Archive of Our Own

New York City was supposed to be their fresh start. Starting college together. When Mike and Will signed the lease on their tiny, slightly run-down apartment, Mike thought they were finally building something real. Just the two of them, miles away from Hawkins and the ghosts of their past.

Instead, Mike had never felt more alone.

Sitting at the small kitchen table, staring at a half-empty plate of cold takeout, Mike let out a sigh. It was 1:00 AM, and the apartment was dead silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. Again.

For the past few weeks, Will had been like a ghost haunting their own home. He’d vanish for hours, slipping out at odd times and creeping back in during the middle of the night. Every time Mike tried to ask about it, Will would pull away, offering up some stupid excuse about late studio sessions or long walks to clear his head.

It was driving Mike crazy.

Mike knew Will. He knew the subtle shift in Will’s eyes when he was hiding something, the way his shoulders hitched, the exact nervous pitch of his voice when he wasn't telling the whole truth. Will was a terrible liar, which meant he wasn't even trying that hard to hide the fact that he was keeping secrets.

What did I do? That question kept Mike up every single night, endlessly looping in his head. Did he say something wrong? Did he push too hard? Was living together a mistake? The thought of Will pulling away—of Will realizing he didn't want Mike around anymore—made a cold knot of panic tighten in Mike’s chest.

Because the truth was that he was hopelessly, desperately in love with his best friend. He had been for a while now. Moving to New York for college with Will felt like a second chance to finally do things right, to protect him, to be the person Will needed.

But now, there was this suffocating, unspoken tension hanging between them. On the rare occasions Will was actually home, they tiptoed around each other like strangers. The easy laughter, the quiet late-night talks, the shared glances—it was all slipping away, replaced by bruised knuckles on Will's hands and eyes that avoided Mike’s at all costs.

Mike pushed his plate away, resting his head in his hands. He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't just sit on the couch night after night, waiting for Will and watching the gap between them grow wider until there was nothing left.

If Will wouldn't tell him what was going on, Mike was going to find out himself.

He stood up, his jaw setting with sudden determination. No more passive waiting. No more letting Will drift away. He walks up to Will’s room. Maybe he’ll find something there.

Mike stood in the doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hated this. He hated feeling like a spy in his own apartment, invading the privacy of the person he cared about most. But the silence in the living room was suffocating, and the constant distance between them was slowly tearing Mike apart. If Will wouldn't talk to him, Mike had to find out what was wrong on his own.

The room was clean and familiar. It smelled like Will—a mixture of cheap cedar cologne, acrylic paint, and rain. His drawing desk was neat, sketchbooks stacked in a corner, pencils lined up. Everything looked totally, utterly normal.

Except for the soft, blue glow radiating from the desk.

Will’s laptop was sitting open, unlocked and active. Will almost never left his computer unlocked; he must have forgotten.

Mike swallowed hard, taking three hesitation-filled steps toward the desk. Don't do it, a voice in his head warned. Just walk out. Respect his boundary. But then he remembered the dark circles under Will's eyes, the bruised wrist he'd caught a glimpse of last night, and the cold lies.

He leaned over the desk, placing a trembling hand on the trackpad.

Open on the desktop was a single, unorganized folder labeled Spider-Man.

Mike blinked, a wave of confusion washing over him. Spider-Man? The colorful guy who had been swinging through New York for the past few months? Will had never mentioned liking him. Will barely paid attention to local sports, let alone superhero news.

Driven by sheer curiosity, Mike clicked into the folder.

Dozens of files popped up, mostly downloaded news articles and digital clippings:

• “Spider-Man Stops Bank Robbery in Queens”
  
• “Who is Spider-Man? Witness Reports Point to Young Male”
  
• “Spider-Man Injured in Harbor Docks Clash”
  

Mike’s brow furrowed. Was Will tracking him? Was he making a comic book or an art project about the guy? It seemed like evidence collection, almost like Will was obsessed with keeping tabs on the hero's public record.

He kept scrolling, expecting to see a folder of reference photos for drawings or something. But as he reached the bottom of the directory, the file types changed from PDFs and web images to complex schematics and code files.

Mike clicked one open.

His eyes widened. The screen filled with high-resolution 3D renders of a fabric weave, overlaid with complex mathematical equations and material stress tests. Annotations in Will’s unmistakable digital handwriting were scattered across the margins:

“Tensile strength of web-fluid formula #4 needs +12% polymer density.

Reinforce shoulder seam — tear happened during fall at 3rd Ave.

Impact padding dampens force, but reduces mobility by 5%. Find lighter alloy”

What the hell does that even mean? Mike doesn’t understand a single thing on the file.

He clicked on another file. It was a step-by-step technical breakdown of a custom mechanical device—a wrist-mounted dispenser. Below it were notes about friction co-efficients, pressure limits, and chemical synthesis recipes. Things that weren't public knowledge. Things that weren't in any comic book or news article.

These weren't fan theories. These were blueprints. Technical specs. Upgrades for a physical suit.

Only Spider-Man would have this, Mike’s mind screamed. Only the guy inside the suit would know where his own armor tore, or how much his gear weighed.

Mike stumbled back a half-step, clutching the edge of the wooden desk as his mind violently spiraled out of control.

No. No way. This is insane. Will? Will Byers? The quiet, gentle boy who spent his weekends painting landscapes and listening to records? The guy who hated conflict and flinched at loud noises?

Was Will swinging off skyscrapers? Was Will taking punches from armed criminals in dark alleys?

The bruises. The late nights. The wet sneakers. The sudden excuses, the exhaustion, the way Will always pulled away whenever the news reported a Spider-Man sighting in the city.

It all slammed together in Mike’s head like a physical impact.

Or is he just... insane? Mike thought, a wave of cold panic surging through him. Is he an obsessive fan? Is he trying to build a suit himself? Is he going out at night pretending to be a hero and getting himself hurt?

Either answer was terrifying. If Will was Spider-Man, he was risking his life every single night while Mike slept soundly three feet away. If Will wasn't Spider-Man, he was losing his mind, playing a dangerous game that was going to get him killed.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway outside.

Mike’s head snapped toward the door, his pulse thundering in his ears. Footsteps were approaching the room.

The heavy, distinct sound of Will’s footsteps paused, then faded away toward the bathroom. The lock clicked into place, followed by the soft hum of running water.

Mike moved faster than he thought possible.

He lunged forward, gently clicked the laptop shut to its original angle, and backed out of the room on silent tiptoes. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that it almost drowned out the sound of his own shaky breath. Slipping back into the dark hallway, he retreated into his own bedroom, pulling the door closed until it clicked softly.

He sank onto the edge of his mattress, his entire body trembling.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaked open. Footsteps padded softly down the hall, followed by the faint rustle of Will entering his bedroom and closing the door.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut in the dark, clutching his knees to his chest. Did he notice? Did I leave the desk chair in the exact same spot? Was the laptop angle slightly off? His head throbbed with racing thoughts.

Sitting there in the shadows, Mike tried to stitch the pieces together. The technical schematics, the notes on suit repairs, the precise locations of tear marks... it was too specific to be a fan's dream. But the alternative felt entirely unreal. Will—his quiet, gentle Will—was throwing himself into dangerous fights, risking his life every single night while Mike sat safely on the couch waiting for him to come home.

The panic in Mike's chest morphed into an overwhelming need for absolute certainty. He couldn't confront Will on a hunch; if Mike was wrong, he’d look completely insane and push Will even further away.

I need proof, Mike thought, staring up at his dark ceiling. Real, undeniable proof. He began plotting in his head. Tomorrow, he wouldn't just wait up for Will. He would check the hidden corners of the apartment—the back of Will’s closet, under his bed, maybe even the loose floorboards under the desk. If there was a real suit, it had to be physical. It had to be somewhere in this apartment.

As the hours dragged on, exhaustion finally overtook the sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins. His eyelids grew heavy, his frantic thoughts slowly blurring into heavy, restless sleep, filled with dreams of shadows, red-and-blue fabric, and eyes he couldn't quite reach.

For an entire week, Mike became a man possessed.

Every spare second he had was spent obsessing over the quiet hero swinging through Manhattan. He stared at high-definition news photos until his eyes ached, zooming in on Spider-Man’s shoulder width, the curve of his posture, and the subtle way he favored his left leg when he landed. It was uncanny. The proportions were Will. The way the hero hesitated for a split second before taking a leap—it matched the exact nervous tick Will had when making a big decision.

Mike had even snooped through Will's room two more times when he was sure the apartment was empty. He didn't find a flashy costume hidden in the closet, but he found things almost as damning. High up in the corner of Will’s closet, right where the drywall met the ceiling, was a thick, sticky patch of white webbing. No normal house spider made threads that strong—Mike had poked it with a pencil, and the lead practically glued itself to the fiber.

Then, buried in the back of a drawer under a pile of paint-stained rags, Mike had found a sleek, metallic wrist band. It was heavy, packed with micro-gears, and clearly hand-assembled. A web-shooter. It had to be.

Now, sitting on the gravelly roof of their apartment building, Mike was 87% sure.

The cool evening air swept over the rooftop, carrying the distant, roaring hum of New York City traffic below. This had always been their spot—a quiet refuge up where they could escape the noise of the city.

Will was sitting a few feet away on the edge of the building, his knees pulled up, sipping from a can of soda. The wind ruffled his dark hair, and for a second, in the fading light, he just looked like the quiet boy Mike had grown up with in Hawkins.

But then Mike saw the faint purple bruise peeking out from under the collar of Will's jacket.

Mike’s chest tightened, a storm of emotions swirling inside him. Panic, frustration, admiration, and a deep, aching love that nearly choked him. He was tired of the silence. He was tired of watching the person he loved carry the weight of the entire city on his shoulders alone, bleeding in the dark and coming home to lie about it.

He took a slow, deep breath, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the concrete.

"Nice night, isn't it?" Will asked quietly, breaking the silence. He turned to smile at Mike—a small, tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Mike didn't smile back. He kept his gaze locked on Will, his voice dead serious when he spoke.

"How long were you going to keep lying to me, Will?"

Will stared at him, his brow furrowing in utter confusion. For a second, his posture didn't even shift. "What are you talking about, Mike?" he asked, his tone cautious, like he was trying to figure out if this was a joke.

"I’m talking about us, Will," Mike said, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of a week's worth of built-up frustration. "I feel like I'm completely losing you. I miss you. You're living in the same apartment as me, but you're never actually here. I can tell that something is going on, and you’re just shutting me out completely."

Will swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. The slight wind on the roof ruffled his hair, and for a second, he looked so small. "Mike... I'm sorry," he offered softly, his voice barely carrying over the distant hum of street traffic below. "I really am. It's just... stuff has been intense."

"’Stuff has been intense’?" Mike repeated, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh. He stood up abruptly from the concrete, unable to sit still any longer, and began pacing back and forth across the gravel-covered roof. "That's all I get? We moved to New York together, Will! I'm your best friend. You're supposed to be able to trust me!"

"I do trust you!" Will insisted, standing up too. He took a step forward, his hands held out in a gentle gesture. "You know I do, Mike. You're the most important person in my life."

Mike stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face Will, his dark eyes searching Will's face, looking for any crack in the armor, any sign of the truth.

"Do you?" Mike asked, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "Do you really trust me?"

"Of course I do," Will said without hesitation, looking directly into Mike's eyes.

Silence stretched between them on the dimly lit rooftop. Mike took a slow, heavy breath, bracing himself for the moment he had been replaying in his head all week.

"Then why didn't you tell me you're Spider-Man?"

The air seemed to get sucked right out of the night.

Will froze entirely. The expression on his face flickered—first sheer, unadulterated shock, followed immediately by an almost comical look of disbelief. "What?"

"I know you're Spider-Man, Will," Mike said, stepping closer, his voice firm, unwavering. He was tired of the evasions, tired of the secret bruises, tired of being left in the dark.

Will blinked, letting out a nervous, breathless laugh as he took a half-step backward. "Mike... are you insane? Spider-Man? I—I'm not Spider-Man! Why on earth would you even think that?!"

Mike steps closer. "I've known you almost my entire life. I know the exact face you make when you're trying to hide something from me. I can see the lie on your face right now."

Will let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand over his face. He shook his head, sounding more exhausted than defensive. "Mike, listen to me. I am not Spider-Man. You're losing your mind."

"Fine," Mike snapped. "You want to play it like this?"

Mike turned on his heel and walked directly toward the edge of the roof.

It was a reckless, terrifying gamble. Deep down, Mike knew he was only 87% sure. There was a tiny, horrifying voice in the back of his head reminding him that if he was wrong, this was absolute madness. But the desperation, the week of endless research, and the sheer fear of losing Will drove him forward anyway. He had to know. He needed Will to stop hiding behind walls.

"Mike? What are you doing?"

The shift in Will's voice was immediate—the fake annoyance completely vanished, replaced by a sharp edge of pure panic.

Mike reached the brick border and stepped right up to the drop, a few stories above the hard asphalt of the alleyway below. He turned around so his back was to the empty air, staring straight at Will.

"I'm going to prove it," Mike said. His knees were trembling, his pulse thundering like a drum in his ears, but he forced his chin up. His voice shook as he spoke, yet he refused to back down. "If you're really just normal Will Byers, then you'll just have to watch me fall. But if you're Spider-Man... you'll save me."

Will's face completely crumbled. The color drained from his skin, leaving him deathly pale.

"What—no! Mike, stop! Are you insane?!" Will shouted, taking frantic, terrified steps forward, his hands outstretched. Tears instantly flooded his eyes, shimmering under the rooftop lights. "No, no, no, please, don't do this! Get away from the edge! Please, Mike!"

"I just want you to be honest with me!" Mike yelled back, tears stinging his own eyes from the sheer adrenaline and grief. "Stop lying to me! Just say it!"

Will stopped a few feet away, trembling from head to toe. A single tear escaped, spilling over his cheek. He looked utterly broken, caught in a nightmare he couldn't control. He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, and whispered in a voice barely louder than the wind, "I... I can't, Mike. Please."

Mike looked at him—at the boy he loved more than anything in the world, who still couldn't bring himself to bridge the gap between them.

"Too bad," Mike choked out.

And before his mind could convince his body to stop, Mike took a single step backward into the air and let himself fall backwards.

The air was instantly ripped from Mike’s lungs as gravity took over.

The rush of wind roared in his ears, tearing at his clothes as the brick facade of their building shot upward at a terrifying speed. In that fraction of a second, as the hard pavement of the alleyway rushed up to meet him, a cold spike of pure, unadulterated terror pierced through the adrenaline.

What did I just do?

He didn't actually want to die. He wanted an answer, a truth, a sign that the boy he loved hadn't completely drifted away. But as the wind whipped his face, panic slammed into him with full force.

Then, over the roaring wind, he heard it.

"MIKE, NO!"

It wasn't just a shout; it was a raw, gut-wrenching scream of absolute horror.

Mike forced his eyes open against the rushing air, and his heart gave a massive leap. Out of the darkness above, diving headfirst off the rooftop with reckless, impossible speed, was Will. No costume, no mask—just Will Byers, shooting through the air like a meteor, his face contorted in sheer desperation as he plunged directly toward the falling pavement.

Mike’s mouth twitched into a breathless, terrified smile. I knew it.

Will extended his arm, his hand shaping into a sharp, familiar gesture. A high-pitched THWIP echoed off the alley walls, and a thick line of bright white web shot straight out from his wrist.

The webbing slammed into the center of Mike’s chest, sticking instantly to his shirt. Before Mike could even register the impact, Will yanked the line hard, collapsing the distance between them. In mid-air, Will wrapped his arm around Mike’s torso, pulling him tight against his chest. Mike threw his arms around Will's neck, clinging to him like a lifeline, his heart hammering wildly against Will's ribs.

They were still falling at a lethal speed, the ground only feet away.

Without missing a beat, Will reached out with his free hand and fired another web line toward a high fire escape on the building across the street. The line caught, and turned their terrifying downward drop into a sharp, exhilarating arc.

Mike felt the heavy pull of G-force as they swung through the air, clearing the alleyway and sweeping in a grand curve above the street lights. It was dizzying, weightless, and utterly incredible. Will held him with a strength that felt impossible for his frame, securing Mike so firmly that not even the wind could pull them apart.

With practiced grace, Will aimed for a quiet, deserted sidewalk nearby. He fired a quick web to slow their momentum, landed lightly on his feet with a soft thud.

He didn't let go immediately. They stood there on the pavement under the dim glow of a streetlamp, chest to chest, breathing heavily, both of them trembling from the sheer surge of adrenaline.

Will slowly loosened his grip, stepping back just enough to look at Mike. His eyes were wide, filled with tears, anger, and relief, while his wrist was still raised, revealing the gleaming metallic web-shooter hidden beneath his sleeve.

Tears spilled over Will’s cheeks, catching the dim glow of the streetlamp overhead. His whole body was trembling, his chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths.

"You idiot!" Will sobbed, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He reached out and shoved Mike's shoulder—not enough to knock him down, but hard enough to send a sharp jolt through Mike's chest. "Why would you do that?!"

Will hit his shoulder again, weaker this time, his knuckles trembling. "I could have lost you, Mike! You can't just—you can't just throw yourself off a building! What is wrong with you?!"

Will backed away, stumbling until his back hit the cold brick wall of the alleyway. He slid down slightly, leaning heavily against the building as if his legs could barely hold his weight. He buried his face in his hands, trying desperately to smother his violent sobs.

Standing a few feet away, Mike felt a heavy, cold wave of guilt wash over him. Seeing Will undone like this, practically breaking apart in front of him, made Mike's stomach twist into knots. Yet, deep down, beneath the guilt, a tiny, selfish spark of relief and pride quieted his racing pulse. I was right. He wasn't crazy. Will really was Spider-Man.

Mike took a slow, hesitant step toward the wall. "Will... I'm sorry," he offered softly, his own voice unsteady.

"I could have watched you die right in front of my eyes, Michael!" Will choked out, pulling his hands away from his face to glare at Mike through a blur of tears. Using his full name made the words slice even deeper. "If I had been a second slower... if my web-shooter had jammed..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Mike said, taking another step closer. He reached out, desperately hoping Will would let him wrap his arms around him, hoping he could comfort the boy he had just terrified. "I swear I'm sorry, Will. But you were stonewalling me for weeks! It was the only way to get you to just fess up!"

Will wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, trying to force his breathing back into a steady rhythm, though his chest still hitched. He looked up at Mike, his eyes red and filled with a painful mixture of anger and deep sorrow.

"Did you ever stop to think, Mike?" Will asked, his voice dropping to a harsh, shaky whisper. "Did you stop to think for even one second that maybe—just maybe—there was a reason I didn't tell you?"

Mike stopped in his tracks, his hand hovering in the space between them before slowly falling back to his side. The lingering pride in his chest vanished instantly, replaced by a cold realization. Will had said on the roof that he trusted Mike. If he trusted him... then why keep something this huge hidden?

"What... what do you mean?" Mike asked softly, his brows drawing together. "If you trust me, then what reason could you possibly have?"

Will took a long, shaky breath, wiping the last of the tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, staring up at the dark sky between the buildings before looking back at Mike.

"Knowing who Spider-Man is... it’s dangerous, Mike," Will said, his voice quiet, almost pleading for Mike to understand. "There are people out there—dangerous people—who are constantly trying to figure out who is under the mask. If anyone ever finds out that someone knows me, that someone is close to me... they will use it against me. They'll target you. They'll kidnap you, hurt you, use you as bait just to get me."

The weight of Will's words hit Mike like a physical blow. The cold reality swept over him, instantly erasing any lingering sense of satisfaction he had felt a moment ago.

"I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you because of me," Will continued, his voice trembling again. "I'm sorry I lied. I'm so sorry for keeping you in the dark. But I was just trying to protect you. I couldn't risk putting a target on your back."

Mike swallowed hard, a heavy lump forming in his throat. He looked down at the pavement, thoroughly ashamed of how reckless he had been on the roof. "I... I understand now, Will. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. I shouldn't have made you feel like you had to choose."

Before Mike could say anything else, Will stepped forward and pulled him into a fierce, desperate hug. He wrapped his arms tightly around Mike's shoulders, burying his face into the crook of Mike's neck.

"I just don't want to lose you," Will whispered, his voice muffled against Mike's shirt, trembling with pure emotion. "You're everything to me, Mike. I can't lose you."

Mike’s arms instantly came up around Will's waist, holding him just as tightly, resting his chin on Will's shoulder. "You won't," Mike promised softly, closing his eyes. "You're not going to lose me."

Will let out a shaky sigh, pulling back just enough to look Mike in the eye, though he didn't completely let go. "You can never do something that stupid again, Mike. Do you hear me? Promise me."

"I promise," Mike said earnestly, nodding quickly. "I swear, never again."

As they stood there in the quiet alleyway, a confusing storm of emotions raged inside Mike's chest. Guilt was heavy at the center of it—he had terrified Will and almost ruined everything just to satisfy his own need for answers. But underneath that guilt was an overwhelming mix of relief and awe. He had been right. His best friend—the boy he loved—was Spider-Man. And even more overwhelming was the realization that Will's distance hadn't been caused by coldness or rejection, but by a deep, protective love. Will was carrying the weight of the city on his shoulders just to keep him safe.

Mike didn't entirely know how to process everything he was feeling, but standing there in the cool night air, the space between them finally felt gone.

"Come on," Mike said softly, giving Will's arm a gentle squeeze. "Let's go home and talk properly."

Will gave a small, weary nod, a faint trace of a smile finally breaking through his exhausted face. "Yeah. Let's go home."

The walk back to their apartment building was practically silent. They stayed right beside each other, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they navigated the quiet, dimly lit sidewalks. It didn't take long to get back; after all, Mike had stepped off their own rooftop, and Will had brought them down just a block away.

When they finally pushed open the door to their apartment and locked it securely behind them, both of them let out a long breath. The familiar smell of the apartment offered a sense of comfort after the chaos of the night.

"Come on," Mike said softly, gesturing toward the living room. "Let's sit down for a minute."

Will nodded without a word, following Mike to the worn-out fabric couch. They sank into the cushions, the silence settling around them again. For a while, neither of them said anything. The distant hum of traffic filtered through the window, but inside, the atmosphere felt warm, safe, and entirely centered on the two of them.

After a long beat, Mike turned his head to look at Will. "How did it even happen?" he asked quietly. "How did you become... Spider-Man?"

Will let out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. "It was that class field trip to the Columbia biotech labs," he explained, staring down at his hands. "A genetically modified spider got out. It bit me on the back of my hand, and... I don't know, by the next morning, everything was different. My vision was completely fixed, I could stick to walls, and I had this... intense sensory awareness. Everything just changed."

Mike listened intently, taking in every detail. It still sounded like something straight out of a comic book, but seeing Will sitting right next to him, he knew it was as real as it got.

"So," Will said, turning to look at Mike with curiosity, "how did you figure it out?"

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a wave of embarrassment. "I was just... I was so tired of you lying to me," he confessed, his voice dropping. "I was spiraling, Will. I thought you were slipping away, or that I’d done something terrible to make you push me away. So, one night when you were gone, I went into your room. I know I shouldn't have, and I am so sorry for invading your privacy... but your laptop was open."

Will raised his eyebrows slightly, but didn't look angry.

"I saw the folder," Mike continued softly. "The one labeled Spider-Man. At first, I thought you were just following the news, but then I saw the schematics. The suit upgrades, the web-fluid formulas, the notes on tear repairs... stuff only the guy inside the suit would know. And then I found the webbing in your closet and the wrist device under your paint rags."

Mike looked into Will's eyes, his expression deeply earnest. "I was just terrified that you hated me, Will. I couldn't stand the thought of you pulling away from me."

Will's soft expression softened even further. "Mike... I could never hate you," he said gently, his tone completely sincere. "You're the last person on earth I could ever hate."

Hearing those words made something tightly wound inside Mike's chest finally loosen. Taking a small, hesitant breath, Mike shuffled a little closer on the couch, closing the physical gap between them. Their knees brushed together, Will didn't pull away.

He looked at Will, his eyes scanning the quiet boy sitting beside him—the hero who carried the weight of the city on his shoulders, but still looked so remarkably gentle.

"Will..." Mike asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern. "Are you... are you safe doing this?"

Will let out a long, heavy sigh, looking down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "To be honest... I don't know, Mike," he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are a lot of dangerous people out there who want to take Spider-Man down. But... I'm also so much stronger now. I have these powers for a reason."

"That doesn't mean you should keep putting yourself in danger," Mike insisted, his brow furrowing. "If it's not safe, Will, you can't just keep doing this every single night."

"The city needs me, Mike," Will said, turning to look at him, his hazel eyes filled with a heavy determination. "You see the news. You see what happens out there. If I have the ability to help people—to stop bad things from happening—how can I just turn my back on them?"

Mike looked at him, searching his face. As much as he wanted to demand that Will stay safe inside their apartment forever, he knew Will was right. He had seen the headlines, the burning buildings, the lives saved on the nightly news. Spider-Man was making a real difference. But knowing the person underneath that mask was the boy sitting right next to him made the reality terrifying.

"Just... promise me you'll be careful," Mike begged, his voice cracking slightly. "Please. No reckless risks. No trying to be a superhero when you're overwhelmed."

Will offered a soft, reassuring smile, his eyes softening. "I promise, Mike. Of course I will."

The heavy, tense air in the room finally began to disappear, leaving both of them completely drained from the emotional rollercoaster of the night. Mike leaned back against the couch cushions, rubbing his tired eyes.

"How about we put on a movie?" Mike suggested, desperate for a normal distraction. "Get our heads cleared a bit?"

"That sounds amazing," Will agreed softly, sinking deeper into the couch.

Mike grabbed the remote and scrolled through their watchlist, eventually settling on a lighthearted comedy they’d both seen a dozen times before. As the dim screen illuminated the dark living room with a soft glow, the quiet of the apartment wrapped around them like a blanket.

Without either of them consciously realizing it, they had shifted closer together. Their shoulders were pressed firmly against one another, their thighs touching, the warmth between them undeniable. Neither of them made a move to pull away. Mike felt a quiet spark of happiness flutter in his chest—he loved being this close to Will, feeling the solid, comforting presence of his best friend right beside him after weeks of feeling so distant.

Twenty minutes into the movie, the gentle hum of the TV filled the room. Suddenly, Mike felt a subtle shift beside him.

Will’s body relaxed completely, and his head gently tilted sideways, resting his cheek right against Mike’s shoulder.

Mike froze instantly. His breath caught in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs so loudly he was convinced Will could hear it. A warm, furious blush rushed up his neck, burning his cheeks. He held his breath, terrified that the slightest twitch would make Will pull away.

Slowly, carefully, Mike tilted his head down to glance at Will.

Will’s eyes were closed, his long eyelashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, his quiet breathing soft against Mike's side. He looked so peaceful, the deep lines of stress and exhaustion completely erased from his face.

A soft smile spread across Mike's face. He thought about everything Will had been carrying by himself—swinging across the city, fighting off danger, trying to protect everyone, and coming home exhausted to hide it all. Of course he fell asleep.

Mike gently let out the breath he’d been holding, adjusting his posture just a tiny fraction so Will could rest more comfortably against him. He didn't care about the fact that his arm was going to go numb, or that the movie was still playing unwatched in front of them. He stayed completely still in the quiet room, keeping his best friend safe and warm, feeling closer to him than he ever had before.

Mike sat completely frozen on the couch for nearly half an hour, barely daring to breathe. Will’s breathing was slow and even, his weight a warm, solid comfort pressed against Mike’s side.

As the clock on the wall quietly ticked past 2:00 AM, Mike looked down at his friend. Slumped awkwardly on a worn-out couch was definitely not a comfortable way to sleep off the exhaustion of saving the city. He debated what to do. Leaving him here meant Will would wake up with a sore neck and an aching back—on top of whatever hidden bruises he was already hiding. But carrying him meant risking waking him up.

He needs real sleep, Mike thought, making up his mind.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Mike carefully adjusted his position. He slid one arm around Will’s back, supporting his shoulders, and reached his other arm under Will’s knees. Trying to be as gentle as humanly possible, Mike braced himself and stood up, lifting Will into his arms in a bridal style.

It took him a second to balance his footing. Mike was reasonably fit, but carrying a full-grown guy wasn't something he did every day. Will wasn't heavy by any means, but Mike definitely felt the strain in his arms and core.

As Mike shifted his grip, Will stirred softly. His brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, a quiet, sleepy sigh escaping his lips. Then, without even opening his eyes, Will subconsciously reached up and wrapped both arms loosely around Mike’s neck, burying his face slightly into the crook of Mike's shoulder.

Mike’s heart did a sudden, violent flip against his ribs. A bright, hot blush flared across his cheeks and spread all the way to the tips of his ears. He froze in the middle of the living room, his pulse thumping loudly in his ears.

Is he awake? Mike thought, his mind racing. Did I wake him up? Is he doing this on purpose?

Carefully, Mike glanced down at Will's face. His eyelashes resting gently against his skin, his mouth slightly parted, his face entirely smooth and relaxed. No, he was definitely still fast asleep, operating purely on comfortable instinct. Right?

A fond, gentle smile softened Mike’s face. Relief and affection washed over him.

Holding Will securely, Mike took careful, deliberate steps across the living room carpet, navigating through the dark hallway until he reached the door of Will’s bedroom. He pushed it open with his hip and walked over to the bed.

With extreme care, Mike bent his knees and lowered Will onto the mattress. But when he tried to pull back, Will’s arms remained looped around his neck, holding fast even in sleep.

Mike couldn't help a quiet, breathless chuckle. Gently, he took Will’s wrists and unclasped his hands, easing his arms down so they rested comfortably at his sides. He pulled the thick blanket up over Will’s shoulders, tucking him in against the chill of the night.

For a long moment, Mike just stood by the edge of the bed in the quiet darkness, watching his best friend—the hero of New York City, who looked so small and peaceful right now.

Driven by a sudden, tender wave of emotion he didn't care to fight anymore, Mike leaned down over the bed. He reached out with trembling fingers, brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from Will’s forehead.

Slowly, Mike pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Will’s warm forehead.

"Goodnight, Will," Mike whispered into the quiet room.

He lingered for just a second longer, making sure Will was settled, before stepping out of the room.

Mike just turned to walk to the door when a soft, raspy voice cut through the dark.

"Mike?"

Mike froze, his chest locking up instantly. Shit. A wave of intense, blazing heat surged from his neck all the way to the roots of his hair. His heart wasn't just beating; it was violently hammering against his ribs. He woke him up. Worse—far, far worse—was the sudden, terrifying realization of what he had done just five seconds ago. He had brushed Will's hair back. He had kissed his forehead.

Panic flared in his mind. Was Will awake for that? Did he feel it? Did he know?

Sucking in a quiet breath to steady his voice, Mike slowly turned around in the dim light, his face burning bright red. "Yeah?" he asked, trying desperately to sound casual and failing miserably.

Will was sitting up slightly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, his hair delightfully messy. He looked up at Mike through the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

"Do you... do you want to just stay in here tonight?" Will asked quietly, his voice laced with sleep.

Mike blinked, stunned. They hadn't slept in the same room since packing up their lives in Hawkins and moving to New York.

"Sure," Mike said, the word slipping out before his brain could even process it.

Will nodded softly and shifted over, pulling the heavy blanket back to make room on the mattress. Mike carefully climbed onto the bed. He pulled the corner of the blanket over himself and laid down on his side. Will turned to face him, laying on his side too, just inches away.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The quiet intimacy of the room was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the chaotic, dangerous night they had just survived on the streets of Manhattan.

"I missed this," Will murmured into the space between them, his dark eyes fixed on Mike. "I missed our sleepovers."

"Me too," Mike admitted softly, his voice barely a breath. "It's been... way too long."

Will offered a faint, tired smile. "Thank you. For bringing me to bed."

A sudden spike of suspicion rattled through Mike's mind. He stared at Will, desperately trying to read his expression in the shadows. Did he just wake up when I laid him down? Or was he awake the entire time? Did he feel me carrying him? Did he feel the kiss? Mike swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool. "Of course," he said, forcing a faint smirk to hide his racing thoughts. "If I left you on that couch, your neck would’ve been completely wrecked by morning. I couldn't let my superhero roommate get defeated by a bad couch."

Will let out a quiet, breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He shifted even closer, closing the distance between them until their foreheads were almost touching. Mike held his breath, his pulse thumping loudly in his ears.

"Mike..." Will’s tone turned serious, his voice dropping to a gentle, velvety whisper. "Earlier...you said you felt like you were losing me. Like I was leaving you behind."

Mike felt a small pang of guilt in his chest, but he stayed silent, letting Will speak.

"I just... I need to make sure you know that I will never leave you," Will said, staring directly into Mike's eyes with an intensity that made Mike's heart ache in the best way possible. "You know that, right? You are... you're the most important person in my entire life, Mike. I wouldn't be able to live without you. I mean it."

A profound, warmth flooded through Mike’s entire chest, washing away every last trace of doubt, fear, and insecurity he had carried for the past month. He looked at Will—at the boy who swung off buildings, who risked everything for strangers, but who looked at Mike like he was his entire universe.

A soft, genuine smile spread across Mike's face.

"I know that now," Mike whispered, his voice trembling with genuine emotion. He leaned in just a tiny fraction more, gently pressing his forehead against Will's, connecting them in the quiet darkness. "You're the most important person in my life too, Will. I couldn't live without you either."

They stayed like that, foreheads resting together, breathing the same air in the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom, as the city outside continued to spin without them.

In the dim moonlight, Mike watched Will’s eyes flicker down, his gaze briefly landing on Mike’s lips before darting back up.

A sudden, electric spark zipped through Mike’s chest. This is it, he thought, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped bird. He wants this too.

Wanting to be completely sure, Mike gently raised his hand, resting his palm lightly against the curve of Will’s jaw. His skin was warm, his thumb resting softly near Will's cheekbone.

"Can I?" Mike whispered, his voice barely a breath in the small space between them.

Will didn't hesitate. He nodded softly, his dark eyes fixed entirely on Mike.

That was all the permission Mike needed. He closed his eyes and leaned in, bridging the final distance to press his lips to Will's.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and utterly sweet. For a brief second, time seemed to completely stop. Then, Will leaned into it, kissing him back. Mike couldn't help the smile that bloomed against Will's lips as he felt Will’s hands reach out, tangling slightly into the fabric of Mike’s shirt, clutching him tightly as if anchoring himself.

It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make Mike’s head spin. He had spent months convinced that a moment like this was impossible. Yet here they were, in a tiny apartment in New York City, holding each other in the dark.

When they finally pulled back, they didn't go far. Their foreheads remained rested together, their breaths mingling in the quiet room.

Mike opened his eyes and saw Will grinning, a soft, breathless chuckle escaping his lips.

"What?" Mike asked, a fond smirk playing on his own face.

Will immediately brought his hands up to cover his face, shaking his head. "It's just... this is crazy," he mumbled into his palms, his voice muffled.

"Why is it crazy?" Mike chuckled softly, trying to peer through Will's fingers.

"Because I... I just never thought you would ever like me back," Will admitted quietly, pulling his hands down just enough so his dark eyes were visible over his knuckles.

Mike laughed a little, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Well... I have. I've liked you for a little while now."

Will pulled his hands away completely, looking at Mike with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "A little while? Mike, I've liked you for... like, years."

Mike’s jaw practically dropped. "Years?!" he echoed, his eyes widening in shock. "Are you serious?"

Overwhelmed by his own confession, Will immediately threw his hands back over his face, burying his head against his pillow. "Don't make a big deal out of it!"

Laughing softly, Mike reached out, gently taking Will’s wrists and tugging his hands away from his face. "Hey, it's fine! It's more than fine," Mike said, his voice turning gentle as he looked down at him. "But... why didn't you ever say anything?"

Will raised an eyebrow at him, a subtle, knowing smirk returning to his lips. "Why didn't you?"

Mike froze, his mouth opening slightly, but no sound came out. He stared at Will, entirely caught off guard.

Will let out a quiet laugh. "There's your answer." He softened, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. "I was terrified. I didn't want to risk losing our friendship. You meant too much to me."

"Same," Mike whispered back, the honesty hanging heavily between them.

Unable to resist, Mike leaned in and kissed Will again—longer this time, a slow, lingering press of their lips that left them both breathless. When they pulled apart, Will was glowing, a brilliant, beautiful smile spreading across his face.

"Okay," Mike murmured softly, resting his hand against the back of Will’s neck. "We really should get some sleep. We’ve had a crazy night."

"Crazy together right?" Will said quietly. Mike smiles at the memory. Affection blooming in his chest. “Yeah, crazy together.” Mike whispers back.

Will shifted forward and buried his face directly into the middle of Mike's chest, tucking himself neatly into Mike's side.

Mike blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard by the sudden move, but a wave of pure affection instantly washed over him. He smiled in the dark, wrapping both of his arms securely around Will, pulling him close and holding him tight against his chest.

The quiet settled over the room again. Mike rested his chin lightly on top of Will’s messy hair, feeling entirely content.

"Goodnight, Will," Mike murmured into the darkness. "I love you."

The second the words left his mouth, Mike felt Will go completely still in his arms.

Shit, Mike’s mind screamed, panic instantly spiking through his veins. Shit, shit, shit. It was our first kiss! Why did I just say that out loud?!

Before Mike could stammer out an apology or try to take it back, Will pulled his head back slightly to look up at him. Under the soft moonlight, Will was smiling—a warm, radiant smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

"I love you too, Mike," Will whispered softly.

A massive wave of relief crashed over Mike, melting away every last trace of panic. He let out a breathless chuckle, tightening his grip on Will just a little bit more as Will settled his head back down against Mike’s chest.

Listening to the steady rhythm of each other's heartbeats, they both finally drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.