Chapter Text
The radio on Will’s dresser is turned up too loud. Not dangerously loud, not Jim Hopper about to storm upstairs loud — just loud enough that the walls hum faintly with it.
The Clash crackles through the cheap speaker, the signal dipping every few seconds like the station can’t quite decide if Hawkins deserves good reception today. Will lies on his stomach across the bed, elbows buried into the mattress, sketchbook propped open in front of him. His legs swing lazily in the air behind him, heel knocking against heel every so often.
The page is already smudged with pencil where the side of his hand keeps dragging over the same spot. He notices it. Decides he doesn’t care. Smudges it more.
Outside the window, the afternoon hangs over Hawkins like it’s too tired to move. Cicadas scream from the trees with the sort of commitment that suggests they have absolutely nothing else going on. The sun presses against the glass, turning the air in Will’s room warm and slow.
Summers are supposed to mean something.
At least that’s the reputation they’ve got.
People talk about summers like they’re these endless, glowing things — bikes tearing down back roads, swimming holes, scraped knees, fireflies blinking over tall grass while someone’s mom yells that dinner’s getting cold. Summers that feel like they go on forever until suddenly you’re older and someone says remember the summer of— and everyone nods like it was the best time of their lives.
Will presses the pencil harder into the page, darkening a line that was already perfectly fine.
Because if he’s being honest, most summers are… not that.
Most summers are long in a quieter way. Long afternoons where the house is empty except for the refrigerator humming and the radio filling the silence because someone forgot to turn it down. Long stretches of time where the sunlight crawls across the carpet inch by inch while you sit in the same place, drawing something that started out as a dragon and is now maybe a forest. Or smoke. Or just a mess of lines that made sense twenty minutes ago.
The music keeps playing like they’re personally offended by the concept of quiet.
Will flips the pencil between his fingers and studies the sketch like he’s trying to figure out when exactly it stopped cooperating.
Sometimes summers are big and loud and full of stories.
And sometimes summers are just… waiting.
Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the sound of bike tires crunching over the gravel driveway. Waiting for the front door to slam open and someone to shout your name like they’ve got an idea that’s either brilliant or extremely stupid.
Usually both.
Will leans back a little, squinting at the page.
And right then—
someone knocks on the front door.
Will stares at the wall for a second.
The knock echoes faintly through the house, bouncing up the hallway and into his room like it expects him to immediately jump up and deal with it.
Oh, that’s just great.
Because obviously what he really wanted to do right now was leave the very reasonable comfort of his worn-out bed, abandon the sketch that was almost starting to look like something, and drag himself downstairs. Down the stupid staircase that always feels slightly slippery in the summer, like the heat has melted something invisible into the wood.
All of that. Just to find out who the hell is knocking on his front door at this ungodly hour.
Seriously. Who willingly goes outside in this heat?
The radio keeps blaring behind him, completely unsympathetic.
Will drops his pencil onto the sketchbook with a quiet thunk and pushes himself up with a sigh that’s probably more dramatic than the situation deserves. The floor is warm under his bare feet as he crosses the room, tugging the door open with one hand as he heads into the hallway.
The house creaks the way it always does in the summer — wood expanding, air thick and heavy. By the time he reaches the stairs he’s already mildly irritated with the mysterious person at the door for existing.
Each step down gives that familiar sticky feeling, like the air itself is clinging to the banister.
Great.
Fantastic.
Exactly what he wanted to be doing today.
By the time Will reaches the bottom, he already has the annoyed expression ready. Whoever this is is definitely getting it.
He pulls the door open.
And—
Well.
Sometimes summer does actually mean something.
Because standing on the porch, squinting against the sun like it personally offended him, is Mike Wheeler.
“So you are alive?” Mike says, cocking an eyebrow the moment the door opens.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just walks past Will and into the house like he lives there or something.
Sure. Make yourself comfortable.
Will shuts the door behind him, rolling his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
“Unfortunately,” Will mutters, already turning toward the stairs.
Behind him, he hears the familiar thud of Mike’s sneakers on the floorboards as he follows.
“We were supposed to hang out today,” Mike says, like this is a completely normal accusation to throw at someone who just woke up four hours ago.
“Yeah?” Will says absentmindedly, starting up the stairs.
Had he forgotten?
“At Lucas’s,” Mike adds, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Will pauses halfway up a step, thinking about it.
“Oh,” he says slowly. “That’s supposed to be on Tuesday. No?”
They reach the top of the stairs and Will pushes open the door to his room, walking in and immediately flopping back onto the bed like the journey downstairs and back up again has taken everything out of him.
“And today is what?” Mike asks.
He drops onto the bed too without asking, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Will exhales into the pillow.
“Monday,” Mike answers himself.
Will squints at the ceiling like the answer might be written up there somewhere.
Huh.
“Exactly,” he says after a moment.
Mike turns his head toward him, clearly waiting for more.
“It’s… not Tuesday,” Mike says.
“Yeah,” Will replies.
Mike lets out a long sigh like this whole situation is personally exhausting.
Somewhere during the conversation, Mike’s shifted enough that his head is now resting slightly on Will’s lap.
Will notices.
He tries very hard not to notice.
He absolutely does not care.
Not even a little.
In fact, the curtain by his window is suddenly extremely interesting.
Very fascinating curtain. Really excellent curtain work happening over there.
Will stares at it with intense focus while Mike continues talking about something — Lucas, probably, or Dustin, or the fact that apparently time still moves forward even when Will forgets about it.
Mike’s hair brushes lightly against his thighs when he moves.
Will keeps looking at the curtain.
He doesn’t care at all.
“So… do you plan on spending the entire summer bed-rotting?” Mike asks, absentmindedly tracing patterns on Will’s exposed thighs with his fingertips.
The touch is… way too cold for the season, sending a shiver that has nothing to do with the air. Will freezes for half a second, then sighs, letting his head sink back into the pillow.
“I—” he starts, but the words die somewhere between the pillow and his brain.
Mike doesn’t even notice. His fingers keep moving, doodling on skin instead of paper, like he’s trying to invent some new kind of art. Will tries to focus on the curtain again. Really, it’s fascinating. Strangely so. Totally absorbing.
“You’re avoiding me,” Mike says finally, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.
“I’m… looking at the curtain,” Will mutters, because admitting otherwise would be… complicated.
“Will,” Mike says again, a little more pleading, a little more stern this time.
Will snaps his eyes back to him.
And fuck. That was a huge mistake. A huge, cosmic-level mistake. Because there Mike is, head resting on Will’s lap, looking up at him through those long lashes like he’s begging him to say something.
“Hmm?” Will mumbles, and the sound feels absurdly inadequate even to himself.
“I’m serious,” Mike says, voice low, the kind of serious that usually makes Will sit up straighter without meaning to. “You’re gonna regret this when you’re stuck in New York with classes and assignments every day.”
Will swallows down whatever tries to crawl up his throat. He doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t think about it.
Sure, it would be nice to leave Hawkins. Nice to leave the stale, sunbaked streets, the empty houses, the memories that sometimes press in just a little too tightly. But Will has always had a weird relationship with change.
“I’ll worry about it when I have to,” he says, finally sitting up, leaning against the headboard.
Mike adjusts his head. Will thinks he’s finally going to move it. But no. He’s adjusting to once again lie back in Will’s lap.
Oh, so it wasn’t an accident.
“I just—” Mike starts, then trails off.
Will can’t help but notice the way Mike shifts a little, like he suddenly can’t get comfortable.
“What?” Will asks softly.
Mike fidgets with his fingers where they rest on his stomach, picking at the edge of his sleeve.
“It’s just… a lot, you know?” he says.
“What’s a lot?”
Will reaches down without really thinking about it, brushing the hair out of Mike’s eyes so he can actually see whatever’s going on behind them.
“I mean, Dustin’s already moved,” Mike says slowly. “And Nancy and Jonathan are gone, and El—”
He stops.
Will’s hand falters for a second before he forces it to stay steady.
Because Mike isn’t the type to talk about his feelings. Not really. Will’s pretty sure Lucas, Dustin, and Max have never seen Mike say anything from a place this vulnerable. Mike usually jokes his way around things or changes the subject before it gets too real.
But somehow… this has always been different with Will.
For reasons Will has never fully understood, Mike tells him things.
And in a quiet, selfish corner of Will’s chest, that makes him feel a little special.
It also scares him.
Because what happens if Will isn’t there one day? What happens if he can’t be?
Who would Mike open up to then?
College has been a weird subject around Mike lately. Every time someone brings it up he either shrugs it off or finds some way to redirect the conversation.
“Is this about me moving to New York?” Will asks carefully.
“I mean—no. Yeah. But no,” Mike says quickly.
Will raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, you know I’m considering moving with you, so,” Mike adds, like that settles something.
Will hums softly.
“It’s not that. It’s just…” Mike trails off again, staring up at the ceiling like the words might be written there somewhere.
Will doesn’t push. He just waits.
Mike’s always been like this. He circles things before he says them.
“I wanna have just one normal summer, Will,” Mike finally says.
Will lets out a small chuckle.
“We are having a normal summer, Mike.”
“No we aren’t,” Mike says immediately, frustration flashing across his face as he suddenly sits up, legs crossing underneath him.
The sudden absence of his head in Will’s lap leaves Will strangely aware of the empty space on his thighs.
“I’ve never gotten to experience a normal summer, Will,” Mike says.
Will tilts his head.
“I mean… Mike, there’s no Vecna or Mind Flayer around anymore. I’d call that pretty normal.”
Mike huffs.
“No, like—” He gestures wildly with his hands. “I wanna jump off cliffs and get drunk at parties and smoke a whole lot of weed and swim in the water and make ou— I mean, just—”
He stops himself, shaking his head.
“I wanna do things people our age do, you know?”
Will watches him quietly.
“I think I deserve it after everything,” Mike says, voice softer now. “I think we deserve it.”
Then he falls back down beside Will again, landing breathlessly on the pillow.
For a second, neither of them says anything.
The cicadas outside are still screaming.
The radio hums faintly through the room.
And Will can’t stop thinking about the way Mike almost said something before cutting himself off.
“Is that really what you want?” Will asks quietly, turning his head to look at Mike lying next to him.
“Yeah,” Mike says, and there’s so much hope in his voice that Will can’t possibly say no.
The summer sun has definitely done its thing to Mike, even though it’s literally the first week of it. God, the tan does wonders on him. The freckles have already become so much more prominent, dotting his nose and cheeks like tiny promises of sunshine.
“Alright, then,” Will says softly.
“What?” Mike asks, a little taken aback.
“Let’s do whatever you want this summer,” Will says, nudging him playfully.
“Really?” Mike asks, eyes gleaming.
“Sure, sure,” Will says, letting the corner of his mouth tug up into a small smile. “But if we, for some reason, end up in the back of a cop car, you’re taking the fall for it.”
Mike laughs, a bright, careless sound that fills the room.
Even though that’s a big fucking lie. Will would happily take the fall for anything if Mike was on the line.
Of course, Mike doesn’t need to know that.
---
Will’s spoon clattered against the edge of his cereal bowl as he tried — and failed — to help Hopper with the crossword in the newspaper.
“Twenty-seven across is definitely not ‘potato,’ Hop,” Will said, tapping the page.
“I’ll have you know it’s a perfectly good answer,” Hopper grunted, not even looking up.
Will sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hopper refusing to admit when he’s wrong was a fact of life at this point. The crossword had devolved into a chaotic mess of letters and half-erased guesses.
Joyce hummed from the sink, scrubbing dishes with one hand and balancing a mug in the other. “You boys gonna eat or just argue with the paper all morning?” she called.
Will gave her a sheepish shrug, then stabbed at a particularly stubborn clue. The spoon rattled again, clattering into the bowl. “Fine, I give up,” he muttered, pushing the coffee closer to himself.
A honk outside made him start, and his eyes darted toward the window.
“That boy has no manners,” Hopper grunted.
“What are you talking about?” Will asked, sighing.
“What? He can’t be civil and knock on the door like a normal person?” Hopper said, waving a hand toward the driveway.
Will rolled his eyes. He knew Hopper wasn’t serious. Deep down, he was sure Hopper actually cared about Mike, though he’d never, ever admit it out loud.
“Yeah, sure,” Will said, letting a small, amused smile tug at his lips. He leaned over to kiss his mom on the cheeks. “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, honey!” Joyce called.
He grabbed his backpack and headed for the door, stepping out into the summer morning, already halfway thinking about what the day with Mike, Lucas, and Max might bring.
Will steps onto the porch and immediately sees Mike parked in front of the house, windows down, elbow dangling lazily out the side. His sunglasses sit crooked on the bridge of his nose, shading his eyes but not hiding the way the sunlight catches the edges of his cheekbones, the faint freckles along the bridge of his nose, or the way his hair is tousled just enough to look effortless.
Since Nancy had moved to New York, she’d given Mike her car. And honestly? It had worked out really well in Will’s favor.
Because ever since then, Mike hasn’t let Will walk anywhere. Literally anywhere.
Will swallows, trying not to stare too obviously as he takes in how good Mike looks like this — relaxed, casual, leaning against the seat, the summer sun hitting him just right. He can’t decide if it’s the tan, the confidence, the ridiculous crooked sunglasses, or some combination of all of it. Probably all of it.
“Get in,” Mike calls, voice carrying across the sunbaked street.
Will hesitates for half a second, then shakes his head at himself and climbs in.
Mike smirks, taps the steering wheel, and the engine hums to life, the car already warm from the summer sun. And Will, for all his best intentions to act normal, keeps sneaking glances at him, trying to convince himself it’s just because the car is nice and the sun is bright.
It’s not.
It’s definitely not.
“You wanna pick the music?” Mike asks, glancing over at Will, who’s already shuffling through the mixtapes.
Will can’t help but bite back a smile. After Lucas and Max tried messing with Mike’s mixtapes once, they’d been banned from his car for a whole week.
“So, anyway….,” Mike starts, eyes on the road.
Will’s attention drifts to a mixtape he hasn’t seen before in Mike’s collection. “Hm?” he says absentmindedly, nudging Mike to continue.
“You know how you said yes to the whole summer thing?” Mike asks, voice hesitant.
“Yeah?” Will says, finally giving the boy his full attention.
He can’t help but notice the way Mike drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the edge of the car. It’s… normal. But somehow, even the most mundane things Mike does look spectacular. At least to Will.
“I was thinking… maybe it could just be a ‘us’ thing,” Mike says, voice low, almost tentative.
“What do you mean?” Will asks, sliding the mixtape into the deck.
Everybody Wants to Rule the World, Tears for Fears starts playing. Will hums along automatically. Overplayed? Sure. Still a summer banger? Absolutely.
“I just mean… maybe it can be a me-and-you thing,” Mike says, almost suggestively.
Will cocks an eyebrow at him, confused, heart doing that little stutter thing it always seems to do around Mike.
Me-and-you thing?
“So… what? Lucas and Max won’t be having any fun with us?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
“No, I mean… they will. I just mean—never mind, forget about it,” Mike says, letting one hand fall lazily out the window, wind catching his fingers as his eyes lock back onto the road.
Will tries — and fails — to ignore whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
By the time they make it to Lucas’ place, the sun’s heat is already overwhelming, even from inside the car. The dashboard radiates warmth, and the leather seats have started holding onto it like a cruel little trap.
They park and step inside the house, grateful for the air-conditioning. From the kitchen, Erica’s laughter carries through the open floor plan.
“Hey,” she calls as Will enters the living room.
“Wassup,” Mike says casually, tossing her a smile.
She gives Mike a little less enthusiastic one than she gives Will.
Will can’t help but feel a little special. Even though he’s pretty sure she’d rather be hanging out with Dustin than the two of them combined.
“They’re upstairs,” Erica says, pointing.
“Thanks,” Will mumbles, already turning toward the stairs.
“Though I’d advise you to knock,” Erica adds, rolling her eyes in disgust. “God knows what they’re doing in there.”
Will freezes a fraction of a second, cheeks heating.
Back when he used to sleep in Mike’s basement, he’d once accidentally walked in on Jonathan and Nancy, and he hadn’t been able to look his brother in the eye for nearly a week.
As they make their way upstairs, Mike nudges Will on the side of his waist.
Will looks up, trying to act casual. “W-what?” he chokes out.
“You look red,” Mike says, lifting a hand to brush against the side of Will’s face.
“Oh—uh, the sun,” Will replies in what comes out far too robotic a manner.
Fuck.
“You should really put some sunscreen or something,” Mike teases, voice soft but deliberate. “We don’t want that pretty face all burned up now, do we?”
Will swallows hard, ignoring the lump forming in his throat, and rolls his eyes.
Because that’s how best friends mock each other. By calling each other pretty. It’s… normal.
“You should probably kno—” Will starts, but Mike doesn’t wait. He pushes the bedroom door open and bursts in, laughing before Will can finish.
Will freezes, momentarily blocked by Mike’s tall frame, and can’t even get a proper view of the room.
As Mike steps fully inside, Will finally catches sight of Max. She’s jumping off Lucas’ lap, hastily fixing her shirt like she’s trying to erase the moment from existence.
If it was even possible, Will’s face gets even redder.
He swallows, tries to look casual, but it’s a lost cause. Mike’s laughter fills the room, a warm, teasing sound that only makes Will’s embarrassment worse.
And he can’t stop thinking: summer is supposed to be normal, right?
Right?
Because right now, “normal” feels like a lot of things he’s not entirely ready to handle.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Mike says sarcastically, flopping onto the bed with a theatrical sigh, clearly minding nobody’s personal space.
Will freezes by the door, awkward as ever, suddenly aware of what Lucas and Mac could have been doing on that very bed five minutes ago.
Oh, what the fuck.
“Come here,” Mike says softly, patting the spot next to him on the bed.
Will shifts awkwardly by the door, takes a deep breath, and slowly makes his way over to the bed, dropping down onto the edge with a mildly disgusted look like he’s doing some grim chore rather than just joining his friends.
“We didn’t fuck on it,” Max says from across the room, rolling her eyes.
“I—I didn’t mean—” Will stammers, cheeks heating, completely flustered.
“Not today, at least,” Lucas says, laughing from where he’s sitting.
“Disgusting,” Mike announces, hopping off the bed with an exaggerated grimace, eyes wide and fake horror etched across his face.
Will buries his face in his hands, half-laughing, half-making an attempt to get up.
“So… what do you wanna do?” Max asks, standing in front of the mirror, gathering her curls into a messy bun.
“We could watch the new—” Lucas starts, already sitting up.
“Boringggg,” Mike and Max chorus in perfect sync.
Will can’t help but smile.
Because Mike and Max have always pretended to hate each other, and Will can never figure out the point of it all. They’re clearly way too alike—stubborn, sarcastic, endlessly competitive—and yet, somehow, Will suspects they’d definitely like each other if they ever dropped the act.
He watches Mike flop onto the floor dramatically, muttering something about “ruining perfectly good plans,” while Max rolls her eyes so hard it almost makes Will laugh out loud.
Summer, chaotic as ever, already feels a little… theirs.
---
By evening, the sun had given up trying to burn holes through the roof of the Sinclair residence, softening into that lazy, golden light that made everything feel slightly unreal.
The four of them were sprawled across the couch. Well, at least Max was sprawled, her head resting comfortably in Lucas’ lap. Mike sat on the other end, arms casually draped over the back, every now and then swatting Max’s foot away from his lap with a fake grimace. “Seriously, it stinks,” he’d mutter, earning an eyeroll from Max.
Will sat on the floor by Mike’s legs, knees drawn up a little, hands fidgeting with the edge of the rug.
And well… you could ask Will what had happened in the last fifteen minutes of the movie, and he wouldn’t be able to tell you.
Because he was trying really hard not to think about how Mike had managed to rest both his legs on either side of Will’s waist, comfortably claiming the small, warm space like it had been his all along.
Will’s thoughts were scattered, his attention hopping between the movie, Mike’s low voice, and the ridiculous proximity of his body.
“I’m sorry — I hate this movie. I can’t pretend any longer,” Max says, sitting up and snatching the remote from Mike.
“What? You’re joking—” Lucas starts, but she cuts him off.
“Shut it, Lucas. This shit’s ass,” Mike mumbles, leaning back with a shrug.
“Thanks, Wheeler,” Max says, giving him a quick fist bump.
She turns the TV off with a groan and leans back against the couch. “I just wanna get drunk,” she says softly, the kind of casual honesty that Will knows he could never carry.
Will shifts from where he’s sitting, turning to face them and casually moving out from the space between Mike’s legs.
Mike nudges Max on her arm as soon as Will moves. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s like they’re speaking a language only they understand. Max tilts her head, smirking, and silently mouths: Fuck yeah.
Will glances over at Lucas, confused, and Lucas just shrugs, muttering, “Hell if I know, man.”
Max looks at Will for a split second and gives him a quick wink before turning her attention back to Lucas, batting her eyes like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Oh god, what?” Lucas mutters, trying desperately to bite back the very obvious smile tugging at his lips.
“You wouldn’t say no to me, right?” Max asks, her voice suddenly soft, low enough that it feels almost private.
Will knows exactly what she’s doing. His stomach twists, a little jealous, a little amused, a lot flustered.
“What is it?” Lucas asks, still grinning, clearly caught off guard.
“Let’s go to the bonfire tonight,” Max says, pleading now, her hand drifting ever so subtly onto Lucas’ thigh and moving slowly upward, just enough to make a point without making a scene.
Will’s face heats up. He tries to look away, focusing on anything else, anything but the way Lucas and Max are clearly flirting.
Only… he can’t.
Because when he glances up, his eyes catch Mike’s, and Mike seems to already be watching him.
The way Mike’s gaze holds him there, quiet but sharp, makes Will’s pulse spike.
And suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller than it did fifteen seconds ago.
---
Of course, Max always gets what she wants.
C’mon, it’s Max.
If Will were in Lucas’ place, he wouldn’t have been able to say no either.
So there they were, in Mike’s car, heading to the bonfire by the lake — a classic Hawkins summer ritual. Everyone their age went to the bonfires. Every night, without fail, for the whole summer.
And yet… Will had never been to one.
Now, here he was, sitting in the passenger seat, glancing out the window at the night while also sneaking glances at Mike through his peripheral vision.
He wondered, briefly, if Mike had ever been to one before.
Then he immediately dismissed the thought.
Because everyone knows what the bonfires are famous for.
Will felt the heat rise in his chest, partly from the summer air, partly from the thought of what might happen tonight.
And Mike, completely unaware — or maybe too aware — of Will’s internal panic, hummed along to the music on the stereo, elbow lazily resting out the window, sunglasses sliding down even though the sun had almost completely set.
But then again… what could really happen for Will at a summer bonfire known for hookups and weed?
Definitely just weed.
As far as Will knows, he’s the only gay kid in Hawkins.
Well—there’s Robin. But she moved away, and even if she hadn’t, it’s not like that would’ve played much of a factor in this.
So yeah. Weed.
Maybe a warm soda someone left sitting in a cooler too long. Maybe awkward small talk with people he vaguely remembers from school. Maybe watching Lucas and Max disappear behind a tree at some point and pretending not to notice when they come back twenty minutes later looking suspiciously smug.
That would probably be the extent of it.
It’s not like Will was ever going to hook up with someone there.
Not here.
Not in Hawkins.
The car rumbles quietly along the darkening road, the lake getting closer with every turn. The sky outside the windshield has started slipping into that deep blue that comes right before night settles in properly, the last bits of sunset clinging to the horizon.
Will rests his elbow against the window, letting the wind brush against his face, and sneaks another glance at Mike.
Mike’s still driving with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against the steering column in time with the music. His sunglasses are pushed up into his hair now, and the fading sunlight catches against the freckles scattered across his nose.
For a second, Will lets himself look a little longer than he probably should.
Then he looks away quickly, heart doing something stupid in his chest.
Because yeah.
“We’re here, people,” Mike says, pulling in beside the long row of cars already lining the dirt road.
Before the engine even fully dies, Max has the door open.
“Later, losers,” she sings, grabbing Lucas by the wrist and dragging him out with her as they run off toward the lake, laughter already echoing across the field.
“Yeah, Max, sure thing. You’re welcome for the lift,” Mike calls after them sarcastically.
The car door slams.
And just like that, it’s quiet.
Mike exhales and lets his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes like the last bit of energy just drained out of him.
Will glances at him.
“Are we not getting out?” he asks.
“In a minute,” Mike murmurs, eyes still closed.
“Okay,” Will says softly.
He leans back too, mirroring Mike without really thinking about it, staring up at the roof of the car while the faint thump of music from the bonfire drifts through the open windows.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
The air is warm. Heavy. Filled with the distant sound of people shouting and laughing somewhere down by the water.
Then—
“Do you really wanna do this?”
Mike’s voice cuts through the quiet after more than a minute.
Will turns his head slightly.
Mike hasn’t opened his eyes.
Will knows what he’s asking.
And for a second, he almost says it.
Not really.
He wants to say: I would feel so out of place there.
He wants to say: You’d be the only person I know and I can’t expect you to sit with me all night when there’s prettier girls and free booze everywhere.
He wants to say a lot of things.
Instead, he just shakes his head lightly.
“It’s fine,” he says.
Mike opens his eyes then and looks at him, clearly not buying it.
But he doesn’t push.
“Well… if you wanna leave early—” Mike says, shifting slightly in his seat. “Or even now. Just tell me, okay?”
And he does that thing with his voice.
The one that always happens when he’s talking to Will.
It softens in a way it never really does with anyone else.
Quieter. Warmer.
Like the words are meant only for him.
Will swallows and nods.
“Okay.”
And somehow that makes Mike smile a little, like that was the only answer he really needed.
---
They’ve been at the bonfire for maybe twenty minutes.
And Will already hates it.
The smoke from the fire stings his eyes, the music from someone’s car blares somewhere behind them, and there are way too many people crammed into one place pretending they aren’t looking around to see who might end up kissing who before the night’s over.
Someone is trying to play music louder than the crackling fire. Someone else is laughing way too hard at something that probably wasn’t that funny to begin with.
Will sits on one of the rough logs dragged around the bonfire, elbows resting loosely on his knees, staring into the flames like if he concentrates hard enough he might disappear into them.
The heat from the fire brushes against his face, warm but uneven, and every now and then the smoke shifts direction and makes his eyes water.
Mike is sitting right beside him.
Close enough that their knees bump whenever either of them moves.
Which, Will notes, is happening more often than necessary.
They haven’t really said much since they got there.
The only upside—if it can even be called that—is that Mike hasn’t left his side yet.
Which, Will tells himself, is probably just strategy.
Mike’s probably gaining his liquid courage before hitting on whatever girl he’s set his eyes on tonight.
That’s how these things work, right?
You show up. You hang around a little. You drink something questionable out of a red plastic cup. Then eventually you wander off with someone behind the trees like everybody else seems to do.
Simple.
Predictable.
Except for one small problem.
For most of those twenty minutes, the only person Mike seems to be looking at is Will.
Not in a weird way. Not obviously.
Just… every now and then.
Like Will will glance up from the fire and catch Mike already watching him.
And then Mike looks away quickly, like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
The first time it happens, Will assumes he imagined it.
The second time, he tells himself Mike was probably looking at someone behind him.
By the third time, though, it’s getting a little harder to explain away.
Will stares down into the red cup someone handed him earlier, turning it slowly in his hands even though he hasn’t actually taken a sip.
He can feel Mike beside him.
Feel the heat of him through the thin space between their arms.
And for some reason that feels… dangerously noticeable tonight.
“So this is what you meant?” Will says finally, deciding to break the painful silence.
“Sorry?” Mike says, clearing his throat and turning his head toward him like he’d only just noticed Will speaking—even though Will is almost certain Mike’s eyes never actually left him.
“Your idea of a normal summer is sitting on a log staring at a fire with me?” Will asks, letting out a sarcastic little laugh for good measure.
“You’re right. I’d rather be doing anything else,” Mike says quickly.
Oh.
Will wasn’t expecting that.
His heart drops a little, quick and quiet.
He’d expected some stupid comeback. Something sarcastic. Something easy.
Not that.
“Yeah?” Will says, trying to sound humorous about it. Casual. Chill.
“Hmm,” Mike murmurs, turning his head back toward the fire.
For a moment, he just watches the flames like they’ve suddenly become incredibly fascinating.
“I don’t imagine you like being too close to the heat,” he says after a second. “I just can’t seem to have a good time. I keep thinking about that.”
Will frowns slightly.
“Sorry?” he mumbles.
Mike exhales sharply through his nose.
“Forget it,” he says, shaking his head a little.
And just like that, the conversation dies again.
Will stares back into the fire, trying to pretend he isn’t suddenly overthinking every single word that just came out of Mike’s mouth.
Well alright then, he thinks.
But Will can’t seem to stop thinking about what Mike meant.
The words keep circling back in his head, turning over and over like something he’s supposed to understand but doesn’t quite.
I don’t imagine you like being too close to the heat.
Why wouldn’t he?
It’s just a bonfire. Everyone is sitting close to it.
Will glances down at the flames again, watching them lick up around the blackened logs, sparks floating up into the darkening sky.
Then the realization hits him.
Oh.
Right.
Back then.
When everything had gone wrong. When Will had briefly… stopped being himself.
When the cold had felt good.
When Joyce and Jonathan had dragged heaters in and turned them on full blast, trying to burn whatever had gotten inside him out.
Will remembers the way the heat used to make his skin crawl. The way it felt like something inside him was screaming every time the temperature went up.
He swallows.
Is that what Mike meant?
The thought makes something uncomfortable twist in his chest.
Because that would mean Mike still thinks about it.
Still remembers those tiny, strange details about him from one of the worst times in his life.
Will keeps staring at the fire, feeling the warmth press against his face.
And for some reason, that realization doesn’t make him feel better.
It just makes his chest feel tighter.
“I’m all out. You want another drink?” Mike asks, getting up and reaching for Will’s half-empty cup.
Will looks down at it.
The liquid inside shifts slightly as he tilts it, dark against the red plastic.
For a moment he just stares.
This is pathetic.
Mike’s right.
Why can’t he just have a normal summer like the rest of the kids here?
Why should he be the one sitting here staring at a stupid fire while everyone else actually lives their lives?
And worse—
Why should Mike have to sit here with him?
Will glances up briefly.
Across the clearing people are laughing, shouting, drifting off toward the lake or the trees in small groups. Someone somewhere starts cheering like something exciting just happened.
And Mike is here.
Next to him.
Clearly stuck.
Will feels something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
He’s ruining the mood.
So Will makes a little decision right there.
A quiet one.
He won’t be the reason Mike holds himself back.
He won’t be the person standing in the way of Mike being happy — even if it’s just for a summer.
Because yeah, Will has his doubts about whether he deserves something like that himself.
But Mike?
Will believes with his whole chest that Mike does.
And if stepping out of the way is what it takes, then fine.
He can do that.
So Will lets out a slow breath, grips the cup a little tighter in his hand—
—and downs the rest of it in one go.
It burns going down.
He winces slightly but hands the empty cup over anyway.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice a little strained.
Mike takes it, looking faintly surprised.
---
Will had watched Mike disappear into the crowd a little over five minutes ago.
He tries not to let the strange, stirring panic in his chest overwhelm him too much.
For fuck’s sake.
It was never that deep.
Mike probably just ran into someone. A girl maybe. Thought she was hot, started talking, completely forgot about the drinks…
…and Will.
Which is normal.
That’s how these things go.
People come to bonfires to meet people. To flirt. To wander off somewhere darker and quieter where the firelight can’t reach.
Will knew that when he agreed to come.
So really, if anything, this is exactly what he wanted.
Right?
He shifts a little on the log, rubbing his palms together absently.
Mike probably just got distracted.
And that’s okay.
Because Will is a good best friend.
A good best friend wouldn’t get weird about this. Wouldn’t sit here feeling like something important just quietly slipped away.
Lucas and Dustin would be cheering him on right now.
Lucas would probably clap Mike on the back and say something stupid like finally.
Dustin would ask a million intrusive questions later.
Max…
Max would probably roll her eyes and say the girl could do better.
Will lets out a quiet breath through his nose.
He stares back into the fire again, pretending the heat in his face is coming from the flames and not the sudden, uncomfortable tightness in his chest.
“Is this seat taken?”
The voice makes Will snap his head up.
There’s a boy standing in front of him — tan skin, dark curls that look like they’ve been completely destroyed by the wind, a crooked sort of smile sitting easily on his face.
Before Will can even open his mouth to answer, the guy drops down onto the log beside him.
Right where Mike had been sitting.
Will steals another glance at him.
He’s never seen this guy before.
And Will would know if he had. Hawkins is small. Painfully small. Everyone knows everyone, or at least knows of them.
So this has to be one of those summer people. The ones passing through town or visiting family for a few months before disappearing again.
“Carlton,” the boy says, holding out his hand.
“Oh— uh. Will,” Will mumbles.
He quickly wipes his slightly sweaty palm against the fabric of his denim shorts before shaking it.
Carlton’s grip is warm and easy.
“You seem to be having a great time,” Carlton adds, nodding toward the fire with a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh yeah?” Will says, a small smile slipping out before he can stop it. “What gave it away?”
Carlton chuckles softly.
And weirdly enough, the tight panic in Will’s chest loosens a little.
“You here alone?” Carlton asks, resting his elbow on his knee and propping his head against his palm as he turns slightly toward Will.
“No— uh, some of my friends are here…” Will says awkwardly, glancing around the crowd like they might magically appear. “Somewhere.”
Carlton just laughs quietly at that.
“You’re not from around here,” Will says after a moment.
“Hm. Just visiting my cousins,” Carlton replies. “Staying here for the summer.”
“Oh. Nice,” Will says.
He pauses.
Great fucking people skills, Will.
“I’m gonna take a guess,” Carlton says then, leaning back slightly, “ that you’re my age. And I’m gonna ask… what are your plans after the summer?”
“NYU,” Will blurts out way too quickly. There was never a doubt about that one.
“That’s crazy,” Carlton says, eyes lighting up a little. “I go there too.”
“Oh, no way! What’s your major?” Will asks, finally letting himself relax a little, letting the words spill out.
“Biomed,” Carlton says, hesitating just slightly as he passes his cup over to Will.
Will takes it, sipping slowly, eyes flicking up at him.
“Biomed? Really?” Will says, clearly impressed.
“Yeah, Will. I’m not just looks,” Carlton adds, a small teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
Oh.
What the hell.
Is he… flirting?
“Can I guess what you wanna study?” Carlton asks, leaning a little closer.
Will chuckles, shifting his body toward him, feeling… weirdly comfortable now.
“Go ahead,” he says, challenging lightly.
“Easy,” Carlton says, eyes sparkling. “Arts, right?”
Will freezes for a second.
“What the hell?” Will blurts, eyes widening. He can’t believe it—one guess, and Carlton’s nailed it.
Carlton just laughs softly, reaching for the cup Will had been holding. He doesn’t break eye contact as he deliberately takes a sip—exactly from where Will’s lips had just been.
“How did you—” Will starts, but the words falter.
“You’ve got charcoal on your hands,” Carlton says smoothly. “Easy guess.”
He gestures toward the faded paint patches on Will’s shorts.
“And these,” he adds with a small smirk, “just seal the deal.”
Will swallows hard, feeling heat creep up his neck.
“You’re… scary good at this,” he mutters, half amused, half flustered.
“I pay attention, is all,” Carlton says, voice calm, casual.
“Oh yeah?” Will shoots back, sarcasm lacing his tone. “You just roam through the crowd, analyzing the stains on everyone’s clothes?”
Carlton doesn’t break his composure. Instead, his eyes drop slowly to Will’s lips for a few seconds, deliberate, deliberate enough to make Will’s chest tighten, before finally moving back up to meet his gaze.
What the fuckkk?
“Only if they’re cute,” Carlton says then, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
Will swallows, heart thudding a little too fast, and can’t help the tiny, shaky laugh that escapes.
Will clears his throat, trying to mirror some semblance of composure. He takes the cup from Carlton and tips his head back, downing the rest in one go.
When he brings his head back, he’s met with Mike awkwardly standing in front of them, two cups in hand.
Will’s mouth goes dry, despite the drink still lingering a fraction of a second ago.
“Is this your friend?” Carlton asks, leaning slightly toward Will.
All Will notices, though, is the way Mike stiffens ever so slightly.
“Yeah,” Will says, not breaking eye contact.
“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” Carlton says with a smile, rising from the log.
“Hey, man,” he adds casually to Mike.
“Hey,” Mike replies, eyes locked on Will, not Carlton.
Carlton leans closer to Will just before stepping away.
“Listen, Will. I’m having this party on Tuesday—you know, the house by the mall being renovated? If you wanna drop by…” His tone is easygoing, almost teasing.
He winks, soft and deliberate, and adds, “I really hope you do,” before finally walking away, leaving Will staring after him, heart thudding in a very un-friendlike rhythm.
Mike sits down beside him, silent for a beat, before shoving the cup into Will’s hand a little too aggressively.
Will cocks an eyebrow, about to say something, but Mike is already staring back at the fire, as if it’s somehow more interesting company than him.
“Took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Will says, trying to lighten the tension—or whatever the hell this is.
Mike doesn’t look at him. “They poured cherry punch in everything, and you don’t like cherry, so I had to try and find something for you,” he explains, voice low, casual.
“Oh,” is all Will can think to say.
“Thought you’d run off to the bushes with some girl,” he tries, letting a small smirk slip in, hoping for a laugh.
Mike doesn’t even blink.
“Why would I do that?” is all he says.
And for a moment, Will feels the words hang there, heavy, like they mean something more than casual reassurance.
“Who was that?” Mike asks, still not looking at Will.
“Just someone passing through,” Will says vaguely, shrugging.
“And this someone’s got a name?” Mike’s tone is quiet, but there’s something in it Will can’t quite place—something sharp, curious, maybe even… jealous?
Pfft, as if.
“Carlton,” Will says, giving up and choosing to stare into the fire instead. At least it looks back.
“Right,” Mike mutters, almost to himself.
“You’re not having fun, Mike,” Will says, frustration creeping in despite himself.
“I am,” Mike replies flatly.
“C’mon,” Will presses, trying to break through whatever wall Mike’s putting up. “What happened to wanting a normal summer?”
Mike finally looks up at him, eyes catching the last flames flickering in the firelight.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, voice low, almost weary.
Will shifts slightly, lifting his hips just enough to reach into the pocket of his shorts.
He fumbles for a second before pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. Then a ten. Maybe a twenty again. Score, he murmurs softly, a small grin tugging at his lips.
“Give me a second,” Will says, standing up, the smile lingering.
Mike tilts his head, brow furrowed in mild confusion, but he nods anyway, watching Will with that quiet, unreadable expression that always makes Will feel like he’s being measured—just not judged.
---
After ten minutes—or maybe fifteen—Will comes back, a daring little smile tugging at his lips.
He reaches out, letting his fingers brush against Mike’s hand, and Mike hesitates for a fraction of a second before letting Will guide him.
“Walk with me,” Will murmurs, soft but steady, tugging gently. He leads, hand still on Mike’s, the pressure deliberate, guiding him forward.
Mike’s fingers tighten slightly around Will’s, not pulling away—just letting him take control.
Okay then, Will thinks, a thrill curling in his chest as he feels the heat of Mike right behind him, following every move he makes, and he lets the pull linger a beat longer than necessary.
Will only lets go of Mike’s hand once they’ve slipped away from the crowd, reaching the far side of the lake, hidden by a patch of trees. The only light comes from the distant flicker of the bonfire, far enough to make the world feel like theirs alone.
“Hi,” Mike says softly, voice barely carrying over the gentle lapping of water against the shore.
“Hi,” Will replies, settling onto a low block of concrete, the chill of it seeping through his shorts. He gestures toward the space beside him. “Sit,” he says, his tone soft but inviting.
Mike hesitates for a beat, then eases down next to him, the proximity making Will acutely aware of the warmth radiating from the other boy.
“Did you bring me all the way out here just to take your sweet time chopping my limbs off?” Mike asks, letting out a nervous laugh.
“Of course,” Will replies, matching the tone, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “But I was thinking we could do that after this.” He shifts slightly, lifting his hips, and pulls the blunt from his pocket—worth every dollar he’d just spent.
Mike lets out a laugh of disbelief.
“What?” Will asks, voice low, playful, the darkness swallowing most of his expression so only the curve of his smirk is visible.
Will reaches into his back pocket for the lighter, the one he’d had to buy off some guy just minutes ago.
“You’re the last person I expected to buy weed, but… okay,” Mike says, tone teasing but soft.
“Is that a bad thing?” Will asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No, not at all,” Mike replies softly.
Will places the blunt between his lips and flicks the lighter. The wind has other plans.
He tries again, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the repeated failure.
“Here,” Mike whispers, leaning way too close, inches from Will’s face, cupping his hands around the lighter.
Will takes a deep breath in, flicks the flame, and immediately feels the bitter taste hit his tongue.
“Fuck,” he hisses softly, passing the blunt over to Mike, cheeks heating under the dim light and the closeness.
Will watches, heart thudding a little too fast, as Mike takes a drag effortlessly, tilting his head back and holding the smoke in his lungs. The faint glow of distant lights makes the stars seem to catch in Mike’s eyes, bright and impossible to look away from.
Will wonders if he’ll ever get another chance to see something this beautiful again, so he doesn’t look away, letting the moment stretch out as Mike exhales, the smoke curling from his nostrils like a slow, lazy ribbon.
“This is some good weed,” Mike says, voice low, eyes still tracing the stars above. “Who’d you buy from?”
“Gareth,” Will replies with a soft chuckle.
“Makes sense,” Mike says, giggling a little, the sound light and warm against the quiet of the lake.
---
Fifteen minutes or so had passed, and the two of them were lying on the damp grass, staring up at the night sky, letting the weed work its quiet magic. Will had smoked before—easy enough when you had a stoner brother, even if only for a brief stretch—and he knew Mike had too, back when he hung out with Eddie.
Will had always struggled to speak at first, so he stayed quiet, letting the cool grass press against him. The first time he’d smoked, he’d genuinely thought he was having a seizure and prayed to God—he wasn’t even religious, for fuck’s sake. But this was different. This was the first time he was high with Mike, and he had no idea what Mike was like under the influence.
And then, out of nowhere, Mike lifted a hand lazily and let it fall on Will’s jaw.
“Do you… wanna go for a swim?”