Chapter Text
“And I want the kitchen to have a bunch of different colored tiles. Like, imagine you’re cooking eggs, right, and then you look up and bam! a dozen shades of green. It’d be so pretty, right?”
It is 1991, and Will Byers might argue that he is the happiest he has ever been. Currently, he is curled into the full-sized bed that sits in the corner of his single-roomed apartment, the navy blue comforter tangling between his legs. His favorite vanilla-and-pine-scented candle is lit in the opposing corner, providing a gentle yellow light to the rest of the room. It’s mid-November; in just a few days, he gets to see his family that he misses oh so much for the holidays. And, perhaps most importantly, he’s being held by the man he loves more than anything, Will’s chestnut hair sprawled on his boyfriend’s chest mindlessly as he tucks his head under Mike’s chin. Truly, he is living the dream.
“Oh yeah?”
Will can’t help the way his smile deepens when he feels Mike’s words vibrate under his ear. If he could live inside the man, embedded next to his lungs with fingers entwined with his ribs, he would. Is he a freak of nature? Perhaps. But that is not a problem for today, he decides, continuing his daydream of residing in the safety of his boyfriend’s abdomen.
"Yes. And we could put plants in the corners of the counters… as long as it’s not too close to the stove, obviously.”
“Oh, so it’s a ‘we’ now, hm?”
Will stills for a moment before pressing his hand into Mike’s chest to prop himself upwards, staring wide-eyed at his boyfriend’s face in an attempt to read his expression at all. “I mean,” he swallows, darting his gaze quickly between Mike’s eyes. “As long as you want that, too, if-if you still wanted to live together in ten years.” Silence and a still unreadable gaze from Mike, decorated with an almost invisible smirk. “I’m sorry, that was forward. Was that too much? That was too much. I’m sorry, Mike, I got ahead of myself, and-and I don’t want to make you feel, like, pressured or anything–”
His panicked babbles are interrupted by a gentle kiss pressed directly to his lips, soothing him immediately.
“Relax, baby,” Mike smiles at him fondly with a sigh. Baby. Will could listen to him call him that all day. Babybabybaby. “Of course I want that with you. I’m only teasing.”
The brunette’s shoulders relax at the words, and he reclaims his spot on Mike’s chest with ease. “Fuck off,” he giggles, scooting one of his ankles from its tangled position with Mike’s just to kick him in the shin. “You’re mean. I was actually worried for a minute!”
Mike kisses the crown of Will’s head gently. “I want forever with you, Will. You should know this by now. I don’t want any more worrying about that from you.”
Forever. Will’s silly little heart starts to beat even quicker than it did before at the word, regardless of however many times Mike reminds him that Will is it for him. How is any of this real?
It’s been a few months since the pair of best friends finally made it official, though many might assert that whatever they had going on beforehand may as well have been a marriage itself. It took years of pining, at least one (or three, to be exact) heated encounters with the horrifically provocative label of “friendship” plastered on them as an explanation, and typical miscommunication leading to tearful confessions, but Will finally has the boy. If anyone were to tell Will six years ago, he’d have burst into flames (or tears—likely both).
No matter how many times the curly-headed boy whom Will has loved for years reminds him, Will thinks he will never fully wrap his head around the concept of Mike loving him, too. Mike. His Mike.
Not only is Mike a self-proclaimed big, fat queer like Will himself, but Will is his boy of choice. Mike Wheeler likes boys. And of all the boys around the world, he chose Will. He’s feeling faint all over again just thinking about it. Maybe he should have Mike check his pulse.
“Forever, huh?” Will murmurs contentedly, nosing at Mike’s jaw. “What do you want forever to look like, then?”
Mike hums as he nuzzles right back at his boyfriend, pondering his response. “Well, firstly, I want to marry you.”
The smallest gasp escapes Will’s lips at the notion. “Really?” he whispers.
Mike readjusts so he can get a proper look at the boy, cueing a whine from Will before he snuggles back into Mike’s chest. “Obviously,” he beams, gently pushing a section of hair behind Will’s ear before biting his lip hesitantly. “Do you want that too?”
Will almost laughs. Almost. He doesn’t, though, because the subject of marriage is just slightly too touchy to be teasing. “Of course I do,” he replies as he ruefully lifts himself from his place on Mike’s pec, propping himself up on an elbow.
The two are soundless for a moment, letting the delicacy of their short conversation linger before inevitably popping the bubble.
Will lets out a small sigh and gnaws on his lip, but Mike quickly prevents any of his downcast thoughts from coming to fruition. “It’ll happen for us, Will.”
Comfortable silence fills the air again as Will looks up at Mike through his lashes, unable to blink away any tears forming. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Mike assures without missing a beat. “And even if it doesn’t, not legally, I don’t need papers to tell me whether or not you’re mine, you know? We can do a little ceremony with just the Party and our family, and whoever the hell wants to be there. That’s all that matters to me.”
Call him a romantic, the way he is at a loss for words, or just admit he’s plainly flustered, but Will can’t think of any appropriate response. So, he kisses him with a warm exhale and all he has. It’s short and sweet, but it comes with all of Will’s intention and feelings, and he hopes Mike can read all the words he’s breathing into him.
They keep their foreheads pressed together just to breathe each other’s air. Will feels a thrill down his spine once again at the fact that he can do this, that Mike is his boy, and he can inhale his every breath if he so chooses. Mike loves him and wants to breathe his air, too. He silently thanks whatever God may or may not be out there for the blessing that Mike Wheeler is.
“Can you imagine?” Will mumbles against Mike’s lips, still memorizing the damp warmth of Mike’s every breath. “Me and you, our own house with at least three rooms,” he remarks, eliciting a giggle from both of them, “coming home from our big adult jobs to each other, a couple of kids running around.”
Mike’s breath hitches, his eyes wide, and Will catches himself a little too late after the words have already tumbled out of his mouth.
“Kids?” Mike all but whispers as he leans back, offering Will a fuller view of his face. Will thinks he may see a flicker of what he believes to be hope in Mike’s eyes, but perhaps it is his own reflection that he is seeing.
“I mean,” Will swallows, “if you want them, obviously. I don’t even know how that would work, but–”
“I do.”
The undeniable assurance in Mike’s voice leaves Will at a standstill, every beat of his heart thudding Mike’s name.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Whatever tension had been consuming Will before has completely evaporated, and he resumes his position on Mike’s chest, kissing him through his shirt after he settles.
“Maybe we could get a surrogate, or something,” he offers, the conversation growing lighter. “I bet if you asked really nicely, Nancy would totally be down.”
Mike grimaces. “Absolutely not.”
“What? Why?” Will asks genuinely, though he can’t help but bark out a laugh.
“That implies your, like, sample or whatever having to be injected into her, and I do not want anything coming out of my boyfriend’s dick going into my sister.”
“Mike!” Will shoots up to playfully backhand the boy, his eyes widened in horror as he laughs. “What is wrong with you? Why would you say it like that?”
“See! It’s gross!”
“It wasn’t gross until you made it gross.”
“Whatever,” Mike huffs. “It’s not happening.”
Will rolls his eyes animatedly. “Fine then. All my ideas are horrible and I should never open my mouth again, I see.”
“Will!” Mike whines, jabbing a finger at his boyfriend’s cheek.
“No, no! It’s fine! Next time, just tell me to shut the fuck up! I will!”
“Will…”
“You should just give me a popsicle stick that says ‘right to speak’ on it, and then if you feel so gracious, you can grant me the right to sp–”
“Oh my god,” Mike laughs, shoving his hand over Will’s mouth entirely and flipping them over so he is on top.
Will darts his tongue out and Mike squeals, ripping his hand away while they both laugh breathlessly.
“Gross!” he whines, dramatically wiping his hand on Will’s shirt, and they fall back to lying side by side.
Their laughter eventually dies down, leaving them staring at each other as they catch their breath. If any of their friends were here, they would certainly be getting teased for their obnoxious heart-eyes. But alas, they are alone; Will can swoon in peace and let a stupid grin creep up on his face as he re-counts the freckles he already has memorized on his boyfriend’s face.
“We could adopt,” Mike breaks the silence thoughtfully.
The words are simple, of course, and maybe they are even the most obvious conclusion to their conversation, but they stick out to Will in a way that everything else they’ve named hadn’t.
There is something so intentional about the concept, Will thinks, that he finds not only enticing as an experience but endearing coming out of Mike’s mouth. New words for devotion that he has spelled out for Will: I would wait until the right opportunity finds us, go through every hardship and complexity of this inherently difficult process, all to start a family with you.
Maybe those are not exactly the words Mike said, but that is what Will hears, and he finds it incredibly romantic. As if he’s not in love with Mike Wheeler enough.
“Yeah,” Will replies dumbly, a slow and small smile growing on his face. “Yeah, we could do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think I’d really like that.”
Mike beams back at him, and Will thinks he is the most stunning, perfect thing he has ever had the honor of laying his eyes on.
“Okay,” Mike kisses Will’s cheek. “So me and you: husbands with a couple of kids in a big house with at least three rooms, it is. Sound good to you?”
“Sounds like my dream,” Will replies, and he thinks those are the most honest words to ever slip out of anyone’s lips.