Chapter Text
Will may have started a problem he couldn’t solve.
He didn’t notice it at first, not really, but it was hard not to when it was so obvious. The way that Mike paid attention to him and him specifically, so constant and heavy.
Will feels almost like he’s been conditioned, having known Mike for so long that he learned to take what he could and pretend like he doesn’t lose anything when he stops getting scraps. When they stopped talking and Will had to deal with things on his own, he forgot what it felt like to be cared for by someone like that. He’s been pampered by his brother since he was a child, and ever since The Horrors™ he hasn’t really gotten to breathe on his own. So while he knows what it’s like to be smothered by others, it was different with Mike.
Mike taking care of him almost felt like soaking in a hot tub, surrounded by bubbles and warmth, close to drowning but hopeful that your head stays above water and you don’t fall asleep in the middle of it. Will forgot what it was like, for a while, to have so much of it all at once.
Now it happened so casually he feels a bit like he’s been drugged.
Will shifts, eyes throbbing. He’s been staring at the same page for almost an hour, pencil smudges ghosting the side of his hand, eraser crumbs littering the margins. He’s tried shapes, and eyes, even roots and fire. He’s scribbled, crossed out, and then started again. Every time he gets close to something that feels honest, his chest tightens and his hand veers away on instinct. He’s supposed to be working on a stamp outline, something easy to sketch that he can carve later.
A stupid prompt for a stupid project from a stupid teacher.
Stupid, really.
He’s overly stressed. He’s dirty, he hasn’t showered in three days because the plumbing has been messed up, both him and Lucas have sent in maintenance reports but nothing’s happened. He’s been taking showers at his brother’s place, but Jonathan can’t always be around, and he can’t remember the last time he was at Mike’s apartment with Dustin. Mike just ended up sleeping over at theirs, in the bed Will had dragged into his room.
His hair feels greasy, and Will hates it.
He flips the page and presses harder this time, sketching without looking too closely. Eyebrows first. Familiar ones, strong, and expressive, impossible to get wrong once you’ve memorized them the way Will has.
Mike sneezes, and Will’s stomach drops as if he’s been caught doing something wrong, even though no one’s looking. Sharply, deliberately, he rips the page out of the sketchbook. The paper tears louder than he expects in the hush of the library, and the sharp sting that follows makes him hiss under his breath.
“Shit-” Will shakes his hand on instinct, wincing despite himself.
Across the table, Mike looks up, automatic. Will can see it the second it happens, the way Mike’s shoulders tense, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as his eyes flick to Will’s face, then down to his hand. “You okay?”
Will nods, wiggling his fingers. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Mike doesn’t look convinced, but he never does the first time. “You sure?”
Will smiles, small and soft, voice pitched low so it doesn’t carry. “Papercut,” he explains.
Mike makes a sympathetic little sound, frown pulling at his lips, already digging through his bag. Will reaches out to grab the bandaid when Mike pulls it out, but Mike snatches it back at the last second. “Your hand, sir.”
Will pauses, eyebrow lifting as he tilts his head. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Dead,” Mike says solemnly, though his eyes are sparkling and his grin is wide enough to show teeth.
Will sighs, but there’s no real weight to it, just fondness. He holds his hand out, palm up, and Mike takes it with a quiet and pleased murmur of thanks. Mike applies the bandage carefully, like the paper cut matters. Like Will matters, if Will was cheesy enough to think that way. Mike’s fingers are warm and steady, his thumb brushing Will’s knuckles as he smooths the adhesive down. “Can’t have my favorite wizard collapsing from his stab wound.”
Will snorts before he can stop himself. “Your favorite wizard? I thought I was supposed to be a cleric a few weeks ago. Or was that a sorcerer, again? Make up your mind.”
“You’re everything,” Mike says, slipping out easier than the jokes usually do. “How am I supposed to pick just one?” It’s still playful, but honest in a way that makes Will swallow hard. His fingers twitch in Mike’s grip before Mike lifts his hand and presses a quick, gentle kiss to his knuckles.
It’s nothing. Just another joke, Mike leaning into it the way he always does, greedy just because he knows Will is going to laugh it off and let it happen again.
It’s everything. Romantic, if they were anyone else.
Will flicks his finger out on instinct, sharp against the tip of Mike’s nose. “Wha- hey!”
Will goes to pull his hand back, laughing quietly, but Mike catches it before he can, their fingers tangling. Will’s giggle comes out softer this time, muffled by the space between them. “Oh,” Will says, mock-grave. “Did I hurt you, my paladin?”
Mike squeezes Will’s hand without thinking, breath hitched at the tease. The pressure is solid, grounding. Mike’s eyes widen for just a moment, like he’s realized what he’s done, and Will expects him to let go. He doesn’t. “Yeah,” Mike whispers solemnly, playing along. “I think I’ll die, actually. No honor to my name. You killed me, Will the Wise. How do you feel?”
“Ecstatic.” Mike doesn’t respond out loud. He just shifts his grip, fingers lacing properly this time, both of them relaxing across the table. Natural the way it always was with them. Too natural in public. “Mike,” Will says, quieter now. “I have to work on this. I need my hand back.”
Mike shrugs, already picking up his pencil with his left hand. “You have two, don’t you? Besides, you’re right-handed. You’re fine.” Mike’s handwriting is already looking sloppier.
Will blinks at it, at Mike’s poor rough draft, then snorts, shaking his head as he picks up his own pencil. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.” Will’s breathing stutters and he scratches the nail on his pointer finger against Mike’s palm, causing him to make a disgusted noise and finally pull away. A dirty move, but it works. “Eugh- Will, come on-! That’s cheating-”
___________________________________
Will thinks back on it, the way Mike pressed his lips to his hand, the way he looked at him, the way he thanked Will for no reason. He brushed it off at the time, even though Mike kept grabbing his hand on the walk home, claiming that he was just making sure the bandaid didn’t slip. Will ignored it, like a good friend was supposed to, and tried not to let it bother him.
It’s not like it’s anything new, really.
Mike likes to be needed. It’s a fact of life, something Will has known since they were children.
His favorite color was blue, he liked syrup on his eggs, he had dreams of seeing the northern lights, and he felt the happiest when he was fixing something for someone.
Big or small, Mike was always doing something. If Will tripped on the playground, Mike would argue with the nurse over who got to put the bandaid on his knee. If Will wanted an orange with his lunch, Mike would peel it for him before Will could even get his hands on it, just because his eyes lingered on the bowl of them for a second too long.
He sneezed? Mike had a tissue already brushing under Will’s nose.
Will even remembers, embarrassingly, when he wore a pair of pants too loose to some stupid party he didn’t even want to go to and Mike had committed himself to gripping Will’s waistband the entire night, keeping it snug against Will’s hips. He had Jonathan’s belt on, too, but Mike was determined to stay there, his knuckles pushing against the small of Will’s back, pants fisted in his grip and a smile easy on his face like Will wasn’t considering bashing his brains in.
It haunts him to think about to this day.
Point was, Mike Wheeler liked to be needed.
And Will Byers?
Will swallows, eyes focused pointedly on Mike’s long, slender fingers. The way they twist and they pull, fixing the broken strap to Will’s backpack. Will Byers loved when Mike fixed things for him.
It was becoming a problem.
He didn’t mean to start doing it, but it just… happened. Maybe he was using Mike’s kindness against him, but it was difficult not to, and Will couldn’t feel too badly about it when Mike looked down at him with lidded eyes, one hand dragging up along Will’s side, voice sweet. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Will murmurs, grabbing the bag with trembling fingers. “Yeah, it’s better.”
Mike’s eyes squint a little, smile lines tugging at the outsides of them, and he gives Will’s shoulder a little squeeze on the way out of the room. “Good. Let me know if it breaks again, okay?”
Will nods dumbly, Mike’s back already turned to him. He was so screwed. He looks at the item in his hands, forming a half-baked (and pathetic) plan. A win-win. Good for everyone. It wouldn’t be wrong to indulge, just a little. It doesn’t make him a bad friend if he’s doing it so Mike can be happy, too.
___________________________________
He starts small.
A shoelace undone as they walked across campus, not tripping or dramatic, just a soft loosening, a lazy slackening at his own foot. Something natural that happens all the time, and doesn’t appear at all planned. He slows, letting Mike notice. Of course Mike noticed. He always did.
“Will, wait,” Mike says, hand reaching out to tug Will to a stop, voice gentle, “hold on for a minute.”
Will pauses, nodding, pretending to be confused, his heart thumping in an irregular rhythm he tried to ignore. Mike crouches immediately, fingers brushing Will’s ankle. Warm, and steady, grounding. Will swallows hard, watching every detail. The curve of Mike’s knuckles as he tightens the knot, the subtle flex of his forearms, the way his gaze flicks up briefly, meeting Will’s. Looking up at Will with those sweet brown eyes. “There,” Mike whispers finally, tugging the lace snug. “All set. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
Will lets out a soft, humorless laugh, face hot enough to cook himself alive. “Thanks,” he stammers, but his gaze lingers despite it, unable to look away. Mike straightens, lips tugging into a grin, shoulders relaxed in that small victory stance that was so, so familiar. Will’s fingers twitch at his side, itching for more, another dose. Just a little bit more.
More small accidents, more moments to watch Mike, to watch how he becomes so attentive, so caring.
He just needed a reason, is all.
___________________________________
Naturally, Will tries it again the next day. It feels stupid, waiting for Mike to go to the bathroom before he bends down to tug his left shoelace free, glancing around to see if anyone saw. No one cared, so it was good for him, but it doesn’t make him feel any less like some sort of criminal. Mike comes back, going to hop up onto the library stools, but Mike, of course, catches the white lace dangling, Will’s leg bouncing.
Mike crouches like it’s second nature, hands precise, thumbs pressing lightly over Will’s ankle to tug Will’s foot onto Mike’s knee. Will’s chest tightens. He feels that sharp little tug of possessiveness from Mike, the one he’s always had, so protective, and it makes his stomach flutter. Like a knight, of sorts. His paladin. “Good thing I noticed- you could have tripped.” Mike gives a squeeze to his calf before he stands up, sliding into the booth directly next to Will, stool forgotten, their knees touching. “You have to be more careful with those.”
___________________________________
By the third time, Will was getting a little bolder. A lot stupider.
Will was ashamed, don’t get him wrong, but he just couldn’t help himself. It’s been a long day. Mike was out in lecture after lecture after lecture, and now they were making dinner for the rest of the party, and Will was going to have to take that step back he always did, letting himself fade out of Mike’s narrative. He didn’t think it through when he jerks his hand out, slamming his fingers right against the counter. Not hard, or enough to actually hurt.
Just a tiny ouch, a little gasp.
“Hey- what happened?” Mike’s voice was soft but immediate. Appearing in front of Will before Will even realized he’d made the sound. Fingers press along the back of Will’s hand, thumb rubbing circles over the subtle ache. The warmth, the steadiness, the attention, all back at once. It makes Will’s stomach tighten, caught between a lie and the buzz that jolts down his spine whenever he gives Mike what he wants.
“Nothing,” Will mumbles, eyes looking up at Mike through his lashes. “It doesn’t hurt.” Mike hums, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, intertwining their fingers, lifting and kissing at the ache.
___________________________________
Yes, Will knows it's wrong to take advantage of people.
And yes, the Will from a few years ago would rather die than ask Mike to do anything for him. But, after a while, it starts feeling like a game of sorts. A nudge and something held out, helpful hands taking it within moments. Finding small things to do together just because they could.
He asks Mike to set the table while he cooks, just so he could watch him move around the kitchen. Mike does it without complaint, face shifting with quiet purpose, meticulously making sure the forks were laid on top of each plate just right. And Will? Will gets to watch him out of the corner of his eye, gets to see the way his arms flex when he carries a stack of plates, the way he reaches up for the cabinet and his back muscles shift under his shirt, the small crease between his brows when he concentrates.
He asks Mike to help dry dishes right after, hands brushing against Will’s as they work side by side.
“Why don’t you do it?” Mike teases, a curious look in his eyes. He was already grabbing the towel before Will could respond, brushing a hand against Will’s lower back. “You like my free labor, huh?”
Will shrugs, staring at soapy water. “I cooked. You can help clean.”
Mike snorts, no real issue with it, and he snags a dish from Will’s hands, fingers brushing again each other. “You should move out and come live with me instead. I’m a better roommate than Lucas.”
“Lucas and Dustin would probably go insane if they had to live together constantly, and you know that.”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees easily. “They’re not like us.”
Will swallows, nodding, unable to focus. His fingers twitch against the sponge in his hand, half-heartedly wiping at pasta sauce with a sponge. Mike was close, shoulders brushing, the both of them in a rhythm. Comfortable, and domestic even, if Will could let himself think of it that way. Intimate, almost. Will’s throat tightens, feeling unbearably dry.
Jane was lucky that she got to date Mike.
Mike would be a good boyfriend, especially now that they’re older, that Mike has grown into himself the way that he did.
Will lets his gaze roam freely over the way Mike’s hands move, his sleeves pushed up his forearms, the sharp rounding of Mike’s shoulders when he leans to the side. Will traces him with his eyes, memorizing shapes and shadows as if storing them somewhere safe. He watches as Mike dries and deposits into the rack, as Mike shoves his sleeves up higher the second they start to slip, big hands grabbing the fabric. He cracks each of his knuckles individually, places his hands on the counter, squeezes it, shifts side to side, forearms tensing, lean muscles flexing, skin covered in freckles…
“Are you done with that? I think it’s good by now.”
There’s poorly concealed glee in Mike’s voice, and Will realizes that he’s been washing the same plate for the last seven minutes, dazed. He passes it over, ears red. “Shut up,” he chokes out, flicking soapy water at Mike.
Mike doesn’t even get upset at it, shifting closer, pressing his front snugly against Will’s back. “Here, let me help you,” Mike murmurs, his own hands dipping into the sink. “Shit-” Mike jerks back, fingers pulling out instinctively. “The water’s cold, Will. You’ll get sick,” he huffs, sinking his hands back in.
Will can’t, for the life of him, figure out why Mike didn’t just nudge him to the side. He also can't, for the life of him, come up with anything to say other than a weak noise, Mike’s wet hands sliding over his own, not taking the sponge, just holding his hand on top of Will’s and controlling it, their faces nudging side by side.
“Yeah, well- cold water works too, right? It’s the soap that matters. Soap and- and passion.”
He can hear Mike’s laugh so clearly now, directly into his ear. Will shudders, fingers slipping between his own, squeezing, a nose nuzzling into his hair. “Soap and passion? Really?”
Will’s throat bobs, nodding, and Mike hums. Will’s hands feel unbearably colder when Mike releases them, but the thought doesn’t get to last when frigid hands grip at his hips, wet and seeping through his pants. Will’s body jumps from the shock, yelping, his elbow jerking backwards and smacking into Mike’s chest.
Mike lets out a wheeze at the force from it, squeezing harder, Will’s feet dragging against the floor for a moment. “Are you trying to knock me out-?!”
“You’re crazy,” Will chokes out through his laughter, shoving Mike off and stumbling backwards, ducking soapy hands. “Seriously, I’m going to call the cops-”
“You wouldn’t dare-”
___________________________________
It was getting worse, the desperate need to get close.
It would have been fine, maybe, if that was all, just a need he can brush off, but Will was an addict now, and he needed more. God, he felt greedy. Selfish.
So, Will finds his old flashcards. He dug out his old set from a box full of unneeded supplies, the box that they use for bonfires, and squeezes the notecards in his hands. The ones he, very clearly, didn’t need help with anymore. It was the fourth time this month he had asked, and Mike may be oblivious, but no one could be that oblivious.
Will at this point couldn’t care about that, and, like the addict he is, he nudges Mike’s foot with his own under the table, feeling Mike immediately loop their ankles together in response, and he holds out the material for his environmental science lab he had to take two semesters ago. “Can you help quiz me?”
Mike’s little private smile is all he needs to get that buzzing under his skin again.
Worst part about it? He’s not even taking a science class this semester.
“So… are you really into forest fungi now?” Mike flips through them one after another, seated snugly against Will’s pillows like he belonged there. Will had his legs laid on top of Mike’s lap, sitting sideways, one of Mike’s hands drifting to his knee often, squeezing as he read a new notecard. Sometimes, even, it drops to his thigh, dragging up and down smoothly.
Will especially liked those times.
“No,” he responds,voice quiet. Mike raises an eyebrow at him, and Will fumbles through his thoughts enough to continue. “I just want to make sure I don’t forget anything, you know? What’s the point of college if I forget everything?”
Mike’s eyes turn soft and Will feels himself melt. “Will, I’m pretty sure you could recite everything here from memory.” That was, upsettingly, true. Mike’s hand drops to his knee again, squeezing, thumb dragging along the inside of his thigh. Will swallows down the lump in his throat.
“I know the answers,” he murmurs, “but I want to hear you explain it. It helps.”
Mike’s hand stills for just a moment, long enough for Will to consider going outside and laying in the street during rush hour. He didn’t give a fuck about the actual topic, but when Mike explained something he gets this passion that he only shows when he’s committed to something, full of passion. Mike would flip each card, reading aloud, gesturing with his hands when he got excited about a particular fact. He would glow, and Will just wanted to catch it. Mike recovers decently quick, hand squeezing Will’s thigh, massaging it in his grip, before he continues, a new brightness on his face. “Yeah, yeah I got it. I’ll implant this in your brain.”
Mike is the only person that Will could tolerate an hour of algae talk for, a lot more focused on the fingers pushing their way between his legs so Mike can grab his thigh properly, snug and secure.
___________________________________
He feels progressively worse as it goes on, the way that he drags Mike to his side and the way Mike appears instantly.
When they go out to eat with the others, Mike comes over early the way he always does. Dustin gets the reservation, Lucas picks up Max so they all know she’s not driving and endangering people on the road, and Mike stops by to keep Will company while he tries figuring out what to wear.
Usually, Mike lays on Will’s bed and watches as he goes through everything in his closet, wanting to try out something new each day before settling on a long sleeve and a flannel. Today, Will feels his face burn, Mike’s hands grabbing at his shoulders, at his waist, eyes dragging up and down. The way Will’s stomach swoops makes him lightheaded just for a moment, Mike’s fingers easy to feel through the thin fabric of his shirt, something pretty and gold. Sparkly, something Will never would have worn back in Hawkins, but Mike’s pupils dilate and Will can see the way he licks his lips, swallowing. “... Is it bad?”
“Jesus, Will,” Mike mutters, like it’s the most absurd thing in the world. “No. You look perfect. Definitely wear that.”
Will forgets how to breathe just for a moment, fingers squeezing so tight that it hurt just for a moment, digging into skin. Will’s lashes flutter and Mike lets go, hands clenching a few times before releasing, reluctant. Mike smoothes out the wrinkles he left on the fabric, lingering before he lets his hands drop.
“Do you have any more shirts like this?” Will shakes his head, and Mike’s eyebrows furrow just for a moment. “Where’d you get this? What store?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Will cuts in, trying to ignore the way his heart lurches at the implication there. “Are we walking? I don’t remember where we’re going, to be honest.”
Mike shakes his head, hands twitching at his sides. “No- no, I’m driving. Shoes?”
“Will you pick them out for me?”
“Yeah,” Mike breathes, looking a little out of it. “I’ll pick out a pair, you just finish getting ready.”
___________________________________
He waits for Will after class every time, even when Mike’s class ended an hour ago, and even when it’s cold. Even when Will tries telling him that he doesn’t have to, especially since Will’s lecture hall is in a completely different building. Will’s gotten used to expecting it, eyes scanning the hallways.
“I’m serious,” Will’s friend says, walking beside him, hands moving as they talk. “You’re getting the hang of it, you just need to be more patient with the lines.”
Will smiles a little, ducking his head. “I am being patient.”
“You gouged a chunk out of it.”
“That was one time.”
They grin, teasing. “It was five times, but it’s not that bad. It’s always weird leaning into new types of art. I suck at drawing, but your notebook is always covered. I couldn’t do that.”
Will huffs a laugh, about to argue back when he spots Mike sitting on a bench off to the side, his long legs stretched out and spread comfortably. His glasses are pushed high up his nose, head tilted down as he studies something in his lap, completely focused. Will’s expression softens immediately. “Moxxie,” he says, nudging their arm lightly. “Hold on for a minute-”
Mike looks up instinctively, and Will freezes just for a moment. Mike’s whole face shifts, softening, and he pulls his glasses off in one smooth motion, folding them and shoving them into his pocket as he stands. He’s already walking over before Will can say anything else, strides big and fast.
“Hey,” Mike breathes, easy.
“Hey,” Will echoes, quieter, a little breath caught in it. Mike reaches out instinctively, hooking two fingers into the strap of Will’s backpack, slipping it right off his shoulder and swings it up onto his own without breaking stride. He’s already carrying his own bag, and now he’s carrying both. Will blinks. “Mike-”
“I’ve got it,” Mike cuts in before Will can even try.
“You don’t have to-”
Mike frowns at him, tightening his grip on the strap, adjusting both bags on his shoulder like it’s not even a question. “You don’t need to carry it. I’m here.”
Will’s face warms, a little helpless smile tugging at his mouth. “I can carry it.”
“I know,” Mike says, like that’s obvious. “You just don’t have to.” His tone is final, and Will has to swallow, knowing not to argue at that point. Will exhales through his nose.
“Uh- anyway,” Moxxie says, trying to pick the conversation back up, Mike looming over Will’s shoulder, silent and awkward. “We should probably meet up sometime? It’d be easier to work through it together when we have more time.”
Will brightens, lips pressing together to try forcing down his smile, feeling a bit like an idiot. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Cool,” Moxxie nods, shrugging their backpack off and setting it on the ground so they can unzip it and snag a notebook. “I can give you my number, just call me when you’re free?”
“Yeah,” Will grins, teeth peeking out. “I’ll call you tonight and we can figure out a time. Maybe Clarke can come too? I think they’re also having a bit of trouble. Not that I mean to assume, or anything- I just- I know you two sit together every class.”
Moxxie nods, despite the fact that they’re trying not to laugh, expression kind the way it always was. “Yeah, we can invite Clarke. We’re pretty good friends, they’re just a bit annoying, if you can ignore that.”
Will shrugs a shoulder, face a bit hot with embarrassment. “Well- I don’t think they’re annoying, if that helps?”
Mike shifts closer, his fingers sliding into the belt loop of Will’s jeans, hooking in and tugging Will a bit closer. “Uhm- I’m Mike,” his voice is as awkward as he looks, words abrupt, and Will rushes to add something in.
“He’s my best friend.”
Moxxie nods, a little awkward but polite, scribbling their number down and folding the piece of paper up. “Moxxie, me and Will have practical arts together. We’re working on a project right now. What’s your major?”
“English,” Mike answers. Moxxie nods, waiting for Mike to continue, and Will has to hide his wince when it goes quiet. Will nudges his elbow back just slightly, and Mike jolts. “Uh- yeah. I have a minor in creative writing, too.”
“I’m an art major, but I have a minor in film analysis I’m going for.”
“Cool, cool.” Mike shifts on his feet, feeling out of place. His hand moves, dragging up Will’s spine before his palm settles on Will’s shoulder, index finger pushing up under Will’s chin just slightly. “Ready to go? We should head out soon.”
“Yeah,” Will breathes, a bit thankful to get out of the situation. Will glances back at Moxxie. “I’ll call you,” he promises. “I should be free this weekend, if that works?”
“Yeah,” Moxxie says, still watching them, a bit critical in a way that Will didn’t exactly know how to deal with. “Sounds good to me. Bye, Will.”
“Bye,” Will smiles, relieved when Moxxie smiles back, warm and open, but Mike is already steering them away.
They make it halfway down the path before Will finally shoves at him, light but indignant. “You’re embarrassing.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Mike grumbles.
“You took my bag.”
“So?”
“So it’s my bag.”
“And now it’s my bag,” Mike shrugs.
Will rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile he can’t quite hide. They reach the edge of the road, and Mike’s hand shifts, firm on Will’s shoulder as he guides him to the inside, toward the strip of grass and trees. Mike steps out closer to the street, putting himself between Will and the passing cars without even thinking about it. Will pushes his hand into Mike’s pocket to pull out his glasses, opening them, before reaching up to push them back onto Mike’s face, Mike ducking a bit so Will can push them up his nose.
“…Can I come?” Mike asks after a second.
Will blinks. “Where?”
“Your thing. With Moxxie. Clarke.” Mike shrugs one shoulder. “I won’t get in the way. I just-” He trails off. Will looks at him for a second, at the way he’s trying to sound casual, like he doesn’t care that much.
“…Yeah,” Will says, soft. “You can come.”
Mike nods once, satisfied, pulling him just a little closer as they keep walking. “Did I make a bad impression?” Mike asks, a little quieter.
Will huffs, but there’s no real frustration left in it. “No. You didn’t make a bad impression.”
“I want them to like me,” Mike whispers after a moment, tucking his nose into the crown of Will’s hair. “They’re gay, right?”
“...Yeah. Moxxie goes by they instead of she or he, which- I don’t know. It’s new, right? Everyone’s so different here. I knew it would be, all the way in New York, but- I don’t know. For a while I just kind of worried that I would be the odd one out, again.”
Mike frowns, eyebrows furrowing, and he squeezes Will in closer to him, Mike walking on the outside of the sidewalk, closer to the road. “I want to meet the rest of your friends too, when I can.”
Will hesitates, gnawing on his bottom lip. “You’re not lonely, right? Sorry, that sounds mean, but-”
“I get what you mean,” Mike rushes to slip in, not letting Will fumble through an apology. “I have a few friends from a few classes, but this is different. These are like- your friends. And we’re us, so it- it matters if they like me. I want them to like me. Not to mention they… they get it.”
Will’s eyebrows furrow. “Get what?”
“Being- you know. Queer.”
“Oh,” Will whispers, blinking.
Mike’s steps stutter for a second, swallowing. “Is that okay? I just- I want to know all your friends, and everyone who gets to spend time with you, and I want to show you off to my friends, too- I want to introduce you to everyone I meet and I want to make sure everyone gets it-”
“Mike,” Will cuts off, eyes scanning him. “I’ll let you know when they call, alright?”
“Yeah?” Mike whispers, anxious, and Will nods. “Thanks,” Mike slumps a bit, and Will feels only a little bad when he steps on his shoelace again, Mike pausing and moving to kneel. “Will- hold up.”
___________________________________
Will asks Mike to explain movie plots Will has already seen. Mike does it all. He carries laundry baskets Will could carry himself, and reaches things off top shelves that Will knows he could get if he just pushed up on his toes a little.
He feels a bit silly for it, passing his bag to Mike as he sits down, watching as he riffles through it to open Will’s bottle of orange juice and pass it over, and then to open the ziplock bag with Will’s sandwich inside. Dustin side eyes them, but Mike doesn’t seem to mind it, waiting until Will takes his first bite before he goes through his own things to feed himself, the others sprawled out on the grass around them.
The guilt kicks in when he’s halfway done with his lunch and Mike’s just starting his.
Every request was trivial, but the tension was there. Will wanted Mike’s hands, his attention, his care. Mike started to lean into it, a sort of conditioning that Will knows he’s the cause of. He’d stop it sooner, but Will’s heart catches every single time, eyes stuck on Mike’s hands, his arms, the line of his shoulders, and the sharpness of his face. Mike, in turn, would shift so Will had a better view. Every motion became a small study in affection. Every smile from Mike was a spark that sent heat rushing through him. Mike’s awareness of Will’s watching, it only made him move more deliberately, more protectively, more attentive in ways that made Will ache in a sort of anticipation.
Mike knew Will was depending on him more than would be considered reasonable, and Will knew that Mike knew, and Mike knew that Will knew Mike knew.
Will also knew, deep in the pit of his chest, that Mike was exactly where he wanted to be, ready, willing, eager to take care of him, even in the tiniest, most ridiculous ways. That’s just the type of person Mike was, the sort of leader he prided himself on being. It makes Will think of being fifteen again, just for a moment, sitting in the back of a shitty pizza van and listening to Mike disregard himself for all the things Will loved about him.
___________________________________
It finally hits him hard one day, the way he’s been using Mike.
Manipulating him, even.
He feels even guiltier when Mike sees the switch in him and becomes more determined with it.
“Mike,” Will tries, shoulders slumping. “It’s not a big deal, really-”
“It is.” Mike gently wiggles the paint tube out of his hands, eyes scanning Will carefully. “Go take a shower, okay? You’ve been stuck in here all day and you’re just worrying yourself.” Will swallows, averting his eyes. Mike’s finger brushes his jaw, edging his head back up. “Come on, you wanted my help just a little while ago, didn’t you?”
Guilt.
Will nods, despite it. “Good. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” There’s globs of color dripping down his shirt, seeping through the cloth, clinging to skin. Mike’s eyes track it, hand tugging at the collar of his shirt, thumbing the buttons. He pops open the first few for Will before he could try doing it himself, expression worried. “I’ll get you something clean to wear, okay?”
“Okay,” Will whispers, as if he could have possibly said anything else.
The dorm’s plumbing is old and temperamental. The water never settles where it’s supposed to. It’s either too hot, stinging and overwhelming, or it turns on him without warning, going ice-cold and sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs. For a few months it’s been frigid, Will doesn’t know why he thought it would be any different today.
Will yelps as the water abruptly shifts, cold needles striking his back. His hands fly out on instinct, fumbling with the handle, heart jumping violently in his chest. For a split second, just a split, traitorous second, his body forgets where he is. The cold feels wrong, invasive, like something reaching for him instead of just water.
“Stop-” he gasps, fingers slipping, words choked and strained. His throat aches, too full, too much all at once. “Stop, stop-”
“Will?!” There’s a banging at the door. It rocks in his skull. “Will, what’s going on-?!”
He can’t get his lungs to work until it warms, hot water pelting at him. He knows his skin is going to be red, but that’s good. He has to burn it out. He felt it, he’s sure, all the way in his body, in his mouth, slimy and somehow pure fog all at once, like little particles and atoms forcing their way inside. The water hurts so bad that his vision blurs, like dipping his fingers in boiling water.
It turns cold and Will’s fingers dig into his arms, tearing into the pores, a hand caressing his face and tilting it sideways, whispers against his face, breath smelling like rotting corpses, spiders along his legs.
It’s hot again, enough so that Will’s legs wobble.
“Will- Will, come on- talk to me-”
“I’m fine,” he croaks out, but the damage is done. His breathing is off now, shallow and quick, steam curling around him as his muscles refuse to relax. He presses his forehead against the cool tile, eyes squeezed shut, trying to will himself back into his body.
You’re fine. You’re here. It’s just water.
It would have helped more if it was Mike’s voice reassuring him. Will could never quite tell if his thoughts are his own or not, brain pounding against his skull, demanding exit.
He finishes quickly after that, movements stiff and mechanical, towel clutched tight around his waist as he steps out, another over his shoulders, conserving as much heat as he can. His skin prickles unpleasantly at the air, nerves buzzing like they’ve been struck too hard.
Mike looks up from his spot on the floor, sitting besides the bathroom door. Kind. Good. Too good for Will.
Guilt hits him hard. Mike’s always been so caring, and Will took advantage of that. He’s been forcing Mike to do things he wouldn’t do on his own and now Mike is stuck here looking up at him like that. Will did that to him.
“Hey,” Mike breathes, immediately clocking the tension in Will’s posture. “You okay?”
Will hesitates. He hates how obvious it always is. “Yeah,” he says automatically, then exhales. “It’s nothing. The shower is just- a bit broken right now.”
Mike’s jaw tightens, eyes shifting. Thinking. “The water- was it cold?” he asks.
Will nods, rubbing at his arm through the towel, like it could fix him. “Yeah- but then it just got a bit too hot, afterwards. It’s fine.”
Mike stands up. Just like that. No questions, no dramatics, just decision. “That’s it.”
Will blinks. “What?”
“That’s it,” Mike repeats, already grabbing his hoodie, squeezing Will’s shoulder on the way. “I’m fixing it.”
“You can’t just- Mike, it’s the dorm plumbing,” Will protests weakly. “We’ve put in maintenance requests. They don’t-”
“I know,” Mike says, voice calm but edged with something sharper underneath, his hand drags up and down Will’s arm, nudging him to the bedroom. “I’m still fixing it. Go get dressed.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes Will stop arguing.
They’re in the bathroom a few hours later, Mike crouched under the sink, tools laid out like he knows exactly what he’s doing, a paper manual folded out in small font. Will perches on the edge of the counter, towel swapped for pajama pants, Mike’s sweater from earlier that day keeping him warm with built up body heat. He just rolls his eyes, watching with a mix of fondness and disbelief.
“You don’t even live in this building, technically,” Will says, exasperated. “Me and Lucas are the only ones actually on the lease, Mike. It was hard enough trying to get a good double dorm with a bathroom included, if they find out you’re here messing with the pipes, you’re going to get in trouble.”
“I won’t,” Mike replies, cutting off his worries cleanly. “And if I do, it’ll be worth it.”
Will swallows. “What about when me and Lucas get in trouble?”
“You won’t,” Mike huffs at him, focused. “I wouldn’t let you. I’ll just pretend I broke in, or something.”
Will presses his lips together before sighing with a nod. “Fine. But, if we’re blaming it on anyone, we’re blaming it on Steve.”
“Deal.” Mike tests the water, frowns, adjusts something, then tests it again. He mutters under his breath, focused, intense. Will watches his hands. Steady, precise, capable. The same hands that ground him during nightmares, that hold his wrist during panic spirals like they’re anchoring him to the present. Mike pulls his hoodie off, tossing it to the side, t-shirt loose. Mike raises the bottom of it to wipe off the spray of water that hits him in the face, tightening the bolt again. Will swallows.
Mike would be a good husband, too.
For whatever woman he decides to be with, he’d be good.
“How long has it been doing this?” Mike asks without looking up.
Will shrugs, even though Mike can’t see it. “Recently.” Mike nods, and Will has to correct himself, shame gnawing at him for lying, even now. “I mean, not too long. A while. Only a month or so- maybe a bit more.”
Mike pauses, head slowly lifting to look up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question isn’t accusatory, more gentle than anything, and Will has to force himself not to swoon at it. He should have stopped this soon before he got greedy, but Mike is waiting for an answer, something honest, and Will has to offer it to him.
“I just mean- we put in requests, so I just… I didn’t think that it mattered.”
Mike’s expression shifts- something hurt flickering behind his eyes. “It matters,” he says firmly, a hand raising to squeeze Will’s leg where it dangled next to him. “It matters,” he repeats in a murmur, the same way he repeats for emphasis. Will wonders if Mike knows he does that, but he can’t bring himself to ask when Mike goes back to work with renewed focus, determined.
When he finally straightens, he wipes his hands on his jeans and nods toward the sink, right beside Will’s hip. “Try it.”
Will hesitates. “Now?”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “I want to make sure.”
“What if it like- explodes?”
Mike just blinks at him. “Explodes?”
“Well- you’ve never tried being a plumber before, Mike! There’s probably rules and stuff to this- I don’t know!”
“Will,” Mike tries again gently, sliding both of his hands up Will’s thighs, coming to stand in the space between them. “What’s going on?”
His mouth goes dry, hesitating. “What do you mean?”
“You’re acting… different. I don’t know- I just feel like there’s something happening in your head and you’re not telling me. Come on. Talk to me.” Will turns his eyes away and Mike sighs a little, palms squeezing. “Just try it? Let me do this for you.”
It feels like a switch. For the first time, Will thinks that maybe Mike had been playing a game of his own, too. He turns the handle, sticking a hand under the faucet. The water comes out warm. Perfectly warm. He waits. His shoulders stay tense, braced for the inevitable switch.
It doesn’t come.
He laughs softly, surprised. “It’s… stable, actually.”
Mike smiles, proud and fierce. “Told you.”
“Don’t let it get to your head, Mike.” His voice is soft, and Will lets the water run over his hand, then his wrist, a few drops running down his forearm. It stays warm. Predictable. Safe. In front of him, Mike shifts closer, tall and lean. Protective. Like a shield. The heart, his mind whispers at him.
“If it ever does that again,” Mike says quietly, “you tell me. Immediately. Don’t just- put up with it.”
Will glances up, heart stuttering. “You can’t fix everything.”
Mike meets his gaze, unflinching, thumbs dragging up his inner thighs slowly. “Watch me.” The words send a warm, dangerous feeling through Will’s chest. He doesn’t let it fester, breaking out into a breathy laugh, shoving at Mike’s shoulder. Mike grins, leaning into it, tugging him closer. “I’m being serious, here!”
“You’re ridiculous-”
“You’re ruining the moment, Will- come on-”
“The moment?” Will sputters, covering his face with one hand. Mike ducks low to try catching his eyes properly.
“Yes, the moment! That was completely a moment!”
___________________________________
Later that night, when Will showers again- slowly, deliberately, he doesn’t flinch once. The water behaves. His breathing stays even. He lets himself relax in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
When he climbs into bed, hair damp, Mike is already there, reading. In Will’s bed, not the one laid out on the floor waiting for him.
“How was it?” Mike asks softly, flipping a page.
Will smiles, small and sincere. “Good.”
Mike reaches out, tugging Will closer without looking, arm wrapping around his waist like it belongs there. He holds his book out to Will, who takes it, just so Mike can yank the covers up over them, taking it back after. Something so small, but so natural. Will settles against him easily, resting his head on Mike’s shoulder, arms looping around his chest.
“Thanks,” Will murmurs, eventually.
Mike presses a kiss into his hair, possessive and gentle all at once, grip tightening. “Yeah- yeah, of course. Always. Go to bed, Will.”