Work Text:
Mike couldn’t find his scrap book and if he didn’t within the next ten minutes he was going to kill himself.
That wasn’t a joke, death was the only thing that could save him from the panic, anxiety, shame, guilt and fear ravaging his body and mind during the sweltering heat of 1988.
There were a few reasons for this, with the most simple being that he was a male with a very colourful and pretty scrap book, something that was only conventional for women to have. Usually old women at that, ones who lost their husbands in some war and fussed about getting tea stains on the paper.
It wasn’t what a man should be doing.
A second to that was the way in which he got the materials for the scrapbook which including stealing from the school, the library, his mum and various stores in town that had things he desired for his book because he’d never live it down if he was caught getting scrap booking material in Hawkings.
But both of those things were inconsequential compared to the content and purpose of the book.
That being: a place to put all the love he had for Will Byers so he wouldn’t fuck up their friendship and ruin their lives by being gay and repressed and letting what he felt overflow and drown them both.
Or in simpler terms, a place to vent and express his emotions.
The book itself was usually hidden inside his closet, which yes he understood the irony of, and had been safely kept out of sight for four years.
He started it after he and Jane agreed to stop dating and was no longer given a distraction from what he was so clearly denying and trying to push away.
He needed to tell someone but knew even if he had someone safe he could trust, he would never be brave enough to do so. He wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be, not nearly as brave and nowhere near as capable as he wanted. Mike could barely look at his own reflection most days, let alone allow anyone else see a single glimpse of who he really was.
It wasn’t even just being queer, it was his fear and shame as well.
He wasn’t just hiding affection for his friend or the illness the church would punish him for, but the very flaws of his being. It was the cracks in his armour, the stains on his soul. The disgust for his own flesh.
He needed to tell someone, to get it out, so he began doing the only thing Mike Wheeler was ever actually good at.
He wrote.
He wrote hundreds of words on paper and then burnt them, only to feel the need to write them again so he could see for himself what made him so wrong.
Mike needed to keep what he was writing and so he would keep the pages and glue them into a thick work book for school and then hide it away from himself and others.
After a while, he got sick of the ugly pages and began adding little things as well. Things such as stickers or little doodles, sometimes a leaf or magazine cut out.
When he found out about coloured and patterned tape he figured it would be nicer than normal tape.
The writings slowly began to change as he put more effort into making the book look nice instead of just a diary to hide away his thoughts.
Word vomit and thoughts sprawled out slowly began to take a more refined form. He didn’t like to call it poetry but at times he had no choice but to accept what it was, because only a poem was written with rhymes and repeating phrases organised with each line being a single sentence.
He wrote about a lot of things of course, but most of it was about the one thing that mattered most to him.
Will.
Mike wrote about how ashamed he was of hurting Will, of not protecting him and not being there for him when Mike had the capacity to do so. He wrote about how he wished he wasn’t so selfish and weak in his heart if only to be someone who could do good by the kindest person Mike had ever met.
Mike wrote about how he knew he was an asshole to his friends and yet kind to Will on days when everyone else got the worst of Mike's nasty moods. He confessed that it was because Will made him want to be good and kind, only to correct himself and say that Will didn’t make him learn that, but have the guts to just do it. Mike knew he could be kind and gentle at any moment but that wasn’t how he was expected to be and so he struggled until he moment Will’s need out weighed the lessons he learnt growing up.
Mike wrote about the difference between a fawn and a stag and tapped a photo of Will before the Upsidedown at the start and him after at the end of the poem.
Mike wrote about antlers and glued an image of a deer onto the page with Will’s favourite colour drawn like a cloud around it.
Some people have horns.
They aren’t something you can see,
Not like you can see a face,
But you can see them in the way they hold their head
Or the way their shoulders rest and eyes move
The horns form in the worst circumstances
Shaped by suffering and fear
By weakness being revealed
They are always heavy,
Always a burden,
And yet they are the saviour of many
The horns are unique for each soul
For each circumstance
But all serve the same purpose
The horns protect
Guard
Intimidate
They act as a shield from danger
And as a sign of past defeats
Some may be small and easy to shed
Others will grow so large as to fill any room
Some will be cared for with gentle touches,
With kind hands
Others will be left uncontrolled
Left to ram into the people around them,
Causing harm no matter intent
Some horns will never leave a person's head
This is good
This is bad
This is the defining characteristic of one’s life
People will see the horns and judge
They will keep their distance
They will test the might of the keratin
They will say they are no longer needed and must be shed,
Yet offer no means with which to remove them
Some people,
Who are kind,
Who are patient,
Will accept the horns and their danger
They will see the need
The importance
The comfort of the weight on one’s head
Maybe they have their own
Or maybe they simply see the beauty of their meaning
The horns help you survive
They equally cause your back to ache
And you mind to be guarded
Do not fear the horns,
Neither in their purpose or origin,
Just be in awe of their majesty
And how they show you have survived
Mike wrote about how he thought love was something terrifying and bad, yet wanting to accept it wholly despite how vulnerable it made him feel.
A light heaviness
The weight of a burden in zero gravity
What should feel crushing simply rest upon shoulders
Ankles tied down by rocks wrapped in ribbon
Push all you like,
The weight never shifts
Always impending
Never landing
It can crush a lion
Yet never worry an ant
Mike wrote poems about how ashamed he was to find a man beautiful, and yet on the same page he would say that he didn’t understand why he was made to feel that way when it didn’t seem bad at all. Not only did it not hurt anyone, but it felt right when it came to Will.
The first song he wrote into the scrapbook wasn’t just lyrics but chords to be played in time.
The song had no title because none felt right, and was filled with compassions of soft brown hair and gentle hands being like lifelines to a man lost at sea.
He wasn’t a very good painter, with all of the paint in the scrapbook being either splots to highlight images or words or little ones Will had drawn him. But he was an alright drawer with granite as long as it was something he could copy clearly, which left him making detailed borders of flowers and mandalas beside the songs he wrote about his Will.
He drew trees on the pages that spoke about memories specifically.
When Mike wrote about missing Will’s touch or smile, how he fucked up a special moment or managed to do something right, he would draw willow and oak trees along side it. They usually weren’t poems then, just descriptions of a memory he didn’t want to fade because he knew it was important to document each moment of love he had for Will even if it hurt.
He had to because he knew there was a very real and very probable chance that one day all he would have was memories.
Will would outgrow Mike and move onto better things eventually.
The pages Mike loved the most were the ones where he put photos of Will in and took note of the small details that he wished to keep to himself. These were the things he got jealous of other people being able to know and witness, because he was a selfish boy who wanted Will’s attention to be only his.
Like the whole page dedicated to Will’s favourite songs.
Or little notes like how Will never stood on grates on the footpath, how he tied his shoes with bunny ears, how he chewed on pencils when he was confused and furrowed his brow when he was focused. How he hated pulp in his juice but would always choose crunchy peanut butter over any other spread. How he hummed songs to himself when he got deep into focus on his art but would mumble words when he was studying school work.
Mike noted that Will often preferred the colour yellow and always spelt Wednesday wrong and had to re-write it.
There was a clear change around sixty pages into the book that showed he had clearly run out of pages and so he had cut the back off of it and superglued two spines together to turn two books into one.
The book was thick, the pages not fitting smoothly against each other with how many things were glued in and the little ‘pockets’s that he made from paper to put little things in like yellow flowers and movie tickets and Polaroids of them together.
The most important page was the one that was blank except for the most important words in Mike’s life.
I love you, Will.
Nothing else was on the page except for little water stains that were easy to deduce as tear drops.
It was written over a hundred pages in and three months after the final battle.
As Mile threw apart his room he thought to himself that he could live without the poems describing Will’s smile or how ashamed he was of how deeply he loved a boy, he could even live without the photos of Will he safe guarded so carefully, but not that one page.
That page was the whole book summed up and the one thing he couldn’t replicate.
It was his first, real confession to Will even if the other would never see it.
He needed it back.
Mike felt himself starting to sniffle and that just reminded him of the poems in that book that weren’t about Will and just about how much he hated himself and how he looked and sounded and walked and behaved.
God, what would be the worst thing for his father or mother to read? That he was a faggot or that the confessions of cutting at his skin with his dads razor to punish himself for being so useless and ugly? Or the confessions that he didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t someone needed by his friends? That he wanted someone to tell him what to do so he didn’t have to be stuck with his own choices and thoughts? Or the confessions about wishing his dad was dead or that his mum would cheat and find a better husband, a better dad to her kids?
Or the mere fact that Mike Wheeler was a disgusting mess with no hope of being anything else?
Just as Mike began to pull at his hair harshly his radio crackled.
“Mike? You there?”
Of course life was so cruel as to punish him with the melodic voice of Will Byers when he was about to have the love for that very man exposed for heaven and hell to judge.
His panic paused for a moment as he processed the shaky tone over the crackling radio.
Taking a deep breath so his own voice wouldn’t shake, Mike went over to his bedside and picked up the device and quickly responded, “Yeah, what’s up? Over.”
A moment passed and Mike’s concern quickly shifted from his beloved scrapbook to his beloved Will.
“Will?”
“I’m here, sorry. Are you busy?”
Mike held back the urge to do his usual thing of reminding the other to say ‘over’ and instead rushed to confirm his availability, “No, I’m free. Over.”
Another moment and this time it was long enough for Mike to give up on his search completely and start putting his shoes back on from where he dumped them after getting home from school minutes before.
He ignored the urge to look at his closet and focused on not tripping over his own gangly legs.
By the time he had his second shoe in his hand Will answered.
“Come over? … please.”
Mike didn’t even remember how he answered because the next thing he knew he was on his bike and pushing 20 mph towards the Byers new house on the outskirts of town.
His skin was still damp from sweat after rushing around his room and it only got worse as the blistering sun settled into his clammy skin. It didn’t help that he was as athletic as a panda and skinny enough to need added holes in every belt.
But he didn’t care about any of that when Will had sounded so sad.
He tried not to think about the part of him that knew there was a chance this could be the last time he saw Will before his dad sent him to a conversion camp after reading the book. Yeah, Mike was a legal adult but he doubted anything would be able to stop Ted Wheeler from protecting his reputation.
He hoped he could at least make Will smile one last time.
Goal set, Mike pushed himself harder and got to the Byers residence quicker than he’d ever done before.
He didn’t need to knock, Joyce had given him a key with a kind smile and said she knew he’d be over all the time anyway. He had beamed at her and given the smarmiest look he could manage over her shoulder towards Hopper while they hugged.
He opened the door and called out for Will, uncaring who else was home.
The silence in the house told him no one and that Will was probably too lost in his head to answer which could mean he was having flashbacks or lost in grief again.
He ran down the hall to the narrow staircase at the back that led to the attic. He remembered when the Byers were looking for a new home and the arguments over who would get the attic. By ‘argument’ he meant Will and Jonathan both insisting the other could have it until Hopper got too annoyed and made them draw straws.
Will won, or lost depending on who you asked, and got the attic.
There wasn’t a door and so Mike was able to immediately find Will upon getting to the top of the stairs. .
He was struck by how sad his friend looked, eyes red and cheeks damp, and made to rush towards him and give him the hug he knew his friend would always be too shy to request but always wanted.
Only to stop at the sight of what Will was holding.
A book, nearly five inches thick at the spine, with the dark brown cover having yellow flowers painted over it and a word written in Tengwar, the alphabet Tolkien created, pushed into the leather cover with meticulous care. It had clearly be redone multiple times, yellow paint pressed into the wearing material to make it stick.
The letters meant something of utmost importance.
Will.
It was Mike’s scrapbook.
And it was open.
Open on Will Byers lap.
Mike dropped to his knees just a few feet from the bed tucked into the corner.
He felt himself starting to cry and lose breath, yet none of it seemed like something really happening. His body was slipping away from him yet again and because his mind was his worst enemy the only thought that processed was that Will had probably read the dozen or so pages about that very sensation because the book was in his hands.
Will didn’t move.
He sat on his bed like a king before a jester, ready to pass verdict on the act displayed for him.
Only the act was years worth of vulnerable thoughts and moments ripped from Mike conscious and etched into paper. It was Mike’s very soul.
Will looked up from the book with something both calm and utterly rewired behind his eyes.
Eyes that Mike had tried to draw a dozen times stared at him and saw everything.
Nothing was hidden.
Mike choked on something-
A sob.
He never thought he would have preferred for his father to be the one to find that damn book and yet…
Mike shut his eyes and felt himself begin to shake.
This couldn’t be real.
This couldn’t be happening.
He dropped his head to the ground, kneeling over himself and beginning to pray to a god he didn’t believe in that he would be granted some kind of forgiveness for whatever sin he did to have his life upturned so suddenly.
“Why do you wish for God to be real?”
So that I can be one of his angels.
“Why do you want to be an angel?”
So I can be holy.
“Why do you desire to be holy?”
So I can be saved.
“Why do you need to be saved?”
So I can be free from my corruption.
“Why are you corrupted?”
Because I don’t believe in God.
It wasn’t just that Will was finding out he was gay, Will had come out and so he would never judge him for that, and everyone knew at this point that Mike didn’t feel completely platonic to his best friend.
But the book didn’t just have love confessions.
It had everything that was wrong and ugly about Mike, everything he hated about himself and how utterly awful he knew himself to be.
It was a never ending document of all the reasons Will should never even so much as look at Mike again.
It was undeniable evidence that Mike loved wrong, that he was too intense, too overwhelming. He didn’t just want to go on dates and hold hands, no, there was a whole song written in that book detailing how Mike wished he could remove his heart from his own body and offer it up to Will like how a priest might offer celibacy and loyalty to a god. He had even taken the time, and it took a lot of time, to compose the whole fucking thing with music sheets folded into little envelops glued onto the page beside the lyrics.
There were scribbled notes about hurting himself, something nobody in his life knew he did, and how he wished that Jane didn’t save him when he jumped that day.
Oh god, there were poems about Jane and how he wished he could have been better to her and how he realised too late that he did love her, just not in the way she wanted or deserved.
Mike was sure Will had read it all because the fact was that Will hadn’t been to his house for two days and Mike had only noticed the book missing a half hour before. He hadn’t added anything to it in three days and so he didn’t even know of its absence.
Will had plenty of time.
Will had been distant in the group for the last couple of days.
Silent sobs wrecked havoc on Mike’s body as the finality of the situation settled in his bones.
Maybe his life wasn’t over and he wasn’t being sent to a conversion camp, but the one person who he couldn’t handle knowing the full scope of how weak Mike was now knew better than anyone ever could.
Will Byers stayed on that bed and watched Mike cry for nearly a whole minute.
His hand rested on the nearly blank page and traced over the words one more time.
I love you, Will.
Will, the one whose very essence was worshiped in the ratted pages of a scrapbook hidden in the closet of his best friend's room, closed the book just in time for his tears to begin again.
He looked at the way Mike was utterly falling apart and thought about the amount of love that he was holding in his hands.
Love that he… that he didn’t think would ever be his.
He hadn’t dared hope.
“Oh, Mike…”
Sliding off of the bed, Will shuffled forward on his knees and carefully worked his hands past Mike’s curls and hands to lift him up by his face. He took note of the way his hands were full and strong compared to the frail lines of Mike’s jaw, realising that there was so much he hadn’t noticed because of how well the other had hidden his pain.
He thought of the poems Mike wrote about being disgusted by his own body and tried not to cry before he even go to speak.
Will cupped a face that looked utterly destroyed and couldn’t help but feel his heart ache.
It was overwhelming to be so loved by someone, and even more so to love them back just as much.
And Mike didn’t just love him, he was living for him.
If I am to die in this I want to die brave
I want to die strong
I want to die with courage
I want to die as someone you could love
As someone you want to remember
I want to die for you
I want to die with the world knowing I’m yours
Though if this is what I desire
Maybe I just need to die as I am
The amount of fear that swam in the dark brown eyes that haunted Will’s paintbrushes was enough for him to feel the weight of it all change from terrifying to something that felt like home.
“I read it all.”
Mike choked again and Will wiped the tears that fell and smiled like he was holding the sun, “I read it all and do you know what happened, Mike?”
The other continued to cry and shook his head, hands finally moving from where they had been limp at his sides to instead hover over Will’s wrist. Too afraid to touch, too desperate to not want to try.
Will felt his shoulders slump as he said what he had needed to say for years.
“I found myself falling in love with you again and again.”
Mike went still, eyes glazing as his mouth hung open slightly as if he couldn’t find the strength to hold up his own jaw.
Will didn’t stop, smile staying strong as he wiped year after year from the love of his life’s face, “I read every poem, every song, every thought you wrote down. I felt your pain and fear and love. I saw you in those pages, Mike, and not only did I not look away, I kept going until I finished and then I started again.”
I don’t think anyone can fully know me and still love me
Someone can see my entirety
Flaws,
Beauty,
Past,
Thoughts,
Desires,
Fears,
Hates,
All of it
And they wouldn’t run
Or scream or shout in fear
I think they’d just stare
Take it all in and slowly realise that there is nothing to be done
No fix
No cure
No waiting it out
No way around
Then they’d just get up and go
Maybe they’d tell their friends
Maybe they wouldn’t know how
I don’t think it would matter
I’d be as I am either way
Hands moved from being near Will’s wrist to clutching at his shirt as a form of a lifeline.
“And Mike, my talented, beautiful Mike, I loved every word. All of it. Everything you wrote, everything you hate about yourself, all of your fears and flaws and regrets, even the things you didn’t write about and you don’t see about yourself, I love it all. I know you aren’t perfect, I know you’re afraid, I know and I love you.”
Will felt himself begin to sob himself as Mike’s lip began to wobble and his face contorted in a million different emotions.
“I didn’t think it was possible for someone to love as much as I love you and yet here you are, Michael Wheeler, proving me wrong.” The fondness in Will’s voice would be heard by even the deaf. “You’re just as much of a lovesick mess as me and I’m so, so glad.”
Mike began to truly cry then.
Not silent sobs, but anguished wails as Will continued to hold him steady and tell him everything he didn’t think he deserved to hear.
Will let him break apart in his hands and never stopped keeping him close even with how snotty and gross his face got.
“Mike, I see you. I see all of you and I love you.”
Mike collapsed in his arms and Will held him close, pulling him further into his embrace and holding him tightly like Mike had done for him countless times before.
He was keenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t even really seen Mike cry before. It was only in the face of death and even then Mike was always the one to comfort others first. It was usually always Will crying and Mike being the one to hold him steady, and now it was Will’s turn and he wasn’t going to let anything ruin that moment. He had years to repay Mike for what he had given him and knew Mike wouldn’t accept it easily.
He whispered assurances to Mike and kissed his hairline with no amount of hesitation or shame.
Will had always known Mike wasn’t perfect, that he was dealing with more than he let on, and even if it wasn’t easy to read about all of the things he was feeling he wanted to be there for him.
There had been so many times when Mike got scared and snapped at those around him and Will often tried to tell the others that Mike hadn’t meant it and was just feeling insecure and lashed out.
They didn’t always believe him and yet it seemed like Mike knew and wanted to be better but just didn’t know how.
I snap and snarl when I’m scared
I bark and nip I’m nervous
I do my best to seem like a threat when I’m called out
I push away the kind hands that try show I’m just loud
I never mean to
I never want to
I’m just scared
I just want to hurt them before they hurt me
There’s no danger
Just a loud,
Untrained
Dog.
Mike shook less and less with each kiss and soon was looking up at the boy he loved with a fragile hope in his exhausted eyes.
Will kissed him on the forehead and brushed dark curls from his face, “My paladin… I’m sorry I snooped through your things-“ Mike couldn’t help the laugh he released at that moment- “but I’m really glad I did.”
Mike sniffled and unclenched a hand to shakily raise it to cup Will’s cheek like the other had been doing for him just a minute earlier, “I-it’s okay. I’m sorry-“
Will cut him off, “Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for. Whether it’s coming out or talking about your struggles, you have the right to take your time and choose your own way of processing. I shouldn’t have taken that from you, I was just… scared. You were getting so distant from me and I needed to understand why. It was wrong and I shouldn’t have brought it home with me either. I guess I was just scared to lose you.”
Lips twitching into a smile, Mike shook his head and whispered the first confession he verbally ever said to Will, “I’d do anything to not lose you as well.”
Heart melting, Will let out the most beautiful laugh Mike had ever heard from him.
Or maybe he was just a bit foggy from all the different chemicals his brain had been cycling through in the last hour.
Mike swooned alongside Will and despite how he still shook he moved to sit up, not caring he was sitting diagonal on Will’s lap and instead more focused on the man himself.
“Do… do you…” he groaned, looking up at the ceiling in frustration as the words refused to come out of him as easily as they did with a pen.
Lips pressed to his cheek and the voice he dreamed about whispered assuring words, “It’s okay, take your time. I want to be patient for you.”
Mike looked at him and quickly looked away at how confronting eye contact felt, only to push himself to look at the man he loved because he had to be brave for him.
“D-do you actually like- like like the book?”
Will looked confused for a moment before he let out a little giggle.
Mike frowned at him, “What are you laughing at? I’m serious!”
Only Mike was also beginning to laugh as Will became lost in his giggles, hand that was holding Mike’s back coming to grasp at his hip to steady himself.
“Mike- of course I do! It’s lovely, and really well made.” He answered honestly, endlessly amused by Mike’s need to please.
Mike preened before catching himself and hiding a blush behind his hand.
Still grinning madly, Will reached back to get the book off the bed and carefully pulled it onto Mike's lap.
At this point he was sitting between Will’s open legs with his ass on the ground, leaving plenty of space on his legs for Will to flip through the book and very quickly find what he was looking for which only showed how much attention he had been paying to it as he read it over the last two days.
The page he opened to was the one Mile had just been praying he would never lose.
Will pointed at the four words and then touched them again with reverence.
“This… this is my favourite page.”
I love you, Will.
Mike leaned his full weight into Will’s chest and hid his face under the other's chin.
Will stared at the page long enough to ensure he’d remember each bend in the letters and the space between each word. Then, once he was sure he wouldn’t immediately back out, he moved his hand to tilt Mike’s head up and got ready to tell him it was okay if he couldn’t say it to him yet.
He had read the poems about being scared of the words after only hearing them said with romantic intent from actors in films. He read about the fear that if he said them he’d be revealing too much, that it was easier to say nothing than say everything he’s ever felt in such few syllables. He read the words that confessed a fear of loving all together because it was the most venerable thing he’d ever felt.
One line stayed in Will’s mind.
The feeling of loving someone is the most honest feeling I’ve ever experienced and it makes me understand why truth can be a weapon.
He was ready to tell Mike he understood when Mike once again showed him why he had loved him for nearly fifteen years.
“I love you.”
Will couldn’t help the way all the air left his lungs and his heart skipped a beat.
How could Will forget that even though Mike had written thousands of words about how pathetic he was, he was still Mike the Brave?
“Oh, Mike, baby-“ a shudder from Mike and more tears beginning to shed “-I love you so much.”
Will went to wipe at his face as his eyes began to truly burn from so much crying in the last fifty hours, but Mike was gently grabbing his hand and looking at him with the determination that had caused Will to first start falling for him in the first place.
The kiss was simple as a kiss could be and it meant more than anybody in the whole universe could comprehend outside of the two of them.
No longer than two seconds and yet those two seconds became the most important moments of their life.
Will didn’t know how long the two of them then spent sobbing together and trading gentle, devoted kisses.
Mike insisted they move onto the bed because his butt hurt and so they laid side by side and just… held each other. It was hot and they were coated in sweat and both sniffling but they didn’t care.
Will knew that more conversations needed to be had, mainly about the injuries Mike had given himself and if there were any that needed treating. He also needed time to fully accept that Mike loved him back because while he was more than happy to accept it, to say it was life changing was an understatement. He wouldn’t let the chance for them to be together pass but knew things weren’t just going to become the perfect happily ever after he so desired.
Hawking's was still not accepting of them, nor was the rest of the world, and definitely not Mike’s dad.
Will also knew that Mike still hadn’t technically come out to anyone and may need time to tell their friends.
Or at least, he thought as much until Dustin radioed to ask if they were up for a hang out.
“Yo, Mike can we come hang out in your basement? Over.”
Mike looked at Will with an exhausted expression and pouted. He was resting on Will’s pillow and was still shaking a little from how much his body had been through as he tried to handle all of the emotion he had been feeling.
He looked so pretty and Will grinned when he realised he could now tell him that. He also knew he’d be doing that a lot to try to get Mike to see himself as Will did.
Will answered his friend after pulling away long enough from his beloved to grab his own radio, blushing furiously at the whine Mike let out at being let go of, “Not tonight, sorry. Over.”
Mike relaxed at that and slumped back onto the bed, sleepily pulling Will against him so the other would be his little spoon.
“Is Mike with you? Why didn’t he answer? Over.”
Will paused at that and looked back at Mike.
Mike just smiled and then, with no small amount of shyness, pressed another kiss to Will’s lips. “Can… can we tell them? Or do you want it to be a secret? I don’t mind, I know it’s a lot-“
“Of course I want them to know, Mike, but are you ready for that? I basically outed you by stealing the book and I don’t want to force you again.” Will wasn’t exactly pleading to keep it a secret, he just needed to know Mike wasn’t just doing it for him. He knew Mike saw himself as selfish and like any human being he could be, but all of them saw Mike as far more selfless than anything else.
In fact it caused a lot of issues at times.
Shaking his head, Mike moved to be leaning over Will and asked in a tone Will knew only he ever got the privilege of hearing, “Don’t you know how brave you make me?”
Will’s body felt like honey.
“Mike… well tell them but for now… can we just enjoy this? Just us?”
And Mike Wheeler would never argue against keeping Will Byers to himself for a little longer.