Archive of Our Own

Mike has a hard time getting out of his head, he thinks a lot but somehow always ends up right where he started: confused and frustrated. His feelings are so hard to make sense of that sometimes he feels his body inherently knows something he doesn't. A pain in his chest when he hugged Will goodbye before he left for Lenora, or an anxiety attack ripping through him after Will came out to the party. With all these feelings to ruminate, his mind never really takes a break. He wishes wholeheartedly that he had some answers to show for it, but the chaos of thoughts plaguing him all hours of the day are laced with too much fear to be productive. Will knows this about him, and he’s very kind to let Mike trail off. There are some things Mike’s brain just stalls on; so when something is too much, Will gracefully lays the conflict to rest and Mike loves him for it.

After graduation and the settled dust of saving the world, they agreed on sharing an apartment in Chicago and going to UIC together. The conversation had been one big side step around the idea that they couldn’t handle being apart. They were both still so fragile from everything that happened, desperate to cling to someone that could understand. 

For Mike, moving in with Will meant confronting some of the repressed emotions he had been dodging. They had toured a few apartments— all small, all dirty, all barely within their constrained budget. This one had big south facing windows. Mike had pictured it; Will at an easel painting in the living room, him reading a book. It was instantly home. At least that’s what Will called it, when they walked to class together he would say see you at home! and Mike’s heart would skip a beat.

The absolute best part of their new life has been witnessing Will shed the filtered parts of himself, he carried a confidence now that Hawkins had stifled. It’s an indescribable feeling to watch him evolve with the unspoken precedent that he came so close to not having the opportunity to grow up like this. Mike gets a front row seat to all the new versions of him, and feels gratitude for every new mannerism, interest, or opinion that Will adopts. 

The second best part has been the exploration and acceptance that Will inspired in himself. Mike had come out to their friends (and reluctantly family) the first holiday back in Hawkins, and he makes no effort to hide it from their acquaintances at school now. Mike didn’t move to the city with the intention of coming out immediately, hell, he didn’t even move to the city admittedly gay; but something about the way Will carried himself made him realize he didn’t need to be so afraid. The mental block on it all just kind of retreated.

There were times it felt like Will knew more about Mike than he did himself, and other times it felt like too much history was hanging over them for anything to be easy anymore. But even during the times Mike couldn’t tell a soul what was going on inside his frazzled mind, Will was the person he went to.

The summer before college, Mike set out to prove himself wrong about all the thoughts he was having (or intentionally not having). He had been working a part time job to save up for the move to Chicago. His coworker Anna flirted with him all summer— eye contact, arm touches, leaning in to laugh. All the signals were there. And she was pretty, really pretty. So when Summer was coming to an end and he had his exit strategy at the ready, he asked her out. In hindsight it was a terrible idea, but something told him he had to try.

He wasn’t really sure where she would like to go. If he was hanging out with Will they would go swim at Lovers Lake or hit the arcade. Those things didn’t seem like good places to take a girl. The lake would leave too much time to talk to each other, nothing to distract them from awkward silences. The arcade just felt juvenile, even though he had spent almost every Wednesday night there with the party since the summer started. He landed on a movie, it seemed like the safest option. He figured he ought to hold her hand or yawn an arm over her shoulder like he’d seen in movies, but he really didn’t feel like doing that, so he sat a little closer than a friend would and let their shoulders touch, hoping that was normal.

When they left the theatre he couldn’t help but notice how friendly it all felt. Apparently she didn’t have the same idea, because when he pulled up to her house she put a hand on his leg and asked him to come inside. Mike knew what that meant, he even had a condom in his wallet for the occasion, but he still froze in place. “Don’t worry, my parents aren’t home.” She offered. So he followed her inside and up to her bedroom, sat on the bed while she put a Cyndi Lauper record on, and tried to convince himself that bile wasn’t making it’s way up his throat.

When she sat down and started kissing him, he closed his eyes tightly and committed to it. When she climbed on his lap and started grinding into him, he even got hard. His confidence spiked. He laid her down on the bed thinking maybe he could do this.

But then, she spoke. “Mike? Do you have a condom?” She asked in a sweet and soft voice. He opened his eyes and looked at her, thought of Will for a moment.  

“Y— yeah.” 

She nodded up at him, biting her lip ”Good.” She dove in to kiss him again. Through heavy breaths and airy moans she spoke into him. “I’ve wanted to make out with you since our first shift together, did you know that?” Her hand grazed over the retreating bulge in his pants.

“No, I had no idea.” Mike laughed awkwardly, shifting slightly to subtly put distance between his softening dick and her wandering manicured fingers. She hummed, reaching for his hand at her side and gently guiding it up under her shirt, over her bra. She splayed her hand over his, squeezing. The illusion that he could do this was really crumbling now. Mike separated their lips with a loud pop. “Um, maybe we should… slow down a little.” 

She looked at him with confusion, catching her breath. “Oh— you don’t like boobs or something?” She laughs. It’s lighthearted, he knew it was a joke. But it was all too familiar a sentiment, flooding up to a cracked dam that was barely holding in his mind. Mike was not normal, a normal guy would not be staring down at Anna, green in the face with a pit of anxiety in his stomach.

He shook his head, trying to ground himself. “Sorry, just want to take our time.” Mike said. Unsure, but still committed to trying, he leaned in and kissed her in a slow, tender way. The way he had imagined kissing someone for so long. Her lips were soft, a devastating intrusive thought appeared in his brain. Will’s lips. 

Will Byers’ soft pink lips, the mole over the right corner of his mouth. His mousy brown hair and hazel eyes, long pretty eye lashes and strong nose.

He pulled away suddenly. “Anna, I have to go.”

“You have to— what?” She leaned back on her elbows, chest rising and falling with arousal. “What do you mean you have to go, you just sai—“

“I totally forgot about something I have to do. Uh, my friends, I promised I’d help them with something.” He frantically stood up, fixing his clothes. “It slipped my mind.” He turned away quickly to leave, holding back tears. He didn’t hear her reply, his heart was beating too loudly in his ears.

When he got to his car, he slammed his fist on the steering wheel and dropped his head onto the cushioned centre of it, a soft whimper filling the car. The horn honked, startling him into a broken sob. Through blurry eyes he saw a light come on in the house, a curtain draw. He started the car frantically and pulled away. Without thinking, he drove towards the Byers house. 12:13AM blurred up at him from the clock on his dash. Thankfully, he had driven across town to the Byers’ residence enough times that he could navigate despite the streetlights stretching out across the windshield.

When he got to Will’s he took a moment to compose himself, blowing his nose into an old t-shirt from the back seat and rubbing desperately at his wet face. He tip-toed around the house, and without knocking like he normally would, he quietly forced Will’s bedroom window open and crawled inside.

“Mike?” A quiet, husky voice asked. He had been sleeping.

“Sorry, I’m sorry Will.” He tried so hard to level his voice but it cracked over Will’s name, exposing him. “Can I sleep over?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He lied.

“Um… okay, do you need anything?” 

“No, please go back to sleep.” He opened Will’s top drawer and changed into the first sweatpants and t-shirt he found.

When he crawled into Will's bed, he knew Will had not gone back to sleep; his breath was uneven, his body tense. Moonlight cast a soft blue glow over Will’s messy hair and shoulders, turned away from him towards the wall. Mike wanted to seek comfort, he wanted to put his hands in Will’s hair and ask him to hold him until he felt normal again. He knew that didn’t make sense. After all, Will was the source of all Mike’s abnormal tendencies. 

Mike lay awake for a long time, his hand reached out over the mattress behind Will’s back, feeling the warmth radiating through his wrinkled t-shirt, not touching. Being close to Will like this was a pacifier. He could lie in Will’s comforting presence to settle something deep in his bones. His breathing measured, his heart slowed. But that would be too easy. Will shuffled, turning to face him. His eyes fell on Mike's outstretched hand, and then up to meet Mike's eyes, incriminatingly wide and wet in the moonlight. There is his rapid beating heart again.

“What happened?” 

Mike shook his head slowly, a tear falling without his permission. Will reached out, hand hovering over his wet face, and then dropped in front of him on the bed. They lie there, two feet apart, reaching for something.

It had been a long time since Mike had cried in front of anyone. He recalls sinking into his mother’s embrace after losing Will once or twice, but he usually made a valiant effort to not even cry alone in his room, let alone under the pitying gaze of his friends or family.

Something in Mike resolved that it was unfair to crawl into Will’s bed unannounced at 1AM crying with no explanation. So he tried to offer something. “I was… with someone.” He squeezed his eyes shut, tears tickling his nose and wetting Will’s pillow. “I’m... dealing with something.” He balled up some of Will’s blankets in his fist to stifle his panic, a small sob cracked his composure. “Fuck— I’m sorry this makes no sense.” He whispered, he tried to look at Will but the room was a glassy blur. 

“Mike, I hate seeing you like this. Tell me what’s wrong, I promise it’ll be okay.” His voice is soft and patient. Will finally lays a tender touch on his bare arm and Mike catches his first even breath in over a minute. 

“No, no I can’t— it’s— I can’t say it.” Mike broke into a puddle of quiet choked sobs and tried to turn away from Will’s side of the bed. Will grabbed his hands, pulling him closer to wrap arms tightly around Mike's shaking frame. He brought a hand to Mike’s hair and pulled the back of his head into his neck, sealing his wet face tightly against his warm throat. He held him there, fingers in his hair, rubbing his back soothingly. 

“Okay— it’s okay you don’t have to tell me now—” A wavering sigh. "—you don’t have to tell me ever if you don’t want to. I’m here.” Mike cried even harder, something about someone acknowledging his suffering broke the dam entirely. “I’m here, it’s okay.” 

“Will— I’m scared.” Mike choked between cries into Will’s neck. “I’m so scared.” He clutched tightly onto Will’s shirt, stretching the fabric. He felt like he might burst with panic, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tensed every muscle in his body to focus on something other than the fear.

“You’re okay, you’re safe.” Will repeated soft comforting reminders like this until Mike’s breathing evened out. Soon, his fists loosened their grip on Will’s shirt, he melted into the mattress with exhaustion. 

The next morning, Mike retreated back to the emotional fortress of his mind and tried to brush off his uncharacteristic outburst. Will asked Mike one more time to talk about it in the light of day, said it sounded serious and he wanted to help. When the familiar block reared its head he let Mike hide away. Will had probably gotten used to the way he shut down, but that didn’t stop Mike from feeling guilty when he crawled out of the window at dusk and looked back at the boy’s pained expression.

Despite the weight lifted when Hawkins was in their rear view mirror, Mike's trauma played tricks on him in Chicago too. It was crazy how the sun could go down, Will could close his bedroom door, and he was transported to a familiar, dark place.

He woke every single night to Will's body being pulled from the quarry, padded down the hall, listened for a sign that Will was okay. He was a restless sleeper, so Mike didn’t need to wait long for signs of life: a creak of the bedframe as Will tossed and turned. Some nights though, Will slept heavier. He’d wait until enough panic settled through his bones that he had no choice but to turn the knob and silently wedge the door open. Confirm with his own eyes that Will was 20 years old, his hair grown out, his jaw defined and stubbled. He wasn’t scrap paper and crayons and D&D characters, he was canvas, acrylics, and still lifes. Mike would watch his chest rise and fall for 10 seconds and then turn the knob, pull the door shut, slowly release the latch.  

Mike wasn’t the only one that had nightmares. One night only a few weeks after they moved in, Mike jolted up in bed, Will’s waterlogged red vest flashing behind his eyes. He looked at the clock on his nightstand. 2:33AM. His breathing was still ragged and gaspy when Will knocked faintly on his door. It was already open, so it fell ajar to reveal Will— hair messy, pyjamas wrinkled. It was hard to see his face in the dark but he noticed wet spots on the collar of Will’s worn out grey t-shirt. 

“Will? You okay?” Mike asked, still catching his breath.

“Um.” Will picked at the paint peeling on Mike’s door frame and sniffled. 

“Come in.” Mike moved over on his bed to make room. “Come here.” 

Will shuffled into the room and closed the door, suspending them in darkness. “Do you ever get… Nightmares?” The irony.

“Yeah Will, all the time. Did you have a nightmare?”

“I thought I would feel better… Away from Hawkins, but it feels like the memories are just fighting harder. Like they’re clawing back in resistance.” 

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Mike hadn’t had a single peaceful sleep since they got to Chicago.

“You do?”

“Yea, I’ve— I keep dreaming you— I’ve been creeping around at night to check on you... Sorry if that’s weird.” 

“I could keep my door open. If you— I mean if that would help.” Will tangled and untangled his fingers in his lap. He sat on the corner of Mike’s bed as far away as he could get.

“You would?” Mike’s voice softened with fondness. “I’ll leave mine open too. If you have a nightmare you can just come in. You don’t need to knock.” Mike took in Will’s sad hunched posture and saw for a passing second the scared, haunted boy he used to be. “Will, do you want to stay? I had one too, uh, you'd be doing me a favour.” Mike feels raw and waits for a rejection. He was scared to ask but figured it better to be scared than risk Will sulking back to his room feeling alone.

Will hesitantly stared down at the space Mike had made for him on his double bed. He nodded, bottom lip gone between his teeth. Will curled up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, over the covers.

Mike huffed a small laugh. “Will.” He nudged his spine. Will got up and crawled under the covers, laying flat on his back, still on the very edge of the bed. “You’re gonna fall.” Mike pulled on his arm gently for him to move a little closer. He thought about the night Will had held him, and wondered if maybe Will was thinking about it too. He wondered if Will would want that now, but he thought about it for too long and by the time he had decided to hug Will, he was already fast asleep— hands flat under his cheek on Mike's pillow, facing him. Mike's heart raced at the mere thought of touching him. He stayed awake for over an hour just looking at Will, wishing he was brave. 

Will and Mike reclaimed their elementary school habit of telling each other everything pretty quickly in Chicago, it was catalyzed by forced proximity. They picked up right where they left off, before hell and the crisis of growing up and not understanding anything.

But Mike’s astronomical secret was weighing on him heavier each day. Until Will held his hand and showed him once again how to be vulnerable. When he felt like nobody else would understand him, he confided in Mike about the journey he was on to carry himself differently in Chicago. Away from the watchful eyes of small town Indiana, he struggled to reconcile everything that happened to him. One late night, through tears, he told Mike that he thought as a child he was targeted by Henry because he was different. Mike's heart cracked open over and over again as Will recalled the ideas Lonnie instilled in him about being sensitive, being queer, being wrong. He had been so young, he hardly knew what queer meant when he was taken, he just knew that it was something to be ridiculed for, and if his father and all the kids at school noticed, that made it real. He didn’t mention how long exactly little Will believed that he deserved this divine punishment, but even a minute would be too long.

Will cried on Mike’s shoulder until he dozed off sitting up against Mike’s headboard, balled into his lap. Mike had a sore neck for three days afterwards. A sore heart for much longer.

Only a month into their new routine in Chicago: coffee shop studying, shared quiet time, movie nights with El and Max, reminiscing about the party and planning their next reunion in Hawkins. Mike fell in love with their shared life and the domesticity of it all. He made Will a cup of tea when he was sad, and Will brought him a baked good from their favourite cafe when he was having a long day. They prepared cheap meals together and ate said cheap meals on the sofa. Their life was so ordinary, and so perfect.

Will was of course the first person he came out to. Will was talking quietly about the defenses he still had up, a residual fear, after being pushed over one too many times at school, that any new person you meet could be unsafe. Mike let it slip.

“Yeah I think I have that guard up too, I meet new people and just feel like they know, and I don’t even know. Y’know?”

Will quirked his head to the side, a knowing smile on his face. “What do you not know?”

“You know…” 

“C’mon Mike just say it.”

“What I am.”

“What you are.” Will stated. Not a question.

“Questioning… Unsure. I guess.” He shrugged. Will pulled him into a side hug, dropping his head on Mike’s shoulder. Every fear that he hid deep inside of him culminated into one wound that Will was somehow able to touch and soothe. “Whatever.” Mike laughed into Will’s hair before shoving him off. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Don’t make what a thing?” Will leaned, bumping their shoulders together.

From then on there was a quiet solidarity between them. Will became even more comfortable talking to Mike about his sexuality— sharing interpretations of the books he read, revelations he had as a kid, even boys he found handsome at school (which Mike felt bittersweet about). Mike listened fervently. He loved bonding with Will over this long kept secret; he loved that it was now something they could share. Mike had seen it as a flaw for so long, but Will was not flawed, Will was perfect. Somewhere between their first fall and winter semester in Chicago it started to feel more like a gift, a unique experience he had that a community of brave and understanding people like Will could relate to; and when he started seeing it through the lens of his feelings for and relationship with Will he couldn’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing at all. The wound was healing, and by February, over one of their Friday night dinners, Mike told him.

“So y’know how I said I’m questioning” He said. Will looked up through his bangs and nodded with a soft encouraging smile. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot” Mike paused, looking down at his plate. “I’m gay.”

Will looked at him with shiny eyes and a soft smile. “Mike, I’m so proud of you.” He’s not sure why he felt a little pleasantly surprised, of course Will would support him.

Mike's gaze locked on the peeling wallpaper behind Will, grasping desperately in his head for all the things he had prepared to say to the boy. “Yeah well... I’m not sure I ever told you this but I’m proud of you too. You were so strong through everything— so sure of yourself. You've always inspired me like that.” It wasn’t quite what he rehearsed but it would do. Mike watched a tear fall down Will’s cheek and pretended not to notice. He continued. “And I’m sorry ya know? I was really ashamed of myself, and I projected that on you. I was mean to you because I was being mean to myself. It wasn’t… fair.”

Mike reached out then and rested his hand over Will’s where it stretched out on the table between them. Will’s eyes darted from their hands to Mike’s face “Thank you, Mike. I forgive you.” A deep breath. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He smiled and waited a beat before he took his hand away and went back to eating. After years of overanalyzing interactions with Will, this one came and went with unfaltering clarity. Finally, after years of feeling like Will knew him better than himself if not only for this one gut wrenching secret, he could breathe. He could breathe because the one person that mattered saw him for who he really was, and loved him for it despite all the wrong ways he had dealt with it, and how delayed he was in finding it. 

With his friends’ supportive warmth, Mike’s nervous energy surrounding his identity started to melt away before his very eyes. El and Max had very different styles of supporting Mike’s self acceptance arc. Max thought she could bully and tease the gay to the surface, if she could she would probably grab him by the shoulders and shake him, tell him to just get on with it already.

El with all her freedom and independence was a bubbly and eccentric woman. She had absolutely no filter, so sometimes Will or Mike had to apologize on her behalf when they hung out with new people. Max never apologized, she would nod along with a challenging look that said I dare you to say something. She wore lots of mismatched jewelry and clashing patterns. She was always smiling and always tethered to Max Mayfield by locked elbows. 

Mike helped El with a student organized zine she was taking the lead on. She brought him on as a “writing consultant”. That buzzy feeling of being needed drew him in but he stayed for the community and everything he had to learn from them. Unlike Max, El nurtured every hesitant step with gentle reassurance. She taught him everything she knew about LGBTQ activism in Chicago. She had found it integral to her own journey to read up on the liberation movement, get involved on campus. Max spent weeks reading books with her at the library, maybe that’s when they got so close. El shared her favourites with him, he read every one.

Max’s methods had their impact too. Mike would say something totally normal in his mind's eye and Max would drop a blunt. “Yeah, that’s a gay thing.” Often leading to a spiral of thoughts that would string all the way back to high school in his head and result in an ah ha moment. So while Max came off harsh, he couldn’t deny her jabs were coaxing answers from him.

El and Max spent every Thursday night at Mike and Will’s apartment watching movies. Will and Mike would often debrief Friday morning about the lingering touches and tension they witnessed between the girls. Ironic? Maybe, but they skirted around that every week. They speculated El and Max became official around the beginning of March, but they didn’t prod.

El was a very special person to him, over the years as she grew into herself he often thought about the effect their relationship had on them. How different things would be if they had always been friends, and how badly he wished he could start over and do things differently. He never loved El in a romantic way, but he clung to her. A vague representation of his choice to be a normal kid in Hawkins' suburbs. They were sat in a coffee shop off campus with their school books, studying for midterms. Mike was in his head again about their friendship, something triggered the memory of her throwing his letters around, their fight in Lenora and the inevitable break up that followed when she started training to fight Vecna. He never apologized. Just like everything else, he skirted around it.

“El, do you ever think about when we were kids?”

“We still are kids I think.” El laughed.

“I mean like when we dated.”

“Well. No not really, why?” She stopped writing in her notebook, dropped her pink gel pen to give him her undivided attention.

“I just— you’re one of my best friends, and if you ever wanted to talk about it we could, that's all.” But he was being dishonest again, because it wasn’t for her. It was a selfish attempt to launch a conversation that might make him feel better.

“Oh…”

“I know it’s been a long time, I don’t know why I still think about it.”

El giggled. “If you were not overthinking something, you wouldn’t be Mike”

“Yeah yeah I don’t know, I just worry sometimes that I’ve messed everything up.”

“Really? But we’re friends.” 

“You just seem so happy lately, I thought maybe I got in the way of that for a long time.”

“Mike, we were just kids. It’s okay.” She smiled in a genuine way that just made him feel worse. Mike nodded, looking out the window at the passing sidewalk traffic. Is it okay? Again that sinking feeling falls on Mike that everyone keeps moving forward while he stands still.

Fed up, he chooses to speak.

“The reason I was such a bad boyfriend, that everything was so complicated and hard between us. It’s because I’m queer, and I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone, not even Will. When I met you I didn’t know anything. I was just acting out what everyone expected from me. I don't know, I liked you of course. There was so much pressure. Then we got older and I just wanted to be normal so bad, I thought I could be. I loved you so much, I know I couldn’t say it but I truly did, it was just the romantic part that didn’t make sense. And now well you know I love you now. I was thinking about who I wanted to tell about it. I don't know, I guess I thought it might make it all make sense to you. Why I was such a shit head. Not that that was fai-”

“Mike.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“It does… make sense.” She picked at her nail polish, deep in thought. “Thank you for telling me.”

Mike took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I get it… Max and I are dating.” Mike gasped, mocking surprise and El shoved him. “You’re asking me to bring up Will you know.” She warned.

Mike made a zipped lips gesture and returned to highlighting his textbook.

Mike tilted his head to stare at the foggy window pane and watch the snow fall outside. Will loves the snow; he looked up at him to confirm his suspicion that Will would be looking out the window too, of course he was. He was lying on Max’s bed, feet crossed over the head board.

The top of Will's head pressed against his as he mirrored Mike's position on the lower half of the bed. Max and El sat straddling their waists, smiling at each other and handing each other brushes and eyeliners. Mike looked up to witness El and Max leaning over them to share a kiss.

“Jesus! Get off of me!” Mike groaned, forcing his hand between their faces and trying to wriggle out from under Max.

“Relax Mike, it was just a kiss.” El ruffled his hair with a laugh.

“You guys are gross.” Mike huffed, making Will giggle.

El hummed “You’re being homophobic Mike.”

“Can gay people even be homophobic?” Everyone sighed, knowing Mike was about to be insufferable.

“When you told me it’s not your fault I don’t like girls that was homophobic.” Will pressed, Max and El laughed at Mike’s misery.

“C’mon Will you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Well I still reserve the right to throw it in your face, it’s what little Will would have wanted.” Will shrugged and Max and El nodded in agreement.

“Sorry little Will.” Mike sighed dramatically, blindly reaching his hand up and rubbing Will’s shoulder. He couldn’t see his reaction, but he felt Will’s hand reach for his and give a little squeeze. “Are you gonna make me look ridiculous on purpose because you hate me?” Mike looked up at Max as she unsheathed a black pencil.

“Yes.” Max replied with a stone face. “And I’ll poke your eyes out too if you don’t shut up.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she leaned in closer with her weapon. With the eyeliner held in one hand like a pencil she dug into Mike's temple with her free thumb to hold him steady.

Mike took a deep breath and held space for gratitude that he has both of his eyes, and vision, apologizing to the universe that he had taken such a privilege for granted. 

“Maaax.” He whined as she licked her thumb and rubbed at one of his closed eyelids. She ignored his complaints and moved to the other eye. 

“You’re gonna like it Will, he looks really grunge.” 

“Will? I’m the one who has to like it!” Mike whined some more until Max finally hopped off his torso, flicking him in the forehead. 

When he looked in the mirror, he was surprised by how good he felt about himself. Max had smudged black eyeliner tight to his waterline, in a reckless fashion. It was dangerous, sexy even. Staring in the mirror he thought This is an outward expression to the world that I’m not normal, and I like it. I like that people will look at me and think, he’s brave enough to be different. Will joined him in the mirror with a big smile. El had dusted a subtle glitter over his eyes and cheek bones. He looked magical.

“El, you made me so pretty!” He laughed and turned away quickly to poke El’s cheek. “Can I put the same stuff on you so we match?” If Mike was having a surprising revelation that maybe he could let passers by think he is queer, Will was a step ahead, voiding the thought of what passers by thought of him altogether. He made it look so easy, but that was just Will and his mesmerizing, unfaltering sanguinity. 

Mike caught his reflection in every surface that night, waited for someone to push him up against a locker, waited for someone to call him a fag. Nothing happened. Except Will’s glances lingered a little longer than usual. When they got home, he looked a little too close.

“I’m gonna take this off.” Mike mumbled self conciously. Will trailed him to the bathroom, staring in the mirror.

“Do you like it?” Will asked.

“Uh, yeah I guess.. Do you like it?” Mike paused rubbing at his eyes to look at WIll.

He didn’t say anything, he just nodded slowly through the mirror. Mike watched him look away and stare at his side profile instead. He could see that if he just turned his head slightly to the right, they would be looking at each other. His heart sped up. “It’s hot.” Will’s voice was low and quiet. He probably heard Mike’s breath hitch pathetically. Mike watched him in the mirror, his fingers twitching at his sides. Will only waited a few beats before heading out of the bathroom, calling goodnight over his shoulder, and disappearing into his room. Mike’s gaze fell on the space Will had just filled.

He groaned, rubbing harder at the mess of black makeup.

At breakfast the next morning some persistent glitter glimmered on his cheeks in the morning sunlight. Mike had tossed and turned last night, lingering on it’s hot and beating himself up internally for not saying anything back. He imagined turning from the mirror, cupping Will’s jaw and saying something really cool back… Most of his workshopped responses were nauseatingly dorky. He chooses to keep it simple.

“You looked pretty last night.” He decided if Will can say he looked hot, he can say this. An eye for an eye. It’s a little belated, but when was he not? “The glitter, it’s still on your face. It’s pretty.”

Will looked startled, wide eyes looking up from his eggs. He coughed a little and took a sip of his orange juice. “Oh, thanks. Uh, I tried to wash it off but it’s being stubborn.” He rubbed at his cheeks. They turned a little red. How was this the same Will from the mirror last night?

Mike got a little more bold with his expression when he discovered how much he liked wearing eyeliner to clubs. He came home late some odd Tuesday with a metal rod through his brow. Will had been drawing on the living room rug when he walked in, sprawled out with charcoal smudged all over his hands and a half downed container of lo mein balanced precariously on a stack of textbooks beside him. 

Mike dropped his backpack by the door and sat next to him, close enough that his knee brushed Will's hip. "How long have you been drawing here?" He squeezed Will's shoulder, knowing Will had a tendency to forget everything else when he drew— sitting in uncomfortable positions until his spine cracked when he got up, complaining he hadn't had a drink of water all day, hadn't noticed the sun go down.

“Not long. Promise.” His voice had that faraway quality it got when he wasn't listening. Mike waited, watching Will's profile in the afternoon light from the window. The apartment was quiet except for the scratch of charcoal on paper and the distant hum of city noise outside that they both had come to love. When Will finally looked up at him, his mouth fell open. “You-“ His mouth closed, he visibly gulped. 

“What you don’t like it?” Mike whined.

“No— no no that’s not it.” Will maintained an unfaltering stare on his forehead. “Did it hurt?” He leaned in, looking more closely.

“Well yeah.” Mike laughed nervously. “Still does actually, kind of throbs."

“It looks... really good.” Will’s stare unfixed from the piercing and took in Mike as a whole. His baggy black t-shirt over a tighter long sleeve waffle knit shirt that covered his arms, loose jeans, silver rings, chipped nail polish. And the newest addition: A shiny silver bar bisecting his eyebrow, the skin around it still a little flushed, angry.

“When did you get so cool?” Will tilted his head, scrunching his nose. Mike's heart picked up speed.

Mike checked his watch. “About an hour ago when this big dude stabbed me in the face.” With nonchalance that would be squandered instantly if Will caught a glimpse of his pulse. Will laughed a little too hard, eyes lingering on Mike’s face a little too long.

"It suits you." His expression softened. "Not just the piercing." He gestured at Mike broadly. "Everything." 

"Really?" Mike grinned.

Will nodded rapidly. "Totally." 

Mike turned and flopped down on the carpet next to Will. On his back, his head fell next to Will's drawing, long black hair covering corners of the page. "Thanks, I feel good" Mike beamed up at the ceiling, Will still fixed on his brow. 

"Eat, emo." Will pointed to the noodles. "And get off my piece, it's gonna be worth more than your house someday." He held back a grin, lightly shoving Mike's shoulder away from the drawing. Our house, dummy.

"You kid, but that's my retirement plan." Mike leaned over Will, messing up his hair. He ate the noodles obnoxiously over Will's workspace, asking annoying questions about what the drawing means, why he made that choice, what he's gonna do next. Will patiently answered in his distant focused tone, seeming to enjoy the company.

Mike got in late. As he was untying his sneakers in the doorway, Will padded into the living room rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, sorry I was trying to be quiet.” Mike whispered, as if Will clearly hadn’t already been woken up by the sound of the door. 

“S’okay.” Will looked at him through hooded eyes and yawned. “Did you go out?” Mike had left school that day with a boy named Scott. They got food, walked around downtown smoking cigarettes and then went drinking. They drunkenly made out in the back of a cab to Scott’s apartment, where Mike enthusiastically gave his first blowjob. 

“Uh yeah, I was with a guy, you might know him actually… Scott B... He’s an art major too.” 

“Oh yeah, I do.” 

“We went on a date… I guess.” He looked over at the clock on the wall reading 12:30AM. Incriminating.

“Oh… How’d it go?” Will turned to the clock.

“I sucked his dick.” Mike blurted out foolishly. He was still standing awkwardly in the doorway of his own home.

“I meant the date? But congratulations.” Will laughed and rubbed the back of his neck looking at the floor.

“Sorry.” 

“Yeah…” Will turned to go back to bed but something stopped him. “Did you… have fun?”

“Yes, he was nice. Terrible at kissing but the blow job was fun.” 

“Terrible at kissing…”

“Yeah he was way too intense about it I was like drowning. For a second I was like— maybe I’m not gay if kissing men sucks this much. But then I remembered people can just be bad at kissing.” Mike laughed, getting carried away again. “Sorry, I should stop talking.”

“Do you think you’ll go on another date?”

“No! No it was impulsive really. I don’t like him, and I definitely don’t want to kiss him again.” Mike shook his head, wrinkling his nose at the memory of Scott’s tongue far too close to his uvula in the cab seat. Will would not kiss like that. Will would kiss really elegant and classy like he thinks.

“Good…” Will didn’t wait for a response, just wandered back to his room. Leaving the door wide open and crawling back into his bed. 

Good. What did he mean by that? Good you don’t have to get swallowed whole by Scott again? Good you gave your first BJ, congrats! Good, we are unspokenly bound to each other and you’re mine so don’t get involved with someone else? God, he hoped it was the last.

The next morning Will seemed fascinated still by the details of his date with Scott. Mike got tired of the interrogation and asked Will about where he went last week instead of their regular Saturday night plans. 

“We’re not talking about me…” He stared down at the mug Mike was handing him. Scalding hot tea.

“We are now.” Mike smiled. “C’mon I know you’re dating too, I wanted to ask but I thought you would want to keep it private. But since you’re content to ask me everything about my date you at least have to tell me who you went out with.”

“It doesn’t matter, you don’t know him.” 

“C’mon Will, I told you everything about Scott. Even the embarrassing stuff!”

“Ok fine… his name is Andy. He’s in engineering, he’s a total frat boy. Will be closeted til the day he dies type.” Mike cringes, not long ago that was him.

“Well, how was it?” Mike raised his eyebrows.

“It was fine… I wouldn’t even really call it a date, it was more of a hookup. Not really my thing. I won’t see him again.” Will looked at him with big eyes, almost like he was gauging a reaction. Mike tried not to look too enthused that his date went poorly.

“Was he good?” Mike knows he’s crazy to push but he’s so god damn curious he can’t help it. 

“Ah. I dunno. I was just thinking the whole time about how I don’t even know the guy. I don’t think hookups are for me.” Will shrugged. “It was sex… it felt good but there was nothing there.”

“I agree, it’s weird.” Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment. Would there be something there if we…

Will cleared his throat and sipped his tea, doodling on an electric bill at the table. 

“I feel initiated.” Mike said stupidly. He smiled at Will, wide with his teeth. “They should give me a metal or something.”

“You want a metal for having Scott’s dick in your mouth?”

“Yeah, I think I was pretty good at it. Seemed like it anyway.” He couldn’t help the smug grin on his face. He really needed to get a reaction from Will for this. He waited patiently for Will to say something along the lines of oh really? Me next!

“Well lucky Scott B” Will shook his head smiling, he grabbed his back pack off the chair and abandoned his doodles, heading for the door. Mike peaked at the mindless scribbles Will had been working on as they talked. He had drawn a little scene. Clouds, sunshine, a rainbow. It was sickeningly happy by nature. Mike smiled and stuffed it in his bag before catching up with Will. 

When Mike falls onto the couch with his backpack over one shoulder and groans, Will has already danced into their messy shared living room to greet him. Will makes a mock groaning noise back and slumps into the couch next to him with a huge smile.

It’s one of the first days in months that Mike has left the house without a jacket, hat, and scarf. Birds chirp outside of the cracked kitchen window, and the air has that indescribable quality of Spring. Mike peers over into their small kitchen at the sunlight beaming over a bouquet of tulips that was arranged on the island. They catch the light and reflect a pretty pink hue over the room. Will often brought home flowers, he says they make the space feel more alive. 

Mike had once called their apartment a “sanctuary”. Will had given him a look of confusion but a slow smile crept onto his face as Mike went on. It was the only place in the world that he felt entirely comfortable. He didn’t tell Will that it’s likely about the boy that leaves his bedroom door ajar across the hall, about the clean white converse that live next to his duct taped together black ones on the shoe rack, or the art that adorns all the walls creating their own personal gallery of his favourite artist’s work. Every one of the 750 square feet of their shared apartment felt like love, felt like home.

“My comparative literature prof assigned another paper for Monday.” Mike places his head in his hands, elbows balancing on his knees, dramatically pulling at his hair.

“Well you better get started now if you want to have any fun tonight.” Will teases. A long silence passes, Mike staying committed to his dramatics. “Seriously. I won’t even bug you while I get ready.” Will pushes Mike up off their couch and into the hallway toward his door.

“But I like getting the final say on your outfit.” Mike pouts. “And I need you to paint my nails.”

Will looks at his watch with a grin. “Work on it until 6:30.” He playfully demands.

Mike returns with the groan from earlier, stepping into his bedroom and slumping against the door to shut it. Mike doesn’t mind comparative literature as a class; he finds origin stories interesting enough and reading passages from the bible’s translations have contextualized some very unfortunate learned biases that rang as law in the Wheeler household. So he dumps his knapsack onto his bed and dives into annotating the text. He refocuses on the same passage three times before giving into his wandering thoughts.

He’s at the kitchen table of the Wheeler house. Ted, Karen, Nancy, and Holly all sit quietly eating their meal, forks clank against plates before Mike breaks the silence. “I have to tell you guys something.”

They all look up at him and he holds his breath. Maybe talking to them all at once was a bad idea, but he felt that Nancy would probably stand behind him, and the thought of sitting across from his republican parents with no back up felt worse. He looked at Nancy, gulping. Her eyes softened, nodding her head like she knew what he was going to say already, and it was okay. He’s not sure why he felt the need to blurt it out to his family. Maybe it was his mom asking him on the phone each week if he’s met any pretty girls at college, or his self important commitment to justice wanting to argue with Ted about his uninformed comments on the AIDS crisis.

“I uh... Well, mom y’know how you keep asking me if I’ve met any girls at school.” Mike looks down at his peas, moving them around on his plate. Everyone at the table goes completely silent. He looked up, 4 pairs of wide eyes looked back at him. Tears prick at his eyes.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Well, I— I haven’t. I won’t, because I don’t see girls that way. I’m gay.” The silence was absolutely unbearable. Mike looked up at the ceiling, holding back tears.

“Mike, thank you for telling us. We love you. Right mom?” Nancy looked frantically between Mike and Karen. 

“Um yes, o— of course Michael, you’ll always be our son.” Karen looks at him with a small genuine smile.

“That’s your business son.” Ted grumbled. “Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

Mike looked back down at his peas and Holly elbowed him. She smiled up at him. He realized he wasn’t sure she even knew what the word gay meant. “Does that mean you like boys?” 

“Yes Holly, we can talk about it later.” He mumbled, avoiding Ted’s stare.

“No you won’t.” Ted boomed.

“Dad…” Nancy warned.

“She’s too young to be exposed to that stuff. You’ll leave it alone Michael.” Ted spoke with finality and they finished their dinner in silence.

That night Nancy and Holly sat on Mike’s bed and explained to Holly what being gay meant, that anyone she knew could be gay, and that despite Ted’s reaction, it was okay. When Holly went to bed Nancy sat back on his pillows and sighed.

“I’m sorry if that didn’t go how you expected it to.”

“Honestly that’s pretty much what I expected, it could’ve been worse.” Mike shrugged.

“It could have been better.” She shrugged.

“It’s Ted, I’m lucky he didn’t have an outburst really. I’ll just never bring it up again, it’s done.”

“Well what if you want to bring someone home over the holidays or something, I’ll talk to him Mike, I’ll—“ She turned to him with a really serious look in her eye. The spark of determination and responsibility is so familiar and comforting he almost cries again.

“Nancy don’t, just leave it.”

“We love you, you know, and mom does too. She was just caught off guard.” He pretended not to notice that she conveniently left their dad out.

“I know, thank you.” He wanted to cry, he thought he would feel relief after his family knew, but the truth just felt dirty. “I’m gonna go to bed Nancy, I’m tired.” He settled his voice, asking calmly for her to leave.

She hesitated. “Okay, goodnight.” She wrapped her arms around his lanky shoulders in an awkward hug, they never hug. 

“Goodnight.” As the door clicked shut Mike buried his head in his pillow and cried. Thought back to Anna, El, all the chances he had to choose to be normal.

The overwhelming bodily reactions didn’t stop when Mike came out. He still felt that pit in his stomach and tremble in his fingers, but he had a name for it now. The fear of being seen. 

A few hours later, a soft knock hits his door. Will steps inside and taps his watch. “You made it.” Mike carelessly shoves his books and papers on the floor and lays back on his pillows. “Thank God.” He groans at the ceiling. “Is this a contender?” Mike looks Will up and down to inspect his outfit. He’ll never question why Will values his opinion on his outfits, it’s the only time Mike can wholeheartedly drag his eyes from the boy’s ankles to his eyes without judgement. “Like it.” He looks back up at the ceiling, feigning apathy.

“Mike, I clearly need to stop coming to you for fashion advice because these are my painting clothes.” Will frowns, looking down at his paint-splattered crop top and cotton shorts.

“I thought you were going for an artsy thing. It’s cute.” Cute, Mike clearly forgot he was going for nonchalance. Will stifles a shy smile. 

Mike grabs the cold bottle of black nail polish off his desk, gesturing for Will to join him on the bed. Will sits cross-legged in front of Mike and takes his hand, placing it on his knee, like he has every time he’s done this for him.

The first time Will painted his nails for him, he had stumbled upon Mike making a mess of his fingers and their second-hand coffee table with the black paint.

“What are you doing?” Will stood over him with a deep frown, arms crossed over his chest. Mike wasn’t sure what to say, he figured it was pretty obvious what he was doing. 

Then Will sat on the couch behind him and asked him to turn around. He took Mike's fingers and splayed his sweaty palm out over his own knee. Mike may have protested, not wanting to stain Will’s pants, but like most of his clothing they already had little splotches of paint on the thighs.

It’s one of Mike’s favourite quirks about Will, how careless he is with his paint, how he always becomes an extension of the piece he’s working on. He often sheepishly slides from his room to the bathroom with paint on his brow, in his hair; and if Mike is lucky enough to catch him in a conversation while he’s painting, he allows his eyes to wander and pause on the strokes of paint, thinking dreamily about how Will is quite literally a work of art. If Will notices the lingering stares, Mike lets him think that he’s only captivated by the paint smudges because they’re an oddity, not because he’s falling more and more in love with his best friend every day.

“So, this is cool.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’re like Robert Smith.” He murmured, still concentrating on Mike’s thumb. “It’s hot.” His eyes reluctantly dragged up, searching Mike’s face, undoubtedly catching the flush of his cheeks.

You're hot. “Robert Smith, yeah right.” Mike laughed, shaking his head.

“What? You don’t think you’re as cool as Robert Smith?” Will joked.

“I think all his records on our shelf speak for themselves.” 

“Well, I think you’re cooler than him.” He mused, finishing up the last nail and capping the polish.

“You’re such a liar.” Mike smiled up at Will from the floor.

“Friends don’t lie.” He told Mike not to touch anything for a half hour. Mike smudged and wrinkled his work in the first five minutes.

He thinks about how long it will take for the polish to chip this time, if it will be days or weeks before they can be close like this again. They don’t say much while Will paints Mike’s nails. He thinks if he says something his breath might fan over Will’s lips in a suggestive way, maybe he would realize how close they are and move away; so he quietly watches his concentrated face until he’s done. But this time, Will lifts Mike’s hand a few inches from his lips and gently blows on the wet paint. That’s a new development. Mike fights the shiver running down his spine. Will hasn’t met Mike’s eyes. He wears a glazed over expression like he zoned out and his body is operating on autopilot. Looking up at Mike brings him back, probably catching Mike’s incredulous look and getting a little embarrassed.

“All done.” He drops Mike’s hand and it holds in the space between them for a beat before Mike pulls it in.

“Thanks Will. One of these days I’ll tip you.”

“You better.” Will smiles up at him from the bed.

Suddenly Will dives into talking about his midterm portfolio submission, sorting through the canvases by Mike’s bed and holding two up for an opinion about which one captures light and shadows better. Will had started storing all of his favourite pieces in Mike’s room after he spilled yellow paint all over a work in progress a few days before it was due. 

Mike is once again surprised and endeared that Will thinks his opinion is worth anything at all. He contemplates for a long moment. He wants to run out of the room and read twelve books about painting technique, learn the pretentious terminology, run back into Will’s room out of breath and tell him the first painting has harmonious depth and contrast however the second painting’s composition was balanced and rhythmic. Then Will would look up at him batting his eyelashes and in a sweet sultry voice say Wow Michael, you’re sooo smart while drawing flirtatious circles on his chest. Instead he picks the one that he thinks stands out more for no particular reason.

Will sighs with relief. “That’s what I was gonna say!” Mike does a cartwheel in his head while Will moves on to discussing the drawings he’ll include in the portfolio. And it’s not that Mike wasn’t listening, he absolutely was hanging on every word, but if he zones out for a moment or two on the mole over Will’s lip, Will doesn’t notice, or if he does he has the mercy not to mention it.

At 8:30pm Will offers Mike a big red mug with a christmas tree and a teddy bear on it, a mouthful of clear liquid sloshing around the bottom. They are both dressed up, shoes tied, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Thanks.” Mike nods, smiling at Will’s favourite mug. It’s yellow with Charlie Brown characters printed on the side. Mike has made Will tea in it a hundred times now, he makes a mental note to pour shots into it from now on too. They cheers their mismatched cups and throw back the bitter shot. 

When they arrive at the party Will and Mike exchange a nod, heading towards their respective friend groups. Will’s artsy, eccentric hippies and Mike’s pretentious, brooding bibliophiles. He makes his way over to the group of familiar students from his lit classes and slides into a conversation about film adaptations of their favourite books and how they’re never good. It’s almost 10:30 when he notices all of his classmates slurring their words and giggling through their sentences, he starts to feel painfully sober.

His gaze wanders to Will across the room, he’s nodding along with something a classmate is saying, eyebrows furrowed, small frown. Before long, as if they had been missing each other's glances all night, their eyes meet. Will’s tense expression melts, morphing into a big smile. Mike returns it.

“You guys are cute.” A short brunette from his intro English class elbows him in the arm. He hesitantly breaks his moment with Will to give her a confused expression. Eyes darting between her and the ghost of their shared look where Will had turned his attention back to his friends. 

“Wha— my… Will? Oh we’re just—“ 

“Oh sorry, you’re not dating?” She looks between them. Mike knows he talks about Will a lot to his friends, and they had met him a couple times. Now that he thinks of it, he never mentioned the nature of their relationship. 

“No!” Too defensive. “I mean— well we’re really close friends, best friends.” Mike smiles in an attempt to lighten his shielding tone.

“Well you’d make a cute couple.” She smiled innocently, turning back to their circle of friends. Mike allows himself to imagine it for a moment. Pulling Will into their circle and squeezing his waist. Telling everyone they’re boyfriends. Literally every person at this party being jealous because Will is well, Will.

It’s always a small shock to Mike when his new friends make off-handed comments like these. They know Mike is gay and not only do they not mind, they treat it like a mundane character trait, like he prefers coffee over tea. Max’s lighthearted teasing, El’s nurturing, Will’s understanding are all incredible, but this subtle normalcy was something entirely new and transformative.

“Mikeeee!” Will finds him not long after, wrapping his arms around Mike’s chest from his side and pressing his cheek into his shoulder.

“Willlllll!” Mike notices Will is a little unsteady on his feet. He lifts a hand to the top of his head, messing up his hair. Will swats him away.

“Wanna get some air?”

“Sure, I was just gonna grab a drink, show me the way?”

Will grabs his hand, reminding Mike how small his hand is in his. When they approach the drink table, Will confidently mixes a few different glass bottles and some Sprite together and hands it to Mike. “Here, this is what I’ve been drinking.” And just like that Will takes his hand again, leading him outside.

Will finds El and Max talking by the entryway and grabs them on the way out. Once outside he looks around their circle with a shy smile and pulls a baggie out of his pocket with a few wrinkled, pathetic joints in it.

“Yesssss!” El and Max grab hands and look maniacally at the drugs, jumping up and down. They have been begging Will to source weed from one of his hippie classmates for weeks now, claiming their midterm schedule calls for a well-deserved haze to take over their minds for a few hours.

Will puts one of the joints between his lips and fumbles through every pocket of his jeans, giving Mike a mildly concerned look. “Shit, forgot a light.” he mumbles, shooting a glance toward Mike. The joint bounces in his mouth and Mike’s eyes trail it as if instead of splurging on a keg for this frat party they sprung for a hypnotist act instead. On cue, Max, El, and Mike all pat at their empty pockets.

Mike dips out of their small circle and makes his way to a couple, smoking on the porch. “Hey, Uh any chance I could borrow a flame?” He looks down at a box of matches in the man’s hands. 

“Sure man, knock yourself out.” He slurs, tossing the matches. Mike catches them. 

“Thanks, I’ll bring em back.” He stumbles away.

Back in the dream blunt rotation, Mike pulls out a match and strikes it on the box. He holds a hand around Will’s face to block the wind and lets the match’s flame scorch the end of the clumsily rolled joint. Will nods him off, inhaling the smoke. The glowing end of the joint gently lights Will’s features, illuminating him in a monochrome red scene, the cool night contrasting around him. He inhales slow and long, scrunching his eyebrows together and looking at the ground before pinching the joint between his thumb and index finger and holding it out to Mike.

When Mike brings the joint to his lips he tries to copy exactly what Will did, but he still lets out a few embarrassing chokes and coughs. As Mike passes the joint to El she smiles naively and asks “Do you feel it?”

Mike laughs. “Not yet El.”

She smiles tightly around the joint, giving it a longer pull than Will and Mike combined. Will laughs, shaking his head. “You better not throw up at this party.”

El rolls her eyes, passing it along to Max, who matches her long inhale. “Oh instant— guys I can feel it already.” She chokes it out through a series of short, winding coughs.

Will giggles again. “You’re lying Max…” but he seems unable to hold back the giggles after saying it. They erupt continuously, and the circle watches Will with three competing grins of affection. Will can’t even catch his breath. “Guys stop—” He can’t even get through his sentence. “Stop looking at me, I'm gonna pee my pants.” Mike can barely tell Will is laughing at this point because it’s just a high, constant wheeze. 

“We didn’t say anything…” Max stares blankly at Will, but it just makes him laugh harder.

It’s Will’s turn to puff but they skip him on this rotation because he’s bent over, his arms clutching his stomach. He stills, excusing himself to the bathroom and yelling over his shoulder to his friends to save him some “leaf."

“I wonder if he’s high yet.” El ponders with a stone face and Mike and Max erupt in laughter as she takes another long pull from the joint, her lip curling up with pride.

“I haven’t seen him laugh that hard since that night we went skinny dipping in Lovers Lake and stole Dustin’s clothes.” Max smiles, watching the door.

They all watch the door for a moment, missing him in tandem. Mike realizes all at once that it’s not just him who misses Will the minute he wanders off.

Mike spends a long moment considering what exactly it is about Will that has everyone he meets in this trance, but he soon realizes that thinking about all the idiosyncrasies that make Will so endearing would take the whole night, and the fog of the drugs is already settling over his consciousness, cutting every thought short before jumping to the next. Which could be why he doesn’t register when Will arrives back in their circle.

“I told myself in the mirror that nothing is funny and I can keep a straight face.” Will was barely holding it together.

“New game! Who can make Will laugh first!” El cheers.

Mike makes eye contact with Will and opens his mouth to say something hopefully funny, but before anything comes out Will breaks into another fit of deep laughter.

“I win!” Mike raises the joint triumphantly as Will continues to giggle. “Will you’re gonna have to pull yourself together to hit this okay? I believe in you man, you can do it!” Mike pats Will’s back soothingly.

Will takes a deep breath and takes the joint from Mike, inhaling shakily for a second in preparation. He manages a long drag off the joint, exhaling it directly in Mike’s face. “Oof sorry.” He waves at the smoke between their faces, entering Mike’s personal space frantically.

“S’okay.” Mike gives Will a dopey grin, his eyelids starting to feel heavy. He has a brief intrusive thought that with his defenses lowered, adoration readily paints itself all over his expression; the smoke fades into a conspicuous portrait of a lovesick idiot. 

Max’s voice breaks the tension. “Will did you show Mike how you can tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” She smirks over at them and El elbows her.

“Max, you’re teasing.” She giggles.

Mike’s jaw drops. He tries to respond, really does. A noise comes out, not really a word. He gives up.

“Sorry Mike, I forgot you can’t act normal about anything.” Max rolls her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal, I just thought it would be funny so I learned how.” Will shrugged.

“How did you learn how?” Mike forgets anyone else is around, locking in on Will. "And— and how is that funny." He gawks.

“It wasn’t that hard… I just put it in my mouth and then…” Sound blurs. Mike completely blacks out. Not one memory of what Will was saying would ever come to him. When he comes to, he’s staring at Will’s lips, thinking about his tongue and his bunny teeth working around a cherry stem. He has to swallow a mouth full of spit that pooled under his tongue while he fantasized about Will’s new skill.

El coughs. “What do you think Lucas and Dustin are doing right now?” She ponders, accepting the dwindling joint. He drags his gaze from Will’s mouth, the image is imprinted in his mind anyway.

“Dustin’s probably at a frat party trying to score and Lucas… Well Lucas is probably at a frat party trying to score.” Max laughs.

“I’m going to call them tomorrow and see if you’re right.”

“She’s right, I talked to them both this week and they had big plans…” Will covers his mouth to stifle another giggle fit. “Dustin made it to a third date with someone, he says tonights the night.”

Max looks at her watch. “Nauseating, he’s probably doing foreplay as we speak.”

Mike looks over at Will with a knowing smirk, eyebrows raised. “Dustin… Foreplay?” Will shoves him, bending over in another fit of laughter. El and Max lean into each other laughing and shaking their heads. 

“It’s almost gone, want to shotgun it like you told me?” El has a determined look on her face as Max nods slowly, eyes drifting to El’s smirk and holding there for a moment. 

“Does that even work?” Will giggles, looking hesitantly to Mike.

Max shrugs, stepping closer to El and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Mike and Will look at each other hazily and shrug, El already pulling the last of the smoke from the shoddy joint as Max rests her head on her shoulder, blazing red hair falling down El’s arm.

Mike feels suddenly extremely aware of everything happening around him and somehow extremely dazed all the same. He watches it happen in slow motion. El’s lips just barely brush Max’s in a near-perfect pass, hardly any smoke lost in the wind around them. Max takes a step across the circle and leans into Will, holding him firmly by the shoulders. Will stands stiff, wide eyes and lips parted slightly.  Mike can hardly decipher if their lips touch at all, some smoke escapes between them. In real life 30 seconds pass but behind Mike’s eyes an anxiety induced scene is broadcast. Army men march into a tent of grey matter. “Yes sir, best friend of 13 years will be leaning in in t-minus ten seconds. We are considering every possible outcome and are prepared for the worst officer.” And with a salute the army man turns on his heel and marches away. “Is he actually going to put his lips on my lips?” “If he does, would that be considered a kiss? Would that be their first kiss? Do I want this to be our first kiss?” “Will he feel how much I want this?” “What if my mind goes feral and I just kiss him stupid in his art history classmate’s yard?”

But then Will is in his space, and he’s looking at him in this ethereal, hazy way and Mike’s mind goes blank. Shotgunning does not work with four people, surely there was no smoke left to transfer, are we just going to ignore that? He can feel the expectant stares of El and Max on them as Will presses their lips together and breathes into him. And he decides he does in fact want to call this their first kiss. Because Will looks like a renaissance painting, and smells earthy and sweet, and feels warm against him; and now Mike just needs to gather taste and sound to complete the sensory experience that is Will Byers. The feeling of Will’s soft lips lingers for Mike, as if his state of consciousness senses how badly he wants to live in this moment forever and grants him that one wish. When Will pulls away he blinks at him like a doe in headlights, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, small open-mouthed smile.

Mike’s thoughts stir, and he completely forgets that the whole point of this was to inhale the smoke. They share a stunned look as what’s left of it drifts between them.

Mike coughs suddenly, the back of his throat still scorched from the smoke.

Will startles. “You were supposed to inhale it, dummy.”

He holds up the rest of his stash to the group with a mischievous grin.

They all giggle, shaking their heads with a chorus of scolding and jokingly stern Willllll’s and Mike takes the joints from his hand, stuffing them back in the coat of his jacket that Will is still (adorably) wrapped up in.

Mike watches Will giddily turn back to the house, linking arms with El to go dance. He mentally pats himself on the back, admiring the outfit he decided on. There’s no eloquent way to put it, Will is wearing the jeans Mike picked out really well.

With no warning, Max’s hand moves up from beside them to close Mike’s hanging jaw with a firm thumb pushing up on his chin. He startles, feeling his teeth click.

He pushes her hand away, shaking his head. “Are you as high as I am right now?” hoping to change the subject before it can fall on his hanging jaw.

“I don’t know, let me stare at Will and see if I go into a trance and start drooling.” She elbows him and Mike laughs dryly, elbowing her right back.

“Whatever.” He doesn’t know what else he would say. He could be defensive and deny looking at Will but what’s the point? It couldn’t be more obvious. Him and Will have walked this boundary for years, and now they’ve touched lips; and in the folds of Mike’s intoxicated brain, that’s enough to forget that the boundary ever existed.

“Did Will really show you he can tie a cherry stem with his tongue? Or were you just fucking with me?”

“I wish I was, because you really don’t deserve all that.” She gestures towards Will, already stepping inside.

“So he did…”

Max huffs a heavy sigh and pats Mike on the back. “You better catch up quick Wheeler.”

When they get inside there’s a small circle of Max and El’s friends playing spin the bottle in the living room. They walk in just as two blushing girls lean into the circle and share a quick kiss while their friends whoop and cheer. Max, El, and Will sit with their friends, and the circle quickly opens up for them. Will smiles up at him from the circle, and he decides if Will is going to spin the bottle, well…

On Will’s first spin the bottle lands on a small, shy blonde girl. He assumes they are friends because they both giggle. Will can’t stop laughing as he leans in, shouting “Harley, get ready for the gayest kiss of your life!” They both laugh into the kiss. They keep trying not to laugh, pressing their lips together and laughing harder. It’s all teeth. 

And then it’s Mike’s turn. The spinning amber bottle dizzies him. As it spins he screams Will’s name in his head over and over, if he could just think it hard enough, he could will the bottle to a screeching halt pointed directly at his best friend. Instead the bottle lands on Harley again.

“Harley, get ready for the second gayest kiss of your life!”

Everyone joins in the laughter. Mike stifles his giggling long enough to lean in and gingerly peck Harley’s lips. It is short and silly. Mike sits back in his spot and thinks up other ways he could share an indirect kiss with Will. He glances over, catching Will’s gaze before his eyes fall to the solo cup nestled in his lap.

With a blank mind, Mike keeps his gaze focused on Will’s eyes, borrowing the cup and taking a long sip from his drink.

“You know you could ask me to make you another drink right?” Will looks at him like a fly caught in his glue trap.

“Wanted yours.” Mike mutters, drawing his focus back to the party and pretending not to notice Will’s knee pressing against his. Moments stretch on and speed by simultaneously. A bead of drool drops on Mike’s shirt. A voice says his name repeatedly. He comes to like he’s in a dream and his alarm clock is buzzing. 

“Huh?” He looks over at Will. Gulps. Will is smiling at him, tears falling down his face born from his most recent hysterical fit of laughter. Pretty crier. In a distracted haze he brings his hand up to touch the wetness on Will’s cheek. Everything is so loud, the music, the people, the colors. He redirects, fidgeting with the collar of Will’s shirt for a second. “Lint.” He flicks the air like an idiot, not fooling anyone. “What were you saying?”

“I said how many fingers am I holding up.” Will’s eyes linger on the spit for a moment and Mike aggressively rubs at his chin and neck. The rough sleeve of his shirt irritating his skin.

Mike notices Will’s hands behind his back and scrunches his eyebrows together, accessing their decade long emotional tether. Will’s favourite number is… but he knows Mike knows that so… he’s probably trying to trick him… but he knows Mike will think that…

“Two.”

Will reveals a fist and a peace sign from behind his back. “How the hell did you know that Wheeler.” Will’s eyes are wide, mouth hung open.

“Many Bothans died to bring us this information.” Mike quotes Return of the Jedi with a straight face. They’ve watched it together nine times. He’s counting.

“Nerd.”

“You’re the one who got the reference.” His words come at a snail's pace, but Will’s come back as a rapid fire. 

“You know. We’ve watched that movie 9 times together.” Will stilled, like he was surprised by his own words. 

“Yes. the whole trilogy. That’s like …100 hours of watching movies together. Not even counting all the other movies we watch.” They’re sitting close. The entire party has gone quiet, no music, no shouting, nothing. Just the world narrowed down to Will Byers. Mike is exactly where he wants to be.

“Woah, how many hours do you think we’ve spent just hanging out.” Will looks at him with amusement, a familiar expression of wonder that Mike can see every version of him wear. Will on the swings, Will showing him a drawing, Will playing D&D, there’s a fuzzy area between the age of 13 and 15 where he can’t picture it and he almost cries. 

“Hm, definitely more than I’ve spent with anyone else.” Mike ponders. “Probably like at least more than 24 hours…” He jokes.

Will pushes him. “We did that last weekend Mike.”

Someone has turned the music low and the lights up, willing the drunken college students to call it a night. Mike stands up, feeling heavy, and offers a hand to Will. They find themselves in the kitchen grabbing fistfuls of popcorn from a communal bowl.

“Why is this popcorn so good?” Will asks between chewing.

“It’s all the fingers that have been in it I think.”

“Ew Mike, you ruined it.” He tries to sound serious but he hasn’t spoken clearly since his first hit of the joint; everything he says laces itself with laughter. Mike isn’t sure what’s been so funny for the past hour but Will likely isn’t either. Despite his comment, Will shoves another handful of the popcorn into his mouth, dropping half of it at his feet. 

“Sorry, I’ll find you something else to eat…”

Mike turns around and starts rooting through the cupboards of whoever is throwing the party. Will bursts out laughing again and grabs both of Mike’s hands, pulling him away from the cupboards.

“Mike, that's so weird, don’t go through their cupboards.”

“Wait, you think we’re being weird right now?” He grabs Will's shoulders tightly, leaning in and locking wide eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“I think you’re always being weird Mike.”

Mike looks around confused. The kitchen is almost empty, most of the party filtering out into the night. He looks back to Will, a little dizzy. He has a phantom sense that he should feel anxious or embarrassed, but shrugs it off. “You look like a deer” He says it with childlike wonder, lifting his hand to lightly touch Will’s cheekbone, he actually makes brief contact this time. The touch feels like a surge of electricity to him and he thinks Will felt it too because he jumps. Will starts laughing so hard he falls forward. Intoxicatingly close again. Mike can smell his shampoo, a fruity one he has seen in their shared shower.

“Hey! Mike— oh and Will? Hey man…” Mike and Will both turn to the entrance of the kitchen, hands on each other, looking a little guilty for some reason. They share a stern look. Do not laugh right now or I’ll laugh and we will both be absolutely fucked. Scott looks between them, eyes trailing from Mike’s hands on Will’s shoulders and Will's hands sliding down and away from Mike’s collar. They step apart under his stare. 

“Hey! How’d the gallery go?” Will sounds a lot like Joyce when she would answer the phone for her telemarketing job.

“Oh, it was fine. Mike can I talk to you?” 

Mike nods, he walks behind Scott who’s heading down a hallway. When he leaves the doorway of the kitchen he grabs onto the frame and feigns being dragged away by a monster. HELP ME He mouths in terror to Will who finds the situation utterly hilarious, isn’t that convenient.

“So… what’s up?” Mike asks when they round the corner and sit on the stairs. It’s private, suffocating. 

“What have you been up to?” Scott ignores his question. 

“Uhhh… not much man just exams and stuff you know.” Mike stares at Scott’s ugly trainers. 

“Really?”

“What?” Mike smiles. He senses a change in Scott’s tone long after it rings through the air. Too late.

“You never called… Thought we had a good time.”

Mike is really not sure what to say, his brain stalls. “Uh, Yeah… We did Scott, I’ve just been y’know busy like I said.”

Scott smiles, leaning around Mike and placing a hand on the wall behind his head. And suddenly, he is aware he said the wrong thing. Mike is so spaced he barely registers Scott’s lips (and of course his insistent tongue) on his. It’s all a blur. “Come back to my place, my roommates out.” He pulls away slowly, keeping Mike boxed against the wall. Did he not notice he is not being kissed back?

Holy shit. This cannot be happening right now. Mike looks for an exit, prays Will took him seriously and is planning his rescue. Mike realizes Scott is still talking logistics to get to his apartment on the other side of town but he’s about two sentences behind on everything he says, trying to catch up. Will peaks around the corner and Mike sends him the most desperate look he can muster. 

“Why are you being so weird Mike?”

Will saves the day. “Hey, I'm so sorry. Mike? I’m sick, think I’m greening out— can we go?” Will shoots him an innocent look.

“Yes! Yes, Will let’s get you home. Thought you looked a little green.” Mike stands up frantically moving towards Will.

“Sorry Scott, gotta get him home.” 

“Right…” Scott gives them a knowing look, Mike wraps an arm around Will’s shoulders pretending to support his wobbly frame. 

They hold in their outburst of laughter until the front door clicks shut behind them. They jog down the sidewalk, checking behind them to be sure Scott hadn’t decided to head out at the same time. Mike clasps a hand over Will’s mouth even though he is laughing uncontrollably too. “Shhhh, he’s gonna hear you.” Will covers Mikes mouth back, laughing just as hard.

“I hope he does, maybe he’ll learn how to kiss better!” Mike says loudly in the direction of the house, pulling Will’s hand away from his mouth and holding it at his side 

Will gasps, turning again to check behind them for sloppy kisser Scott. “You are so mean. What if you’re the bad kisser Mike. Huh? You ever consider that?”

“Then why was he all I thought we had a good time... come to my apartment... my roommates not home...” Mike mocks a seductive Scott voice. “If I was such a bad kisser why does he want me so bad, hm?” Mike raises his eyebrows, elbowing Will.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s about your kissing.” Will rolls his eyes.

Mike gasps, clutching his chest. “Will, are you calling me a slut?” 

“I think you might be too much of a y’know… virgin? To be a slut Mike.” Will tries his hardest to keep a straight face and roast Mike, but he’s bursting at the seams. Mike huffs.

Will fiddles with the baggie of joints again. He holds out the joint apprehensively and Mike gives up on pretending to be upset.

Mike thanks his hazy state of mind for forgetting to return the matches. He stops for a second, holding the joint in his mouth and lighting it with a match. He inhales the smoke and holds it for as long as he can. 

They fall into an easy conversation about the party, debriefing who was there with who and what so-and-so had told them about their Sociology professor. Mike recalls one of the girls he kissed being a lesbian from one of his classes and they laugh about how that was truly the gayest kiss anyone had tonight.

Each pass of the joint is a buzzy brush of fingertips. Before they know it the joint burns out. They had barely smoked it, maybe too distracted by each other’s anecdotes and breathy laughs.

On the way home Mike finds himself once again lost in thought. His mind catalogues everytime Will touched him tonight. Mike may have been clueless in high school but he likes to think he’s picked up some emotional intelligence. It took him many years longer to get out of the closet than Will, and maybe he felt a little slow sometimes, but Will was undoubtedly more than a friend to him now. He knows they’re not quite dating, and he knows they’re not just friends, or even just best friends. He wonders if maybe they’re some secret undefined third thing unique to them that makes them friends, lovers and neither of those at the same time. One thing he’s sure of is that the nature of his relationship with Will is different from any person he’s ever known. At times, he feels tethered to Will so tightly that he is just naturally whatever Will needs him to be and Will the same for him, it’s a malleable role that can evolve in an instant. He envisions his future every which way it could pan out. Will is there.

Will is an indisputable constant on his heart.

The brush of their lips earlier is playing over and over again in Mike’s mind as he looks over at him. That was it. That was the vanishing of the one boundary that would launch their relationship from the secret third thing to lovers right? Mike has glazed over some of Will’s more homoerotic gestures, unsure of how to handle the idea that Will reciprocates his feelings and wants more. Will has had his questionable slip ups that set up Mike to lie awake at night pondering how to get them out of this will they won’t they hellscape. But the problem makes Mike feel like he’s staring down at the seven bridges of Konigsberg. He knows that he likes Will, and he knows that Will likes him, and he knows that Will knows that he likes him, and the unspoken line that kept them in this miscommunication was now smudged. So why did he still feel so unsure?

Will, lit by the streetlights, airy and sleepy-looking in his favourite jacket, the thoughts of having more swirling around in Mike’s head— all of it starts to feel a bit overwhelming. Something in Mike just declares, tell him, tell him right now, tell him. And he gets so nervous his stomach drops and his heart races. The adrenaline rush, while largely unhelpful to this situation anyway, goes to waste. When he gets scared, he starts talking about memories from when they were kids instead. Getting too close to the ledge with Will brings out nostalgic musings that ground him, if for nothing else than to remind himself of what he stands to lose if their relationship changes… Fifteen years of sweet smiles, laughs, and sharing secrets. It’s not something to gamble, but a small voice in the back of his head says high risk, high reward and he buries it before he can think in too much detail about the reward.

In the warm glow of their kitchen, Will hops on the counter and kicks his legs, watching Mike raid their cupboards. He mindlessly pulls a tulip from the vase next to him, plucking at the petals.

“You’ve hooked up with guys from school right? Are you a top or a bottom?” Mike calls from inside a cupboard, an intrusive thought, slipping without warning. Mike cringes to himself.

“Wha— Jesus Mike, thought you were gonna ask if I want popcorn” Will laughs. Mike tosses a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

“Tell me...” He commits.

Will rolls his eyes. “Guess.”

Mike takes a moment to look at him as if he hadn’t pondered this many a late night. “I think you would bottom… nicely” he blushes uncontrollably.

“Nicely?” Will holds back a laugh.

“Yeah I just mean you have the… Anatomy for it y’know.” Mike winces. “I mean god…” Will watches him amused, letting him continue burying his foot in his mouth. “You have a nice ass ok? It’s not like that, it's just true.” Will raises an eyebrow. “Stop looking at me.” He turns away, mortified.

“Ok sorry…” Will looks around the room, eyes darting to give him a joking side eye. “You’re right though, I bottom.” He stifles a laugh, pulling another petal off the tulip.

“Knew it.”

Will crosses his arms over his chest, squishing the tulip in the crook of his elbow. “You have to tell me now.” 

“Oh well— y’know I’ve never— but I think top, can you imagine someone railing my lanky ass?” They burst out laughing. “Actually don’t— don’t imagine that! God!” 

“It’s too late!” Will cries, covering his face and groaning “Why’d you want to know anyway” He looks up from the mutilated tulip.

“Pure curiosity.” Mike shrugs. “You make it all less scary, talking about it makes it less scary.” 

“Well I’m glad embarrassing me makes you feel better” He laughs through it, not a hint of venom in his voice.

“You’re embarrassed? I’m the one who should be embarrassed after that.” Mike’s head darted up to look at him. “And it's not embarrassing, it’s just… sex.” He shrugs, maybe if he’s casual about it Will will share more.

The air shifts, the eye contact suddenly… Charged. “So… you can tie a cherry stem with your tongue huh?” He says it slowly.

“Mhm.” Will nods, leaning back a little and tilting his head to look directly at Mike. The air is punched out of his lungs. Of course he looks down, that’s what Will wanted right?

“Show me?” Mike looks up again.

Will tilts his head. “Do you have one?”

“A what...”

Mike did not expect to get this far, maybe he thought Max was bluffing, but of course she wasn’t. Will is just the single most attractive person alive. Of course he can tie a cherry stem with his tongue.

“A cherry stem.” Will rolls his eyes, stifling a smile.

Mike stands there a second too long. He opens the fridge, staring intently at a basket of cherries from one of the overpriced fruit stands at the Sunday market. His brain supplies vivid imagery of how this could go.

None of them innocent. None of them remotely platonic.

He pushes the cherry into Will’s free hand and takes a step back. Waves off the imagery of him standing firmly between Will’s legs against the kitchen counter, feeding him the cherry, and then letting him spit the pit in his mouth.

Will locks eyes with him and bites the stem off the cherry. His mouth closes around it. Mike focuses on the shift of his jaw, his lips as they move and part slightly. A glimpse of his tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth.

For no reason at all, he moves around the kitchen island, putting space between them. Will’s eyes wander down Mike to where the kitchen island is hiding his jeans. He spits the cherry stem onto the kitchen island, tied in a perfect little knot. Mike lets out a shaky breath and picks it up, studying it. Thinks about shrinking down to the size of a pin and diving in to become a pretzel on Will’s tongue.

He can’t think of anything to say thats not wildly erotic, so he looks at the tulip Will had abandoned next to him. One petal left.

“Does he love you?” 

Will studies the flower, then plucks the last petal. It drifts through the air to Mike’s feet. He pauses.

“Loves me.” Wide brown eyes meet relaxed hazel ones.

The microwave beeps, dragging their attention across the room. Mike’s shoulders drop, he mumbles something about putting a movie on. 

“Something funny!” Will shouts from the hallway as Mike sifts through their shared collection of tapes in the living room and picks out Back to the Future. Mike loves that their tapes live together now, even if he has to look twice as hard for the film they want because there are two copies of almost every one. They owned two copies of The Thing, two copies of Poltergeist, two copies of The Shining. Their record shelf suffered the same fate— two copies of Black Celebration, two copies of Disintegration, two copies of The Queen is Dead. Who knows which one was originally Mike’s and which one was originally Will’s, if he’s lucky they’ll never have to divide them anyway.

When Will joins him in the living room the memory of their moment in the kitchen has Mike feeling a little unfiltered for the hundredth time tonight, his mouth not really communicating thoroughly with the part of his brain that keeps the screechingly obvious romantic thoughts about his best friend internal. “Remember when we went on that movie date with Max and Lucas to see this? Can’t believe we didn’t even know we were witnessing a cinematic masterpiece for the first time.”

“Date…” Will draws out the word. He’s not looking at Mike.

“Yeah date, you know where people sit alone at the movies and share snacks and brush hands and look at each other’s lips.”

“Never thought of it that way.” He ponders.

Mike scoffs. “Okay, nonchalant.”

Will throws a piece of popcorn at Mike’s head.

Mike crawls into his usual couch spot, getting comfortable on the worn cushion. Naturally, he lifted an arm for Will to scooch in closer.

“If that was a date then what are we doing now.” Will teases.

Mike chokes on an M&M. “Shut up, you’re just making fun of me now.” He says it with amusement, his eyelids feeling so unbelievably heavy and the movie looking like a blur of colours more than a scene with something happening in it.

Will shrugs. “I’m just saying if you classify that as romantic, it makes me wonder what we’ve been doing all these years.” Will looks back at Mike, and suddenly their casual movie watching position that Mike tries to never think about being out of the ordinary for two friends is very… Close. Will’s breath puffs onto his lips, and he smells of a citrusy, earthy scent that Mike finds a lot more enticing on him than he did on Argyle or Jonathan a few summers ago.

Mike really can’t rub two brain cells together long enough to respond to what Will just said, and the gravity of the situation feels impossible for his fried consciousness to take seriously. So naturally, when your best friend implies you’ve been romancing each other your whole lives— he bursts out laughing, leaning over the side of the couch for air. And suddenly he understands Will’s uncontrollable outbursts from earlier because once he starts wheezing he can. Not. Stop.

Will loses it too, egged on by Mike’s embarrassing chokes for air.

“Mike our relationship is absurd.” He can barely get it out because he’s laughing so hard. “Like— hey hey hey man let’s watch a movie together and you can sit on my lap because like it’s cold in our apartment— it’s not like a gay thing.”

“Oh you had a nightmare— no worries buddy I’ll just wipe your tears and cuddle you to sleep.” Mike blows a raspberry, barely getting the sentence out before another fit of laughter.

“Pal— check out this painting I made for you, You’re the heart, because you’re such a good friend.” Another chorus of laughter rings through the apartment. It's nearly two in the morning and they are being so loud.

“Oh my god Mike, you’re the best friend a guy could ask for—“ 

Mike finally manages to get his laughter under control and before Will can barely finish his jab at their ridiculously homoerotic friendship, Mike is pulling him into his lap, pushing their lips together lazily. Will breathes a small mmm into his mouth that reminds Mike of the five senses. Will’s content hums into each kiss satisfy the fourth, and now all that’s left is taste. Mike’s hands settle on his chest and Will’s weave through Mike’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. How Will could possibly know that would undo him instantly, Mike is unsure. 

The infinite times he imagined this moment never once were as sweet as how it’s really happening now. The firework show was already in motion, but as Will parted his lips and let Mike slip his tongue against his, the colourful extravagant ones that paint the whole sky started. “Mmm Will you taste like—” Mike giggles a little, closing his eyes and trying to pinpoint what it was on Will’s tongue. “Sweet like— fruity or something.” He keeps leaning into Will, his mouth searching for a way back to his, but Will’s bubbling laughter is too contagious and he considers he might love it just as much as the sensation of kissing him. Then considers, why not both? Through soft laughs he kisses him again but Will keeps pulling back. “Wh—? Will please.” He begs. Will brings the soft pad of two fingers to Mike’s lips, watching him intently. Mike instinctively opens his mouth and lets Will, with those wanting eyes, slowly press his fingers onto his tongue. Will reaches behind him for a torn bag of cherry Pop Rocks and dips his spit drenched fingers into the candy.

He watches Will’s hand. Small, dainty. A callous on the inside of his ring finger where a pencil or a paint brush belongs. How delicate and precise those hands are, what they could do to him. Mike leans forward a bit so he can look up at Will. He wraps his mouth around Will’s fingers again and sucks. Swirls his tongue around until the candy is enveloped in his tongue. His fingers leave Mike’s mouth with a pop. Will drags the wet fingers down Mike’s throat, lingering at his collar and kissing the trail of his spit.

The tart cherry flavour that Mike had been tasting on Will floods his mouth with spit. Will holds Mike’s gaze with a watery smile, his free hand resting on Mike’s jaw to steady him as he abandons the candy on the table. Mike’s world explodes, because kissing Will a minute ago already felt electric. And now, the candy sputtering between their wet, filthy open mouthed kissing is a physical manifestation of that feeling. The sharp fizzles between them quiet when they crowd tightly around each other, and hit the open air with static when there’s space. Will sucks Mike’s tongue into his mouth stealing whats left of the candy.

Mike feels as if he might just pass out in ecstasy before Will pulls away, a few drawn-out pops escaping their mouths like the last lingering popcorn kernels after the microwave stops.

“Woah.” Mike draws, he makes no attempt to pick up his hanging jaw.

“Woah.” Will gasps back. His eyes seemed to be searching for something on Mike's face. Maybe hesitation? Mike was hyper aware of how droopy his eyes felt and dopey his smile was, struggling to convey any feeling in his expression beyond bliss, he felt sort of out of control of his body. All he really had the capacity to feel and want was Will’s lips back on his, his tongue back down his throat. 

Mike pulls him back in with a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck. He groans into the sweetness of Will’s mouth, feeling grateful that as he moved through the senses with Will tonight, taste was saved for the finale. 

His fingers twitched with a repressed energy, moving down the sides of Will’s arms, into his waist, down his hips and resting on his outer thighs just before where his knees pressed into the couch around Mike’s lanky torso.

For the first time all night Mike’s mind does not wander. He is locked in to every hitched breath, every subtle shift of Will’s body, his hands in his hair, his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly. It was so overwhelming in the best possible way, and with every muffled sound and wanting gesture he just wanted more. 

“This isn’t happening.” Will pulls away with a breathy laugh. “There’s no way this is real.” Mike thinks this has to be the hundredth laughing fit he’s witnessed tonight and he thanks the universe for it. Will’s laugh is absolutely the prettiest sound he has ever heard— so god damn joyful and contagious that he laughs too, despite being violently turned on. The air around him goes cool as Will shuffles off his lap awkwardly, settling into the couch beside him and looking at the tv with a hand over his mouth. The flashing white light of the tv glows over his side profile from where Mike sits. Mike is far too dazed and intoxicated, between the drugs and getting everything he has ever wanted, to form a coherent response. 

“Woah…” He stupidly repeats. Will looks over at him, hand still held over his mouth, eyes wide. 

“Mike. What.” He sounds awestruck, but not concerned or scared, which settles Mike.

“Good…” Mike’s mind has literally stalled, he knows he’s coming off like a complete idiot but he's still floating, so unwilling to think critically about anything. “That was good.” He’s certain that this level of stupidity would ruin the moment, but against all odds Will seems content with his foolish mumbling. They crane their necks to meet lips from where they’re seated until Mike slowly lowers Will into the scratchy cushions of their green couch, looming over him. Will whines a small sweet noise into the kiss, letting his hands roam over Mike’s chest above him. Mike is a writer, he even dabbles in poetry on occasion, but the words to describe this feeling did not come, instead a Neanderthal surfaces. “S’good…” Mike repeats into the kiss.

Will hums into his open mouth in response, his cold hand dips under the hem of his shirt and trails up over his rib cage. Mike shivers. “Sorry.” Will mumbles, moving his hands from where skin touched skin. 

“No, touch me.” Mike whines, taking Will’s hands and guiding them back to his chest before leaning back and pulling the shirt over his head entirely. He took a moment to look down at Will, and if his brain had done a factory reset before, he’s not sure what state it’s in now. “Will…” he groans, hoping Will could miraculously feel a decade of yearning and desire in his voice. Will’s fingers curl around his biceps with a squeezing reassurance and slide down to the waist band of his jeans. “Please… yes.” Mike breaks the kiss to tug on Will’s shirt, he lifts Will gently off the couch to pull it over his head. He stands up to shuffle out of the jeans Will unbuttoned for him. Will looks at him, his eye brows scrunched, eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving and the realization dawns that he looks almost sad. Mike’s gaze catches on a beautiful, shimmering tear falling from the inner corner of Will’s eye and his whole world shatters. Dropping to his knees in front of the couch he leans between Will’s legs, shuffles back, hesitant. “Will…” His eyes dart over Will’s expression, seeking understanding but all he comes up with is a solemn expression that cracks his chest open, his rapidly beating heart stops for a moment. Maybe it was confused if it should beat faster out of fear or out of excitement. Does it really matter? He can’t breathe all the same. “Please… don’t cry. I’m sorry Will, I thought–”

Will looks at him longingly, still catching his breath in sync with Mike as he gently wipes the tears from his cheeks. “No Mike, I’m happy. I have— I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to Will’s nose before looking him in the eye, fingers hovering over the button of his jeans. “Me too.” Will’s teary eyes trail down to where their bodies connect and he nods. “We don’t have to wait any longer, okay? I’m here with you.” Mike pulls his jeans down his legs, tossing them on the floor, and splays his hands over Will’s shins. He figures a decade of yearning lends itself to something slow and indulgent. 

He runs his hands up the front of Will’s legs over his hips, stomach, ribs, chest, and drinks in every detail of Will’s body. Kisses every scar, every mole that makes Will intricately Will. The man he felt love for before he knew what the word meant. Mike mentally wrestles the Neanderthal from his brain, desperately channeling a poet in place. “Will… you’re ethereal.” Will responds with a delicate sob, pulling Mike up into another desperate, salty kiss. He shuffles between Will’s legs, wanting their scratchy goodwill couch out of this perfect moment. “Can you wrap your legs around me?” He taps at Will’s knees for attention and Will obeys. Mike wraps his arms under Will's shoulders and gently lifts him off the couch, thankful that his path is all but worn into the floorboards from their movie spot to his room. He looks at Will with a small smile, if they weren’t so tangled up in each other it might have said We made it, we’re finally here. Together. Instead it said something much more filthy and depraved. 

Mike expertly steps over his comparative literature homework to gently drop Will on his bed, climbing on top of him. “Are you okay?” He tentatively drops his hips and presses their chests together.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Will pleads, hands roaming everywhere, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back on the pillows in submission.

Mike leans into his nape, placing wet open mouthed kisses down his neck. He stops to suck and bite a small mark into his collarbone, leaning back and blowing cool air onto the sensitive skin. Will shivers, digging fingers into Mike's waist as Mike draws his hips deeper against Will, eliciting a pretty gasp. 

Mike and Will’s heaving breaths are the only sound in the room as they stutter their hips against each other, hands wandering over chests, biceps, ribs. Mike looks up at Will but his eyes are closed, brows furrowed. He looks tense. “Hey, relax for me baby.” Mike runs his hands over Will’s shoulders and arms, giving small squeezes to ease the tension out of his form. “You okay Will?”

“Y— yeah I just, don’t think I can do this for very long.” He whimpers.

“Are you… trying not to cum right now.” Mike pulls away to smirk down at him with a teasing octave in his voice.

“Shut up.” He brings his elbow over his face, covering his pink cheeks and stifling an embarrassed laugh. 

“Fuck Will, you’re so hot, do you know that?”  Mike takes the hand splayed over the pillow by Will’s head and interlocks their fingers, guiding his arm down to his side. “There you are.” He smiles, meeting Will’s dreamy hazel eyes. He grinds a slow calculated movement into Will, searching his face for a reaction. Will moans, turning his head into the pillow. “Please Will, wanna see you.” Mike begs. Will relaxes, turning his head to look at Mike with wide watery eyes and a pout that could have ended his life right there. Mike dives down and takes Will’s pouty lower lip between his teeth, licking and nibbling at it as Will emits a haunting string of low hums and ahhs.

“I’m gonna—“ The words break into a loud moan, Will’s hips stutter against Mike’s.

“Will, Will, Will.” Mike chants his name with every movement, watching Will fall apart below him. Seeing Will like this is a gift. He savours every twitch in his face, memorizing the small ways he is undone.

“Mike.” Will sighs. Mike grazes his hand over the tense features of Will’s face, his furrowed eye brows, the crease between them, scrunched nose. He wants to smooth them out. Mike. How many times has he shamefully thought of his name uttered through Will’s climax to actually now experience it. It slots into his brain so perfectly, replacing all the wondering.

“Yeah, that’s it baby.” He soothes through his own panting breaths. Will’s face was more than enough to send Mike over the edge with him. “So pretty.” He kisses Will, slow and patient, as they catch their breath together.

When Mike lays down on his side next to Will and looks over at his backlit side profile, illuminated by Chicago’s fluorescent street lights droning through his open window, his chest feels tight with longing. Even though they had just done something so intimate together, it wasn’t enough. He wants to crawl in his skin and share thoughts, echo through his head You don’t understand! I’m in love with you! Nobody has EVER loved anyone like this! My heart beats FOR you!” How overwhelming it all is, to finally get everything you ever wanted and still need more. He doesn’t think anything would ever be enough with Will. He wants every thought, every moment, including the ones he has already missed.

Will sighs, tilting his head to look at Mike. His tousled brown hair falling over Mike’s pillow. He looks happy, relaxed. The low hum of their apartments baseboard heating settles around them, the neighbors one floor up drop something loud. Mike and Will stare at each other, breathing in sync. Mike lifts a hand and without hesitation splays it over Will’s jaw, it’s damp with tears shed. He worries his thumb over Will’s flushed cheek, sighing. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, so quiet he worries Will won’t hear it. A watery smile lets him know he does. 

“Mike.” He sighs. Their smoke induced haze had faded to one that could only be attributed to intimacy and longing. There were no words to say, just a blissful shared look that communicated everything, for now at least.

It’s 3am, and Mike and Will are holding their heads out the window, watching the cars go by and the odd degenerate stumble home. Their shoulders are pressed tightly together, squished by the window frame. Will has a free arm out the window holding the last of his pitiful stash of joints. The glowing cherry end of the joint hisses as Will takes a drag. He looks over at Mike. “You’re staring.” He smiles, a satisfied expression.

“Let me.” Mike begs. Will draws the joint from his lips, bringing it to Mike’s. They gaze at each other with a hunger that is entirely new. A want that has always been carefully managed. As Mike takes his time drawing in smoke, Will’s eyes flicker between his dark stare and where he’s feeding the joint to Mike’s wanting lips. 

The boundary was not just blurred, the boundary never existed. Mike held back the urge to lean in and kiss him for a few moments before the creeping realization dawned on him that there was no need. He leans in just a touch, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. Will turns, granting permission, and their lips meeting in a slow, smoky kiss. The joint blazed, smoke lost to the streets of Chicago, forgotten for something more intriguing. When they pulled away Will’s attention fell to their quiet street, he hums into the joint, nodding his head like he was going to say something but his mouth was occupied.

“I knew it, by the way.”

“Knew what.” Mike laughed.

“That we were more than friends— best friends.” He giggles. Mike elbows him. “Honestly, at the time I didn’t realize it. I wanted you so bad don’t get me wrong, but I think I needed time too.” Will smiles, eyes following a couple in the street, they lean into each other recklessly. A car honks at them as they dart onto the sidewalk. “We both deserve this y’know. Really figuring it out, with the love and support of a friend.” 

Mike hums in agreement. “Yeah.” 

“And plus it was been kinda fun right? The tension and the flirting.” Mike’s gaze glazes over on the streetlight under the window, a viewmaster of shared looks and gentle touches and wondering if it would ever be more. He loved every moment of it. 

“I’ll show you tension and flirting.” With a dorky wink that makes Will scrunch his nose.

“It’s been nice, watching you. You were so angry at the world. You seem happier now.” 

“I am happier now, thanks to you.”

“No. I supported you but you were driving the car. Give yourself some credit” 

“Thank you.” Mike lets his head fall lazily on Will’s shoulder. There is finally a quiet peace on their quaint Chicago street, mirroring the chaos that led to Mike resting his head on Will’s shoulder out of their shared apartment window. “Y’know looking back over everything with us makes me feel like such an idiot.” Will laughs. “Seriously, how did it take me so long to figure out?”

“El says you learn who you are, like you’re painting a picture. You can plan it, but it takes its own shape. You should trust her, she would know.” Will destroying castle Byers in the rain flashes in his head, the look on Will’s face when he left Mike’s house that day. The guilt rushes over him again, he wonders if it will ever dissolve. “I don’t hold on to any of it, if you’re worried about that. You were struggling too.” He says the last part quieter, like it’s a fragile sentiment.

“I know, I just– sometimes I feel late to everything.” A siren whirrs in the distance. “My artistic process is sloppy.” He huffs.

“You spend too much time in your head.” Will squishes the small leftover butt of the joint into the windowsill carelessly.

Mike sighs. “I think I don’t spend enough. If I did, maybe I could have been there for you sooner, maybe I could have been kinder to you, kinder to El. Maybe we could have been together like this sooner.” 

“I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I forgive you. And I wouldn’t have wanted that, I don't think you would either. Like I said, I’m glad it happened this way. I needed my friend, Mike. So did you.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you.” He still can’t comprehend why. Why someone like Will: patient, confident Will, loves him: uncoordinated, clueless Mike. Lately he feels like an entirely different person with each passing day, not really in a good or bad way but just in a knowing way. Maybe Will was less acquainted with unstable in-his-head Mike and more acquainted with Will’s Mike, the Mike that softens his voice to speak to him, would jump in front of a demogorgan for him, could recognize his scared, stuttered breath over a staticky walkie signal. Or maybe, like he had always tried to convince him, he saw every version of Mike and loved him anyway. Hard to wrap his head around, but he’s getting there.

“I love you, Will.” He has said it before, but now felt different. He felt different. All this time he had been trying to sift through everything that happened between them, to resolve it, but Will had forgiven him long ago. He didn’t need to say the perfect thing or be the perfect person to make it up to him, because Will was here, telling Mike he loves who he has become and he loves who he had been. Will loved him when he was screaming into his pillow What is wrong with me? every night; and he loves him now, still stuck in his head but with more confidence, and a clean label for his confusion. When they pull away from the window Will retreats into the room, looking towards the door. Mike reaches for him. He pulls Will into the tightest hug he can manage. Squeezing his eyes shut and envisioning Will is a stress ball, facilitating the release of every worry he’s ever had. “I’m so in love with you.” It feels so good to say.

Will makes a strangled noise. “Mike, you’re hurting me.” He laughs.

Mike loosens his grip but doesn’t release him. “You’ll stay right?”  Will nods and excuses himself to get ready for bed. They brush their teeth together in their bathroom mirror, exchanging euphoric looks. 

Mike's chest feels so tight with excitement and happiness when he pulls Will into him on the bed, their bodies from feet to forehead are pressed together as close as they can possibly be. He wonders if this ecstatic feeling will ever go away. “Thank you, for waiting for me.” He’s not trying to be so vulnerable but Will is just so safe and warm, and he feels perfectly dazed and boneless on the mattress.

Will’s thumb grazes over his arm. “I don’t want you to wonder if you’re allowed to want me anymore okay? I know you’re scared, I am too. We’ll love each other through it.” Mike nods into his neck, weakly pulling him closer if that’s possible. They fall asleep in the cool breeze from Mike’s open window.

Mike wakes up much earlier than he should given that they fell asleep well past 3 in the morning. His senses are immediately flooded with Will Byers. The smell of his hair, the soft curve of his hip, the quiet hum of him stirring in his sleep as Mike wakes up. His hand is low on Will’s hip. Will’s hand wrapped around Mike's back and in his hair, he feels a soft tug letting him know the boy is half awake too. It’s still dark out, the clock reads 5:20AM. He’s not sure what possessed him to wake up only an hour after they’d fallen asleep until he feels Will, hard against him, their dicks only separated by the thin layers of their briefs. Will sighs, pulling him closer and rocking his hips forward a little, coaxing a sleepy moan. 

Mike’s not sure if he’s sober yet, maybe it was the sleep weighing his eyelids closed. “Mmm this okay?” His voice is thick with sleep. He grips Will’s hip a little tighter, moving tentatively against him. 

“Mhm. Want you Mike.” Will whispers in his ear. Mike is grateful they already hooked up earlier because he’s certain he would have embarrassingly come untouched at the sound of Will declaring his want. He slides his hand over Will’s hip digging fingers into the soft flesh of his ass. 

“Fuck— Will, you’re gonna kill me.” They’re lazy about it, melting into the bed. Languid movements and soft squeezes.

Will’s hands trail up to the sides of Mike’s face cupping his jaw. He pulls him into a firm kiss and their eyes meet in the pink glow of dusk. “Well if I’m gonna kill you, will you at least fuck me first.” Everything about Will, the bite of his darkened lower lip, the swell of his pupils, the tilt of his brow, is pure sex. Mike chokes back a groan at the sight of him.

“Are you sure?” Mike beats himself up for sounding so pathetic and desperate. Tries to hide how badly he needs Will to nod back.

“Please.” Mike takes a photograph in his mind. The sun is peaking over the horizon outside. Crows call loudly from a tree branch hanging over their window. Will is cast in a gorgeous pale pink and blue hue from the window, shadowed in spots by the tree and the crows. He looks so breathtaking that everything in Mike cracks open, the needing, it all pours out of him. Mike fumbles with the drawer by his bed, eyes not leaving Will’s, shining green through the blossoming dawn colour. He pulls out a bottle of lube and drops it between them, dropping his head back on the pillow to keep sleepily kissing Will. His hands roam. Mike's subconscious has an entire floor dedicated to the way Will’s ass looks in every pair of shorts and pants he owns— so he makes a mental note that on April 14, 1991 he finally got to squeeze, kiss, and slap it. 

Without breaking the kiss he finds the bottle of lube between them, coating his fingers and letting it warm against his skin. “Relax baby, I’ve got you.” He whispers.

Will is pliant and sleepy beneath him, all soft whimpers and whispered Mikes and yes right theres in the breathiest, dreamiest, most sultry voice Mike has ever heard. He drinks in every happy noise Will makes until Will is fucking back onto his fingers crying for more. Mike is so hard he feels dizzy, like blood isn’t making it to his head anymore. “You need more baby?” Will’s response is an incoherent blur of pleading moans. 

Mike crawls over him, pulling Will’s ankles up gently and taking a long deep breath. Will is needy, impatient but Mike knows that he needs to stay level headed, or this beautiful thing he’s needed for so long will be over in a millisecond. He leans down, connecting lips. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” Will nods. “Need you to say it, Will.”

“Yes, Mike, yes.” He wraps a small hand around Mike, guiding him closer and pulling a pathetic whimper from him. “Give it to me.” Mike stares down at Will in disbelief. He can’t tear his eyes away, but he thinks of taxes, his comp lit professor, and his last dentist appointment as he’s setting a manageable pace that has Will crying “I love you” every time he bottoms out.

“Fuck, it’s like you were made to take me” 

“Yours, Mike” He sighs. Even a root canal couldn’t intersect Will’s declaration, it bypasses his brain and goes straight to his dick. 

A golden beam of light cast over them now, blinding from certain angles. They catch their breath with pinched eyebrows and scrunched noses. Will draws hearts in the ray of light over Mike’s sweaty chest, a sweet smile on his face.

Mike reluctantly pulls away, a whine from Will almost stops him in his tracks. “Just wanna clean you up sweetheart.” He walks to the washroom and wets a towel with hot water. When he reenters the room, Will is snoring softly in the xanthous sunlight. As he cleans him up, Will stirs a little without protest. Their trust is palpable in the morning air.

“I love you.” Will mumbles, his voice sounds scratchy so Mike gently lifts his head and feeds him the glass of water on his night stand. Will smiles at him with his eyes as he drinks the water. Mike crawls under the covers and envelopes Will as tightly in his arms as he can, barely hitting the pillow before he passes out again.

The next morning (afternoon)  it takes a total of 32 seconds for Mike to realize the night before was not in fact a dream. He reluctantly unpuzzles Will’s limbs from his to get out of bed, looking down at Will, soft and peaceful in his bedsheets, does something inexplicable to his heart. He’s finally mine. 

When Will finally shuffles out of Mike’s room in a pair of his boxers and one of his oversized t-shirts, Mike has just returned with breakfast from their favourite coffee shop down the street and some fresh tulips. “Good morning.” He smiles tentatively over his coffee from the kitchen. 

“Morning.” Will rasps. “Why am I so tired?” He drops onto a stool, separated from Mike by their kitchen island, he makes a scrunched face and shifts in his seat. He looks so perfectly soft and sleepy, Mike wants to hug him so badly his arm physically twitches. 

“Long night.” Mike smiles, dropping a bagel and an earl grey tea in front of Will.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, starting to peel the paper around the bagel. His hands stop mid-movement, frozen as a candid statue. Mike watches a look of realization fall over him and then a smile tugs at his lips. Was he remembering last night? Will turns and peers into the living room where the remnants of their movie night still littered the tables. Pop rocks spilled on the couch. “Huh…”

“What?” An uncontrollable smile breaks onto his face.

“Last night was… Interesting.” He looks back at the couch again and Mike has a feeling they’re thinking about the same thing. He closes the distance between them, rounding the kitchen island in two steps and enclosing Will in his arms from behind. 

“Interesting huh?” He leans down, placing a kiss where his oversized t-shirt left Will’s collarbone exposed. Then hooks a finger under the collar, revealing the small bruise he left last night and kisses that too. Will hummed, leaning back and tilting his head to the side for Mike to keep kissing his neck. “What about this morning? Was this morning interesting?”

“Good, last night was good.” Will sighs. Mike learns how easy it is to make Will breathless and nearly melts under the realization. “And this morning was even better.”

“I know, eat your breakfast baby.” He squeezes Will’s shoulders, leaving a small kiss on his cheek before pulling up a stool next to him. Baby. It’s all so domestic, so easy. It’s Will and Mike finally experiencing some privacy from the elephant in their room.  

“It’s gonna take a minute to get used to this.” Will chuckles, catching his breath. 

“We’ve got time.” Mike nudges him with his shoulder, they share a knowing smile. 

They spent the afternoon tangled up on the couch giggling about all the times growing up that they wanted to kiss eachother, crying about all the times they felt that wall go up between them. Mike kissed Will all over, a sorry whispered in each ear for all the times growing up that he made him feel like anything less than the most important person in Mike’s life. Promised that they have a lifetime for him to make it up to him. Promised to take care of him and protect him forever, starting with making him lunch while he curls up on the couch.

Mike doesn’t know what he’ll do tomorrow. What he’ll do next week. Maybe he’ll learn how to play guitar or get really into long-distance running. He could come out as a wacky conspiracy theorist, or a pretentious hipster that wrote embarrassing love poems about Will Byers. Because if it took him this long to figure out how to confront his thoughts and realities, he sure as hell wouldn’t waste all that contemplation— he’d live loudly in every sense, nobody that mattered ever gave him a reason to believe he couldn’t (Who gives a fuck what Ted Wheeler or anyone that’s never left smalltown Indiana for that matter thinks).

For a while, Mike waited for that familiar dread. A pit in his stomach or an ache in his chest that would confuse him and send him spiralling. The feeling that he didn’t deserve to want Will or have Will. They watched movies with Max and El, cuddling on the couch, they went on dates to mid-tier restaurants and hooked ankles under the table. It was simple, pleasant joy. His mind slowed down a little.

He’d always be a basket case but it was just different, his internal monologue didn’t have to fixate on one thing anymore. Thinking in circles never really got him far anyway. So the dread in his bones subsided, he let himself be soothed. It was so foreign at times that he rebelled. Sent himself into a mind game only to find it didn’t have the same sting anymore. He’d call Nancy, she’d trace their common need to chase discomfort back to childhood neglect, or just Ted being an asshole.

Will and Mike still have nightmares, but they’re always cut short by a squeeze of a hand or a kiss on the cheek. A soft whispered Baby it’s just a dream. I’m right here. It became harder and harder to ruminate, Will always around the corner with a cute paint smudge on his upper lip.

When the foliage returned, bright greens and sunshine warm the UIC quad. Will, Mike, El and Max lay in the grass with cold sodas and black cherries from a roadside stand. Busy students rush to final exams in sweat pants and stained t-shirts.

Mike rolls over to see Will lying back on his hands, eyes closed and soaking in the rays of sunshine. Mike is feeding him cherries, Will is shooting the pits up into the air as high as he can. Mike leans over him, casting a small shadow over his face. Will peaks an eye open and smiles fondly. Mike doesn’t even spare a glance to the people around them, he just leans in and kisses Will gently on his sweet, cherry stained lips.

The tightness in his chest is different now. It is an overwhelming squeeze of his heart that he now knows is love. Sometimes so strong it felt like aggression that made him need to squeeze something really tight (preferably Will). Finally, he could act on it.

He feeds a stem to Will, mind wandering to that night. Will smiles knowingly with the cherry stem between his teeth.

Will spits the tied cherry stem, it hits Mike softly in the cheek. He picks it up turning it in his fingers and looking at Will with a look that he hopes communicates his very dirty thoughts. He pockets the cherry stem. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too.” A sunny, scrunched smile.

“You guys are gross.” Max mumbles. Bold coming from the girl getting her hair braided around dandelions.

Mike and Will share a knowing smirk “Max, you’re being really homophobic.”

Max lowers her voice in a stupid Mike Wheeler impression. “Can gay people even be homophobic?” El laughs the loudest.