Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mike stared at the toaster and decided it was time to contemplate his life; if he looked thoroughly enough at every decision he’d made, maybe then he’d be able to figure out how the hell he got to this point. 

Downstairs, his three closet friends were still sound asleep, oblivious to the impending doom that was circling over his head. 

Upstairs, Will— his best friend, whom he’s kissed sloppily and seen naked— was snuggled into his bed, sleeping off his (somehow) minor hangover. 

The house was quiet. 

Mike’s thoughts were not. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Will. 

Will, shaking him awake, asking for a kiss. Will, seemingly desperate to grind their dicks together. Will, who had never even masturbated before, yet somehow had a healthy appetite for sex. 

Mike’s brain felt like mush, like it had been put through a meat grinder, and suddenly he lost the capability to think straight. 

And that…made sense because Mike wasn’t straight. He didn’t want to be anything, but clearly, he was something. 

He had known for a long while that he was different. While other teenage boys devoured their girlfriends, Mike was left feeling hungry. He wanted something more— something else. He craved the foreign fruits of life, the ones that you were forbidden to sink your teeth into. 

But Mike was ravenous, and Will looked like he could feed his hunger. 

Every time he blinked, he saw Will with his perfect, delicate face, his green doe-eyes, and prominent front teeth. He saw Will, quiet and kind and soft-spoken. He saw Will, who was a little off-putting, but in that eerie horror movie kind of way— the intriguing kind of way, like you wanted to peer into his mind and see the world through his eyes. 

He drew strange things, kept even strangerer things: MRI scans of his brain, the charred arm of the FrankoDemo they temporarily resurrected. 

Mike helped him saw it off. It wasn’t as strange as he thought it would be. Will kept it in a box under his bed. Mike— he kept it a secret. It was their odd little side quest, something strange they’d done together. 

And that was when Mike knew his abnormal attachment to Will wasn’t just because of his own strange, possessive personality. 

Because normal people were supposed to be disturbed by things like that. They were supposed to recoil. They were supposed to look at Will differently after hearing him calmly discuss severed limbs over canned soup and late-night television.

Mike had helped him wrap the thing carefully in towels afterward.

He remembered kneeling on the floor beside Will’s bed while they shoved the box underneath together, their shoulders knocking clumsily every few seconds. Will had been smiling— not widely, not manically, just enough for Mike to notice how alive he looked when someone finally entertained the strange little corridors of his mind instead of shrinking away from them.

Mike hadn’t shrunk away once.

That should’ve terrified him more than it did.

Instead, he remembered feeling oddly proud. Proud that Will trusted him with the ugly parts. Proud that Will showed him things no one else got to see.

There was something horribly intimate about it.

Like every grotesque little secret Will handed over was another thread tying Mike tighter and tighter to him.

And Mike took every single one willingly.

Mike startled at the toast popping out of the toaster. 

He stared at the bread for a very long time before he realized he was supposed to be bringing Will food. 

He buttered the toast and spread strawberry jam over each slice, making sure to coat the bread thickly, just the way Will liked it, so every bite had a taste of jam. 

He hurried back upstairs, shouldering his door open quietly. 

Will was still asleep, buried beneath an absurd amount of blankets. Only his honey-gold hair was peeking out. 

He sat down next to him, placing the toast on his nightstand. 

“Will,” he shook his shoulder lightly. Will groaned, burying his face in the pillows. “Will, baby, I made you toast.”

Oh—

Was it too late to jump out of the second-story window to his death?

His face burned. His hand stilled on Will’s shoulder. 

Baby? Really? Where did that come from?

It came from somewhere deep in his chest, buried out of reach for a reason. But somehow, it decided to claw its way to the light. 

“Mmm,” Will hummed happily. “I like that,” he slurred, his voice groggy with sleep. 

Mike's face really burned. 

Will finally opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at Mike. He smiled so sweetly, it made Mike’s teeth ache.  

“Hi,” he whispered. 

Mike swallowed. That seemed to have made Will very happy. 

He was about to cross a dangerous line, but all he wanted to do was plant face-first over the border into brand new territory. Mike clearly loved chaos. 

He brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. “Hi, baby,” he said in an awfully quiet voice. 

Will’s cheeks darkened. He buried his face in the pillow. 

That response— that did something strange to Mike. It wasn’t just the heat of arousal that swept through. It was also the warm feeling of satisfaction, like a job well done. 

Mike pressed his fingers into the back of Will’s scalp. “I think you should eat something,” he told Will. “It’ll help with the headache.”

Mike tugged gently on his hair, urging him to sit up. When he revealed his face, his cheeks were even darker; the tip of his nose was a beautiful flush pink.

He sat back against the headboard, and Mike handed him his plate, folding one of his legs underneath himself.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Will chewed slowly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fine,” he said. “Better than I thought I would.”

Mike still never found out just how much he had drunk. He was just glad it wasn’t enough to end him in the hospital. 

“That’s good,” Mike nodded. He tapped his finger against his knee. His thoughts were still very loud and very hard to ignore. So, he said, “I think…we should talk about this morning.”

Will stopped chewing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ok,” he said quietly. 

“I know I said we should keep it basic,” he started, “for a while. And I meant that. I just think— we should probably establish some boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” Will stared, confused. 

“Yeah,” Mik nodded, “like what we’re ok with— what we’re not ok with. So I know what’s ok to do and what’s not.”

Will set his plate aside, folding his hands in his lap. He twisted the sleeve of his shirt around his fingers. 

“I—”

“It’s whatever you want,” Mike rushed, suddenly feeling nervous, like Will might rescind his offer altogether. “I’ll do— I’ll practice anything with you.” 

“I think,” Will paused, like he was contemplating his answer, like Mike might not like what he had to say. Then, “I think I’d like to practice whatever you’d like to practice.” 

Oh. 

That would be a very bad agreement. Mike wanted to do filthy things to Will. He blinked, and he saw new positions he’d want to try; their mouths pressed against places that were new and exciting. 

Mike wanted those things, yes. But he doubted Will did. Mike wanted to sink his teeth into that forbidden fruit and suck the juices off his fingers. He wanted Will in all the normal ways and then some. He wanted to make Will his—

It would be a very bad agreement to give Mike full control of the situation. 

“Will,” Mike sighed, “I need to know what you like. It can’t all be about me.”

“But I don’t know what I like,” Will breathed, clearly frustrated. His cheeks kept turning one shade darker. 

That horrible feeling from this morning came back. The feeling that he had taken something from Will that he wasn’t quite ready to give. 

Mike’s stomach twisted into knots. 

But Will had woken him up, begging for a kiss. He wanted to give Mike something— that’s why Mike needed to be careful, more considerate of what they… practiced. It was clearly overwhelming for him because it was so new. It was overwhelming for Mike because he was starving, and he was afraid he’d start consuming things too quickly.  

Will deserved a good experience, one that felt good, yes, but one that was also safe. It had to be thoughtful. It had to be gentle. 

“What have you always wanted to do?” Mike pressed. It felt like a bad time to think about what Will fantasized about, but he needed to know. He needed something to work with. 

“I don’t know,” Will whispered, avoiding Mike’s eyes. And then again, much quieter, “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Mike urged. “You’ve never thought about what you’d want to do to someone? Or what you want them to do to you?”

Will’s breathing hardened. “I…” He wrung his hands together. “I’ve thought about your hands—”

Mike’s breath faltered. “My hands?”

“I—” Will flushed a deep red. “No. Just— hands. In general. You're just right here, so I—”

"Oh,” Mike’s chest deflated, as if someone had just popped that little bubble of what if that was filling up rapidly. “Right. Sorry, continue. Hands—”

“Hands,” he breathed. “I’ve thought about hands.”

Mike blinked. “Just…hands?” Will nodded. “But, what are they doing?”

Will looked dumbfounded. 

“Will,” Mike gawked, scooting closer to him on the bed. “They had to have been doing something.”

Will just shook his head. 

“They weren’t,” Mike tried to conjure up some possibilities, “touching you? Pulling your hair? Inside you?”

Will’s breath hitched. 

Ah. There it was.

Mike tried not to look smug. “They were inside you,” he smiled, feeling giddy at the idea. “Is that something you’d want?”

“Mike,” Will buried his face in his hands. 

“What?” he huffed. “Don’t hide from me,” he pulled Will’s hands away from his face. “We just saw each other’s dicks, Will. If you can’t talk about sex, then you shouldn’t be having it.”

Will’s expression shifted from embarrassment to annoyance. “Are you seriously quoting Steve right now?”

“I—” He knew he had been hanging around Steve too much lately. It wasn’t his fault; he was the only adult he could talk to about sex without it being awkward as hell. At least someone had been willing to answer all his insanely explicit, odd questions. “He’s right, though, isn’t he?”

Will groaned, rolling his head back against the headboard. “I guess,” he muttered. 

"So?” Mike poked his socked foot. “Is that something you’d want?”

“Yes,” he said in a very quiet voice. “But that’s— that’s way more than kissing.”

“We can work our way up to that,” Mike reassured him, even though the thought wouldn’t leave his head— ever. He’d be thinking about that— with Will— probably until the day he died. He just hoped they’d have enough time to practice that before summer ended. 

Excitement and despair pressed against his ribs. He was thrilled to be doing anything with Will, but he knew his days were limited. 

He swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. 

“What else?” Mike pushed. 

“No,” Will shook his head. “It’s your turn. I already gave you one of mine. I want to know yours now.” He tapped his foot against Mike’s thigh. 

Mike wrapped his fingers around his ankle, squeezing gently. He tried not to stare too hard at the tan skin, his fingers wrapped around the paler strip of skin right above his sock. He felt like a Victorian man seeing his wife’s ankles for the first time. 

Mike wondered if Victorian men thought about their best male friends the way Mike thought of Will.  

Probably not, he decided. 

“I’ve thought about a lot of things,” he admitted. 

Will raised his eyebrows. “Like?” 

It was Mike’s turn to look flustered. He had already stumbled over the line, and there was no way he was turning back now. 

“I’ve always wanted to put my mouth on someone’s dick,” he said, his heart beating quickly. 

Will’s eyes snapped up. “I thought—”

“I don’t do labels,” Mike clarified. Which felt true in the moment, but later the words would come back to haunt his narrative like a vengeful spirit. “But that’s something— one thing I’ve thought about.”

“I would let you try,” Will said in a faint voice. “On me— if you wanted to.”

Mike was starting to feel warm all over. 

This was the moment Mike realized this thing— their practicing— was much too big to contain. No size jar could hold the feelings he was starting to experience. 

Mike hadn’t just stepped into new territory; he had stepped into a new world entirely, and it was filled with sorrow and heartbreak. 

That was the only ending that had been written for Mike Wheeler. There was no room for editing. 

Mike had to accept the stroke of the pen.

"Do you— when?” he had to ask. 

“Oh, um,” Will hesitated. Mike was really starting to like this flushed look on him. “Saturday. Or Sunday. Mom and Hop— they’re driving out to Michigan to look at wedding venues. They’ll be gone til Monday.” 

Saturday was tomorrow. It might as well have been two million light-years away. 

Sunday wasn’t an option— Mike wasn't waiting another day. But that also meant they could have two whole days to themselves. They could do whatever they wanted. They could—

Mike squandered that thought. He was getting way too ahead of himself. They had already jumped from kissing to blow jobs. 

He needed to reel it back in. Quickly. 

“I can do Saturday. If that— if you want,” Mike tried to play it cool but was failing miserably. The words just kept pouring out of his mouth. 

"Ok,” Will nodded. “Yeah— let’s do Saturday. At my place. Obviously at my place.”

Mike was also starting to really like this awkward, blushing version of Will. It made him feel powerful, knowing he could reduce Will to such a state. 

“Cool,” Mike couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds— sounds like a plan.”

“I’m sorry about last night,” Will said. 

He turned on his side to face Max. They were lying on the small mattress in the basement. 

Upstairs, Dustin and Mike were attempting to make everyone grilled cheese. 

Lucas was behind Max, resting on his elbow, his head in his hand. His other hand was on her hip— casual, comforting. 

Will felt a familiar longing. 

It was a bittersweet feeling. He was happy that his friends were happy, but woven somewhere in between that tapestry of joy was sadness. He wanted what they had. 

“It was lame anyway,” she huffed. 

“So lame,” Lucas agreed. Max tilted her head back and gave him a strange look. “What?” he exclaimed. “I totally thought it was lame.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not helping.”

Lucas tried to look confused. “Wha—”

“You’re allowed to be angry with me,” Will whispered, “for ruining your guys’ night.”

Max looked offended. Lucas just looked sad. 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Max said, her voice sharp and serious. 

“If anyone ruined anything, it was Steve,” Lucas offered. 

Max nodded. “If his drunk ass hadn’t been on the roof—”

“—We wouldn’t have been separated,” Lucas finished. 

“And we could have all kept an eye on each other,” she added. 

That didn’t ease the guilt that had been festering in his chest. They shouldn’t have had to keep an eye on him. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get so drunk. 

“You shouldn’t have to keep an eye on me,” he huffed. “If I wasn’t—” Max gave him a stern look, like he’d better not finish that sentence. Will swallowed. “It was stupid to accept that drink in the first place.”

“Wait,” Lucas sat up straighter. “What drink?”

“From who?” Max questioned. 

“Chance,” Will muttered. 

“Chance Hoffman?” Max said his name as if it tasted awful in her mouth. 

“Will,” Lucas sighed, like a disappointed parent would. It made Will want to throw the blanket over his head and hide. “Why on earth would you accept a drink from him?”

“I,” Will’s heart beat a little faster. 

He felt like a child being scolded for taking a cookie before dinner. A twinge of anger tapped against his chest. These past few days, it felt like everyone was talking about Will instead of to him. They were scrutinizing his choices and treating him like a problem they needed to solve quickly before he upended his whole life. And maybe Will was a problem— maybe he did need guidance. But he was tired of feeling like a snag in everyone else’s life. 

“Because I wanted to,” he heard himself say, his voice uncharacteristically snappy. 

He sat up, feeling that twinge of anger shift into something else. Frustration. Frustration with himself for feeling so weak and out of control. Frustration with his friends for thinking he didn’t have a choice in anything that happened to him; he just let others walk all over him because he was a coward who couldn’t think for himself or say no. It swelled inside his chest cavity like a balloon ready to pop. 

“And I wanted to kiss Mike, too,” he said, feeling very bold despite the nerves rattling his teeth. “I asked him to kiss me. And I asked him to kiss me again this morning because— because I could. Because I wanted to.” 

Lucas looked nervous, like he was handling a feral kitten he desperately wanted to take home; unsure, cautious, saddened. 

Max looked unsurprised, but her eyes narrowed slightly. 

“There’s a difference between making a choice and having good options,” was all she needed to say. 

Will was trying to assert his agency. Max was trying to unravel this false narrative he was spinning. Deep down, he knew she was right. If his options were loneliness or recklessness, were they really choices at all? Or was it some desperate, inevitable, avalanche that was going to kill him either way? 

Chance had offered him an escape. Mike had offered him a new type of closeness. And Will, aching for solace, had reached for both with shaking hands.

It felt like the choices were already made for him. He only had two options: loneliness or recklessness. And lately, Will had been feeling very reckless. 

It started with the power of touch. Then, agreeing to Mike’s absurd plan to practice sex. Using his powers to burn the old man. Inviting Carlton to the party when he knew he could never return his feelings. Taking a drink from Chance. Asking Mike to kiss him, again— letting Mike see him naked. Agreeing to let Mike give him a blow job. 

“Choosing nothing is always better than choosing the lesser evil,” she told him. 

The balloon popped. 

Will felt like all the fight in him had been drained right out of him. 

He fell back onto the mattress and buried his face in the pillow. 

“Mike isn’t evil,” he mumbled. 

He could feel the mattress shift. Max crawled over him, lying on his other side, her body warm against his side. Lucas lay down on the pillow next to him, filling in Max’s spot. Two friends, enclosing him in a small embrace. 

“No,” Max said quietly. She wrapped her arms around his middle. “But he’s being cruel.”

Will turned slightly. Her arm wrapped more securely around him as she pressed herself against his back. 

Lucas was already staring at him, his eyes turned down like he was in pain, as if seeing Will look so sad hurt him deeply. 

"Mike,” Lucas breathed through his nose. “He’s…scared and confused. After everything— I think he’s trying really hard to pretend he isn’t either of those things.”

The words settled heavily around them. 

Will knew Mike had been struggling a lot to accept what had happened to them. To El. 

He had isolated himself for weeks after. They were all worried they were going to lose him, too, to depression or something much worse. 

But Will had gone to him one day and sat in the quiet basement and filled the silence with memories. Memories that shined brighty with joy and nostalgia, of a time when things weren’t scary or bad. He reminded Mike who he was, who he could still be. 

The dark cloud that had been brewing over his head seemed to separate, just enough to let the promise of tomorrow shine through. 

"And he loves you,” Lucas continued. Will felt his breath stutter. He paused for a moment, like he was chewing on the words, seeing which ones tasted the least bitter. “But I think that’s the problem. He can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved— not right now. And you,” his eyes shone with sadness, “keep accepting it because you think being loved badly is better than not being loved at all.” 

Will started to cry. 

He buried his face in his hands and let the tears overcome him. 

Max pulled him closer. Lucas drew closer to, wrapping his arms around both of them. 

“You deserve someone who is sure,” Lucas whispered into his hair. “Someone who is proud to love you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you have to perform for them— like you have to earn their affection through some tap dance. You deserve someone who can love you without conditions.”

Will’s chest heaved.

Max’s fingers rubbed slow circles over his stomach while Lucas held them both together, the three of them tangled awkwardly across the mattress like they were trying to keep Will from falling apart.

“And until somebody figures out how to do that,” Max muttered, her voice thick with tears, “you’ve got us.”

That broke something inside him.

Will cried harder— not the sharp, frightened tears he’d grown used to swallowing down, but something older. Exhaustion. Grief. Relief. Like every awful thing he’d been carrying alone had finally become too heavy to hold.

And for once, he was being asked to let it go. 

Will found himself staring at Carlton’s front door. Again. 

This time, he didn’t hesitate to knock. 

Carlton opened the door on the third knock. 

“Hi,” Will gave him a little wave. 

He blinked a few times like he wasn’t sure if Will was really there. 

“Will— hi,” he peered over Will’s shoulder. He wouldn’t find Lucas or Max; he had taken her to her physical therapy appointment. Dustin had gone to check up on Steve. Mike had reluctantly stayed behind when Will announced he was going for a walk. He had no idea Will was walking to Carlton’s house. “What are you doing here?”

It felt wrong to be there, hovering on his front porch. Will had been a total asshole last night— he knew things were never going to turn into something more between them. Even if Will liked him back, he wasn’t ready to date someone. They still lived in Hawkins. Their relationship would be a secret, and Will didn’t want to keep hiding. 

He had already done the scariest part. He had come out to his family and his friends. He was blessed in ways he could never express. But the world was more than just them. 

“I, uh. I wanted to apologize,” he insisted. “For last night.”

“Oh,” his face fell like he had forgotten all that happened, and then suddenly remembered. It made Will feel awful. 

“I don’t drink— I’ve never gotten drunk,” Will tried to explain. “And I didn’t mean to let that happen. Everything just—”

“Right,” Carlton sighed. Will faltered. “That’s what you’re apologizing for.”

Will’s face bloomed with heat. “I—”

“Well, if that’s all,” he breathed, “I’m gonna go now.”

“Carlton—”

“I don’t think your boyfriend will be very happy that you’re here,” he interjected. 

Will’s heart thumped against his chest. “What?”

Carlton said, exasperated, “Mike—”

“Mike’s— he’s not my boyfriend,” Will spluttered. “We’re— he’s not gay.”

Will snapped his mouth closed. His cheeks started to tingle with warmth. 

“Oh,” he gasped. Then, he asked seriously, “Are you sure?”

“Wha— yes,” Will huffed. “Yes, I’m…sure.”

Will was not sure. 

Do straight boys usually grind their dicks against their male best friends’ and offer to give them blow jobs? Will had certainly never done any of that with Dustin and Lucas. He doubts they’d done that. 

“Oh,” Carlton’s brows pinched together. “So he’s just…weird.”

Mike was weird, yes. 

He helped Will saw off a Demogorgon’s arm that one time. He liked to put syrup on his mashed potatoes. He was always doing that awful Transylvania accent during their campaigns. 

But Will was also weird. All his friends were weird.

Dustin once spent three straight weeks trying to teach a hamster to run an obstacle course. No one knows what happened to the hamster after that. Lucas alphabetized his cassette tapes when he was stressed and thought that gasoline smelled good. Max liked to eat dry cereal out of coffee mugs and thought calling someone an idiot was the same as saying I love you. 

“Mike is…different,” Will sighed, trying not to feel offended on his behalf. 

“I didn’t— sorry,” Carlton grimaced at his remark. “I know he’s your friend. He just seems very…protective of you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Will’s face flushed at the memory. Mike pressing his injured hand between Will and the seatbelt. Circling his arms around him. Grilling Carlton for answers to questions he couldn't care less about. 

“Yeah,” Will breathed. Lucas’ words echoed in his head. He’s scared and confused. Almost dying and seeing your friends almost die— El leaving them. It was a lot to bear. “I— we’ve been through a lot,” he whispered. “He’s just protective of us.”

“What you guys went through— is that how he got that scar?” he asked, pointing to his own face. “Is that…how you got those?” he pointed to Will’s wrist.

Will instinctively pushed his hands behind his back. 

Most days, he forgot about the scars he bore. At school, he had always hidden them under his sleeves or behind a wrist full of bracelets. 

They had all been touched by the Upside Down— by Vecna and the Mind Flayer. They would forever wear the reminders of what they had endured. 

Mike had suffered the hardest. He had been whipped in the face, a Demobat’s strong-winded tail coming at him fast. It struck him right across the bridge of his nose. The scar was faded now, but still noticeable; dusty pink against his pale skin. 

Then, horrifically, his hand had been torn from his arm; he had reached into the fleshy gelatinous portal and pulled Will out, leaving behind a piece of himself so he could save Will’s life. 

The reminder stung deep like acid to his heart. 

Lucas got clawed down— a giant demogorgon had ripped through layers of his shirt and jacket, tearing open his chest and leaving behind a nasty, raised scar. Dustin, too, had been attacked. His shoulders bore three deep gashes before they too faded into thick scars. 

Max was still in physical therapy, trying to regain full functionality in her left leg. Her vision was still spotty, made worse by bright lights and stress. 

And Will—

Will had permanent scars wrapped around his wrists where Vecna’s vines had pulled his arms taut. He was kept captive for days before they were able to rescue him. His fingers often trembled, disrupting his art and his ability to hold heavy objects for too long. 

That pained Will the most. The idea that Vecna had taken so much from him already, and still, he continued to take and take and take.

Will still suffered nightmares. He could sometimes still hear the remnants of the Mind Flayer, calling after him, begging him to find it. 

It was terrifying at first. Everyone thought they failed, that Vecna and the Upside Down had somehow survived—

That El had sacrificed herself for nothing. 

But it was truly over, and they had to live in the aftermath of it all. 

“There was an earthquake a few years ago,” the lie rolled off his tongue, having been rehearsed and practiced a million times. “It was really bad. We got trapped in the old library— it practically collapsed on top of us.”

Carlton paled. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up all those—”

“It’s ok,” Will deflected. “It was a search party accident,” Will told him. He raised both his hands to show him the pink scars wrapped around them. “Ropes burned through my skin when they were trying to pull me out of the rubble.”

“Oh, wow.” His eyes darted around, unable to look at Will. He cleared his throat. “That’s—”

“Terrible? Tragic? Awful?” Will just shrugged. 

It was all a lie. The sympathies of others didn’t feel genuine; they were feeling sorry over something that never really happened. 

"Terrible, yeah,” he breathed. “It makes sense why Mike—” He suddenly looked remorseful. His eyes widened. “I shouldn’t have called him weird.”

No, you shouldn’t have, Will thought. Instead, he said, “It’s ok.” 

An awkward moment of silence passed between them. 

“Anyway—”

“Do you—”

“Oh,” Will blinked. “You— go ahead.”

“I just,” rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks turned pink. “I was wondering if you’d want to hang out. Maybe tomorrow— Saturday?”

Will doesn’t think he could ever hear the day Saturday again without blushing. 

“I already have plans. Saturday. With my friends,” he stampered, his face feeling very warm. Carlton’s eyes dropped. Then, because Will was an empath and he didn’t like to see people experience any form of sadness, he said, “But maybe Sunday? I could— I could make time on Sunday.”

“Oh, totally— that works for me,” he smiled brightly. 

“Great,” Will whispered. Just great. “I’ll call you later, and we can talk. About Sunday.”

Carlton nodded. “Ok, awesome.”

This was anything but awesome. 

This was not going to end well for anyone. 

Saturday rolled in quickly. 

Will felt like he had no time to prepare for its arrival. 

He helped his mom pack and tidy up the house; they spent the afternoon doing laundry, music playing softly as they hummed and danced around the house. Hopper tried to look disinterested, but it was easy for them to rope him into a corny little dance. 

It felt like a perfect harmony— the universe was doing its part, cooperating for once. 

He had his mom— who was going to marry her greatest love— and Hopper. He was different from what Will had expected. He was much softer around the edges. The years of grief had done that to him. Instead of harboring all the horrible emotions, he let them free. 

He talked about Sarah more freely. Will could picture the color of her hair and the sound of her laugh. He mentioned El every chance he got— I think she’d like that purple shirt, that new flavor of ice cream, that shaggy-looking dog over there. He carried her with him everywhere; he saw her in the most mundane parts of life. 

Will felt safe in his new home. It was a feeling he didn’t think he’d ever have: coming home from school to a house devoid of trauma. The walls didn’t harbor bad memories. Angry voices didn’t linger in the air vents. 

The phone rang, startling Will. 

He had been drawing. 

It was sort of a grotesque drawing, a disjointed version of himself. Will stared at the page, charcoal smeared everywhere. 

He blinked. 

He didn’t even realize he had opened his sketch book.

It wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened. 

Time felt different after the final battle. Some days moved quickly, others lagged on, like they were stalling, waiting for something to happen. Sometimes, hours slipped away from Will without him even realizing. 

It was just another side effect of the Upside Down, of the Mind Flayers' possession; it stole his memories before, and maybe it always would. Maybe one day he’d have no memories left at all. 

The phone kept ringing. 

Will jumped up, his heart beating loudly in his ears. 

He stumbled to the phone, his legs feeling shaky. 

Before he could even speak into the phone, Mike’s voice burst through the other end. 

“They have a new flavor of Jolly Ranchers,” he said. “It’s called peach lemonade.”

Will blinked. He blinked again. “Why are you calling me to talk about Jolly Ranchers?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound harsh. Will would pick up the phone to talk to Mike about anything, honestly. It was just so…random. 

"Holly made mom buy a bunch of new candy, and I remembered you’ve been liking Jolly Ranchers a lot lately,” he rambled, “and thought I’d bring some over.”

“Oh,” Will blushed. He twirled the phone cord around his finger absent-mindedly. “Peach lemonade sounds good.”

“Cool. I’ll bring some over later then.”

A moment of silence passed. It was just the sound of Mike’s breathing in his ear. 

“Were you…calling for anything else?” Will asked. 

“No,” Mike said. “No. That— that was it.”

Will laughed lightly. “Ok.”

“Ok.”

“I’m gonna go now,” Will smiled, feeling suddenly light. “I still have to fold some laundry before you come over.”

Will could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t clean for me. I don’t care about your dirty laundry.”

“I know you don’t,” Will huffed a laugh. “I don’t think you and a laundry machine have ever gotten along.”

“Hey, my laundry gets done, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Does it, Michael?”

Mike huffed. “Yes, it does.”

“Mike,” he rolled his eyes, “last week you wore the same sweatshirt three days in a row.”

“It was clean enough.”

“Clean enough?” he pressed. “That’s not even a thing.”

“It absolutely is.”

Will propped his hip against the counter. “Mike, something’s either clean or it’s not.”

Will could hear rustling on the other end of the line. “Whatever. I don’t hear you complaining when you want to borrow my clothes.”

Heat crept up the back of his neck instantly.

He held the phone very still. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

Mike hummed smugly into the receiver. “So my laundry only smells bad when I’m wearing it?”

Will hid his smile behind his hand as if anyone was around to see it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Mike said dramatically, “you continue to invite me into your home.”

Will rolled his eyes even though Mike couldn’t see it. “I invite you in because otherwise you’d be standing outside my house like a stray dog.”

“Wow.”

“You know I’m right,” Will teased. 

“You wound me, Will, you know that?” 

“You are so dramatic,” Will huffed. Another grin spread across his face before he could stop it.

On the other end of the line, Mike’s voice softened again. “What time should I come over?”

Will’s heart fluttered in his chest. He glanced toward the window. The late afternoon light was turning gold across the yard.

“Six?”

“Six,” Mike repeated.

A beat passed.

Neither of them hung up.

Finally, Mike cleared his throat. “Okay, now you can go fold your laundry.”

Will smiled to himself. “Ok,” Will whispered into the phone. 

The television flickered blue across the walls, across the threadbare couch, across Mike’s face where he sat hunched forward with absolute seriousness, elbows on his knees. 

When Mike arrived, Will had thought the tension between them would snap immediately, like a rubber band pulled too tautly. 

But what unfolded was something…worse. 

They argued over whether or not you actually needed to preheat your oven. Mike said it was entirely unnecessary, Will argued otherwise. If it was listed in the instructions, they had to follow it. 

They stood, side-by-side, elbows brushing, as they laid out frozen cinnamon rolls across a baking sheet. They ate an entire plate of microwaved nachos and a bowl of very hot pizza rolls. Mike kept burning his mouth, and Will kept laughing at him. 

It was normal. It was familiar, the easy back-and-forth banter, the playful shoving. The comfortable silence as Mike concentrated on drizzling the frosting over each cinnamon roll. It was—

Quietly domestic. Perfect in every way. 

It was what Will yearned for the most. He tried not to dwell on the longing that pressed against his heart. At least he had something. 

The night went on, they laughed about random memories, they prank-called Steve because they were still somehow twelve-year-old boys at heart. Then, they decided to watch a movie. 

Will was sprawled sideways beside him, his socked feet tucked under Mike’s thigh for warmth.

Onscreen, men in dark suits crowded around Harvey Dent at some fundraiser.

Will narrowed his eyes.

“That guy’s working for him,” he told Mike.

Mike didn’t look away from the TV. “Who?”

Will pointed at the screen. “The one by the champagne tower.”

Mike squinted. “He’s been onscreen for like thirty seconds.”

“Yeah,” Will replied. “And he’s clearly acting shady. Look— he’s sweating.”

Mike finally turned to stare at him. “You think being sweaty…makes you evil?”

Will shrugged. 

Mike gave him a deadpan look. 

Onscreen, the man laughed too loudly at something Harvey Dent said.

Will pointed immediately. “See?”

“That proves nothing,” he huffed, falling back against the couch. 

“He has villain energy,” Will explained further. 

Mike groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch cushions. “You are ruining cinema.”

Will smiled faintly, eyes fixed on the screen. “You said that last week, too.”

“Because you guessed the ending of Clue in the first twenty minutes,” he let his hands fall loudly in his lap. 

Will chuckled. “It was obvious.”

“It was not obvious,” Mike said, rolling his head to the side to glare at Will. 

Will shrugged again. “The killer had weird shoes.”

Mike blinked at him. “What does that even mean?”

Will lifted one shoulder, trying to hide the grin spreading across his face. 

Mike looked mildly annoyed, but Will refused to look back at him. 

The movie continued. Gotham glowed on the screen, all towering cathedrals and smoke and shadows. Every few minutes, lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating the living room in pale white light before sinking back into blue darkness.

Mike and Will both reached into the popcorn bowl between them without looking. Their fingers accidentally became entangled. 

Neither of them moved away. 

Will’s heart raced. 

He swallowed. “We haven’t—”

“— Practiced,” Mike breathed. 

“Do you want to?” Will asked softly. 

“If you want to,” Mike said. 

Will took the bowl of popcorn and set it on the coffee table. Then, slowly, he crawled into Mike’s lap. 

Mike’s hand immediately went to hold Will’s waist. His prosthetic fingers were cold against the sliver of skin above his waistband. Will shivered, but it wasn’t because of the cold. Will ran his fingers through Mike’s hair, cupping the back of his neck. 

Will leaned down to press their lips together before a thought came to him. 

“What if,” he breathed, their mouths almost touching, “I just wanted this?”

Mike pulled back, his brows twitching together. 

“What if I didn’t want anything…more?” Will asked, his eyes searching Mike’s face. 

His hands were gripping Will’s hips before sliding up, under his shirt. Will gasped softly. His large hands traveled up his back and over his shoulder blades. He leaned forward, pressing Will closer to him. He buried his face in Will’s chest. 

“I’d— I’d take whatever you’d give me,” he breathed. He pressed his lips over Will’s heart before pulling back. He was breathless. “No kiss— all the kisses. More than kissing. I don’t care.”

“I like kissing you,” Will said shyly. 

Mike smiled, “Yeah?”

Will bit his lip and nodded. “But…what if that’s all I want to…practice?” 

“Then that’s all we practice,” he said plainly. 

Will was never easily convinced of anything. “I just— kissing is nice. But, I think doing more— it might change things. And I don’t want things to change between us. I like us how we are.”

Something strange flickered over Mike’s face. It was a blink-and-you’d-miss kind of expression. For a moment, he looked sad. Almost devastated. But it vanished quickly. 

“Then let’s just kiss,” he said quietly. 

Will felt his chest loosen. All that worry and fear left him. He felt…happy with his choice. For the first time since Wednesday night, he felt like he had chosen something good. 

“Kiss me right now?” Will asked, brushing their noses together. 

Mike pressed his lips gently against Will’s. It was sweet, Mike carefully exploring his lips. 

His hands tightened around Will’s waist, and then he was turning them sideways so he could lay Will down on the couch, his body hovering over his. 

His mouth captured Will’s small noise of surprise. He pressed forward, coaxing Will’s mouth open so he could suck on his tongue and on his bottom lip. 

Will’s legs tightened around his hips, his knees drawing up toward Mike’s underarms. He tugged on his hair a little harder than he’d meant to.

Mike, apparently, really liked that. He groaned, low and heavy, his breath ghosting over Will’s top lip. 

They pulled back at the same time, both their chests rising and falling rapidly. 

Mike looked beautiful. His hair tousled, his lips red, his cheeks flushed. 

“We should probably stop here,” Mike breathed. His eyes were wild. 

Will, feeling suddenly lightheaded, could only nod. 

They untangled themselves from each other, scooting to opposite sides of the couch. The distance between them was almost comical, considering how close they had just been. Will felt Mike’s cock against his hip, hard and warm. He had to press his legs together to suppress the heat spreading to his groin. 

They pretended to watch the rest of the movie, but Will knew neither of them was paying attention. 

After, they brushed their teeth side-by-side. It reminded Will of the many nights he spent living at the Wheelers. It had been their own little routine. They brushed their teeth together before wandering off to Mike’s room to read or do homework; they stayed together until Mike’s dad grumbled under his breath, staring into Mike’s room from the hallway. 

At least this time, there were no passive-aggressive adults to try to pull them apart. 

Will was rummaging through his drawer for some pajamas. He knew a few of Mike’s sweats and t-shirts were in there somewhere. He hid his flushed face in the top drawer. It made him feel like a little goblin hiding its treasures. 

“You drew this?” Mike asked. 

Will turned around— heat settled over his face. 

He had forgotten about his sketch book lying across the bed. 

Mike was holding it, his fingers gently running down the page. He didn’t look disgusted or alarmed. He looked intrigued. 

“It’s so detailed,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the drawing. “You’re really talented.”

“Oh,” Will breathed. His face was feeling warm for an entirely different reason. “It’s just— it’s just something random. It’s no big deal, really.”

Mike smiled softly. “Will Byers, always so humble.”

Will laughed. He walked over to stand next to Mike, peering at his own drawing over the curve of his shoulder. He didn’t remember drawing it in so much detail.

It was his face, stretched and thinned. He was screaming silently, his eyes dark pools of despair. His fingers were clawing at his chest, dragging the skin down. 

“You don’t…think it’s weird,” Will asked in a quiet voice. He looked up at Mike, but he was still staring at the sketch, mesmerized. 

Mike shook his head. “Is this how you see yourself?”

Will swallowed. “It’s how I felt inside,” he explained, “when I was possessed.”

Mike’s fingers tightened around the sketchbook. “Do you still feel this way sometimes?”

A dreadful feeling started to creep through the air. 

“Sometimes,” Will admitted, his voice small. 

Mike’s finger ran down Will’s face on the page as if he could soothe its pain. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “that that happened to you. I wish it had never happened.”

Will, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry, pressed his face into Mike’s bicep. He was overcome with emotions: sadness, sorrow, anger, fear, guilt. 

He had survived the Mind Flayer, the Hive Mind, Vecna— El hadn’t. Sometimes, he felt like he’d be better off dead, but then he remembered her. 

Jane Ives, her face so soft and kind. He remembered all the nights he’d heard his mom and Jonathan crying in the kitchen, thinking about his sister— her daughter. He remembered how tightly Hopper had hugged him after, clinging to the little boy he had been able to save, thinking about the daughters he couldn’t. 

It all came crashing over him. How lucky he was to survive. How terrible it felt to be able to live when she couldn’t. 

“It’s ok,” Will mumbled against his skin, unable to say anything else. 

Mike turned and, every so gently, pressed his lips to the top of Will’s head. 

They stayed like that for a long while, both their tears staining the drawing until it washed away the pain etched onto the page.