Archive of Our Own

When Mike was born, it apparently took him exactly eighteen seconds to start screaming. His mom told him this over the gush of water coming from the sink faucet, their hands groggy and wet from the dishes they had been washing together. It was a rare occasion, just the constellation of him and her was already unusual, but that night he had seen her staring at a speck of sauce on the rim of her plate, then to the moon outside, then to the people sitting around the table with an expression Mike couldn't discern, but which had alarmed him enough to keep her company after the room had cleared. It was probably despondency, or the drag of suburban boredom. It was Nancy's escape, the aftermath of that, and the aftermath of what they had suffered just a few months before. Her wounds had closed up, skin biting back to skin.

But that's just the body. The body is disgustingly good at fixing itself up again. Mike has had cuts and blemishes he thought were deserving of metamorphosing into a scar. Most didn't. The rest he carries inside, where it's all his.

Eighteen seconds. He came into this world bloody and he thought he was going to leave it that way too. It's only so many close calls until you start to wonder. Some nights he prepared himself, conjured a bedside prayer he'd breathe into his blanket like a child, spit against the fabric, hoping he'd die saving someone, dying so that someone he loves wouldn't have to. Then he'd feel bad for the grief they'd feel around him, though that was an abstract concept. He has seen what grief does. He doesn't like to think about himself being capable of breaking someone like that.

But he survived. And this is how they keep surviving. And then — This is how they live. This is scrubbing the dead skin from their bodies. This is holding a scar-riddled hand and not grieving softness. This is anticipating softness.

This is that soft feeling deep in his stomach, the one that rebirths itself over and over and that begs to be heard. Mike also begged to be heard, it just took him eighteen seconds. Eighteen months. Eighteen years.

୨ৎ

The air in the basement is clear enough, and, given the season, a slight chill drags through from the windows. Whenever something moves, it stirs up dust, which swirls in unfinished circles wherever the sun finds its way inside. Mike is moving through a state of fugue, not quite there but also so close to everything. Aware of every body in the room, every breath, the stretch of skin they've all pushed themselves through to become the adults they are now. Their bright-orange, Hawkins-High-orange robes are discarded on the couch, the synthetic smell just another note within the discord of all the other scents. Worn board games and unpacked VHS tapes. Holly's craft paper, and old clothes his mother has been meaning to donate, and Mike's entire life.

He runs his eyes over everyone as they get up, one by one, pushing their binders into the shelf with the sort of gentleness reserved for small wounded mammals. It goes: Max, who had caught up with enough studying to graduate (she had been pardoned appropriately given the circumstances), then Lucas, then Dustin, their faces averted and working through their own small tumult. It bares itself in small sniffles, a rub of the nose with the back of a hand. What is there left to say other than that all of them are deeply buried in Mike's blood and he is glad they made it. That they're here. That they'll be here for the remainder of summer, and then forever. In phone numbers and phone calls, in reunions, in postcards. In thoughtful gifts and anecdotes. In memories that have whittled Mike into what he is.

Jane's binder, like Max's, is still quite thin and carefully decorated with purple embellishments. She lingers a bit, mustering their names. Friends. That endlessly complicated, persevering word they had taught her before she ever knew anything else. She looks to Max, who gives her a sad smile. Then to Mike, then to her brother. She begins to move away.

And — okay. Mike starts to feel it. The others are already beginning to climb the stairs, no longer wanting to keep Mike's mom waiting. And they must be hungry too. Mike had quite obviously dragged this campaign out to the best of his abilities, in fear it would be the last. And maybe it is.

Jane looks back at them once more, Mike and Will being the only ones left, the foot she has already brought atop a step raising a slight creak out of the wood. The wood that has lightened through the years of frantic pacing up and down, of sitting and waiting for someone to come around. Of falling asleep against the door when Hawkins split apart and waiting for someone to open it. To confirm he wasn't the only one afraid.

Will pushes his binder into the shelf and, as Jane disappears from their sight, something in his throat cracks like glass to stone. His fingers tremble against the spine and his head falls, no longer holding its own weight.

Mike isn't sure if he should say something. Is this a sacred space, an altar where one refrains from speaking so as to not break the finality of this prayer? He didn't like being interrupted by the wet race of car tires over the pavement or the coo of a nocturnal bird when he prayed for all their survival either.

But Will's crying and he's watching his shoulders surrender to the weight of it. Mike finds it hard to watch, just as he finds it hard not to blurt it out, the oppressive marble of a confession sitting at the height of his throat. He raises his hand, curls his fingers against his palm until he can feel the smooth planes of his fingernails press against it. Then he unfolds it again, takes a step over the carpeted floor, puts his flat hand on Will's spine.

First he tenses up. It is sudden and quiet after all, like all they do. Then he relaxes into it. Mike comes even closer, slides his hand up until it rests against the skin of Will's neck. He moves his fingertips into the paths of hair. He watches the small strands adjust, make space for him. Mike exhales through his mouth, it comes out almost beaten, as if it had been held.

Will does too.

Mike doesn't say anything yet. He becomes overly aware of the growing weight in his hand from the binder he's still holding.

He steps up beside Will, catches a glance at his tear-kissed face before it gingerly disappears to the side.

"Sorry, I—"

"I'll go," Will says, running his hand across his face and rubbing it dry against his shirt.

"You can stay," Mike assures him, if that's what he wants. He nudges his own head forward a bit, makes himself slightly smaller in hopes to find Will. He doesn't really succeed.

"No, you should—" Will cuts himself off, smiles. It's a bit wobbly. "Do this by yourself."

What if he wants Will to be there for it? Is a prayer no longer sacred if it is shared? He wants Will for the rest of his life, so why not for this small moment where he waves goodbye to a childhood he had clung to and lost, and clung to regardless.

Why is he thinking so much about prayer anyway? He stopped tagging along for mass years ago. The only God he knows is the slight swish of wind as Will passes by and heads for the stairs, the look back, the one that can only mean one thing in all the books Mike has been devouring over the past few months.

He lets Will go, listens to the slow symphony of his socks on the stairs, until the door opens to conversation that Mike cannot really decipher from where he stands. His eyes grapple down to his hands, sort of useless with Will being absent, other than his fingers that are beginning to cramp around his accumulation of sheets, plans and campaigns won or lost. Disorderly, amateur attempts of trying to create a coherent world slowly flourishing into fleshed-out, never-ending universes they understood to traverse.

What matters most now is that he played them. That he had the small liberation of creating a world where he was given the chance to win.

Mike feels it dance across the bed of his lids. He had done a good job keeping it at bay before, but in this solitude, he doesn't have anyone left but himself. They're all upstairs. They're waiting.

A singular tear beats its way out and it demands a pull of his face. He knows it's no use fighting it, but he still does, and then he's crying, a sweaty and trembling palm pressing against the pages sticking out. He feels them brush against his skin. Sharp, worn paper. He finally finds it in himself to lift the folder up and he lines it up with the others, gently shoving it until he feels the resistance of the wall behind them. His eyes scan every name, but he lingers on Will. Of course he does. He has never known anything else.

They decorated their binders together, hands sticky with glue and the sun spilling in hot above their heads. Mike biked home with a nose-bleed. He remembers Nancy holding a bag of frozen vegetables wrapped in cloth against his neck as she phoned Barb, occasionally pressing the phone to her chest and asking if Mike was dizzy. She held him less with the years. His hand replaced by a rifle, but the sentiment was the same: she would be there for him.

His thoughts circle back to Will. He doesn't let go of his binder just yet, too afraid of the terminality he finds himself faced with. The rest of his life begins now, and he wonders when it even started at all the last time, if he was there to catch it. In a reluctant motion, his hand slides down, slowly losing grip. He drags his thumb over Will's name beside him, revels in the texture, in the similarity it has to the way he plastered his name to the spine. Through blurry eyes, he can feel the one syllable he knows like a song from childhood, like a spell he has cast a million times, almost like a prayer.

It's been maybe a minute, maybe two. He's already excited to see Will again when he's up those stairs. He has no idea where he's going. There is more certainty in every step he takes knowing, hoping — Will will be there to join him.

His heart protests, hard and aching in his chest as he takes one step back again. He observes all their names. They weren't supposed to survive any of that. They did.

Now he has to figure this all out somehow.

After dinner, he thinks. He grows aware of his own hunger. After this summer.

He makes the climb up.

The door stands ajar, a foot jammed between to keep it open. He recognizes the thinned-down tip of the sole. He smiles and pushes the stems of his thumbs to his eyes to dry his tears. Mike pushes his shoulder against the door and there’s Will, standing against the wall, just slightly hidden from all the commotion in the kitchen. The smell of pureed tomatoes and slightly-burnt cheese hangs above their heads.

When they face each other again, eyes pink, they both laugh. Mike turns his head to the dining room once more to really see if they’re not in view, then he picks Will off the wall and pulls him in. Will’s arms lock around his neck and he lets out a quiet sigh underneath Mike’s ear. Then a small kiss. Mike pushes his face deeper into Will’s shoulder to bury everything there. He opens his mouth against the fabric of his shirt. Not to do anything, just to feel closer. He presses two hands against Will’s back, one near the dip between his shoulders, one on his lower spine.

“Hey,” Will coos, and Mike can hear his smile.

“One second,” Mike mutters.

“No, take your time. Honestly,” Will speaks quietly, and he breaks into another round of breathy laughter. “I like this.”

Mike would reply, but this whole day has taken a toll on him and all he wants is, well —

“Will?” Mike breaks away from him when he hears his mother’s voice. “Is Mike still down there?”

Will, flushed and equally surprised, places himself against the wall again and presses his lips together to not crack again. Mike tries to fix his face with his hands, but it just feels like he’s toying with water. He doesn’t need his mother worrying about him. It was alarming enough that he almost didn’t show up at graduation today until Hop knocked some sense into him.

“No, Mrs. Wheeler,” he calls.

“We’re coming!” Mike calls in addition, just a bit louder than Will. It helps his mother believe he’s alright.

୨ৎ

Dinner unfolds like this: His dad, mom and Holly are cramped to one end of the table trying to manage over the noisy exchange of post-campaign thoughts and vague future plans. Lucas left early because the Sinclairs are going out to a restaurant to celebrate his graduation and Max is, as always, invited. Dustin is seated next to Jane and he gets to take her extra bits of cheese as he talks about college without really taking a break to breathe between chewing and speaking. Mike is seated next to Will, taking the middle between him and Holly. His sister keeps peering up at him like she’s searching for something. When they end up accidentally looking at each other, he gives her a quick smile.

There’s hardly any space between him and his best friend. Well, not best friend. Something had changed when the winter washed over and turned the snow to gray slush, then to beaten fields, then to a small window of evergreen. Will moved out and into Hopper’s cabin in the woods, sleeping on the couch or sharing a bed with his sister, tucked away even more than he had been in his childhood home. Which still stands unbought at the edge of town.

Will’s absence created the same sense of urgency in Mike like hunger does. He had never realized how much he enjoyed sharing the same home with Will until it wasn’t a constant in his life anymore. Their paths back home from school diverged. The streets split into two different lanes and, in similar fashion, so did Mike’s soul.

It hit him harder than before, this unnamed need to reach for something he knew had always belonged to him somehow. It was closer than ever before. There was no distraction left to divert his attention from what he was feeling. Last summer, and for a short moment, despite the fact that they had survived the world almost eating itself, he was so sure it was his last.

Because then Will would sit against the window of the cabin, and they’d be alone, and Mike would join him. It’s like the sun only ever wanted Will. His hair lightened under the glow and he almost disappeared beneath it. Mike always wanted to reach forward, to tug him away and have Will to himself. Their knees knocked together. They both held their breaths waiting.

Another summer bled into fall, bled into winter again. A year passed in a haze, and somehow all of it had centered Will, with Mike orbiting around him. And then the shift, a question, a small dismantling.

How did you know?

The rest unfolded in small catastrophes. Catastrophe is a harsh word, but how else is Mike supposed to describe the feeling he got when they nestled under the same blanket, brushing fingertips and ankles, shared breaths the only source of warmth. They whispered to each other. Mike could feel Will’s eyelashes fluttering shut against his skin. Week-long sleepovers,  melting into each other again. Tumbling down the basement stairs and riding under a gray sky. Resurfaces memories and reading the lines on each other’s palms just as an excuse to touch.

Mike saw so little of the party (he wishes he was guilty, but it had to be done) and so endlessly much of Will. And then he saw himself, in a thousand possibilities, but ultimately deciding on one. The one that would skin him, peel him bare, tear him open and then birth him into what would ultimately feel right.

Revelation came as it almost always does: unceremoniously, Will half-asleep while Mike traced his tired face with his thumb. The soft dip of his cheeks when Mike dragged his finger across, the dusty colors of maroon beneath his eyes, the mole above his lip. He remembers how heavy it had been raining. Will could’ve missed it over the tapping against the windows. The entire world in the darkest shades of blue, but Mike could see Will through the darkness.

He told Will he loved him. It came like a breath. Will wrapped a hand around his wrist to stop him from moving, broke underneath him until his breath didn’t stutter through his throat anymore, and didn’t say anything until he did.

He asked Mike if he wasn’t lying. If this is something he could have, which broke Mike back, because he had feared all of this had just been pity. A quick search for comfort in this lonely secret that binds them. He almost believed Will had outgrown him, until he realized that they had both set root within each other before they even met. Will said one of Mike’s creases on his hands stood for longevity in love.

He immediately, selfishly believed him. Will tugged him down for a kiss that stitched everything right back up that Mike feared would forever leave him if he kept himself so open and so wounded forever. It was just lips to lips. It was a small, barely-wet noise against the rush of downpour outside. It was a breathy gasp from Will, a hand through Mike’s untamed hair.

Mike fell asleep whispering things against Will’s collarbone. Maybe he hadn’t actually spoken them outloud, but the words were ringing in his head. He was scared of how much he wanted this and that he needed Will’s bones to know, to take this fear with them and make something beautiful of it.

Will’s foot nudges against his under the dining table. Mike looks to their feet and then up. Will just grins. Then the hand he isn’t using to eat slithers over, onto the small gap between Mike’s thigh and the air, where it’s just cushioned wood. Mike shifts his leg, minimally, until it touches Will’s fingers.

Will breathes out, takes the acceptance. They both look forward as the hand on the chair makes its way up. They eat and they talk along. Mike searches for his father’s disdain, but he doesn’t seem to catch anything. He eases into Will, if that’s even possible.

It concludes just as fast as it began. They’re fed and the day of their graduation is somehow already coming to a close. The sun bares itself in different shades, sinks beneath the treetops until all that’s left is a lasting halo of pink and orange. They help clear the table and arrange the dirty dishes. Mike receives a kiss to his forehead from his mother, who brushes his hair back to access skin. He decides to take it without protest today. She had done her best. He hasn’t seen her touch a glass of wine in forever. He just wishes it hadn’t taken her until the last summer that he’ll spend in Hawkins for sure.

“Thanks for that campaign, Mike. Seriously.” Dustin says as he slides into his shoes. “I don’t know how you managed to come up with that much while we were all studying our asses off.”

“I had to cope somehow.” Mike sniffles, still tackling the aftermath of the heaviness he felt before.

“I’m gonna miss this.” He ties his laces and rises up again. “Doing all of this, with you guys.”

“We still have an entire summer left,” Will offers.

“I’m going to spend that summer freaking out over college.” Dustin puts his hands on his hips and huffs. “College, guys. Wow.”

“Not for all of us.” Jane says, reaching for her own shoes. A pair of ballerinas Nancy had gifted her after she saw her eyeing them in her closet.

She will have to repeat a year or two to be eligible for her finals. Hopper is making sure she’ll get the education she needs to get that normal life she has fought for.

“You’ll get there. Be glad, actually.” Dustin opens the front door. “I miss high school already.”

“Jesus,” Will breathes. Mike notices that he hasn’t moved an inch from where they stand beside each other. He was going to ask if Will was planning on staying, but he hasn’t found the time yet to do so.

“Alright, my mom needs me. Thanks again!” Dustin disappears and the door shuts while Jane puts her shoes on and wraps her skirt together tightly at one thigh together to ready it for her bike. Will taught her how to ride in California. Now she has her own. She told Mike a few weeks ago that she sometimes forgets the time and rides for hours. It goes from light to dark. She is never scared.

She turns and looks at them, first as a unit, then to Will specifically.

“Are you not coming?”

When Mike twists his head to Will, he’s already looking at him. Mike is supposed to answer for him. He’s supposed to decide how the first day marking the rest of their lives is supposed to unfold. He only knows one answer.

“I was thinking Will could stay a bit longer.”

Maybe it’s just the air, but he can feel Will move closer. A small confirmation that he chose right.

“Oh, okay,” Jane says, her lips crescent as her hand comes down on the door handle. “I’ll let mom know.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

“You two have fun,” she says, tracing their shoulders where they meet, the small involuntary twitch in Mike’s finger.

The door closes and then they’re alone. Mike’s dad retrieved to the living room and out of sight, Holly had long wandered to her room and his mom is taking care of the dishes with a cigarette tucked into her mouth, the window cracked open.

“You haven’t told her yet. Right?” Mike asks, finally daring to touch Will’s hand with his pinky finger.

“Mike,” Will says, with a kind of urgency that is new for him.

“Yeah?”

“Can we go to your room?”

Mike swallows. He looks down to where Will joins their fingers, loosely and then with a slight squeeze to let him know he’s with him.

“Uhm,” Mike looks into the kitchen. His mother doesn’t notice. Over his shoulder comes the crackle of the TV, the same monotonous voices he has been hearing in passing for all his life. He’s not sure if it’s the slight chill of a setting sun or Will, but goosebumps build all over his body.

They have been more than friends since winter, since Mike cradled him to sleep and let Will return the favor. They’ve probably been more than friends ever since they first met, even when they were with other people, even when there were thousands of miles between them. But it’s all been quiet, seeping. Like a trickling faucet. They haven’t told anyone. Mike would, but he just wants to make sure they survive this summer. Not that he doesn’t believe in them, he just needs it to be something outside of Hawkins, something greater than Hawkins. It’ll forever be a part of them, but he can’t let that define them.

He needs to be all alone with Will, in a city that’ll love them. That’ll let them.

They’ve also never been this direct — well, not direct, but obvious about it. That they want each other like they do. And now Will is offering him another choice. Have it.

And Mike knows he wants it.

“Shit. Okay,” He breathes.

“Are you getting nervous?” Will says as he heads for the stairs. He speaks quietly, to avoid anyone hearing them.

“Should I be?” Mike asks, mostly as a joke, but a part of him is just slightly, truly concerned.

“No.” Will laughs. “C’mon.”

Mike would follow him anywhere. He’s not sure if it’s virtue or weakness.

He watches Will walk ahead through the narrow hallway. He knows this home like it’s his own, and in a way it is. Mike had sheltered him here when Will needed it. He would’ve kept him here all the time if he could. And now they’re going to escape soon.

They walk in, the door closes. Mike turns the lock until he hears the click and then he’s truly alone with Will.

And somehow, in between the empty boxes Mike has already propped up for packing and the window open to the street, all that confidence leaves Will. Not in a bad way, not in defeat. But this is new. The thrill of being found out exits the realm. Now it's just them.

“I—”

“Come here,” Will says, basically blurts it out. He laughs and Mike joins him in it, and then he walks towards him.

They stand, foot to foot. Will smiles up at him. Then he grabs Mike's shoulders and moves him towards the bed. He makes him sit down at the edge. Mike obeys soundlessly to everything.

“I'm sorry, I just—” He reaches into Mike's hair and begins to adjust it profusely, brushing through his showered and slightly beaten curls in an attempt to rearrange them.

“What are you doing?”

“Your hair looks stupid like that,” Will says, with no malice. Mike frowns. “Do you have a comb?”

“For the record, my mom made me wear it like this. And I have one in my desk drawer.”

“Which one of like, four?”

“The small one.”

Will points to the desk. “There are three small drawers, Mike.”

“The upper one!” He exclaims, glad to not be facing a mirror as of now. His hair is flopping forward and all over his face.

Will pulls the drawer towards him and sorts through the clutter until he finds the comb, and then he returns. He puts one hand to Mike's face and the other brushes at his hair until he seems to be satisfied.

“You know, I'm happy you showed up. I was worried.”

“I just had a moment,” Mike breathes. Will places the comb onto the dresser behind them and then he works at the more awkward strands with his hands to give his hair some volume. The touch, meticulous and calculated, falls upon Mike's skin like rain. It softens something in his stomach.

“It's okay,” Will says. He steps even closer between Mike's legs. His hands instinctively settle on Will's hips, and he looks down between them, at the buckle of Will's belt. Somehow everything is tugging on him. He feels it bubble up inside him — the need to have. Ceaselessly. Just Will.

He leans forward to nuzzle against Will's stomach, who sighs above him. He can no longer touch his bangs.

“It's a bit embarrassing. In hindsight.” He says, voice muffled by the shirt.

“You were scared.” Will’s voice softens, and it drops in volume. “That's not embarrassing.”

“I don't want to be scared. I feel like I've been scared my entire life.”

“I know.” Will peels him off by gently tugging on his hair, and then they face each other. Will musters Mike's hair, his sullen face. Then he smiles again. “There's my Mike.”

“I wasn't your Mike before?”

“Well.” Will brushes a thumb up and down his cheek as he holds him. “This is what he usually looks like.”

“How do I look?”

“Tired.” Will's face gains color, pink and flourishing. “Beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” Mike repeats, weakly. “You look beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Will half-whispers, tilting his head.

“It's almost too much.” Mike runs his hand around and into Will's striped shirt, dragging it along the leather of his belt, into one holster of his jeans, then up where he can touch the skin of his back. “I don't deserve you.”

Will's breath hitches as Mike ushers him even further into his space. His face presses against Will's body again. He still looks up at him. A hand tentatively makes his way into his hair.

Will's other hand is still on his face, but it migrates, and then he's pulling on Mike's bottom lip, watching it follow the drag of his finger.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

Will's blush deepens. His eyes lose light the longer he looks down. “Do you have any gum?”

Mike's eyes widen and he knows exactly what this means. He drops his head again, still pressed to Will, his fingers drumming nervously against his bare spine.

“Yeah.” He lets out a shaky breath. It's laced with laughter. “Yeah, of course. Uhm—”

Will drops his hands and waits for Mike to catch up. They somehow, unknowingly learned to navigate this language only they speak. To wait. To allow time.

“It's in my nightstand drawer.”

“Thank god your nightstand only has one drawer.”

“Shut up.” Mike laughs as Will moves away, wearing a sly grin as he opens the drawer and pulls out the half-empty packet of gum, just spearmint, unrolling the paper until he can reach inside. He climbs into Mike’s bed and Mike sees all the red over his neck and cheeks as he looks behind himself.

Will props up some pillows, fixes the pendant of his necklace. He leaves the pack of gum on the nightstand.

“Everything okay?” He asks. Mike sits there, a bit useless. His face heats.

“Can I come over?”

“Oh my god, Mike.” Will laughs. “Yes. Please.”

He shifts and climbs haphazardly over the bed, slowly placing all his weight on Will's body. He watches the slow motion of his jaw as it chews. Mike rests his chin on Will’s chest, and can see him swallow from where he’s posted. Then he reaches one hand forward and brushes it along the rounded cartilage of his Adam’s apple. Will’s breath stutters a bit and that bleeds into quiet laughter.

“So cool,” Mike says. He sounds a bit stupid, he thinks. It’s okay with Will. Somehow all the angst of today leaves him. The ones of tomorrow are simply looming, faintly, where they do not reach close enough to break them.

“What is?”

Mike is actually not sure. He tries to articulate it, how the slight warmth of Will’s body that he can feel through their clothes makes him feel, the awareness of existing next to another body, one he is so perfectly familiar with, the knowing who this body belongs to:

“Being so close to someone else.”

“Someone else?” Will asks, cocking a brow. Mike rises up a bit, one hand next to Will’s shoulder, the other on Will’s chest. He presses their foreheads together. Will’s breath smells like mint, and it’s a bit cool as it surfaces on the cusp of Mike’s upper lip.

“Someone else that is you.”

“Someone else that is me,” Will repeats again, and then he smiles. Mike’s hand slides up, over the collar of Will’s shirt and then up to his jaw. He brushes his thumb over the bone. Now it’s his turn to touch Will’s lips. He watches them, plush and pink as they slowly part for Will to breathe. Mike pushes, just the slightest bit, until he’s met with the barrier of Will’s teeth. Mike’s eyes widen and he realizes at least ten new things about himself in that moment alone.

Then he pulls away again and laughs. Will’s blush intensifies.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Mike refuses to look at him, instead toying with the pendant of his necklace.

“Hey,” Will says.

Mike faces him. Everything has become about facing Will. Daring to look into his eyes and acknowledge what exists between them. It’s so powerful. It tears the town of Mike’s heart down until there’s nothing left.

“Hi.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Will blinks up at him, and he’s… Will. The same Will Mike has known for almost all his life. Maybe that’s why it hits him so hard then, the question. This is his Will. And he looks so good splayed out on Mike’s sheets, and honestly just in general. It’s all so surreal. Mike runs a hand through the disheveled strands of his hair.

“Yeah.”

It beats out of him. He puts his hand back to Will’s face and leans in. A small, content hum leaves Will as they finally meet, and then they adjust their heads, finding a new angle. It’s dizzying. Mike’s thumb travels to Will’s chin and he tugs it down to open his mouth, widen the kiss a bit. Then—

“Wait a second,” Will says, and Mike immediately pulls away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Will says, adjusting his hips beneath, easing further into the bed. “I forgot to ask if you also wanted some gum.”

“Oh.” Mike laughs, relieved. “Okay.”

Silence. For a few seconds. Mike is too focused on the rise and fall of Will’s chest.

“So?”

“Oh— Right. Yeah. I’ll take it.”

“Okay.” Will starts reaching towards the nightstand.

“Wait!” Mike calls, reaching for Will’s wrists. He even manages to catch one bracelet before it is able to slide down his arm.

“What?” Will asks, perplexed but grinning.

“I was thinking…” Actually he is not thinking at all. Everything is just Will, and maybe this day has worn him down enough to absolutely fry his brain.

Will cocks a brow again. The hand Mike isn’t holding into the air is settled on his spine. God. Mike is so in love with him.

“Like, you could—” Mike groans, dropping Will’s hand so he can bury himself in the space between his neck and shoulder. He tries to gather enough composure in those short seconds to propose what he is now very much fixated on.

“Mike?”

“Is there any mint left on your gum?”

“What? Yeah. I just started chewing it.” Will tilts his head again.

“Okay. So give it to me.”

Immediately, Will’s mouth falls open, and Mike can see the gum and it suddenly drives him mad.

“What?”

“Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy for proposing that?”

“Because it is crazy! And maybe a little gross!”

“It’s a normal couple thing!”

“We’re not a normal couple.”

Beside the monster-hunting, telekinetic powers, possessions and being legally bound to never speak anything of what has happened to them between age twelve to seventeen out-loud:  “We are.”

“Okay, but I don’t think this is a normal couple thing. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.”

“Seriously? Did no one swap gum in California?”

“No.”

“No way.”

“I swear!”

“Okay, but I think you want to do it. You’re blushing all the way into your shirt.”

Will is hot to the touch. He bites his lip in contemplation. “I’m blushing because this is insane.”

“I know embarrassed-Will blush. This is I-don’t-want-to-admit-to-liking-this-Will blush.”

“That is not a thing.”

“Totally is. And by the way, that piece of gum is actively losing flavor the longer we speak.”

“Fuck.” Will exhales. “You’re crazy.”

“Is that a yes?”

Will smiles as he shakes his head in disbelief and then he tugs Mike down by the collar, slotting their lips together again. He licks across his lips and then his teeth and okay, Mike forgot how much he likes this. Or… the theoretical version of this. Will and him haven’t kissed like this before.

He opens his mouth in acceptance and Will lifts his head slightly off the pillow. Mike helps him by propping him up with his hand behind Will’s hand, combing it into his hair.

A tongue brushes against his and Mike can feel it all the way down into his stomach, this feeling that razes through his body. The one he didn’t understand back when he was sixteen and watching Will drag a shirt over his wet body after a day at the lake. He still doesn’t really understand it, but he lets it be what it is. All-encompassing, consuming. Maybe it’s just a more violent shred of love. A physical extension of what he knows to be true.

The kiss deepens enough so that Will can finally do it. He passes the gum over, and Mike already tasted the mint on him, but then it’s everywhere. They lean out to breathe, and to celebrate their success.

“Woah,” Mike says, chewing the gum.

“That was…”

He looks at Will expectantly.

“...Actually kind of amazing?”

Mike beams. “So much for it being gross.”

“It is!”

“Humans are inherently gross, Will.”

“Especially you.”

“And yet you kissed me.”

Something in Will’s expression softens. “I could do that forever.”

“Kiss me?”

“You, in general. Kissing is just a bonus.”

Mike stills in his chewing, in everything. He’ll probably spend the rest of his life trying to grasp that this is going to be the rest of his life. Will. With all the trials and tribulations, taxes and bureaucracy, fights over stupid shit and writing himself into burn-out. An apartment with Will. Writing himself into burn-out, and then writing even more. Waking up with Will, maybe having a kid if that’s ever possible, marrying without all the paperwork, just in vows, in promises they make.

“You can. You should, or else I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can’t live without me?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.” Will brushes Mike’s hair away and watches it bounce back again. “I get so fucked up about you sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Mike asks, placing a kiss to Will’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Will says softly, nodding. “In a good way, though. Because I—”

They gaze at each other. Mike has the same words glued to the roof of his mouth. Will takes a deep breath. He pulls him down until their noses brush.

“I really love you. So much.”

“Will,” Mike speaks against his lips, they meet in fleeting touch. Will’s eyes flutter shut. “I love you. And I want the rest of my life to be you.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.” A small peck, then another. “It’s not even normal how much I promise.”

“Oh my god.” Will breaks into laughter. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I’m your boyfriend.”

“You are.” Will kisses him. “My boyfriend who is an idiot.”

“I like to think of myself as a person with layers. Many layers.”

“Oh, yes. So many.” Will lifts a hand in between their chests and begins counting. “Where do we start? Boyfriend, idiot…”

“Demo-fighter.”

“Demo-fighter.”

“The best DM to ever exist.”

“I’d tell you you have a massive ego if it wasn’t true. But yeah, the best DM ever.”

Mike smiles, smugly. “President of the Hawkins AV club.”

“Not anymore.”

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“What about the man who was behind the bomb that destroyed the Upside Down?”

Mike puts a hand over Will’s mouth. He can feel Will’s lips forming into a smile, and then as they pepper a few kisses against his fingers.

“Not too loud! We’ll get in trouble.”

Muffled, but clear enough: “The ‘Upside Down’ is not the classified government name.”

“We can’t risk anything.” Mike removes his hand again and puts a kiss to Will’s lips. Then a longer one. All of a sudden, he feels himself flipped over and onto his back, with Will now on top.

“Mighty paladin, maybe.” He suggests.

Mike swallows and then he lets his head slump back. His hands settle on Will’s hips.

“The Heart.” Mike throws in. Will’s smile grows.

“The Heart. Trademark.”

“We really should claim it legally, before someone else does.”

“I don’t have that money.”

“I’ll get my hands on it.”

“How?” Will leans down and puts a few tentative kisses to Mike’s neck, who pulls in somewhat of a sharp breath.

“Like…” His thoughts trail off a bit when Will’s kisses grow firmer. “I’ll sell all our information about what happened to some insane, mega-rich conspiracy theorist.”

“He won’t believe you.”

“I’ll bring evidence.”

“Chunks of the Upside Down?”

Will nuzzles against the notch of his throat. All his laughter vibrates through Mike’s skin.

“Maybe I’ll introduce him to Jane.”

“You want to use my sister to earn money to then trademark ‘The Heart’?”

“She’d be in on it.”

“Yeah, because she’s too good and we honestly don’t deserve her.”

Will peers up again. Mike smiles, a wide, lazy smile. He runs his hand through Will’s hair, watching his eyes travel over Mike’s face.

“Do you think she knows?”

“I think they all know,” Will says. “They just don’t want to tell us.”

“No, I don’t think Max knows. She would immediately call us out.”

“She’s actually very kind to me.”

“Because you’re you.”

“Which means?”

“You’re Will. People always like you when they really know you.”

“Mike.”

A kiss is placed close to his jaw.

“What?”

“That’s …” Will rolls over and then they’re lying side by side, staring up to the ceiling. Mike can only tolerate that for approximately ten seconds until he turns on his side to study his boyfriend. His boyfriend who is Will, who is his best friend, who is everything.

Will rolls over too. He reaches forward and into the sleeve of Mike’s shirt. “That means a lot.”

“Yeah. Of course. It’s the truth.”

“And for the record, Max likes you too.”

“You think?”

“I know. She told me. She was all like: ‘Mike is so annoying, and I can’t stand him–’”

“Wow. Hard evidence.”

“Shut up. Let me finish. She said that, and then something about how she sees so much of herself in you. ‘Unfortunately.’ And seeing everything work out for you and like, you being happier makes her happy.”

“Shit. She said that?”

“Yeah.” Will laughs. “She wasn’t exactly sober, but you know.”

“A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.”

“Right.”

“Still. I think she would give us shit for hiding this.”

“This.” Will snorts.

“You are being especially cruel today. And on graduation day!”

“I just think it’s cute that you’re so vague sometimes. Don’t know if that’ll benefit your writing career.”

“Fine, then. Us being boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends,” Will repeats.

“Trademark.”

“Oh no—”

They both laugh, and it’s just that for a moment. Then Mike studies Will even further, the way he curls together in laughter. The way he’s Will, and that’s the most beautiful thing ever. That he remained Will.

“Will,” Mike interrupts suddenly. He drags himself closer until they’re pressed against each other, one of Will’s legs slotting between Mike’s, hands resting on each other. Mike looks at him, then he puts a small kiss to the mole above Will’s lips.

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t kidding though, I really am kind of scared.”

“Of what?”

“Everything. The future, I guess.”

“The future’s scary.” Will’s eyes are gentle and his lashes long. Their breaths mingle.

“It’s like everything has always been unstable, and now we finally have stability, but then I also have nothing figured out. So am I really in this place of stability or are things just less shitty?”

“I think that’s just life. We are literally eighteen.”

“He speaks wisely.”

“Mike.” Will laughs. “You get what I mean.”

“Yeah. I mean at least I’ve got you.”

“And we’re going to the same college.”

“And we’ll get an apartment together.”

“And we’ll spend our first paychecks on the dumbest shit ever.”

“And we’ll watch weird arthouse movies when Jonathan comes over.” Mike smiles. “He’ll go: ‘Knew there was something up with you guys.’”

“He’ll be so cool about it.”

“He’ll want to kill me.”

“Do you want to tell Nancy?” Will asks.

“I think she knows. She’s a journalist. She can tell when people are lying.”

“She’s so bad-ass.”

“Intimidating.”

“I want to be her when I grow up.”

Mike huffs and then he kisses Will, because he can. “You are grown up now.”

“I still feel like I did when I was twelve. Just less sad.”

“Definitely less sad.”

“I’m scared too. But I'm mostly excited. We won’t have to lock doors anymore.”

“Wait for my dad or Hop to fall asleep.”

“Jesus.” Will smiles. He is so beautiful.

“I want to keep telling you that I love you,” Mike confesses. Will’s face changes, brightens.

“You should.”

“Mhm.” Mike kisses him. “I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

He once more climbs on top of Will, halfway, so that they’re chest to chest. “Again.”

He kisses him, once, twice. Mike can somehow taste his smile. He tugs Will’s mouth open again and passes the gum back. It surprises him at first, before it melts into amusement.

“I love you.”

“This doesn’t even taste like mint anymore.”

“I love you.”

“Mike!” Will laughs. He takes the gum out of his mouth and tosses it into the trashcan beside them. Then he reaches both hands up to Mike’s scalp and pulls him down for a kiss that’s deeper. Mike sighs into his mouth, both hands on Will’s shoulders. The entire room is silent, safe for the whistle of evening wind and the smack of their lips coming together and separating again.

“Living together is gonna be so fun,” Mike speaks between kisses. He feels Will everywhere. It’s a bit insane.

“Lots of kissing.”

“All the time.”

“Doesn’t sound bad.”

“Not at all.” Mike kisses him again and then he pulls on Will’s bottom lip a bit with his teeth. Will gasps.

“You’re crazy.”

“And your boyfriend.”

“You really love saying that, huh.”

“You love that I love it.”

“Don’t get cocky. But yeah, I do. It’s cute that you’re proud.”

“In secret.”

“We’ll get there.”

Mike yawns, and only then does he notice how tired he is. Or he remembers. He was tired when he woke up, but this has been distracting.

“Fuck,” He breathes. It seems he’s infectious, because Will yawns too.

“Yeah, same.”

“I think I’ll just–” He plops himself down on Will, who huffs out and feigns pain. His arms lock around Mike.

“I didn’t tell Jane I was going to spend the night here.”

“It’s just a nap.”

“Mike, it’s literally dark outside.”

“So? You’re an adult. You can decide things for yourself. And I thought your mom was over monitoring you.”

“She is. But it still feels like an asshole-y thing to do. Plus Hop is like, insane.”

“You’re in good hands. They know that.”

“Ew.”

Mike nuzzles into Will’s shirt, making himself comfortable. He honestly doesn’t care that he’s in his graduation outfit (thankfully, minus the robe) and that Will feels some moral obligation to tell everyone about his whereabouts. He’s at Mike’s, like almost all the time.

 “I’m so tired,” he breathes. “And I love you.”

“One hour,” Will offers. “We’ll nap for an hour and then I’ll call my mom.”

“Two.”

“You have the entire night to sleep.”

“You’re so comfortable like this.”

“I feel a bit gross in these clothes.”

“Humans are inherently gross.”

“You can add gross human to your list of layers.”

“Gross human boyfriend.”

“Trademark,” Will says quietly, before his arms tighten around Mike.

A few breaths. No words.

Then: “I love you. And I’ll love you when we’re away from here. I’ll love you in New York.”

Mike breathes out, long and heavy like dogs do when they’re finally resting.

“I know. You’re really good at that.”

“What?” Will asks under his breath.

“Loving.”

“So are you.”

“You bring it out of me.” His vision blurs with fatigue. Will slides a hand into his hair.

“We’ll be okay.”

It takes eighteen strokes of his hair until he can’t keep up with counting anymore. It’s one hundred and eighty minutes they spend asleep, waking up to the crack of night, brushing teeth and Will in Mike’s pajamas, his bike parked outside, all of the world taking place inside. Mike kisses him to sleep. He kisses him awake too. This is having. This is going to bed with a prayer fulfilled.

This is his life, and the rest of it too.