Archive of Our Own

If someone had told Will when he left his studio on that pleasant Thursday afternoon, satisfied but exhausted after finishing up a big-ticket commission, that upon ordering coffee from his regular spot across the street he would run into no other than Mike Wheeler, he probably wouldn’t have believed them. 

In fact, even seeing it with his own eyes, he still can’t quite believe it. One second he’s picking his order up from the counter, and the next he hears that achingly familiar, impossible-to-mistake voice call from behind him–

“Will?”

The second after that, he’s turned around, staring slack-jawed at his childhood best friend who he hasn't spoken to in a little over two years and barely registering that his coffee cup is slipping from his hands until it hits the floor with a splat. 

“Oh, shit!” Mike swears. He springs into action and grabs a fistful of napkins, throwing them down on the floor and using his shoe to frantically wipe up the mess. The other shop patrons have stopped talking to turn and stare at them. “Shit, sorry, that was my bad. I’ll buy you a new one, OK?”

Will is vaguely aware that he should probably say something, but every cell in his brain is operating at full capacity right now trying to process the sight in front of him. 

It’s May 1994. He’s twenty-three years old and lives in a shoebox apartment in Manhattan with a roommate whom he strongly suspects of laundering money through the mattress store downstairs. Mike Wheeler is here, standing in his favorite coffee shop after years of radio silence.  

He can't quite believe that these are all factual statements about his life at this moment. 

By the time Will’s vocal chords have regained function, Mike has already ordered him a new coffee and is pressing it into his hands, wincing. 

“Sorry again about that. I got you a large to make up for it, hope that’s OK?” When Will takes the cup wordlessly, Mike’s hands are left with nothing to grasp. He brings them together and starts to wring them, an old nervous tic which- apparently– hasn’t gone away. “Do you… maybe want to sit down and, uh. Catch up?”

It takes Will a second too long to process the question. He blinks and slowly nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

Sure. Like this is a perfectly normal thing to occur.

Why not? 

The part that’s hardest to believe, Will realizes as he listens to Mike’s nervous ramblings and one last apology for the spilled coffee, isn’t that Mike is here, standing in front of him, wanting to catch up. It’s that this version of Mike is here. A version with relaxed shoulders and a smile ghosting over his lips as he speaks, a version that looks younger now than he did when they graduated high school. His hair is grown out again, styled a little messily and curling just over his ears, the way he wore it when he was sixteen. He’s wearing a striped sweater with a collared shirt underneath and a pair of converse so beat-up they might actually be from when he was sixteen. He’s talking with his hands, a spark in his eye as he tells Will about how he just moved here, how he’s attending NYU in the fall, and–

He looks like himself.

He looks… good. 

Will isn’t quite sure how it happens. Maybe he’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Mike, because the next time he takes a moment to look around, the coffee shop is void of any other people except a disgruntled-looking worker wiping down the counters. The long rays of summer reach through the window as the sun dips towards the horizon. He falters mid-sentence, right in the middle of a story about a terrible concert he and Jonathan went to in a dive bar, as he realizes they must have been here for hours. 

“If you want,” Mike says, casting a nervous glance over to the worker glaring daggers at them, “I mean, you don’t have to– but if you want, I don’t live too far from here. We could grab some takeout on the way and I could show you my place?” 

Which is how Will ends up in Mike Wheeler’s– surprisingly nice, he would note– apartment, on a Thursday after work, halfway through a glass of wine. He maybe, probably should have left after they finished dinner, but then Mike asked if he drank red or white, winced at his answer– “Actually, I don’t have any white, I don’t know why I asked that, sorry"- disappeared and returned with a bottle in hand, and Will... well, he kind of let it all happen. 

It’s just– the conversation is flowing in a way that he can’t seem to tear himself away from, and maybe doesn’t want to. His cheeks ache a bit from smiling so hard, and he doesn’t remember the last time that’s happened to him. He leans back in his chair and laughs at the punchline of Mike’s story, content to stay just a little longer.  

Then Will hears a thump.

At first, he thinks it must have been his imagination, especially when Mike doesn’t give any indication that he heard it too. He keeps talking, wine sloshing dangerously in his glass as he gestures. Will nods, a little distracted but trying to follow– and then he hears it again. 

Thump. 

By the third thump, Will clears his throat. “Um– Mike, what’s that noise?”

Mike sits up and listens. When the thump comes again, his eyes light up. “Oh! That’s my rabbit.”

For a second, Will thinks he must’ve misheard, must be tipsier than he thought, especially with how nonchalantly Mike says it. Then he notices something he didn’t see before: there’s a small gate fencing the foyer and living room off from the rest of the house, too short for a child or even a dog. He opens his mouth to ask, but Mike is already getting up, looking over his shoulder and gesturing for Will to follow as he steps over it.

When they reach the dining room, Will stops short.

In the middle of the room, sitting on the rug, is a bunny rabbit.

As they approach, it kicks its hind leg back and thumps the floor again, with more force than he would have expected from something of that size, and oh, that’s what that noise was. The rabbit looks impossibly soft, all droopy velvet ears and fuzzy brown fur with some mottled white around its paws and underbelly. 

Mike smiles. He slowly comes to crouch beside it. When he puts his hand out, the bunny steps forward and nudges its nose against his palm. Will notices, then, a tiny wooden house in the corner and two ceramic bowls along the wall, one filled with water. 

My rabbit. Well. So this is... a thing. 

“He’s probably mad I was out for so long,” Mike explains, carefully picking the bunny up. He strokes it head, his eyes shining with an affection that makes Will’s heart squeeze in his chest. 

Adorable, he thinks. 

The bunny, that is. Not… anything else. 

“Did you miss me, Will?” Mike coos, still petting the rabbit, who has started to lick his arm, its tiny pink tongue darting out and retreating. 

Will blinks, startled by the awfully candid non-sequitur. His heart squeezes in his chest.

“Mike– of course I did,” he replies, voice soft.

Mike looks up, eyes wide. His ears turn a brilliant shade of red. “Oh. I was, um– I was talking to…” 

Mike takes a long pause, then screws his eyes shut and tips his head back. He lets out a mumbled string of words that Will doesn’t catch.

“Huh?”

“I said,” Mike says, speaking louder and opening his eyes, “hisnameisWill.”

For a long, long moment, it’s completely silent. The bunny’s nose twitches. Will stares at Mike, uncomprehending, and Mike stares back at him, his jaw clenched. Somewhere outside, the wail of an ambulance nears and then fades. 

“Um…” Now it’s Will’s turn to trail off. He has no idea how to respond to that. He has no idea how to even process that. “You named your rabbit… Will?”

“No,” Mike says petulantly, setting the bunny– Will, apparently– down on the ground. “I named him William. But I call him Will for short.”

“Right. I see.”

It goes quiet again. They both keep their eyes trained down on the rabbit, watching it shuffle around the dining room, until Mike bursts.

“Look, he just reminded me of you, OK?” He blurts out, throwing his hands up. “Like, the big eyes, and the brown hair, and when you were a kid you had these big front teeth, just like a bunny– well, you still kind of do, actually. I mean, not in a bad way!” He says hurriedly. “In a cute way! I– I mean–” Mike cuts himself off, looking somehow even more mortified than he did before he started.

Will laughs softly. “Huh. I guess I do.”

Mike swallows and nods. He turns on his heel and makes towards the adjacent kitchen. “More wine?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Will follows and sits at one of the high-top chairs by the island. He might be just a little tipsy, but he’s pretty certain Mike just called him cute, and the thought sends his blood rushing in his ears.

Mike pours them two more glasses and comes around to take the seat next to him. He jiggles his leg, his eyes darting around nervously, never quite catching Will’s.  

“So, how did you even get a rabbit?” Will asks, the first to break the charged silence. “And– why?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Mike mumbles, looking down at the marbled countertop.

“I mean, we have the time. If you want.” 

Mike nods silently. For a second, Will thinks he’s going to change the subject, keep his secrets to himself, but then he takes a deep breath and starts. “You know how junior year I kind of… stopped calling?”

Will inhales sharply. 

So far, they haven’t broached this subject, but he’s felt its presence like a vulture circling in the air. A little over two years ago, towards the middle of their junior year, Mike’s somewhat-regular phone calls stopped, and the less-regular letters not long afterwards. Will remembers the hurt and disappointment, but most of all the anger, not just at Mike but at himself for expecting anything different from his best friend. They’d done this once before, hadn’t they? How many times would it take for him to learn his lesson?

But then Dustin told him that Mike wasn’t talking to him anymore either, and Lucas and Max said the same, and in a heartbeat that anger melted into concern. Will tried reaching out, but to no avail. Unlike the rest of their friends, Will’s family didn’t live in Hawkins anymore, so he had no reason to go back; Mike really could avoid him forever if he wanted to.

 “Yeah. I do,” he says finally.

Mike chews on his lip, a dark cloud passing over his face. “Yeah. Well, it wasn’t just that. I kinda stopped… everything. I stopped going to classes, stopped turning in assignments. I stopped leaving my dorm. Most days, I didn’t even get out of bed, so… I guess you could say it got pretty bad. It was like I just didn’t work anymore. And I wasn’t talking to my family either, so my mom got pretty worried, and she drove up and– to make a long story short, I ended up dropping out. Well, she called it taking a semester off, but that wasn’t how I saw it.”

Will nods. He knows that part, had heard it from Lucas way back when it happened, but he never knew the details. Not until now. 

Mike continues, absently tapping his fingers on the body of his wine glass. “But I couldn’t go back home. I just couldn’t, I couldn’t be there for longer than, like, two weeks without it feeling like– I don’t know, like there was this weight on my chest, like I couldn’t breathe. So I got a place up in Indianapolis, just me, and I got a job too. It was some mind-numbing bullshit, but it gave me something to do. And I started seeing someone.”

“You got a girlfriend?” Will interrupts before he can stop himself. Lucas and Dustin never told him about Mike’s relationships, and in fairness it’s not like Will asked, but naturally he always wondered. Now, it makes something twist in his gut, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about why that is.

“What?” Mike frowns. “No, like, a therapist. I didn’t really want to, but my mom was worried I was going to–” He cuts himself off. His mouth twists. “She was worried about me. My dad doesn’t believe in shrinks and stuff, but she made him promise to pay for it, and I agreed to give it a shot. I guess I didn’t want to keep being such a burden on her.” 

“Oh,” Will breathes, shoulders slumping, even as the words make his heart pang. He doesn’t know what he imagined Mike’s life looking like in these years apart, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Yeah. And it helped. We talked about… things. She helped me figure a lot of stuff out. Stop feeling so guilty about–” Mike’s face twitches, eyes flashing darkly, “You know. El and everything. I started writing again, and that helped, too. Things were actually getting better, and I kind of had this life there, but it was… lonely. I mean, aside from my coworkers, I didn’t know anyone there. My therapist suggested getting a pet, so I stopped by the shelter one day, thinking I’d adopt a cat, but– well, then I saw him.” 

Mike nods towards the dining room at the bunny. “All the way at the back of the kennel. He was shaking. The worker told me that someone got him as an Easter present for their kids, and then a week later, they dropped him off. Can you believe that? They just abandoned him. And it was like I felt this pull or something, because I decided right there to take him. He was so skittish, he didn’t want anyone to touch him, but I thought maybe I could get him to trust me.” 

He pauses, looking like he’s warring with himself, before adding, glancing sheepishly in Will’s direction, “I guess that reminded me of you, too. When we first met, you know? You were so shy, you didn’t talk to anyone, but you talked to me.”

Will nods, his throat suddenly tightening. 

“Then I got home, and I realized that I knew, like, nothing about rabbits. I started freaking out. ‘Cause, like, if I could barely even take care of myself, how was I supposed to take care of an animal? Like, an actual real-life living being that depended on me? And I looked at him, and how scared he was, and I realized I had to figure it out. I guess…” Mike hesitates. “I guess I thought, I couldn’t save anyone, not El, not even myself, but maybe I could save him.”

“Mike,” Will whispers, blinking hard. “That’s so… that’s so sweet.” He sniffs and makes an attempt to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. 

Mike shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think of it like that.” He huffs out a laugh. “The funny thing is, he kind of ended up saving me. I had to get up every morning, because he needed me to feed him and change his water, and I had to go out and get all these supplies, and buy all these books about rabbit care, and find a vet, and bunny-proof my apartment– it was a lot. But it was good for me. He started to get comfortable around me, even let me pet him and pick him up after a while.” 

He clears his throat. “And it’s kind of dumb, but I, um– I wanted to buy more toys for him? So I started picking up more hours at work–”

Will can’t help but laugh softly at that. He’s struck with the mental image of Mike with that stupid side-part he used to have, wearing a button-down and slacks, going to his boss and asking for more work because he wanted to spoil his pet rabbit.

The pet rabbit that reminded him of Will. That he named after Will, at a time when they weren’t even speaking. Will’s smile fades, and suddenly he doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry or scream, run away and never look back or throw his arms around the man he used to call his best friend in the world and pretend that nothing has changed.  

Mike huffs out a laugh, too. “Yeah. And I had some short stories, so I submitted them to magazines, thinking I could make a little extra cash. I didn’t actually think anyone would want them. At first I got a lot of rejections, but then a couple got picked up, and I realized that maybe, if I kept trying, I could actually do this for real. Make it a career. Well, not right away– those magazines pay like shit, but it was kind of crazy that people actually wanted to read something I wrote.”

I always wanted to read what you wrote, Will thinks but doesn’t say. 

“So I decided I should go back to school, I wrote my transfer applications, and–” Mike gestures around. “Here I am. NYU has a good program, and I thought I’d have better opportunities here. That, and–” Mike stops himself mid-sentence, blinking. “And– yeah. That’s the story. I brought Will with me, of course. Uh, the rabbit, I mean.”

Will offers up a faint, barely-there smile. His thoughts keep looping back to all the things he just heard– Mike struggling to get out of bed in the mornings, living alone in Indianapolis, things getting bad enough that Karen made him see a professional for it. A swell of emotion rises in his chest, its tide washing away any residual hurt or resentment from those years apart.

“Mike,” Will starts, a little shakily, “can I– can I give you a hug?” 

Mike looks up. His eyes widen. “Oh– yeah! Yeah, of course.”

Will leans forward. He wraps his arms around Mike’s back and pulls him in close, burying his face in his shoulder. The scent of his sweater is so familiar that for a second he’s whisked back to high school, sharing clothes while he lived at the Wheeler’s place, or elementary school, resting his head on Mike’s shoulder while they watched Star Wars and toying with the sleeve of one of his Gap hoodies.

There’s not much from Hawkins that he finds very comforting these days. These memories, though– they smell like home. 

For a second, it’s like Mike doesn’t know what to do, his hands hovering mid-air. Then he settles them on Will’s back and melts into the hug. His head drops down onto Will’s shoulder, too, the same way he always used to, despite their height gap. 

“I really missed you, Will,” Mike says softly. “And I’m sorry I stopped calling.”

“I missed you too,” Will whispers. “And I understand. I forgive you." 

Neither of them pull back first. Mike’s hands shift, brushing over Will’s shoulder blades. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he tries not to think about how he wouldn’t usually hug anyone else this long, how it should maybe feel awkward but doesn’t.

Finally, he clears his throat and takes a step back. Mike keeps his eyes fixed on Will’s face, searching, his brows drawn together.

“Can I see you again?” Mike blurts out. “Just– whenever you’re free?”  

“Yeah,” Will nods, smiling softly. “Yeah, of course. I’ll give you my number.” He clears his throat, forcing his tone into something lighter past the lump that remains there. “I want to see him again, too.” He nods at Will-the-rabbit, who has retreated into his wooden hut. And it’s true– he really wants to know if his fur is as soft as it looks.

“Of course,” Mike says easily. “He’s kinda shy with new people, but don’t worry– he’ll get used to you.”

He says it so confidently, like it’s a certainty that Will is going to be back. Like he’ll be over here often enough for that to happen. The words glow in Will’s chest, curling up warm and content somewhere under his ribcage, close to his heart.  

Maybe he could get used to this, too. 

Ი𐑼

Mike calls him first thing the next morning and asks if they can get dinner. 

It starts like that, and spirals from there– suddenly they’re getting coffee, getting a drink, catching a movie, slipping back into each other’s lives with an ease that feels a little surreal. It hardly takes more than a couple days before it feels like them again. Their inside jokes, their banter, the ability to make eye contact across a table and know exactly what the other is thinking after overhearing bits of a stranger’s conversation– it’s like the time apart didn’t count at all, like putting a video game on pause and picking up right where they left off. 

Every time they hang out, Will ends up staying longer than he intended. He lingers in doorways and hovers on the sidewalk outside restaurants, orders dessert or another drink just to keep talking a little longer. When he does finally home, he’s full of this restless energy, something that fizzes in his chest down through his fingertips. Some nights it keeps him up late tossing and turning, but not in a bad way; it’s like when he was a kid and would get so worked up thinking about how close Christmas was that he couldn’t get himself to sleep.

Which is a funny feeling to have, because it’s not Christmas, it’s just… well. It’s Mike. 

Huh. 

The next time he gets invited to Mike’s apartment, it’s for a movie night. Mike insisted that he could pick, so he’s got a VHS tape in hand, and clutches it harder as he hovers awkwardly in the hallway in front of the door. An inexplicable wave of nerves roll in his stomach, the kind he gets before first dates sometimes, which is– well, obviously not what this is. He tells himself about three times that he’s being ridiculous before he finally knocks. 

The door swings open instantly, almost as though Mike had been waiting on the other side. Which is probably just good timing, Will thinks. 

Mike peers down at the tape as Will takes his shoes off.

“Jurassic Park!” He looks up, beaming. “I love this movie.”

“Really?” Will smiles back. “Me too.”

What he doesn’t say is that he picked it because he suspected exactly that; when he saw it the year prior, his first thought walking out of the theater was that his childhood best friend would have been obsessed with the film if it came out when they were kids.

Like nothing has changed, he thinks, listening to Mike chatter away as he leads Will back into the living room. “I think the dilophosaurus is my favorite– I mean, obviously the T-rex is still my favorite dinosaur generally speaking, but the dilophosaurus has the coolest kill scene in the movie, though actually I’ve heard that the book is way more violent–” 

This time, the pet fence is nowhere in sight, and William the rabbit is sitting right there in the middle of the carpet. Will- the human- blinks, surprised. 

“Oh, yeah, I only put the gate up when I’m gone so he doesn’t chew on the furniture,” Mike explains, looking between the two of them. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? Usually he kind of free roams–”

“No, no, of course it doesn’t bother me,” Will says hurriedly. The bunny looks curiously in their direction, his little nose twitching like a stuffed animal come to life. 

Mike leaves them there and heads into the kitchen to make popcorn.

Will looks down at the rabbit. He remembers what Mike told him, that the bunny is shy with new people. He takes a small step forward and slowly comes to sit cross-legged on the carpet, making sure to leave a bit of distance between them. 

“Hi, Will,” he says softly. “My name is Will, too. Do you wanna say hi?”

For a second, the rabbit stays perfectly still. Then, carefully, he approaches, coming closer until he’s inches away.

“Hey,” Will laughs. “There you are.” He carefully puts the back of his hand out, the way he would with a dog– he doesn’t have any experience with rabbits, but he figures it might be the same principle.

For a moment they both stay still, the bunny’s nose twitching a little faster, until eventually he steps forward and bumps Will’s hand.

Will doesn’t want to scare him off, but he remembers watching Mike do this last time he was here. He stretches his hand out, waits to see if the rabbit is going to jerk away. When he doesn’t, he gently starts to stroke the top of its head. His fur is unbelievably soft. A sudden surge of emotion hits him, like the bunny is so cute that he wants to squeeze it or burst into tears or something.  

“You are really adorable,” Will laughs. “Mike says we look alike, so… should I take that as a compliment?”

The bunny doesn’t respond, of course, but he does start to lick Will’s wrist where it’s closest to his mouth, which Will takes as a good sign.

Just then, he hears footsteps returning from the kitchen. 

Mike stops in his tracks when he sees them. He stares for a moment. Then, slowly, a huge smile spreads over his face. 

“He’s grooming you,” Mike says, a little disbelievingly.

“Oh. That’s… good, right?” Will asks, glancing back towards the rabbit.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s really good.” Mike makes his way over to the couch, settling on one of the cushions. He keeps his eyes fixed on them. “I mean, I knew he’d like you, duh, but– that’s kinda crazy.” He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “So, do your sorcerer powers include talking to animals?”

Will laughs, surprised. The bunny appears to be done with his grooming, so he pets his head a few more times, and then gets up and takes the cushion next to Mike. “I don’t know. You were the one who made that up,” he teases. “It’s not a real class, you know.”

“Of course I know that,” Mike frowns. “It’s homebrew. I made it up for you.” 

Will blinks, taken aback by the conviction on his voice. Mike does too, and for a second they both just look at each other, eyes wide.

Mike breaks it first, coughing awkwardly and lunging for the remote. William the rabbit looks at his owner with an expression that, if Will didn’t know better, he might describe as judgemental.  

They boot the movie up, setting the popcorn bowl in between them as they watch the opening velociraptor attack. When they reach for a handful at the same time, their fingers brush, and Will pretends he doesn’t feel like he’s touching a live wire when it happens, like it doesn’t send an electric shock shooting up his arm. 

Halfway through the movie, William the rabbit wanders back into the living room. He walks up to the couch, jumps, and lands in between them, right where the popcorn bowl was before they finished it off.  

Will glances down. “Oh!” 

“Yeah, he does that.” Mike shoots the bunny a fond look. “Will, we’ve been over this. The loud noises are gonna scare you, and then you’re gonna need me to cuddle you all night.” 

Every thought in Will’s heed screeches to a halt. He opens his mouth to respond, though he has no idea what he’s going to say to that– 

Before snapping it shut, mortification flooding him as he realizes Mike isn’t talking to him. Which, duh, obviously he was talking to the bunny. That should’ve been evident from his tone if not his words, all soft and sweet the way people talk to babies or pets, and it’s not– well, it’s not like Mike speaks to him like that. 

Right?

Will turns his attention back to the TV, grateful the lights are off so the color in his face isn’t obvious.  

When they finish the movie, they stay and talk for a while, sharing an excited conversation on the film before the topic wanders off in other directions. At some point, it meanders back to the rabbit, who has settled himself comfortably on Will’s lap. 

Mike suddenly sits bolt upright. “Wait– wait here. I have to show you something.”

He springs up and returns a minute later with a framed picture in hand. When he passes it over, Will sees that it’s a staged photo of William the bunny in a tiny cowboy hat. 

“Oh my God,” Will breathes. “That’s so cute.”

“It was my mom’s idea. She bought all these doll clothes for him one year for Christmas.” 

“Do you ever dress him up as anything else?” Will’s thoughts jump back in time, to a certain purple cape and cardboard sword from way back when.

“Not much. He doesn’t really like wearing costumes,” Mike admits. “Holly and I made a D&D character for him once, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s a druid. We called him Will the Well-Fed.”

Will’s jaw drops. “Mike! That’s mean!” 

“What? It’s true!” Mike laughs. “He’s a little, y’know… rotund.”

Will gasps, cradling the bunny closer to his chest. “Don’t listen to him, Will,” he says, gently covering his floppy ears, “you’re perfect the way you are.”

Mike’s eyes linger on him, wandering from the rabbit back up to Will’s face. “Yeah,” he says quietly, eyes shining in the low lamplight. “He is.”

Ი𐑼

The next time Will comes over, he’s the one with a surprise. 

Mike buzzes him in, so he lets himself up, but pauses outside the door when he catches the sound of voices on the other side. Or, rather, Mike’s voice, his usual rambling cadence muffled through the door– talking to someone on the phone, maybe? Will doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the walls are thin and Mike has always spoken rather loudly, so he can make out snippets.  

“Do you think I look OK? This shirt is fine, right? And the hair? I mean, it’s not like…”

Will hesitates, not wanting to interrupt. He gives it another minute before he raps on the door. 

Mike answers just a second later, running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly (which, Will can’t help but notice, does look awfully well-groomed). He’s wearing a patterned blue button-down, which seems a little incongruous seeing as their plans for the night are to play video games on his couch.  

He beams at the sight of Will and pulls the door open wider. “Hey! You made it!” 

Will looks around as he enters, but there’s no one else here, except William the rabbit sitting perched on the couch. There doesn’t even appear to be a phone in the room.

“I got him something,” Will says, reaching into his bag to pull out the toy he picked up from the pet store earlier that day. “I wasn’t sure what kind he likes?”

Mike’s eyes light up at the sight. He takes the toy gingerly, holding it as though it’s something far more precious than a chew stick made of natural fibers. “You bought him that? Will, you didn’t have to do that.”

Will shrugs bashfully. “I wanted to.” 

Mike holds his gaze for a beat, smiling that close-mouthed smile that always used to give Will butterflies. And if something under his ribs still flutters at the sight, just a little- well, it's something like muscle memory, that's all. 

They play Nintendo until it’s far past a reasonable hour to go home. Will’s stomach hurts from laughing, and he can’t stop sneaking looks at Mike while they play, taking in the long line of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw, the softness of his brown eyes. He used to spend so much time putting that face to paper that his fingers twitch with the memory. If he tried, he thinks, he could probably still draw Mike with his eyes closed.

“What?” Mike asks, after a lull of silence, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Will quickly looks away. “Um– huh?” 

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I– sorry. It’s nothing.”

Mike glances at him sideways, but doesn’t probe further. 

At some point, they pause the game and drift into the kitchen off Mike’s offer to pour them a drink. He digs into a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Chardonnay.

“I thought you didn’t drink white wine,” Will says, watching him struggle with the corkscrew.

“Yeah, well, you do, so,” Mike replies flippantly. 

All the words on Will’s tongue dry up at that. He sits there silently, letting Mike pour him a glass, and when he catches a glimpse of the label, he’s surprised to see what a nice bottle it is, something too pricey for him to ever reach for himself.   

As Mike pours him a glass, Will glances over at the hidey-hut in the corner, barely catching a glimpse of William the rabbit tucked away sleeping.

“I want to get him a friend,” Mike says out of the blue, following his gaze. He taps his fingers idly on the counter. “I read they do better in pairs, and– I don’t know, I feel bad leaving him alone here when I’m out during the day.”

“A second bunny?” Will bites back a smile. “And what would you name that one?” 

He thinks it should be obvious, but Mike frowns, a wrinkle appearing between his brows as he thinks. “Huh. I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it yet.” 

Will’s smile wavers. He tries again. “Well, you already have a Will, so…” 

Mike blinks, uncomprehending.

“You could name the other one Mike,” Will says finally. “Like us. So he could have his own best friend.”

There’s a pause. 

“We’re– um. We’re still best friends?” Mike asks quietly.

Will blinks. “I– I mean–” he hesitates, gaze darting down to the countertop as his own words catch up with him, “if you still want to be.”

“I do!” Mike blurts out. “That would be awesome!” He flushes, his ears turning pink. “Uh– cool, I mean! It would be cool. If that’s what you want, too.”

“Yeah,” Will nods, a soft smile spreading over his face. “Cool.”

Mike’s shoulders slump. “OK, yeah. That’s– good. Cool.” 

It’s far past midnight by the time Will decides he really does need to head out. As usual, Mike insists on walking him home, arguing that it’s too late to take the subway by himself, as though Will hasn’t lived in this city several years longer than him. It’s never really quiet in New York, not even at this hour, but they have the car to themselves, hands wrapped around the same pole as they listen to the underground hum and watch the stations tick by. 

Mike walks him all the way to the doorstep of his apartment. Outside the door, they stop. Will shifts his weight from foot to foot. It feels as though there’s something unsaid weighing in the air between them.

The streetlight cuts Mike’s face in two, casting a soft yellow glow on one half while the darkness swallows the other. When he takes a tentative step forward, the shadow falls away. 

Will looks up to meet his eyes, and he hadn’t realized before now how close they were standing, only inches away, like it would take nothing at all to bridge the gap. He doesn’t know why, but he gets this weird feeling like he’s waiting for something to happen.

Finally, Mike clears his throat. “So, um. Goodnight, Will. I’ll call you in the morning?” 

“Yeah,” Will replies, a little belated. He forces himself to dig his keys out of his pocket and turn towards the door. “Goodnight, Mike. Get home safe.”

He glances back once before he steps inside only to see Mike still watching him.  

That night, those words ring in his head. 

They do better in pairs. 

Ი𐑼

“Wait, wait, wait,” Max interrupts. “You’re telling me the rabbit’s name is Will?”  

Will switches the phone to his other side, cradling it between his ear and his shoulder as he slices garlic, the cord stretched taut across his narrow kitchen. “Yeah.”

“And he was talking to it?”

“Well, he wasn’t on the phone, and there was no one else in the apartment, so–” 

“He was asking it how he looked before your date?” 

“It wasn’t a date,” Will corrects, something antsy crawling in his stomach at those words. “But– yeah.”

“Right,” Max says, sounding like she doesn’t believe him. Over the line, he hears her call, “Lucas, did you know about this?”

Faintly, Will can make out Lucas’s reply. “The rabbit? Yeah, he loves that thing. It’s like his baby.” 

“You didn’t tell me he named it after Will!” 

“Oh, yeah. I think Mike was worried you guys would think it was weird.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Max says drily. Addressing Will again, she asks, “And you don’t find it weird?”

“I mean– maybe a little,” Will laughs. “But it’s just Mike. He’s always been a little weird. I’ve never minded.”

“Gross,” Max sighs. “Well, if he starts taking pictures outside your apartment or asking you for locks of hair, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She gasps. “Wait– what if that’s why he’s in New York?”

Will stops chopping. He sets the knife down. “What?”

“I was joking about the stalker thing, but seriously– he just happens to show up there?”

“No, that’s not– it doesn’t have anything to do with me. He’s here for school,” Will frowns. “He transferred into NYU.”

“Right. Total coincidence then.”

“Max. It is.” 

Max pauses. Then says conspiratorially, like if they were in person she would be leaning in close, “OK, look– just between us, I know for a fact Mike’s transfer application got accepted at a few different schools. He could’ve gone to Chicago, it would’ve been way closer to home. Or he could’ve just picked up where he left off at IU.” 

Will blinks. He doesn’t reply, his brain buffering as he takes that in.  

“Yet, somehow, he ended up in the city you live in,” Max sing-songs. 

“I mean, me and seven million other people.”

“And how many of them do you think Mike cares about, besides you?”

Will bites his lip. 

Off his silence, Max says, “Look, I get it if you want to leave the past in the past. But– can I say something super corny and lame right now?”

Will smiles. “Go ahead.” 

“When someone reaches out like this, I think it’s because they want to be a part of your future.” 

Ი𐑼

Max’s words stick.

Will thinks about it at night and when he wakes up in the morning. He turns it over, exhausts every angle over and over like a word said so many times it doesn’t sound real anymore. He plays it like a recording again and again in his head when Mike looks at him a little too long, smiles at him when he thinks Will isn’t looking, touches his shoulder or his hand in that way that feels like the whole world narrows to that singular point of contact. He thinks about it when he sees old people helping each other with groceries, when babies smile at him on the subway, when he passes a couple taking wedding photos on the steps of the public library, when two dogs take turns chasing each other around the parr, when his next door neighbor comes by and asks if she can borrow a bit of flour for a recipe. 

New York City is a branching web of interconnected moments and passings and potentials and sparks and loves, a city where he can witness a thousand lives in the span of one day and imagine all the lives that could ever be his.

When it comes down to it, though, he only gets one. 

And he thinks he knows which one he wants.

He’s at Mike’s apartment again, for the third time this week, when he finally resolves to bring it up. 

“Mike,” Will says, taking a breath in and steeling himself, “can I ask you something?”

Mike looks up, his easy smile wavering at the tone of Will’s voice. “Shoot.”

“Why–” Will hesitates. It feels too big, too unwieldy to just say like this. He turns last-minute into something else he’s been wondering, something that’s a little easier to start with. “After you dropped out– why didn’t you ever reach out to me?”

Mike’s expression drops. He takes a long moment to answer, his lips twitching like he’s trying to find the shape of the words. 

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Well, I want to know.”

Mike blinks, looking taken aback by the firmness in his tone. Honestly, Will is a little surprised by himself, too, but it’s true. He’s not sixteen. He’s not going to take silence as an answer anymore, or come up with his own explanation for something that confuses him.

He needs to hear it from Mike. He needs to know. 

“Look, I just– I didn’t want to bother you, OK?” Mike says finally. Will opens his mouth, but Mike rushes onwards, “And I know, I know you’re going to say that it wouldn’t, but for me it was like– like all of you were out there, finding a place for yourselves, and I didn’t think there was a place for me anywhere in the world. Not in Hawkins. Not outside of Hawkins. Not in any of your lives.” He takes a deep breath. “You did it, Will. You made it out. You had this new life here, and you were happy, and you had the courage to be yourself, and I hadn’t felt like myself since, I don’t know, middle school. I couldn’t drag you into my shit when you finally had everything you deserved.”

He looks Will right in the eyes, his gaze so steadfast and fierce that it pierces straight into Will’s heart. “And you do deserve it. More than anyone. You know that, right?”

Will swallows. 

“I do,” he says quietly. “But, Mike– I never stopped wanting you to be a part of it. You know that, right? You make me happy, too.”

Mike looks away. A shadow passes over his eyes.  

“Not always,” he murmurs. 

“No, not always.” Will agrees, because it’s the truth. “There’s nobody in the world who could always make anyone happy.”

“I know.” Mike frowns, his brows furrowing. “I know it’s impossible, but I still wish I could do it. You deserve impossible, too.” 

Will stares at him, dumbfounded. The words take a moment to sink in, but when they do, they pierce all the way through his skin and strike somewhere inside of him, somewhere he used to guard more fiercely than anything in the world. 

Mike shifts. He makes an uncomfortable noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “Sorry, that– that sounded kinda stupid, huh–” 

“No,” Will says quickly. He looks to the floor, then back up, and offers a small smile. “I mean. If it helps, I think you’re already pretty impossible, Mike.”

Mike’s face breaks like the sun coming through the clouds. He lets out a bright, surprised laugh. And it should be funny– it should be something that breaks the tension, brings them both back down to earth– but his eyes shine as he looks at Will, and suddenly Will doesn’t want it to be funny. 

Maybe he doesn’t want to come back down to earth, either.

“Can I ask you one more question?” Will blurts out. 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“How do you afford this apartment?” Will gestures incredulously around them. “Are you secretly a drug dealer? Or a– a gigolo?” 

Mike scrunches his nose up. “A gigolo? That’s your first guess?” 

“Well– I don’t know!” Will says hotly. The corners of Mike’s mouth turn up. “It’s not that unreasonable! I don’t know anyone else in this city who lives in an apartment this big, alone, so–” 

Mike arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’ve got clients out the door lining up for a piece of this.” He gestures down to his body. 

It’s exaggerated, silly, but ridiculously, heat rises under Will’s skin. He shakes his head as though dispelling the thought.

“This isn’t my apartment,” Mike says more seriously, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought I mentioned that at some point, but maybe I didn’t? A friend of a friend knew someone who was looking for a housesitter– the woman who lives here really loves her plants, apparently, and she said she didn’t mind my rabbit as long as I kept them out of his reach. I’m not getting paid or anything, but it gives me some time to look for another place before she gets back.”

Will blinks. His heart stutters as those words ring in his head. 

Look for another place. 

“And have you?” He asks, aiming for casual. “Found another place?”

Mike shrugs. “I’ve looked at a couple. I don’t want to live too far from campus, but this city is expensive as shit, so I’ll probably need, like, three roommates,” he laughs.

Will doesn’t. The gears in his head spin, something clicking into place. A rush of excitement thrums through him, and he tries to tamp down the smile threatening to overtake his face.

“Mike,” he says slowly. “My roommate is moving out in August. I’ve been looking for a new one this whole time.”

Mike stares at him, uncomprehending. “Your roommate–” He blinks. “Your boyfriend is moving out?”

“What?” Will is so caught off-guard he can’t help but bark out a laugh. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

Mike’s face is carefully schooled, his eyebrows twitching like he’s trying hard to keep it that way. “Oh.”

“We broke up back in– I mean, almost a year ago now. Did–” Will frowns. “Did I make you think I–” 

Mike presses his lips together. He looks down, eyes sparkling.

Will’s shoulders slump. “Oh.” He leans forward and smacks his shoulder lightly. “Did you know that already?”

Mike shrugs, keeping his gaze fixed downwards, the corners of his mouth ticked up. “Max might’ve mentioned it. Anyways– your roommate?”

Will sits up straight, that same excitement humming to life under his skin. “Yeah. I haven’t found a new one yet. And my place is tiny, but it’s not too far from NYU, so if you wanted– I mean, I’m sure it’d be pretty easy to rabbit-proof it…” 

He trails off. For a second, Mike seems to not understand. Will can see the moment it hits him when he sits bolt upright, too.

“Oh,” he breathes. “You’d want that? Me as your roommate?”

“Of course,” Will laughs, that smile slipping back onto his face despite his best efforts. “I would love that, Mike.”

Mike grins at him. It's that big, toothy one Will used to see all the time when they were kids, and less and less as they got older. These past few months, he’s seen a lot of it, and yet somehow never enough.

Then, suddenly, Mike’s face freezes. His smile fades, leaving a pinched expression in its wake. 

“I…” He swallows. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Oh.” Will tries to ignore the way his heart sinks, tries not to let his disappointment creep into his voice. “That’s OK. I just thought–”

“No– no, it’s not–” Mike bites his lip, hard enough for his teeth to dig into the flesh of his lower lip, leaving an indent. He creases his brows together. For a long moment, he stays like that, his face twitching like he’s having a silent argument with himself, or searching for words. 

Then Mike stands up so suddenly that it pushes the couch an inch back. He starts to tread a frantic, looping path in the middle of the living room, his eyes unfocused, darting back and forth. One hand comes up to drag over his face. 

“It’s not that, Will,” he says, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s just– OK. Fuck, OK. I’m doing this. I don’t want to have any more regrets.” 

Will tries not to flinch at that. “You think you would regret living with me?”

“No!” Mike says hurriedly, head shooting up. He stops in his tracks, eyes wide. “No, no. Of course not. I loved living with you when we were in high school, and living with you now would be, like– amazing, but…” His face pinches, brows digging together. “I think I would regret letting myself move in with you without telling you… without telling you that I… I mean, why I– oh, Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m going to throw up.” 

Mike winces. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that, huh? OK, this– this was not how I rehearsed this. Not that I rehearsed this! Because that would be weird, right? I mean, I’m just saying I–” He cuts himself off and lets out a high-pitched, almost hysterical huff of laughter, tugging on his curls so hard it looks like it must hurt. “Let’s just– can we actually just rewind this whole conversation?”

And then Mike actually takes a step backward, rolls two fingers in a kind of awkward spinning motion, and makes a noise that Will can only assume is his impression of a VHS tape rewinding.

Will stares at him, dumbfounded by this turn of events.

“Mike? Are you OK?” He asks tentatively, because Mike kind of looks like he might be about to have a panic attack.

Mike gulps, blinking fast as he nods. “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and fills his lungs before letting it all out in one long exhale. He comes to sit back on the couch, angling himself towards Will but leaving a careful distance between them. “OK. Regrets. I’m just gonna start there.”

There’s something in his tone that gives Will pause, makes his heart stutter with anticipation. It’s like the moment a rollercoaster is scaling uphill before a drop, or the charge in the air as thunderclouds gather in the sky.

Mike licks his lips nervously. “After Vecna and everything– after we graduated high school– I had so many regrets, Will. It was like every day I would wake up underwater, just drowning in all of them, and it felt like I wouldn’t ever be able to come up for air. Obviously, there was El, for one.” 

He pulls his mouth in a taut line. “When the final battle happened, we were together, but it also kind of felt like… like we weren’t together, not really. We almost never saw each other once she was back in Hawkins. We didn’t have time to sit down and talk, not about the things that mattered. And I think we both kind of knew that it wasn’t… right, our relationship. But we never–” His face crumples. When he speaks again, his voice wavers. “We never got to tell each other. And I loved her, so much, but sometimes it felt like that wasn’t right, either. Not because of her. Because of me.”

Will’s heart twists in his chest. He thinks of El, the girl who put on a brave face even in her last moments. He thinks of Jane, the girl he taught to rollerskate at his mom’s work party in Lenora, laughing breathlessly and clutching at his arm for support. The wound of her death may have scarred over, but it won't ever go away, not entirely, not for any of them.   

Mike takes a deep breath. “And then there was you.”

“Me?” Will blurts before he can stop himself.

Mike bites the inside of his cheek, his mouth twisting. “Yeah. God, Will, that day you left for college, I wanted to chase you all the way to your airport gate and beg to come with you. I hated that I kept losing you, and I hated that it was always my fault. I mean– I know I apologized before, for all that stuff when we were teenagers, but the truth is that even all those years later, I still didn’t understand why I acted like that. It was like the answer was right in front of me, just out of my reach. And when you came out to us, I felt like– like maybe I was getting really close to it, but then…” 

He trails off, but he doesn’t have to say it. Will knows the overpowering grief that struck all of them after El’s death, the guilt that plagued Mike in particular, until he couldn’t see past the edge of it.  

“But it’s different now,” Mike says. There’s a steely certainty in his eyes. It’s so intense that Will is struck with the urge to look away from it, but he doesn’t. “When I took Will from the shelter, it made me remember what it was like to have something to fight for again. I remembered who I was, the version of me that you always believed in. And once I started thinking about my future, what I want to fight for– I mean, it seemed so obvious all of a sudden.”

Something stirs at the back of Will’s head. It’s a whispering voice that sounds a lot like Robin telling him about signals, like Max asking the question he should’ve been asking all along.  

“Mike,” Will breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you here, really? In New York?” 

Mike blinks. Something like confusion flits over his face, like he didn’t realize that was even called into question. 

“For you,” he says, like it’s simple, the way he’d say the sky is blue, or that his favorite dinosaur has been the same since they were in kindergarten. “I thought you knew that. Of course I’m here for you.”  

Will stares at him. His lips part, but no words come to him; every one of them is caught in a tangled mess in his throat. His thoughts race with questions too fast for him to snatch one up and voice it. 

Mike’s gaze darts over his face, searching. His voice is steady when he speaks. 

“I love you, Will. That’s it. That’s the thing that I was missing. And these last couple months, I just– I wanted to show you, I guess. What it would be like if you… let me.” 

Will inhales sharply, unthinkingly. For a few beats, everything is still. Those words weigh in the air between them– stormclouds growing heavy, ready to burst. 

When Will still hasn’t said anything, struggling to process even an iota of what’s happening right now, Mike clears his throat. His gaze darts away as his nerves seem to catch up to him. 

“But, um. I know you always said it was a dumb high school crush and that was a million years ago, and I know I don’t have any right to do this, so– don't worry, it’s not like I expect you to feel the same way. And that’s fine, I swear I won’t make things weird, I just– I felt like I had to tell you, just once–”

Most of the events of the last few minutes still haven’t caught up to Will, but one realization surfaces. 

Mike thinks Will doesn’t love him back. Right now, Mike really, truly thinks Will is going to say no. 

The idea seems so crazy that Will can’t help when a choked laugh bursts out of him.

If Will knew Mike any less than he did, he might’ve missed the split-second series of expressions that cross his face. He stops talking, stuttering mid-word, and his features slacken as though slapped, eyes pooling with something painfully raw and unmistakable as hurt. Then he catches himself, presses his lips together and clenches his jaw like he’s trying not to let it show, but Will sees it, and– 

“No,” Will blurts out. He shuffles forward until their knees bump. It’s like he’s drawn in, like his body can’t physically stand to be apart now that he knows— “No, Mike, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I just–”

“Uh. It’s OK,” Mike mumbles, scratching the back of his head. He’s not meeting Will’s eye. “I get it. I guess I was reading into things. It was kinda stupid of me to–”

“No,” Will says again. He hesitates for half a second before he leans closer. He closes the gap between them until their faces are so near that their noses could brush, until Mike goes a little cross-eyed staring at him with that confused look on his face that makes him want to break into a smile again.  

Will hesitates. Part of him wants to go all the way, crash into Mike until there’s no space at all between them. Instead, he tips his head forward until their foreheads are touching and whispers, “Mike.” 

Mike blinks. Slowly, he looks back and forth between Will’s eyes, his eyebrows furrowed, and then Will sees when it happens– the exact moment his best friend reads the look on his face, understands without any words at all, the way only he could. The moment he realizes. 

His eyes go huge.

“Oh,” he breathes, and it’s more of a noise than a word, something punched out of him by the shock, so small in the little space left between them that Will can taste it. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Will teases. 

The smile has barely had time to cross his lips before it’s wiped off by Mike surging forward and kissing him like the world is about to end.

Oh, indeed.

And, scratch that, Will thinks as he meets Mike right where he’s at for the best kiss he’s ever had. It’s not like the world is about to end– it’s like the world has just begun. It’s like a fever building until it breaks, stormclouds bursting and pouring down. In its wake, it leaves a clear sky, something entirely new. Something Will can’t wait to discover. 

When they finally break after what feels like hours, neither of them can do anything but stare at each other, disbelief and hope brimming in their eyes. Will can feel a sting at the back of his as they well with the happiest tears he’s ever cried. He gives his head a little shake and blinks them away.

When he slides his hand over Mike’s chest, he can feel the rhythm of his heart through his shirt.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It’s quick, nervous, but there’s something grounding about it, too. Will presses his palm to it and lets out a shaky exhale.  

Slowly, he starts, “Should we…” 

“Go on a date?” Mike says, at the same time that Will says, “Make out?”

Will bursts out laughing and drops his head onto Mike’s shoulder. 

“Oh– I mean, yeah!” Mike says hurriedly. “No, yeah, we definitely– we should do that, too. We should do both. Make out and also date. I’m in.” 

“You’re in?” Will teases, pulling back and tilting his head to one side. He scrunches his nose up thoughtfully. “And here I was thinking you’d been taking me on dates this whole time. Or do you just confess your love to any old guy who walks in this apartment?”

Mike scowls as though offended. “I was trying to date you! I wasn’t sure if it was working or not.” He pauses, gaze darting over Will’s disheveled hair and swollen lips, the way that Will has moved to sit in his lap. That stupid smirk comes over his face. “Guess now I feel pretty confident.” 

Will rolls his eyes. He means to tell him to shut up, he really does, but when the words come out of his mouth he finds himself saying, “I love you too, Mike.”

Mike’s eyes widen again, like this is somehow still a surprise to him. Then his face melts, and he’s pulling Will back in–

But the kiss barely lasts a second before Will breaks it, head swiveling.

“Um,” he says succinctly, gaze dropping to William the rabbit, who is now sitting square in the middle of the living room, watching them.

Mike frowns. He carefully maneuvers Will off his lap and pushes off the couch, coming to kneel by the bunny. When he speaks, his voice is hushed, like this is meant to be a private conversation between him and his pet rabbit. Will smiles giddily at the sight.

“William, listen to me. This is a really, really big moment for me right now, and I know you know that, so I need you to hang out somewhere else for a bit, OK? Do you want me to bribe you with treats? How about this– I’ll go cut you up a big piece of banana, and you can snack on that in the kitchen and give us some space?”

Will watches as Mike picks the rabbit up and carries him into the room over. 

When he returns a couple minutes later, Will asks innocently, “What about me?” 

The couch dips as Mike sits beside him again. “Huh?”

“I mean, do I get a big piece of bana—” Will cuts himself off, laughing too hard to get the rest of the sentence out. 

Mike’s jaw drops. “Will Byers, not around the rabbit! He has sensitive ears!” 

“The rabbit is busy,” Will offers, looping his arms around Mike’s neck. “I was thinking about it, you know, and I think you’re right.”

Mike takes a second too long to answer. He drags his gaze up from where it's dropped to Will’s lips. “Huh?” 

“We should get him a friend to keep him company. So he’s not lonely in our apartment when we’re away.”

A slow, disbelieving smile spreads over Mike’s face. His eyes shine as he gazes back at Will. “Yeah. Yeah, we should. I mean, they really are social animals, you know. They’re better off together.”

Will can’t see the look on his own face, but he imagines it’s something similar. “I know," he murmurs, gazing back.  

Ი𐑼

Six Months Later... 

Will lets out an unconscious sigh as he shoulders his way through the door, a gust of warm air washing over him. He sets the precarious stack of mail tucked under his elbow down on the coffee table and shrugs off his jacket, scarf, and hat, rubbing his hands together to generate heat.

“Will?” Mike’s voice calls from down the short hallway of their apartment.

“I’m home!” Will calls back. Once his winter boots are unlaced and the tip of his nose feels marginally less numb, he shuffles over to the table and starts to sort through the mail, separating out junk from their bills until he finds the particularly thick envelope he’s been waiting on. 

Will carefully tears the seal open. A smile spreads across his face as he starts to leaf through the contents.

He looks up when he hears footsteps only to see Mike standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, a disgruntled look on his face.

“What?” Will laughs.

Mike shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Just wondering what’s so interesting that you’re not coming to greet me after you spent seven hours away from me.” 

“Greet you?” Will arches an eyebrow, challenging. 

“I mean–” Mike scowls. “Normally when you get home, you, y’know– give me a kiss and stuff.”

“Oh, I see,” Will teases. He leans in as Mike shuffles closer and plants a kiss on his lips with an exaggerated mwah sound. “Is that better? After seven whole hours apart?”

Mike softens instantly at the contact, his expression melting into something gooey-eyed and a little dazed. It doesn’t last long, though, as Will turns his attention back to the envelope in his hand. Mike schools his face into a frown again and hooks his chin over Will’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.

“Seriously, what–”

“It’s our Christmas cards,” Will says brightly. “The prints arrived.” 

Mike casts a dubious glance at the envelope. “Yeah, OK. And remind me why we need to send Christmas cards when we’re going to see everyone in, like, three weeks anyways?”

Will rolls his eyes. “Because,” he says, and holds up one of the little prints for Mike to see. “Look.”

Mike takes the card. He blinks owlishly, gazing down at the photo they took the weekend prior: Will and Mike in matching thick sweaters, grinning a little awkwardly at the camera. Mike is holding William the rabbit, and Will is holding the most recent addition– Mikey, a fuzzy black and white bunny with tiny pointy ears. Both rabbits are wearing matching Santa hats.

Mike’s eyes soften. “Oh.”

“You like them?” Will asks, turning in his arms to face him.

Mike looks back and forth between the picture and Will. The corners of his mouth tick up. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do. Even if Lucas and Max are definitely going to make fun of us for this.” He pauses, squinting again at the photo. “Hey. If someone told you ten years ago that we’d be living in New York together, dating, with two pet rabbits that we named after each other—”

“I would think they were crazy,” Will laughs. “You know, if it were anyone else, they probably would have thought you were a total weirdo for that. I think most people in that situation would've turned tail and run away." 

Mike hums noncommittally. His eyes shine as he gazes at Will, setting their Christmas cards back on the coffee table. “Well. I guess it’s a good thing for me that you’re just as much of a total weirdo as I am, huh?”

Will doesn't even pretend to take offense to that– it’s true, he thinks. His heart has never been so full of love as it is now, living in a quaint shoebox apartment with his childhood-best-friend-turned-boyfriend and their weird little family, and he wouldn't have it any other way.