he can see Mike. 

He didn’t sleep a wink last night. Under the cover of the usual morning chaos, Will slipped out quietly. He knows he shouldn’t delay the inevitable confrontation with Mike, but the instinct to run away overpowered rationality.

As he kicks his locker at school, trying to get it open, he promises himself: no more running away. He will face Mike, and either their friendship will survive, or it won’t. End of story.

Yep. Solid plan.

“Hey,” Mike says quietly, coming up behind him, and Will startles so badly he drops his books all over the floor. Around him, people snicker. Heartless bastards.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mike says sheepishly, bending down to help Will. He smiles back tentatively, willing himself to shake off the awkwardness.

“So, what class do you have right now?” Mike asks, once the locker is neatly organised. He gets to work on his own locker as Will tries not to fumble.

“Uh, I have history. You?”

“Physics,” Mike replies smoothly, face hidden by the door. “I got a test today. Ms Watson thinks she’s subtle, but I can always tell when she’s about to give us a surprise quiz.” He slams the door shut and grins proudly. “I think it’s in the bag.”

“That’s—that’s cool,” Will manages. The urge to ask him what the fuck he’s doing grows in him, until he realises: he’s doing exactly what Will asked him to.

He’s pretending it didn’t happen.

Will forces his spine to relax. He smiles slightly and says, “I mean, you’re no Dustin, but you’ll do okay.”

Mike laughs, and if Will didn’t know better, he’d think it was real. “You’re so mean to me.”

Will widens his smile too, and he knows Mike doesn’t buy it. But for the sake of one another, they pretend.

Just for a little while.

+1. And I might drop dead

December 1987

In the movies, after the heroes stop the end of the world from happening, they cut straight to the epilogue, where life has gone back to normal and the characters are happy and safe.

Real life, Will discovers, does not work like that.

Sure, they kill Vecna. And somehow the Mind Flayer, too, manages to be vanquished by two people with superhuman abilities and a few more with flare guns. And they rescue the kids and they blow up the Upside Down, and Will could’ve practically tasted the happy ending in the air as they made their way out of that hellscape, but he should’ve known nothing came that easy to him.

El gets taken by the military as soon as they step foot into Hawkins. Not Dr. Kay’s men—she, along with her entire troop, were in the Upside Down when they blew it up—but Dr. Owens’. Hopper protested as much as he could, but it’s hard to get your way against the U.S. government. So he went with her, too, because he’d be damned if he left her alone with those awful people again. She promised the Party, though, that she'd be back, that friends don’t lie, tears glittering in her eyes, and Will tries to believe her. But after so long, he’s learnt not to hold out hope for fear of being disappointed.

Since the Wheeler’s house got destroyed during the Demo attack, Mike and Holly have been staying at the Sinclair’s after the final battle. Mrs Henderson was kind enough to take Will in, and for once, Will was glad to be away from Mike for a while. After the adrenaline rush of coming out had died down, he’d internally panicked about basically telling Mike he had a crush on him. Even though Mike assured him they’d still be friends after all this, something heavy sits in the pit of his stomach, the feeling that he was losing something that would’ve been good. He doesn’t know how to talk to him now. Maybe they’ll still drift apart, despite what Mike said. 

Dustin’s good company, though.

There’s still so much to do—they have to make stuff up about Hopper’s return, about why twelve kids randomly went missing, about how the Wheelers ended up in the hospital. Will thinks, for the umpteenth time, that he just wants it all to be over. Maybe this feeling would never go away.

Right now, he’s struggling with his AP Calc homework. 

It’s weird, how he had telekinetic powers three weeks ago and now he can’t solve a stupid integral. Sometimes this shift into the mundane after years of being in survival mode is jarring to him. After all, who has time to practice math when you're up against a psychopath with powers? 

He’s about to give up and just beg Dustin for his work when Mrs Henderson calls him into the living room.

“Sweeite, someone’s at the phone for you,” she says, holding the receiver. Confused, he presses it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Will! I’m back!”

Will almost drops to his knees from relief. “El? You can stay?”

Her voice is thick from tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I can stay. I wanna see you.”

Will nods vigorously until he realises she can’t see him. “I’ll be there in ten.” He almost trips face-first into the carpet in his hurry to tell Dustin, only to realise he’s not home. He spends an awful lot of time at the Squawk, really. But whatever. Will can’t find it in himself to care about much else right now.

He probably breaks about ten speeding laws trying to bike to Hopper’s cabin, but who cares. The chief of police is his almost-stepfather. He haphazardly throws his bike at the front porch of the cabin and he barely has time to race inside the cabin when a lithe figure slams into him, and Will narrowly avoids falling on his ass onto the wooden floorboards before he's crying and laughing hysterically and hugging his sister.

They end up in her room, like they’ve done so many times before over the course of these past few years. Before, in Lenora, and in Hawkins, too, talking about all the ways their lives have changed.

“So you’ll be able to live normally? What about Hopper?”

El settles down on her bed and stares up at the ceiling. “I will be Jane Hopper for everyone else. And Owens is working on Hop’s situation.” She looks wistful. “I am not sure about the ‘normal’ part, though. That’s what I thought I would be in Lenora, too.”

Will shrugs, lying down beside her. “Normal’s overrated, anyway. I meant, if you’d be safe.”

El nods, and Will breathes a sigh of relief. “I think you’d like the arcade here. And the movie theatre. And—oh! We can finally make a character sheet for you! For D&D. You’d be a mage, of course.”

El wrinkles her nose. “You are too obsessed with that game. And Mike too! He used to keep talking about waterfalls and dragons and I never understood any of it.”

Will shrugs. “It’s a cool person thing.”

El gives him a look. “No, it isn’t.” She rolls over on her stomach. “Did you know Mike kept talking about it even when we were breaking up? Jeez!”

“Hey, what’s the story behind that, anyway? I never understood why you broke up,” Will says, suddenly remembering that day in the basement months and months ago. Mike had informed him very casually about the breakup, but hadn’t elaborated much upon questioning. El gives him a confused look, but then nods understandingly to herself.

“There is not much of a story, I think. He did not love me like that, and to be honest, I don’t think I did, either.”

Will frowns. “That’s what he told me too, but I don’t buy it. He sounded like he was… hiding something.”

El purses her lips and looks away. 

“I don’t want to beat a dead horse,” Will adds, “but… I don’t know. Mike just seemed different after that day. He said he broke it off. I don’t—something just seems missing. I just wanted to help if I could.”

El gives him a sad smile. “I know what you mean. Mike was the one who asked to break up. I do not think I would have had the courage to do that. I think—it was safe, for both of us. We both wanted to pretend to be normal. Mike made the right choice. We wouldn’t be happy if we were together.”

“Safe?” Will echoes. “I—I don’t understand.”

El looks like she’s contemplating something. She chews on her bottom lip before saying, “You gave Mike a painting, right? He talked about it that day. About how you said that I… wanted you to make it.”

A cold feeling forms in the pit of Will’s stomach. “El, I was trying to help—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know you wanted to help. But—” She laughs shortly—” I had no clue what he was talking about! He was talking about dragons and hearts and stuff, and he was—just, a mess. He said the painting meant a lot to him, but he does not feel the same, and he does not like to lie to me anymore, and I was so confused and upset and I asked him what painting he was talking about and he went very still.”

Oh. Oh, God. If this is going the way Will thinks it is, then… “What did you say after that?”

“I do not think it is my place to tell you what happened after that,” El says with a soft smile.

“So Mike… he knows the painting isn’t from you?” He knows. He knew all this time and didn’t breathe a word, he knew all this time and kept it pinned to his wall, he knew and he almost kissed me—

El nods.

Will’s heart is pounding against his ribs as he goes back in time, all the memories of the past eighteen months with Mike flashing back to him with a new lens. The walk in the woods. Those nights last November. The lake. Will’s birthday. Halloween. So many times when Mike mentioned the painting, talked about it so lovingly and he knew the whole fucking while.

“I—I gotta go,” he blurts out, getting up so fast the floor spins. He makes for the door, but El stops him.

“Will, wait! Wait, just—” Her eyes are filled with sympathy. “He wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you a lot of things. Just… Can I say something I’ve been wanting to say for a while?”

Numbly, Will nods.

“What you said, in the Squawk before everything… Even though I do not understand why you thought we would hate you for not liking girls, you are brave for saying the truth.” She smiles at him encouragingly. “And Mike is trying to be, too.”

Will gives her a last, bone-crushing hug before he runs out and bikes over to Mike’s house.

He doesn’t know why he thought Mike would be there, in the dilapidated ruins of his childhood home. It’s yet to be repaired. But it’s easy to slip into the basement. 

It’s empty and dusty, the ceiling cracks, drywall dusted on the floor. Somehow, he always ends up back here. He needs to collect his thoughts before he sees Mike again, he thinks, running a finger along the frayed edge of the pullout coach.

Hey, Mike! Remember how you almost kissed me that one time? What the hell were you thinking?

Do you like me? Are you the same as me?

Why did you never confront me about the painting?

Well, the last one’s relatively easy to answer. Mike Wheeler, king of avoidance, would never talk to Will directly like that. No, he’d just… tiptoe around it and hope he’d read his mind. He’d send signals and be nicer than usual and subtly try to hint that he’s not into Will like that. Anger flares up in Will’s chest. God, he’s tired. He’s tired of this endless dance, he’s tired of having his hope beaten out of him time and time again, he’s tired of constantly having to redefine the boundaries between him and Mike—

He spots a black rectangle peeking out of a fallen cupboard and picks it up. It’s the mixtape Mike gave him for his birthday, the one he never got the time to listen to.

He turns it over. The words are still there. For Will. Love, Mike. He locates his headphones and pops the tape in.

Love songs. It’s all love songs. The Smiths. The Cure. Fleetwood Mac. Bowie. Will stays in the basement for about an hour or so, listening to the mixtape. It’s like he’s missing something that’s right in front of him, something that only Mike can answer but refuses to. Even though it was meant to be a sweet gesture, the tape only confuses Will further. He can’t stop analysing every interaction between him and Mike. He also can’t stop the rush of oily fear in his throat that comes up when he thinks about the repercussions of him reading it all wrong. 

The things that Vecna showed him… they weren’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. Headphones around his neck, he shudders as he recalls the disgust on Mike’s face, the betrayal that something he’d deemed innocent and platonic and pure had been misread so wrongly by Will. And in another scenario, the guilty expression as he explains to Will that he just wanted to see. What it felt like to do something forbidden, to be with a boy. That he doesn’t think they could be something more, but they can’t be friends, either, not with the history between them.

He curls in on himself, eyes squeezed tight as he wills the images out of his head.

God, he’s lost count of how many times he’s ended back up in this position, pining away after Mike, paralysed by the fear of losing him. It’s cost him so much—his sanity, his closeness with the one person who has always stuck by him.

Something has to give. 

Clouds rumble outside as he knocks on Lucas’ door. Holly opens it. After everything, there’s a maturity in her eyes, a suggestion that she’s seen things no seven-year-old should see.

“Is Mike here?”

She shakes her head, blonde pigtails flapping wildly. “You haven’t seen him, either?”

Will frowns, the beginnings of terror seeping in. “What do you mean? He doesn’t… where is he?”

She picks her nails. It’s something Mike does, too. “I don’t know. He’s out all day, then he comes home at night with all these splinters. I thought you guys were doing something together.” The same wary expression forms on her face. Both of them can’t help but panic a little when the person most important to them goes missing for a while. They can’t take chances, not after everything. “You don’t know where he is?”

An idea begins to form in his head. Splinters. “I think I do.”

“Tell him to come home, then. I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Absent-mindedly, Will nods and heads towards the woods.

Holly was right: as he approaches Castle Byers, it starts to drizzle. Will’s sweater is starting to smell.

It’s just as he suspected; Castle Byers, once torn apart by his own rage, stands almost perfectly erect now. Will can hear hammering from behind. It’s bigger than before. The wood is different, darker. Maybe that's just the rain soaking it, though. And in green paint, the sign in front reads:

Castle Byers

All Friends Welcome

“Mike?” He calls out. Somewhere, lightning falls. The hammering stops, and Mike emerges from behind, eyes wide with horror.

“What the hell are you doing?” Will begins, just as Mike says, “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Will is shaking, not just from the cold, just from—everything. The mixtape. The godforsaken painting. Castle Byers.

“What the hell are you doing?” He repeats. Mike steps forward. Will takes a step back. His hair is falling into his eyes, damp with the rapidly falling rain.

“I—” Mike flails his arms helplessly. “I’m making it again,” he says, sounding resigned. 

“W—why?” Will asks. He feels faint. His clothes feel heavy, water sliding down in rivulets across his legs.

“Why?” Mike asks incredulously. “Because—because you broke it! And it was my fault!” He throws his arms up in the air. “Everything that’s happened has been my fault, Will!”

“I don’t mean that,” Will says quietly, willing his voice not to shake. “You know El didn’t commission the painting.”

Mike’s face goes blank. Finally, Will has the upper hand. He uses that thought to propel himself forward, voice dangerously soft. “Mike, I’ll ask you again: why did you and El break up?”

Mike looks caged, cornered, and Will feels a flash of guilt at that. But it’s like a dam has broken, and for once, it’s not Mike that speaks uncontrollably, but Will.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew about the painting? Why did you keep bringing it up when you knew? Why did you keep—dancing around everything? Why do you confuse me so much?” He hears how angry he sounds, the rain falling in sheets now around them. Will is struck by nostalgia of how similar this is. Some things never change. 

Will is shaking from anger. Beneath all these questions, what he really wants to ask is: Why did you lead me on if you didn’t love me like that?

He points a trembling finger towards Mike. “Why did you make me that mixtape if—if you— and why did you almost kiss—”

Mike’s expression shifts. He laughs harshly. “You know, you ask a lot of questions for someone who lied first! I can ask you too: why did you tell me the painting was from someone I didn’t even love? And as a matter of fact, why did you run away that night? Will, it’s always been you that’s kept this distance between us, so sorry if I thought you didn’t want it!”

“Because I was scared!” Will screams. He wipes his eyes free of rainwater. Mike’s hair is plastered to his face, making the contrast of his cheekbones more prominent. “I can’t risk losing everything on a whim, Mike!”

“Yeah? Did you ever think I was scared too?” Mike is panting hard. “You—you just tell everyone that it was a stupid crush for you, and you say that I’m not like you, and then—on that tower—you said you wanted to be friends! You rejected me, Will, so stop acting like it’s the other way around!”

Everything in Will stops. Mike continues ranting, pacing around the forest floor.

“I mean—shit! All this time I’ve been trying to prove myself, and—and I know I'm fucked up, okay?”

“Mike—”

“And I know I probably don’t deserve another chance, and I’m too late, but Christ, Will—”

“Mike!”

“I’m trying! I’m trying to be better, to deserve you, and I’m trying to accept—”

Will lurches forward and grabs Mike by his shoulders. “Mike, stop talking for a second!”

Mike is gasping for air. He looks frantic, desperate, pupils blown wide. The artist in Will admires the rosiness of his cheeks from the cold, and the slant of his eyebrows. “What?” He breathes.

“Mike… what do you mean by proving yourself?”

Mike opens his mouth, then closes it. Mike Wheeler, rendered speechless. Under different circumstances, this would be an achievement. “You know what I mean,” he says quietly, like it should be obvious. Will shakes his head, trying not to shudder at the water sluicing off his back. 

“I don’t, Mike, I really don’t. You never needed to prove yourself.” Will’s throat is thick with tears. “I don’t even know where you got that idea from. You were enough for me.”

Underneath his hands, Mike is shaking. “Will, I—” His voice breaks. He swallows, closes his eyes, steadies his voice before he speaks. “I’ve hurt you… so much. I just wasn’t ready.” he smiles ruefully. “I wasn’t brave like you were. I couldn’t have given you a piece of my heart so easily like you did. I wrote letters. They’re still under my bed. Probably destroyed now, but the point is… I’ve been trying to be better. I didn't know I was hurting you more. If I’d known—” He cuts himself off. Water drips off his face like tears. Some of it is tears, probably. “Were?” He says.

“What?”

“You said, ‘You were enough for me’. I… am I still?”

Will’s heart breaks, but not for himself. For Mike. Up close, he looks so vulnerable, like what Will says could heal him or break him. His voice is fragile with hope. 

Will has been told that he’s brave so many times, by so many different people, for so many different things. He’s never once believed it. Today, he decides to, and nods frantically, so hard he feels his neck bones crackle. 

Mike’s face crumbles, and he collapses in Will’s arms, tucking himself in his neck. It’s only when his hot breath hits Will’s neck that he realises how cold he is. But it doesn’t matter. Will holds him tight, like he’s the only thing worth holding on to. Because he is. 

“Mike, you were never not enough,” he whispers. He needs him to know. Will’s hands tighten on Mike’s back as he steels himself. “I’ve always loved you.”

Mike detaches himself from Will’s neck to look him in the eyes, and Will can’t look away from him. More tears trickle down his face. “You do?” He looks light in a way he hasn’t in years, Will realises. Years he’s spent hating himself for the same thing that Will did, just in a different way. 

He cradles Mike’s face, wiping the soaking wet bangs from his forehead. “You idiot,” he says lovingly.

Mike laughs wetly. “I love you too. Always.” He says it so fast Will almost doesn’t catch it, but that’s okay, because Mike presses their foreheads together and says it again, and again, and again. “I love you,” he sobs, and Will’s heart soars. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Will!”

A drop of rain balances itself on Mike’s nose, splashing down to his pink, bitten lips. Will flashes hot as Mike strokes his neck, cupping his jaw, and brings his face closer.

Will’s gaze travels up Mike’s face to connect with his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything—”

“No more sorries,” Mike says, voice soft but strong, and kisses Will.

Thunder crashes around them, like the rain is cheering them on. His hands tighten involuntarily around Mike’s neck, fingers tangling at the mass of drenched hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, and slow, and careful, and Will is incapable of feeling the cold anymore.

They disconnect with a click, Will’s eyes fluttering open. Mike is watching him carefully. His hands are shaking on Will’s face, and the expression on his face is the same as Will feels: like this is something they thought couldn’t happen to boys like them.

“How was that for a first kiss?” Mike whispers, grinning. 

“I think I need a redo,” Will breathes, and they crash together like twin waves.

Their lips connect lopsidedly before Mike corrects them, angling his head to kiss Will deeper, hands sliding down to interlock at the small of Will’s back. Will’s fingers tighten on Mike’s sweater, urging him closer. Mike kisses him desperately, curling in around Will. It’s like he’s trying to stitch him back together, to undo all the years of pain for both of them with his lips. Experimentally, Will probes Mike’s lips with his tongue, and he shudders before pressing Will closer and opening his mouth to let Will in.

Will pours everything he’s ever felt about Mike into the kiss, tries to converge all those years of longing, of pining, of desperately waiting into Mike’s mouth. He slides his hands everywhere, grabs at Mike’s hair, licking into his mouth, drinking the rain off him. Mike gasps and whimpers and the sounds he makes send electricity shooting across Will’s body. 

It’s open-mouthed, and it’s hot, and it’s wet, and it’s desperate in the way kisses between two teenagers who have loved each other forever are, and it’s something Will could spend his whole life doing. Will wants to fuse them together. He wants to live in Mike’s bones, and he should be worried that Mike would find it too intense, but he can’t find it in himself to think of much at all, not when Mike’s teeth graze Will’s bottom lip and he kisses him as though the sky is falling around them.

Will makes a sound low in his throat, something he should’ve been embarrassed by, but it’s hard for him to feel anything other than bone-melting euphoria when Mike’s fingers tangle in his hair, fingers rough and calloused, and he doesn’t disconnect his lips once, not even when he walks Will backwards to press him against the newly built Castle Byers. Will groans again, and Mike’s hands tighten across his neck, thumb pressing into his jaw, as he pants into Will’s mouth, bodies lining up perfectly together—

The wood behind him creaks, and that’s all the warning they get before the structure collapses completely. Will falls backwards, Mike twisting his body awkwardly so he lands beneath Will, on top of the splinters. 

“Ow,” he groans, and Will can’t help but laugh. Mike glares at him jokingly. “This shit hurts! I thought you’d be more sympathetic!”

Sometime ago, the torrent slowed into a slight drizzle, and now the clouds are light, with feeble sun shining through them. Under Will, Mike looks like an angel in a Renaissance painting, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes alight. Will can’t help but lean down once again and press a lingering kiss, but breaks away when an icy wind blows, and Will realises how drenched they both are. His bones ache with the cold, and he scrambles up, helping Mike up and drawing him closer by his waist. To keep them both warm, of course.

“You might want to take a look at that carpentry job there,” he teases, pressing a kiss to his nose. In return, Mike kisses the space above his lip.

“You can help me. It can be our first date,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrows. Will interlocks his hands around Mike’s neck and squints up at him like he hasn’t just offered Will everything he wanted.

“A date?” He muses. “You sure you don’t just want to make out?”

Mike doesn’t snark back like Will had expected him to do. Instead, he takes Will’s hands in his and kisses them, eyes tender. He shakes his head.

“I want everything with you, Will,” he says. “Everything you’ll give me.”

Will smiles back. “It’s a date,” he whispers, and Mike seals it with a kiss, one which feels to Will like new beginnings. 

Like honesty, and not being afraid. 

One which promises a lot more kisses to come.

***

A few months later

The final nail is giving Will trouble.

He’s been hammering at it incessantly for the past five minutes, but for some reason, it refuses to go into the wood. Will hits it one more time. Just as he expected, it doesn’t budge.

“I thought you’d be done sooner than me,” Mike says, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Will’s waist. He presses a small kiss to the top of Will’s head.

“It’s this stupid nail,” he complains. “It’s not going in! And we don’t have any extra left.”

“Who said that?” Mike says, producing an identical one from his fanny pack. Will kisses Mike’s sweaty cheek in thanks and gets to work removing the faulty nail. He lets out a small whoop as the new one goes in basically effortlessly and turns around to face Mike, who slants his lips against Will’s. Fireworks explode inside his belly.

Will can feel Mike’s smile against his lips. “Third time’s the charm?”

Will grins back, noses brushing together. “Let’s hope it doesn’t fall apart this time.”

Something mischievous glints in Mike’s expression. “I know one way to test it out,” he says, and that’s all the warning Will gets before he’s being pressed back against the wall and Mike connects their lips again.

Will laughs incredulously into his mouth, but gives in, dragging his hands to curl into Mike’s sweaty tangle of hair. Mike opens his mouth, tongue teasing along the seam of Will’s lips, and Will has to make a conscious effort to detach himself.

“Mike,” he says, trying to sound chastising, “the movie’s already started.”

“It’s the previews,” he replies, kissing Will’s cheeks, the underside of his jaw. His breath hitches before he brings his hands up to Mike’s face, holding him at a distance. Mike looks absolutely unrepentant.

“Mike,” Will says, “you’ll get crabby if you miss any more of the beginning.”

Reluctantly, Mike sighs. “You’re right. Let’s go,” he says, interlocking their fingers and starting forward. Will smiles at Mike’s back, then turns around one last time to admire their creation. He likes the sign on this much better than the last one, he thinks.

Castle Byers-Wheeler

All Friends Welcome