Archive of Our Own

Mike is about to do drugs.

He hasn’t done drugs before. He hasn’t even smoked weed, which he’s pretty sure is Drugs 101, an entry-level requirement before jumping straight into… 

Molly?

That sounds right. Even if it’s not, he convinces himself that it is because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself by asking again.

It’s a little surprising how completely unfazed everyone seems to be, gathered around the island in the kitchen of the Airbnb they’d rented for the weekend, chatting away while Max prepares the drugs as if it’s no big deal at all. 

The whole process is fascinating. Mike can’t tear his eyes away, transfixed by how precise and methodical Max is, clearly having done this before. In front of her sits a small scale. On top of that, a torn sheet of paper with a crease down the middle that she uses to transfer the weighed bits of crushed crystal into empty capsules. She’s been doing this for ten minutes, hands and fingers working away at her drug assembly line while she laughs and makes jokes.

There’s an air of nonchalance in the room that Mike doesn’t recognize, a shift in party dynamics that had happened under his nose.

This is something they do now, apparently.

Even Will seems unperturbed by the whole display. Mike isn’t sure how he missed it, because he knows that Will smokes weed and that he goes out to gay clubs with Max when she comes to visit on long weekends and that Will always seems extra tired the next day. 

He feels stupid for not noticing. It seems so obvious now.

I’m behind.

He turns to look at Will, hoping his nerves aren’t painted all over his face. As if his fingers drumming along the marble aren’t a dead giveaway.

Will meets his gaze with a soft smile, cocking his head to the side.

He knows.

Keeping his voice low, Will leans in slightly.

“You’ll like it. It’s fun.”

Mike swallows the ball of anxiety in his throat.

“What, um— what does it do?”

“Ha, well— it’s kinda hard to describe. It makes everything, like… brighter, I guess, and… music sounds amazing, and it makes you want to dance—”

Sounds like my personal hell, actually.

“Oh god,” Mike says, grimacing.

“No, I know, but— you don’t care if you’re any good at it because you’re so happy and everything feels so good and it’s like… I don’t know. Every bad thing melts away and you want to hug everyone you meet.”

“Great— so I’m going to embarrass myself,” Mike groans.

He bites at a loose bit of skin on his lip and averts his eyes, silently chastising himself for not paying better attention to the group chat. If he’d known this was happening, he would have prepared for this moment, arming himself with an arsenal of drug facts. But no—he chose to skim over the details of the trip and now he’s being punished with the reminder that he’s allergic to fun. He might be breaking out in hives right now, actually.

Will laughs. “Not necessarily… but I’ll make sure to record it if you do.”

Mike rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the smile tugging at his lips that Will always seems to draw out of him.

He scans the room. It’s already a bit of a mess from the night before. Counter tops littered with liquor bottles, shot glasses, half-empty bags of chips. They’d arrived a day early under the guise of “getting a full night’s rest” before the festival, only to spend the night playing drinking games until their eyelids gave out.

Lucas sits perched atop the barstool closest to Max, playing DJ with his phone and a Bluetooth speaker, a job he takes very seriously. Dustin to his right, cutting up a lime for tequila shots while Jane sits right next to him, finishing up one of the many beaded bracelets she’s made today. No one seems nervous at all.

Mike has another question. He looks at Will again. 

“Have you, um… done this a lot?”

Will shrugs. “Just a few times.”

“Cool,” Mike says, nodding his head slowly in an attempt to look carefree.

It doesn’t feel carefree. It feels choppy and awkward and he might as well be wearing a big neon sign that reads WORLD’S BIGGEST LOSER around his neck.

His gaze drops to the counter in front of him.

When did everyone get so… cool?

Mind reader he is, Will rests his fingers lightly against Mike’s exposed bicep, just beneath the hem of his sleeve. He presses closer, speaking low into his ear. 

“Hey, you know Dustin and Jane haven’t done it before either, right? It’s not just you.”

“Right.”

It’s meant to make him feel better, less alone, but it doesn’t.

Will is his best friend. They live together. Have been since they started college three years ago, but it’s more than that—they have routines. They get takeout every Sunday. The movie theater down the street doesn’t even ask for their IDs anymore. Mike makes Will’s coffee every morning just how he likes it. He knows Will better than he knows himself.

Except he doesn’t. Will has secrets now, things that are just for him, things that Mike has no idea about. Mike knows it’s partially his own fault because Will would have told him if he asked but that’s not really the part that upsets him. 

He doesn’t mind that Will has his own life separate from Mike. It makes sense. It’s probably healthy, really. Mike feels lucky that Will has kept him around as long as he has considering they met in kindergarten. Sometimes he even wonders if he’s holding Will back, so it makes him happy to learn that’s not true. Will is asserting his independence. This is a good thing.

So no, Mike doesn’t mind. 

It just stings to realize that, at some point, Will decided to stop telling him things.

Mike pushes the thought aside, because Will is telling him now, inviting him into this part of himself that he’s been keeping a secret. 

Will wants to do drugs with him, and even though Mike is kind of freaking out about it, he’s determined to act normal and cool and totally chill about the whole thing. If he manages to make it through the night without making a complete ass of himself—which he’s not sure he’s capable of, but he’s going to try—maybe things will be different. Maybe Mike will be different, someone Will feels he can talk to again. That’s all he wants, really.

It's been thirty-eight minutes since Mike took the molly.

"You won't feel it immediately," Max had explained while handing everyone their doses. "Kinda depends on your metabolism, how much you've eaten that day, stuff like that. Sometimes it's twenty minutes, sometimes it's over an hour."

She'd given everyone exactly two capsules—one for when they arrive and one for a few hours later, to extend the “roll” further into the night (when Mike asked why it was called rolling she gave some cryptic response about “riding the waves,” whatever that means). "If it's been an hour and you're still not feeling it, wait even longer before you take the second one, trust me. It'll hit you like a mack truck if you don't and I'm here to have fun, not play babysitter all night."

Mike knows she said it for a reason, but he can't stop reaching in his pocket to fidget with the other capsule because it’s already hit everyone else. Since arriving at the festival an hour ago, he’s been watching the entire party dissolve into blinding lights one-by-one while he waits to stop being bored. 

Maybe his brain is broken.

He looks at his watch again. Thirty-nine minutes.

Wait even longer.

Mike doesn't want to wait even longer. He wants to be high. It feels ridiculous considering how terrified he was a few hours ago, but the drugs are in his system now and there's no going back, and it would be nice if his brain could just… catch up already. He’s ready to have fun, for once.

The second capsule is burning a hole in his pocket, but it's also scalding his fingertips, so he stops touching it and tries to focus on how he feels. Maybe it already kicked in and he just hasn't noticed it. Maybe it's more subtle than he expected.

His heart is definitely beating faster—way faster. It's hammering against his ribs even harder now that he's paying attention to it and he wishes he hadn't thought about it at all because he's counting the thumps and he can't remember what a healthy heart rate is but he's pretty sure it shouldn't be beating this fast unless he's running. He's not even dancing. He's just standing around like a loser and to top it all off, he's sweating.

Sweating a lot, actually. He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, his palm along the nape of his neck, finding himself extraordinarily damp considering they're outside and it's actually quite breezy, a cool sixty-eight degrees in the middle of May.

Everything about him is moist. His armpits. His lower back. His hair. 

Except the inside of his mouth, which feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. He can't remember the last time he drank water. 

Water. Right. Max said that's important.

Mike pats his pockets furiously, finding nothing.

That's weird… it should be right—

"Looking for this?"

He whips his head around to find Will standing in front of him, a half-empty water bottle dangling from his fingertips. His mouth is still too dry for him to do anything but snatch the bottle out of Will's hand and down the rest of it in three swift gulps.

Will chuckles, and it comes out soft and warm and fuzzy.

"Thirsty?"

Mike feels out of breath. "Yeah," he huffs, clutching the empty plastic bottle. "Fuck, I needed that. How did— where—"

Will laughs again, with his whole chest this time, full-bodied and bright. 

The sound washes over Mike, engulfing him. He shudders, the skin on his arms erupting in goosebumps.

"You gave it to me, like, ten minutes ago, Mike."

"Oh."

Realizing Will looks fuzzy, Mike squints. It does nothing, so he squeezes his eyes shut to try and reset. When he opens them, his vision tunnels and he nearly loses his footing, stumbling forward.

"Oh my god," Will says.

"What?"

"You're so fucking high."

Mike cocks an eyebrow. "…I am?"

Will shakes his head, grinning wide as he places a hand on Mike's shoulder to pivot him toward the stage. "Look at the lights."

It's not immediately apparent when Mike turns his head. Everything seems mostly normal, maybe a little out of focus, the way Will's face had looked just a minute ago. He stares until his eyes start to cross.

The next time the lights flash, a wide stream of lasers strobes across the stage, timed perfectly with the beat of the music. The light ripples, creating bursts in the periphery that extend out and glow and everything is still fuzzy but also crisp and colorful at the same time.

Then, his eyes do something weird. Some sort of involuntary spasm, flickering back and forth, almost vibrating. It floods his field of vision for no more than a second before he comes back.

Looking back at Will, his lips curl up into a warm smile. His eyes do the thing again.

"Shit, I am," he breathes, a soft chuckle rolling out of him. "I am so fucking high. Wow. Are you? Are you having fun?"

Another laugh spills from Will's lips, penetrating Mike’s ear drums and expanding out. Full body shivers. Damn. Mike doesn't know any of the acts at the festival, and even though the music is fine, he kind of wishes he could play Will's laugh on a loop and listen to that all night instead.

"Yes, Mike— I'm having fun. Are you having fun?"

Mike nods slowly. "'Course I am. You're here."

Will huffs a laugh. "What does that even mean?"

He pauses, not entirely sure himself, because he hadn't thought about it before saying it. Which is weird, because Mike usually overthinks everything into oblivion, thinking and thinking until his brain hurts. But his brain doesn't hurt. It feels good, actually—a pleasant buzz that doesn't just stop at his brain but floods his entire body, coming in waves just like the weird eye thing that keeps happening.

Mike shrugs, and he feels the corners of his mouth stretch across his face as involuntarily as the words pouring out of him. He knows it must look unbelievably goofy, because it feels goofy, but it makes Will laugh and Mike buzzes again.

"I don't know, I guess I— I like being around you. I always have fun when I'm with you."

For a moment, Will just stares at him. He cocks his head to the side, eyes darting wildly across his face.

Then he smiles warmly. "That's— yeah. I feel that way too."

"Good," Mike breathes. "Then we're both having fun. That's good."

"Yeah, it is."

Will has this look on his face that Mike doesn't fully understand, peering up at Mike through impossibly wide pupils, black saucers that almost swallow his hazel irises whole. His smile is a bit crooked and his brows are slightly wrinkled. He seems to be holding his breath and his eyes are still flitting about, as if he's similarly confused by the expression on Mike's face, which is not at all surprising considering Mike has experienced about ten different emotions in the past sixty seconds. Mike figures he must look a mess.

Another buzz, a big wave that sweeps Mike off his feet and sends ripples through his visual field again. When he comes to with another shiver, Will is laughing again and his eyes are all crinkled up around the edges and he looks so full of joy that it makes Mike want to cry because all he ever wants is to see Will happy.

Mike wants to tell him. He wants to hug him.

His body moves on instinct, arms draping around Will's shoulders, pulling him into the tightest, warmest hug and oh my god, he's pretty sure a hug has never felt this good before. He thinks he could stay like this all night.

Will snakes his arms around Mike's waist, palms settling firmly on his back, humming as he settles into it. Mike hopes he can feel the buzz too.

"This is the best hug ever," Mike says before he has time to overthink it. "This is the best. You're the best."

"Mike," Will sighs against his shoulder.

"I mean it, Will." He squeezes tighter. "You're my best fucking friend in the whole world, you know that?"

Will laughs, sending yet another wave of shivers through Mike's body.

"I know."

The music pulses through them, thumping in Mike’s chest, and with their bodies pressed so close together it almost seems like their heartbeats are synced up to the rhythm. Something about that is comforting. Mike melts into the feeling, going boneless against Will, so limp they nearly topple to the ground.

An eruption of laughter behind them rips Mike from the moment. He pulls away from Will.

He turns to find Max and Lucas watching them, desperately holding onto each other as they gasp for breath through fits of giggles. 

When Mike spots them, he feels like it's been hours since he's seen them last. He lunges, wrapping his arms around both of them, pulling them into an unsteady hug. It still feels good, a little tingly, but not anywhere near as good as hugging Will.

They laugh even harder.

Mike releases his grip, pulling away. His eyes flit between them until interrupted by one of those weird spasms. He blinks through it, steadying himself.

"What's so funny?"

Lucas shoots Mike a toothy grin, gripping his shoulder. 

"Nothing, man, just— you're so wobbly."

"It's a good thing," Max laughs. "You're always so tense so it's like… seeing a dog walk on its hind legs or something."

"Oh… okay," Mike says. "Where have you been?"

Max looks at Lucas, one eyebrow arched, smirk on her lips.

"Oh, we've been right here the whole time."

"Yeah, we've just been… dancing," Lucas adds. He slides an arm around Max's waist, swaying their bodies to the beat.

Dancing.

Mike doesn't like dancing, usually. It sounds sort of fun right now, though, which is funny because this isn't the type of music he normally listens to but the beat is moving through him and the next thing he knows he's shifting back and forth between his feet, head lolling back, getting lost in it. 

He's always said he doesn't know how to dance—and he stands by that actually, because in this moment he's not even really thinking about it. It's as if the music is propelling him, a driving force that moves his limbs and joints involuntarily. He doesn't have to know what to do. He just does. It's not embarrassing, or if it is, he doesn't care because Will is dancing too. Dancing and smiling and watching Mike and Mike is watching him too.

Mike wants to get closer, so he asks. What a concept, asking for what you want. Everything feels so much easier and simpler with the molly in his system.

"Dance with me?"

Will raises his eyebrows. "We are dancing."

"No, like— with me."

Tilting his head, Will squints. 

His eyes widen. "You mean, like—"

"Like—" Mike steps forward, closing the distance between them until they're maybe an inch apart. "Like… touching, maybe— I don't know. I just… the hug was nice. It felt good. I want… more of that, I think."

Will blinks. "Touching."

"Is that… weird?"

"Um… maybe a little, but… the hug was nice, so," Will says softly. "Sure."

Mike tenses for a moment, unsure. But then another wave hits him and his vision flutters and all he can think about is touching Will again, so he pulls him in. 

It's strange how different it feels from hugging Max and Lucas. Warmer. As if his skin is on fire and on ice all at once, tingling and burning, all of his atoms crashing into each other. The pleasure shocks that wash over his body in waves are amplified tenfold when he touches Will, the buzz sticking around rather than slipping away.

The music carries him, guiding him, like it did when he was dancing alone. Only it's more because he's dancing with Will. It starts as a hug, a tender caress, but then it morphs. Feet shuffling from side to side, hips swaying to the rhythm. Their limbs shift to accommodate each other, moving through the thin gap between their bodies, a gap that’s so swollen with heat it may as well not exist at all. Mike wants to get closer. He needs more, and he's not sure what more really means, but he knows that he needs it. 

His hands drift, gliding along Will's arms, fingers grazing his skin, grasping. It's electric, every touch setting off sparks, his entire body vibrating with energy. Touching another person has never felt like this before. Mike wasn't aware it could feel like this, but it's addictive. 

More, more, more.

Then, Will pulls away.

Mike feels the loss immediately, the way his chest hollows out.

He gasps, reaching out, but the emptiness is quickly replaced by a rush to the head.

Buzz. Flicker.

Will isn't gone, not completely. His fingers linger on Mike's forearm as he scans the crowd, knitting his brows together. He looks at Mike, frantic.

"Where the hell did they go?"

Mike's brain is nothing but buzz at this point, and it feels amazing, but the buzz makes it hard to swim through his thoughts and form a coherent sentence. Like moving through jello. He can get there—it's just slow.

Too slow for Will. He's already pivoted, stepping toward Lucas and Max. Mike expects to be left behind, but Will tugs him along by the hand. It's only a split second, but the ghost of his touch remains, the zaps on his palm so strong Mike thinks they might linger all night.

Will says something Mike can't hear over the deafening bass. Max motions to her ear, furrowing her brow. She can't hear him either.

He shouts over the music. "Jane… and… Dustin!"

"Ohhhh!" she shouts back. 

Max braces herself against Lucas' shoulders, rising on her tiptoes as she looks around the crowd.

Her eyes light up. "There!" 

She points toward the far back corner.

Mike swivels around, squinting to accommodate for the fuzziness. Flicker.

He shakes his head, his visual field clearing to reveal Dustin standing in front of a guy around their age dressed in head-to-toe neon green. He's tall and decked out with accessories, including the pair of gloves on his hands, tiny lights on the fingertips that he's waving around in Dustin's face, putting him into a trance. Jane is maybe a few feet away, excitedly trading one of the many bracelets she made with a girl wearing nothing but hot pink combat boots, fishnets, and a rainbow bikini. 

When Mike turns back to face the group, all of them having watched the scene unfold, they burst into laughter and nod in agreement. Jane and Dustin are fine. More than fine, honestly. It seems to Mike that they fit right in.

Lucas and Max go right back to dancing.

Will's eyes fall right back on Mike.

Mike feels his breath catch in his chest.

The flashing lights cascade across his glistening skin, painting his face with rich, variegated hues. His pupils are still swollen and the smile on his face is so tender and sweet and Mike isn't sure if he's ever noticed just how beautiful Will is, how soft his skin looks, how easy it is to get lost in his eyes. He's always thought Will was pretty, but it's like the molly has opened the doors to something else. He's beautiful, but more than that, Mike wants to touch his face, to feel his skin, to count his eyelashes, to—whoa. His eyes cross. He can't breathe.

Then, Will steps closer. His fingers trail up Mike’s arms as their eyes meet.

"You okay?"

Mike inhales through his nose. He nods. "Mhmm, 'course. Just… intense."

Will lets out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, this— ha, this stuff is pretty strong."

"Mmm, it's nice, though," Mike hums.

"Told you."

"Yeah, you— you were right. It's— whoo— I like it."

They fall back into a rhythm with the music, farther apart than before, but still close enough for hands and fingers to wander. Grazing up and down the skin of their forearms, palms clasping together as they move within the small space they've carved out for themselves in the middle of this crowd, as if they're the only two people that exist. Mike wonders why they've never done this before. Dancing. 

He wants to do it more, after this, if he's brave enough without the drugs in his system.

The lights strobe again. Flicker.

Such a strange sensation. Not unpleasant. Just weird.

When his vision stops vibrating, he finds Will's face bathed in prismatic light again.

"So pretty," Mike breathes out, his hands traveling up Will's arms, fingers grazing his jaw.

Will's eyes widen. "What?"

Mike raises his voice. "I said you're pretty. You're so pretty, you know that?"

His hands keep exploring, thumbs and fingertips brushing over every square inch of his face. The slight wrinkle in his forehead. His eyelids. The bridge of his nose. 

When Mike's thumb grazes the tip of it, Will shivers. His face flushes red. "Mike."

"It's the truth," Mike says. He keeps his voice low. Gentle, like the delicate touch of his fingers across Will's skin, which is indeed very soft, just as soft as it looks. "You're beautiful, Will."

Will scrunches his nose up, but he doesn't pull away. "Come on, Mike, stop."

Mike lifts his thumb to the tip of Will's nose again. "Especially when you do that."

"What?"

He demonstrates, wrinkling his nostrils.

There's no way it's as cute as when Will does it.

Will watches, shaking his head. 

"You mean this?" he asks, scrunching his nose again. 

Buzz. Flicker.

Mike shudders, steadying himself against Will's shoulders. 

"Mmm, yeah, that," he laughs softly. "Like a bunny. So cute."

Will snorts. "You're so high."

"Yes— and, I'm noticing…" Mike hums, closing his eyes. "My brain… works differently, or something. Like I have no filter."

"Oh yeah?"

Mike opens his eyes, because he doesn't like that he can't see Will's face. Even if it is fuzzy. "Yeah. Everything is so…" He pulls his hands away for a moment to make a vague gesture, twisting and turning his hands wildly as he points to his head. "It's a mess up there, usually. But right now it's like… I don't have to think so hard. Or maybe more that I can't, even if I wanted to."

Will's lips curl into a lopsided smile. "Interesting.”

"It is interesting," Mike says. "It also means I have to be telling the truth. So… you're beautiful. I don't make the rules, Will."

"Fine," Will sighs. "I'm beautiful. Happy?"

"Yes. Because you are."

"And you're high."

Mike smirks. "So I'm not beautiful?"

"I didn't say that," Will laughs, his hands traveling up to muss Mike's hair. "You are. You're beautiful and you’re high and you're rambling."

The moment Will's fingers tangle into his hair, Mike melts, because it tickles and tingles and he never wants Will to stop. 

As soon as he leans forward into the touch, it’s gone.

"No, wait—"

Will brings his hands to rest on Mike's forearms. "What?"

"Come back," Mike says. He grabs Will's hands, guiding them back to his head. "It feels so good."

"This?" Will teases, weaving his fingers into Mike’s hair. He cords them through the curls, massaging his scalp. 

The sensation is otherworldly. Mike has always enjoyed having his hair played with, but this is something else entirely. Closing his eyes, he loses himself in the feeling, a shaky groan rolling out of his throat.

Buzz.

"God, yeah, right there."

"You're ridiculous," Will giggles, but he doesn't stop. He tugs on the strands, every pull sending prickles down the back of Mike's neck.

"I— I think this might be— ahhh— the best thing I've ever felt in my life."

"I'm sure it's very nice.”

Mike's eyes shoot open. He looks down at Will. 

"I'm serious. Here," he says, driving his own fingers into Will's hair, rubbing circles into his scalp with his thumbs.

Will gasps. "Oh. Oh." 

His eyes flutter shut. 

Vibrations ripple through Mike’s field of vision as he works his hands through the strands, kneading into Will’s scalp with the pads of his fingers. 

Will lets his head be carried by the movement, dissolving under Mike's touch. He lets out a soft whimper. 

Buzz. Flicker.

And… something else. The buzz carries lower, a familiar heat stirring low in his belly.

Oh. It's like that.

Or maybe it's just the drugs but… that was something.

His fingers slow. Will opens his eyes. "Mmm— why'd you stop?"

Mike tries to swallow the lump in his throat but the walls feel like sandpaper. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

"Water. I need water."

"Oh yeah," Will says, still a little dazed, dopey smile on his face. "That's such a good idea."

"Should we go get some?"

Will blinks, his eyes glazing over. He shakes his head. "No, no— you stay here," he hums, grinning widely. "I'll go get it."

Mike frowns. He doesn't love the idea of Will going alone. 

He could get lost. He could get hurt.

"But—"

"I'll be right back!"

Just like that, he's off. Disappearing into the crowd.

Another wave hits him, but the buzz doesn't linger quite as long without Will's skin beneath his fingertips. Flicker.

The music and lights envelop him, penetrating his limbs. He gives himself over to it, disintegrating into pure energy. Bouncing back and forth. Dancing. Truly, actually dancing. Mike Wheeler… dancing. A warm smile caresses his lips.

Then, a hand on his shoulder.

He looks up to find Max standing there—hands on her hips, a shit-eating grin on her face.

"Having fun?"

Mike hums. A wave hits him. His eyes oscillate. "Yeah," he says softly, bobbing his head.

Max squeezes his shoulder before pulling him in for a hug. "Good. You deserve to be happy."

He's not sure why she's saying this now, but he is happy.

"Mmm, I am, yeah. You too? Are you happy?"

She pulls away, glancing over her shoulder. Lucas is engaged in a conversation with a stranger, animatedly waving his hands around. 

Looking back at Mike, she nods, stars in her eyes. "Yeah. Definitely."

"That's good. We're both happy."

"Yes," Max chuckles. She zones out for a second before shaking her head. Must be getting the weird eye vibrations too. "And very high, holy shit."

Mike lets out a heavy, contented sigh. "So fucking high. This is the best," he beams, pulling her in for another hug. "This is so much fun, Max— thank you for putting it together. Such a good idea. I miss everyone so much. I miss you so much."

"I know, I miss you too," she says. "Let's fix that."

He pulls away, gripping onto her shoulders. "Oh my god, can we? Please?"

Before Max can answer, there's a clamor of noise in the crowd next to them. Mike looks over Max's shoulder. There's a group of people circled up, a big gap in the center.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know."

Wandering over to the circle, Mike peers over the sea of heads, looking into the center. 

"Oh my god," he laughs.

"What? I can't see."

"It's Dustin, he's— uhhh, actually, I don't know what he's doing."

"What?!"

Mike finds a good angle with a decent crack of space between heads and pulls Max into it. Both of them look on with wide eyes, taking in the sight before them: Dustin, flailing a pair of strobing light-up balls around in the air, a big toothy grin on his face. He looks like he knows what he's doing. Jane is cheering him on nearby, dancing away. On her head sits a crown made out of glowsticks. 

He meets Max's eyes, blown wide with bewilderment. "Where— did he bring those with him?"

"I— I don't think so?"

Then, Lucas appears, pulling them both into an embrace from behind.

"What are we looking at?"

Max points to the crowd. "Dustin has a new party trick, apparently."

Beside him, Mike feels a hand on his back. 

He turns. Will smiles at him fondly. Buzz. Flicker.

"New party trick, huh?"

Mike barely registers the words from his mouth, his brain all fuzzy again, filled with nothing but Will Will Will, so maybe it's not just the molly.

"You're back."

"I'm back," Will laughs softly, shaking his head as he looks up at Mike, sliding something cold and wet into his hands. "With water."

Mike blinks and looks down at his hand. Water. 

"Oh my god," he breathes. Nothing else matters in this moment. He twists the cap off and takes several big gulps, dribbles spilling down his chin. When he lowers the bottle, he groans as he swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. "God, that's good. I fucking love water."

"Uh huh." Will smirks, taking a sip of his own. He screws the cap back on the top and slides it into his back pocket before reaching his hand up to Mike's face. 

He swipes his thumb across Mike's chin, and time stops. Buzz. Buzz. Holy shit buzz.

Mike lifts his arm, catching Will's hand in his own.

"Did I miss some?"

Will nods slowly. His face is bright pink. He's so fucking cute.

"Yeah. But I got it."

"Thank you," Mike smiles. "That could've been embarrassing."

Will huffs a soft laugh. "Maybe I should have taken a picture first."

The crowd thins out, deafening cheers dissolving into murmurs and hums that blend into the deep bass from the speakers. Jane and Dustin push their way through the horde of people, both of them bouncing with energy.

Dustin beams. "Did you see that?! Please tell me someone got that on video."

Lucas lifts his phone in the air. "Dude, you know I gotchu."

"Where the hell did you get those?" Max points to the glowing orbs dangling from his hand.

Jane has a lollipop in her mouth, which she pulls from her blue-stained lips with a pop as she exclaims, "Our new friend just gave them to him!"

Will raises his eyebrows. "Your new friend?"

"Yes! We have made so many new friends already. Everyone is so nice! And—" She pulls the crown of glowsticks from her head, holding it out. "Look what I made."

Max grabs the crown, inspecting it. "You made this?"

Nodding his head, Dustin folds his arms over his chest, grinning widely. "Isn't it amazing?"

"Thank you." Jane giggles, knocking into Dustin's shoulder. Then, her eyes widen. "Oh no— what time is it?"

Dustin looks at his watch. He gasps. "Shit shit shit shit, okay, we gotta go."

Lucas howls a single, sharp laugh. "Wait, you’re— but you just got back—"

Jane is already pulling Dustin away by the hand. He turns around, shouting back at them as he disappears back into the crowd. "I know, I know, but we told our friends we would meet them at the silent disco at eleven. We'll see you later though!"

Mike looks at Will, then Max and Lucas.

The four of them shake their heads, erupting into a fit of laughter.

Max puts her hands on her hips. "I think we've officially been replaced by a bunch of ravers."

Mike has spent the last hour in a daze, a mixture of bliss and overwhelm.

He's not sure where Lucas and Max have disappeared to. Or when, actually, because he’s only just noticed they're gone, every second of his time eaten up by the feeling of Will's fingers on his arms, on his face, in his hair.

For the past sixty minutes, he's been buzzing nonstop and it only just now seems to have evened out. It’s steady and rolling now, rather than crashing and swallowing him up. The flickers are still there, but they've slowed.

His hands have been everywhere, exploring while they dance. Right now, his fingertips are tickling the back of Will's neck.

Will has his eyes closed, humming as he melts into the feeling.

The heat in Mike's belly is still there. He's not sure what to do with it and he knows that all this touching is making it swell and expand, but Will seems to be enjoying it just as much as Mike is, so he doesn't dare stop. Will's eyes flutter open. He gazes at Mike through fluttering lashes.

"Mmm, know what I was thinking?"

Buzz. Mike shoots back a smile. "What's that?"

Will leans in to whisper into his ear. "We haven't taken our second dose yet."

Mike raises an eyebrow. "Oh. Should we?"

"I mean, I'm having fun," Will says, shrugging his shoulders. "And I can feel it wearing off and… I kinda don't want this to end yet."

"Same."

"Okay, so we should—"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do it."

Both of them fumble around in their pockets for their second dose.

They grin at each other. Mike holds it out. "Cheers."

Will rolls his eyes as he knocks his capsule into Mike's before downing it. "You're such a dork."

Mike beams and takes a swig of his water.

"Guess we're in this for a little longer, huh?"

The music guides them back together. Hands wandering, hips swaying, heads bobbing. Mike had forgotten about the extra pill, but he's glad Will suggested it, because he likes feeling brave for once. Doing things on impulse, without fear of consequence. It's nice. This is nice. Dancing with Will. Touching him. He wants more. 

His fingers brush along Will's biceps, delving beneath the hem of his sleeves, gliding along his silky smooth skin. 

"Your skin is so soft. How is it so soft? Is it this soft everywhere?"

Will averts his eyes, biting his lip. Mike trails his fingers higher. 

"I don't know," Will says.

Mike is feeling bold. "Do you think— when we get back, I mean, if we're still feeling good— maybe we could do this with our shirts off?"

"Oh."

"I mean— we don't have to, I just… think it could feel even better, y'know? But if that's weird—"

"No, um— yeah, that sounds good. But—"

"What?"

Will's face is much redder now. "Maybe we should… leave sooner if we're gonna do that? That way we're still… feeling it."

It makes sense. It makes a lot of sense. 

"Yeah, totally. I mean… we could even go, like… now if you want?"

"Right now? Just leave our friends?"

Mike looks around. He motions with his hand, a wide sweeping gesture to the people in the crowd surrounding them, none of whom they arrived with. 

"What friends?"

Will laughs. "You have a point."

"See? So—"

"Fine. Yes," Will says through a tight, barely-contained grin. "We should at least text them. Let them know we're heading out."

Mike doesn't waste a second. He whips his phone out of his pocket and furiously types a text into the group chat. Hitting send, he looks back up at Will and cocks an eyebrow. "Done. Ready?"

The venue is about twenty minutes from the Airbnb. It takes them ten minutes to maneuver their way through the crowd and another ten to call an Uber.

About halfway through their ride back, Mike realizes he's made a colossal mistake.

It happens when Mike is staring at the hem of Will's shorts, which have ridden up his thighs in a way that is driving him mad. Will is looking out the window, his head leaning against the glass, unaware that Mike is currently undressing him with his eyes.

Mike's vision tunnels, blurring. His stomach flips. Buzz. HUGE BUZZ. Flicker flicker.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

Will turns to look at him. "What?"

Mike just lifts his eyebrows and waits. 

Three, two—

"Oh… oh fuck."

"Yeah."

Will lets his head fall against the headrest, succumbing to a wave of laughter. "Oh my god. Oh my— wow— fuck." His eyelids flutter. 

Things are blurrier now, but up close, Mike can see Will's pupils vibrate once before his own vision floods.

He shivers. Will presses closer. Mike's leg is on fire.

This is going to be the longest ten minutes of his life.

The buzz is overwhelming with Will's thigh pressed against him and Will's eyes on him and the flickers keep coming and he wants to touch.

Mike reaches for Will's hand, bringing their palms flush together. He's only just now noticing how much larger his is than Will's, fingers crooking over the edge of his fingertips, swallowing Will's hand up. 

When he looks back, Will's lips are slightly parted, his gaze locked on their hands. He runs his thumb down the length of Mike's hand from the tip to the bottom of his palm. It tickles a bit. Buzz. Mike wonders if this is the first time he's noticed too.

Will meets his eyes, his thumb pressed firmly into the lower pad of Mike's middle finger. He swallows. It catches in his throat until he clears it and swallows again.

He speaks in a low whisper. "I never— um, your fingers are so—"

"Long?"

"Yeah," Will squeaks out.

Fuck. Mike feels the heat in his belly expand, rippling out, mixing with the buzz. His vision is swallowed up by flickers and a strangled gasp spills out of his throat and Will definitely hears it because when he comes to Will is staring at his lips and he's pretty sure he's going to die if he can't touch Will again soon. The hands are not enough. He wants to know if his lips are as soft as his skin.

He can't wait. He lifts a hand to Will's face, bringing the pad of his thumb to rest on his lower lip, grazing it across the pink flesh. It is soft. So soft. Will's breath hitches. 

The car rolls to a stop.

For a moment, Mike's thumb is frozen. 

Will just stares at him. Mike can't breathe. Buzz. Flicker.

The driver clears his throat. "Have a good night."

"Mike."

"Hmm?"

"We're here."

Mike shakes his head, clearing his vision. 

He drops his thumb. "Right. Yep."

Will shuffles out the door first, Mike following closely. The Airbnb is a quaint, blue cottage-style house with two floors in a family friendly neighborhood. It's past midnight, so the streets are empty and quiet. Mike tries not to make too much noise as he walks up the steps and stands behind Will, his body buzzing while Will punches in the code.

The door beeps three times before it unlocks. Will turns the knob and walks inside. 

Mike's eyes vibrate as he steps through the door and he has to grab hold of the frame to steady himself. The room floods with light as his vision steadies. 

Will comes into frame, smiling at him from the other side of the room beside the light switch. "Hi."

He's so pretty.

"Mmm, hi," Mike hums, kicking his shoes off. "That was—ha. Didn't think through the timing on that one, did I?"

Will shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath. "No. I am glad we're back though."

Mike nods, crossing the room. He wonders how long he needs to wait to ask Will to take his shirt off or if they can do it right now. He wants to do it right now. Flicker.

"Will," Mike whispers, closing the space between them. "I'm so fucking high right now."

"Me too."

He reaches out, skimming his fingertips over Will's forearms. Buzz.

"I want— can we—"

Noises from upstairs interrupt his train of thought, his moment of bravery. Thump, thump, thump. Something else. 

Mike squints, as if doing that will make it easier to hear. 

"What is that?" Will asks, keeping his voice low.

"Shhh, I'm trying to listen."

Voices. Not talking, really, but—oh. 

They lock eyes.

Will lets out a soft laugh. "Is that—"

Mike squints again to confirm. A muffled moan travels through the floorboards.

"Yep. They're so fucking."

"Wow," Will huffs. "At least we had the decency to send a text."

Buzz. Flicker. Mike grabs onto Will's arm, anchoring himself against the oscillations in his field of vision that never seem to end. The more they happen, the less he seems to mind it, because of the buzz that comes with it. It's just part of the experience and it makes it easier to melt. Like a reset.

Mike shakes his head. Wait. Did Will just suggest—

Will leans his head back against the wall. He tilts his chin up, looking at Mike through half-lidded eyes with blown out pupils. He glances down and then back up. Mike wants to touch. He needs it.

"So—" Mike grips the bottom seam of Will's shirt. He gulps. "We're back."

"We're back," Will says, scrunching his nose again, and Mike just about dies right there, a wave nearly taking him out.

Mike takes a deep breath. His fingers graze the edge of the fabric, hovering just millimeters above the skin underneath, and it tingles, charged like static electricity.

"Do you still wanna—"

Will blinks. He twists his lips up into one corner of his mouth. 

Then, he breathes out, slow and shaky. "Yeah. Let's go."

Mike releases his hands. Will grabs one of them and rolls away from the wall. 

He leads Mike down the hallway, not looking back, and Mike genuinely, actually thinks he's about to die because his heart is beating out of his chest and his hand is being shocked with ten million volts of electricity but he hopes he doesn't die because Will's skin feels so good—

Will pulls him into the room at the far end of the hall, the room Will had claimed for himself when they got here. It's a moderately sized bedroom with a queen bed. Only one side has a nightstand. There's a lamp on top of it that Will clicks on.

"Shut the door?"

Don't have to tell me twice.

Mike swivels around, pushing the door closed. He clicks the lock into place, not caring if that's presumptuous. When he turns around, Will doesn't seem to have noticed or if he does, he doesn't care. 

Will sits down on the edge of the bed, propped up by his elbows. Buzz. "So…"

"Do you want to— first, or?"

"I think you should first."

Mike sucks in a breath. "Okay." 

He peels his still slightly damp t-shirt over the top of his head and drops it to the ground, feeling suddenly very exposed when Will's eyes trail over his pale, mostly hairless chest. It's not that he has no hair. There's definitely some, but sometimes it makes Mike feel like he's still a teenager even though he just turned twenty-one, and he wonders if he'll ever grow into his body the way that Will has. 

Will doesn't torture him for too long, ripping his own shirt over his head after he's finished taking in Mike's pasty chest—which, again, Mike doesn't get because he doesn't think it's much to look at, unlike Will. 

When Will takes his shirt off, another big buzzy wave washes over Mike. He steadies himself against the dresser to his right.

Mike has seen Will with his shirt off before, so he wasn't expecting to react so strongly. He supposes it's the context of it all. The drugs. The bed. Knowing he's about to touch him there.

He's frozen. A bead of sweat drips down the back of his neck, and it does nothing to melt him from his solid state.

Will cocks his head to the side, knitting his brows together. "Do you not want to—"

"No, I do, I just— I'm—"

"Nervous?"

Mike inhales sharply. "Um. Yeah, I guess."

"Me too."

"I don't— I don't know why."

"That's okay," Will says. "C'mere. If you still—"

Buzz. Flicker. Mike stumbles toward the bed. Will comes into view, laying back against the edge of the mattress and holy shit, Mike can't believe how good he looks.

Mike is so tall, towering over Will from this angle.

It's overwhelming, and he decides he'd rather be laying next to him, so he crawls onto the bed.

Will scoots up to meet him, rolling onto his side so they're facing each other. 

"Hi."

"Hi," Mike breathes. "We're shirtless."

Will laughs softly. "That's generally what happens when you take your shirt off, yes."

"Should we… touch now?"

"Probably."

Mike doesn't move. His brain buffers. Will looks so good, so filled out, so beautiful.

He doesn't know where to start. "How should we—"

"Maybe we should hug? Like—"

Will shimmies closer. Buzz. His arms snake around Mike's back, pulling him in.

Mike gasps, his arms following suit as he melts into Will. It's so much better than he thought it would be. Will's skin is warm and smooth, like freshly pressed satin. His fingers drift, gliding along his back, kneading into the flesh. Feeling, touching, grabbing. It's electric and Mike feels like he’s going to explode, every atom in his body vibrating at a frequency he had no idea was even possible.

Then, Will's fingers are in his hair again and a moan rolls out of his throat, a proper one, the kind of noise he would have made had he not been in public the first time. It's probably much too loud, loud enough for Max and Lucas to hear, but Mike is not sure he cares. Will weaves his fingertips in and out of his curls, massaging his scalp, tugging on the strands of hair and god if it isn't the most heavenly thing Mike has ever felt in his entire life.

"Good?" Will laughs.

"So good, holy fuck. This is— mmm— why haven't we ever done this?"

"Maybe because we're not usually on drugs?"

"Right," Mike sighs, letting his eyelids flutter shut. He loses himself beneath Will's fingers, so comforting and intense and—buzz. "We really need to do this more."

Will giggles. "Drugs?"

"No,” Mike says, opening his eyes. “Well, I mean, yes— yes, this again, yes. But… I meant this."

"I was kidding, Mike— I know what you meant."

Pulling away slightly, Mike studies Will’s expression.

It seems like he’s joking. 

Mike isn't joking at all. He wants to say that, but he’s been poking and prodding at this invisible barrier all night, stretching and bending the membrane between them to its limits. If he tears them wide open, they can’t go back, and if Will doesn’t want it to break… 

There's a tenderness in the way Will is looking at him, though, and another wave of flickers intersects his vision, buzz overwhelming his body in a way that makes him feel brave again. He holds on tightly to Will as he rolls him onto his back.

Mike crawls on top of him, framing his face with his hands. He leans forward, propping himself up with one hand on one side of Will's face, the other grazing his cheek. His fingers dance along Will's skin, tracing the lines and curves, mapping the unique shape of Will onto a sheet of parchment in his mind.

Will's eyes are zipping around Mike's face, searching. His shoulders are curled in and he's scrunched up, like he's trying to shrink, to hide himself. 

"Mike, what—"

"I just… wanted to look at you." Mike stills his fingers. The last thing he wants is to make Will uncomfortable. "Is that— is this okay?"

"Um. Yeah, it's just—"

"What?"

"The way you're looking at me is a little… intense."

Mike blinks. Flicker. He closes his eyes and opens them again.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to."

Will shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He leans his forehead against Mike's arm, humming. "No, it's— mmm— it's okay. It's just new. You've, um… never looked at me like that before."

"Oh. In a good way?"

"I don't know," Will says. His head still pressed against Mike's arm, one eye flutters open, peeking up at him. "I— I can't tell what you're thinking and it's kind of freaking me out. So maybe you could just… tell me?"

"What I'm thinking about?"

Will nods as he leans his head back on the pillow, his cheeks and ears pink.

Mike goes back to memorizing Will's bone structure with his fingers as he talks. 

"Okay, well… I'm thinking about how pretty you are and— mmm— how nice your skin feels. How much fun I have with you. I'm thinking about… how lucky I am that you keep me around."

Will gives Mike's arm a playful nudge. "Come on. Don't do that. What is that even supposed to mean, 'keep you around'?"

"I don't know— I just— I'm pretty sure most people don't have the same best friend since kindergarten."

"So? We're not most people."

He's not wrong. Their lives have been anything but conventional, the fact of which has bound them. Sometimes Mike feels like they’re knitted together so deeply that splitting them apart would be injurious to their fibers in a way that could never be fully repaired. The kind of damage that stays forever—even when joined with new strands and weaved back into their beings, the frayed ends still peek out through the stitches, and snipping them down to hide them doesn't stop them from existing.

"I know, but— I mean, if you ever decided you wanted to live with someone else I would… understand."

Mike knows their stitching is flawed. He's made more than a few mistakes and instead of undoing them at the time, he chose to ignore them, leaving noticeable holes and imperfections that won't ever fully go away. If Will wanted to trade him in, start anew on a project that he could perfect, Mike would get it. Really.

Will furrows his brows. "Do you want to live with someone else?"

"No," Mike says. 

Obviously he doesn't want that. Aside from the fact that he's pretty sure losing Will would tear him apart, he still likes what they've made, even if he cringes when he thinks about the imperfections he caused.

"Good. Neither do I."

"Okay. But I'm just saying that… I don't know, I just want to make sure you don't feel like you have this lost puppy following you around and dragging you down."

"What?” Will narrows his eyes. “Mike, you're not dragging me down. Why would you say that?"

He’s not entirely sure. Not that he wasn’t thinking it, just… it’s the type of thing Mike would normally keep to himself when he’s not on drugs. 

At the mercy of the molly, he’s become this unconstrained, unfiltered version of himself that only ever existed in his mind, and now he’s just watching as he says and does things he's never said or done before.

Things like caressing Will's soft and beautiful face. 

And admitting he's terrified of the day when Will doesn't need him anymore, apparently.

He’d much prefer to stick to touching, but again, Mike feels at the will of the drugs here. At least he can experience the all-encompassing, spine-tingling sensation of Will's skin beneath his fingertips while he bares his soul.

"I just—"

"I like living with you, Mike. I like having you around. You make me feel… safe." 

Safe. Mike's heart swells. He lets his hands wander, thumb grazing the edge of Will's jaw, fingers drifting down his neck toward his collarbone. 

"Really?"

"Really," Will says. "I promise."

Mike lets out a deep breath.

Will is looking at him with this focused energy. There’s a tenderness behind his eyes, but also something else that makes Mike feel far too seen. Buzz. 

He understands Will’s desire to shrink now. It is, indeed, intense and he doesn't know what Will is thinking and it’s kind of freaking him out.

It's much less scary to keep touching, so he just says, "Cool," and proceeds to drag his fingernails lightly along the ridge of Will's collarbone, which must feel insane because it makes Will shiver.

Being on top of him, Mike can feel Will’s body tremble when it happens and—oh my god. Buzz city. He feels like he might pass out.

Then, Will's hands are on him too, pulling him close.

Nails scrape gently down his back. Flicker. Mike's eyelids twitch, and then his head rolls back as he struggles to stay upright.

"God, fuck."

"Feels good?"

Mike can barely choke out a response at first. 

"Mhmm, yeah, it's— it's really fucking good. Do it again. Please."

Another delicate brush of nails along his spine. His body erupts into full shivers, his vision blurring, and he can't help but laugh.

"Holy shit," Mike breathes through huffs of laughter. 

Will is chuckling beneath him. Just watching him through narrowed, playful eyelids. He must think Mike is exaggerating.

Mike scrambles off of Will. "You need to experience this."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Will smirks. "Back scratches? Really?"

"I'm serious, Will— turn over."

With a brief roll of his eyes, Will flops onto his stomach. Mike promptly straddles his thighs and of course he does, because the molly has taken over the part of his brain that usually stops him from being a total fucking idiot.

Will doesn't react to Mike's bold positioning. He presses his cheek into the pillow, looking back as Mike lowers his fingers to Will's back.

"Okay, then, dazzle m— ohhhh fuck," Will moans, burying his face. 

Mike glows with self-satisfaction. "See?"

"Yeah. Okay, I get it. That's— ha— mhmm."

The sounds bursting out of Will are intoxicating, unearthing something buried deep in Mike that he didn't know was inside of him. Several somethings, actually. 

Number one, he's never considered the fact that Will could sound like that at all and now that he knows he's pretty sure he can never erase it from his memory. 

Number two, the heat in his belly had settled a while ago, diminishing into a steady, controlled flame that was easy to ignore. But now Will is moaning and ahhhing and every little noise is like a squirt of lighter fluid in his stomach. The fire is roiling now and very hard to ignore. He digs his fingers into the ridges along Will’s spine in hopes of drawing more noises out of him, because he likes the fire and he wants more of it. 

More more more. Molly makes him greedy, evidently.

His attempt to make Will moan again works and the symphony of sound sends him into orbit, buzzing and flickering and flying around the room for several seconds until he comes back down to find Will looking back at him, his fingers having stilled.

"Mike?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think— can we put on some music?"

Music. 

Considering he's already listening to his favorite song, the thought of putting on music hadn't even crossed his mind, but some background noise for the main event might be nice. Besides, Will is asking for it, so there's no question about it—obviously he's going to say yes. 

Yes yes a million times yes whatever he wants forever.

"'Course, yeah," Mike says, and proceeds to sit up way too quickly, resulting in a wave of dizzying flickers. "Jesus, how am I still this high?"

Will laughs, rolling onto his back. 

"Mike. We re-dosed like…" He glances at the clock on the night stand. "Maybe ninety minutes ago. If that. We're gonna be high for a while." Sitting up, he reaches for the bottle of water on the nightstand and holds it out. "Drink."

"Yeah, okay.” Mike grabs the bottle and takes a swig. "And for the record, I'm not complaining. I like being high with you." 

Another big gulp, then he hands the bottle to Will, who takes several sensible sips. Slow and controlled, like he is with a lot of things, unlike Mike. He doesn't know why he feels the need to rush through everything, but he resolves to make an effort to slow down. 

He starts by closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale through his nose, then exhaling as he gently lowers himself off the bed, fighting the urge to hurry through the task. He doesn't need to do that right now. Right now, he can just exist.

His phone is sitting on the dresser. He grabs it, shuffles back over to the bed—slowly, or trying, at least—and climbs back up, settling in next to Will. "Any requests?"

Will rolls over onto his side to face Mike. 

The moment he props his head up on his elbow, cheek cupped in his palm, Mike catches Will’s eyes vibrate before he closes them.

Mike waits patiently, his thumb hovering over the never-ending collection of playlists and albums stored in his phone—pirated, of course, because he would rather learn to play the fiddle for entertainment than give a single cent to a corporation built on the backs of struggling musicians. 

"I'm feeling something more… chill right now."

"Chill…" Mike scrolls casually. "What kind of chill?"

Will smiles, his eyes fluttering open. "Mmm, just— relaxing vibes, but also maybe… something with some grit to it, y'know."

"Grit… okay. Pixies?"

"No, definitely not. Maybe… grit isn't the right word."

"Radiohead?"

Will raises an eyebrow. "Something less depression-core would be great,” he laughs. “Oh, wait— Mazzy Star?” 

Mike looks up from his phone, wrinkling his forehead in thought before he turns to look at Will. "Hmm… okay. Only if it's their debut album, though."

"That's fine. A little pretentious of you, but I like that one."

Normally, Mike would push back. Sober Mike would love nothing more than to turn this into a teaching moment, launching into an impassioned lecture about rock music history and how the gradual adoption of a collectivist mindset has led most people astray, because yes, Fade Into You is undeniably their most popular song and while it would be reasonable to assume the album containing a band's most successful song would be their best, that is almost always not the case and it's not pretentious to recognize greatness.

But he doesn't, because Will said he liked it and he looks so cute and the molly has Mike thinking that all of that does sound pretty pretentious, actually. Mazzy Star, it is.

His vision floods again while he's thumbing through the long list of albums that take up far too much of the storage space on his phone. Finally, when he can see again, he locates She Hangs Brightly and presses play, setting his phone off to the side. 

Immediately, he's bothered by the volume. It's turned all the way up and it's still not loud enough.

"Ugh," he groans.

Will nudges his foot against Mike's. "What?"

Mike sighs. "I can barely hear it."

"Yeah… it is a little quiet."

Grabbing his phone from the other side of the bed, Mike sets it down in between them. It's easier to hear now, but there's a much bigger problem, which is that it's now a small barrier between him and Will's velvety, buzz-inducing skin.

"This isn't gonna work, either."

"Why not? I can hear it fine now."

Gesturing to the glaringly obvious obstacle resting against the pillow, Mike asks, "How am I supposed to touch you with this thing in the way?"

Will lets out an amused hum. His fingers breach the invisible phone barrier between them to brush a curl out of Mike's face. Buzz. Flicker. 

"Hmm… you think the speaker is still in the kitchen?"

Mike raises an eyebrow in interest. "If Max and Lucas didn't claim it already."

"Oh my god," Will giggles, lazily twirling a lock of Mike’s hair around his finger. "I almost forgot."

"Still can't believe they ditched us."

Will smirks. "I mean— we kinda did the same thing, did we not?"

Mike can't respond, his mind too preoccupied trying to decide what Will means by that. And also, "at least we had the decency to send a text." He would really like to know what Will thinks is going to happen next so that he can mentally prepare and stop spiraling about it.

Flicker. Buzz. "Should I go get the speaker?"

"If you want."

"I'm gonna go get the speaker."

"Okay," Will chuckles. "I'll be here."

Mike catches himself scrambling off the edge of the bed. There's no need to rush, he reminds himself. Except there is a very good reason to rush, which is that Will is lying shirtless in this bed and he'd really like to get back to touching him as soon as possible. He still makes an effort to take his time, as much as a desperate, touch-starved man can in a situation like this.

Before leaving the room, he snatches his t-shirt from the floor, just in case there’s someone out there.

He can see the speaker from the hallway, still sitting in the middle of the island. The room is quiet, empty. His feet carry him across the vinyl flooring, his pace quickening against his will, because his ticket to getting back to touching Will is right there.

Less than ten seconds later, he has the speaker in his hands and he's shuffling away from the island with a goofy-ass smile on his face, totally in a rush, completely forgetting about his pact with himself to take his time.

"Why are you shirtless?"

The ground nearly slips out from under him. He manages to grab hold of a nearby chair before completely wiping out and breaking his tailbone or some other medical emergency that would be both embarrassing and detrimental to his plans of burying himself in Will's skin.

His vision flickers again. He realizes his shirt is no longer in his hands. Then, he can see Max crossing the kitchen, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt. 

Mike's eyebrows are up to his forehead. "Why are you pants-less?"

Max stops in her tracks to glance down at her bare legs. Slowly, her eyes drift back up, her skin flushing pink, but her lips still curl up into a knowing grin.

“Deflecting the question, I see.”

She gestures to the speaker in his hand.

Mike shoots her a sheepish smile. "Okay if I borrow it?"

"Sure. Listening to music with Will?"

"Maybe,” Mike says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What about it?"

Max shrugs, folding her arms over her chest. "Have you made a move yet?"

Mike nearly implodes. Flicker. "What?! I don't— uhh—"

"Oh, come on. What are you even doing in there, then?"

"…talking?"

Max squints at him. "Talking. While shirtless.”

"What else would we be doing?"

Max makes a big show out of pretending to think, eyes shooting up to the ceiling, humming loudly before she shout-whispers, "I don't know, maybe… trying to eat each other's faces off? Fucking each other's brains out?"

Mike feels his face grow hot. He knows he must be cherry-red. "Max!"

"What? I know you want to. I can smell it on you. You're like a dog in heat."

"Jesus. We're not— I don't— Will doesn't even like me like that."

"Wheeler," Max groans. "You seriously cannot be this dense."

Mike knits his brows together. He glances down at the ground, shuffling his feet around. "Fine, maybe we— I don't know! We were just touching and his skin felt so good and— and— he's so pretty and— I just thought maybe— fuck—"

Max sighs. "Okay, relax. Sit down." 

She pulls a chair out from under the island and guides him into it. Handing him a bottle of water, she asks, "When did you figure it out? Just tonight?"

Mike takes a sip of the water and nods once.

"Okay," she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Drugs can make you… realize things sometimes."

"Yeah, no shit. Thanks for the heads up."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, just so you know, if you have any latent homosexual feelings for Will you might want to unpack those before taking this?'"

Mike blinks at her, tapping his fingers on the water bottle, his knee bouncing so fast it's rattling the chair.

"That's… fair."

Max huffs a sharp laugh. "Exactly."

It's quiet in the room for a moment. Mike feels his pulse quicken, his vision swallowed up by a particularly long wave of flickers, goosebumps erupting up his forearms. His brain feels like it's buzzing around inside of his skull. He takes another drink of water.

Then, Max speaks up again.

"So… what are you gonna do about it?"

Mike looks at the floor. "I— I don't know. Should I just— do I just kiss him or—?"

"You could," Max says. "I have no doubt he'd let you. But it would be better—"

"If we talk first."

"Yeah."

"I don't think I know what to say."

Max clicks her tongue and drums her fingers atop the marble, scrunching her brows, thinking. Her eyes drift to the speaker, the tension releasing from her face. "You know… Lucas and I aren't perfect. We fight sometimes."

Mike cocks his head to the side. "Sure." 

"And… I'm not always the best at knowing the right thing to say.”

"I get that."

"Yeah, no shit, that's why I'm— sorry," she says, interrupting herself when Mike shoots her a death glare. "Anyways, my point is—"

She gestures to the speaker. "When I can’t find the right words, I'll use music."

Mike nods slowly. "Sometimes a song says it better than you ever could."

"Exactly," she says. "Just have to find the right song."

The moment she says it, his field of vision blurs and his mind is flooded with every song that's ever reminded him of Will. Songs that hold precious memories. Songs that make him want to tear his heart out. Songs that give him that same feeling he gets when Will scrunches his nose like a bunny and looks so cute Mike could die. Songs that make him feel dizzy. Songs that— wait.

Max notices the shift in his expression. "Got it?"

He can't remember the name of the song right now nor the lyrics, but he feels confident he'll find it when he can look through his collection.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Good. You got this," Max says, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. She walks over to the kitchen sink, grabs the two glasses of water sitting next to it, and saunters out of the room. "Have a good niiight," she sing-songs knowingly on her way out.

The journey down the hallway feels impossibly arduous, stretching on for what feels like forever. His vision tunnels. He stumbles and leans up against the wall. Why can't he remember the name of the damn song?

Mike presses his head up against the door when he reaches the end of the hallway that does, in fact, eventually end, clutching the speaker in his right hand, the doorknob in his left. He takes a deep, grounding breath, dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with drugs. Well, maybe some of it has to do with drugs. But he's pretty sure it's mainly because he's about to walk into this room and try not to sound like a blubbering idiot or dig himself into a hole while he tries to figure out how to tell Will that he wants… that he needs… that he likes him? Wants to kiss him? That he would trek into the rain forest and pick poisonous berries if Will said he needed them to make paint with? That he wants to crawl up in his nostrils and embed himself into the cilia so he can know more viscerally what it feels like when Will is so happy that he can't help but wriggle his nose, even if it means Mike gets his ribs crushed in the process? 

That he loves him? Would that be too much even if it's true? He doesn't want to freak him out.

Buzz. Flicker.

The song. Find the song.

He opens the door to find Will beaming, still shirtless, looking radiant as ever.

Mike melts into an actual puddle.

"What took you so long?"

Sorry about that. I got stuck in the kitchen processing the fact that these drugs have unearthed the deeply repressed sexual and romantic feelings I have for you. Do anything fun while I was gone?

Mike waves his hand dismissively as he walks over to the bed. His limbs feel stiff. He feels like an invader in his own body, a freshly hatched homosexualien plopped into a human skin-suit. He tries to loosen up. Act normal. Fuck, that's totally something an alien would say. 

"Max was in the kitchen."

"Oh, really?"

Climbing up onto the bed, Mike grabs his phone. "She didn't have any pants on."

"Well, can you blame her? If I got fucked into the mattress so hard I made noises like that, I don't think I'd put my pants back on either."

Mike can't respond to that. He has to keep his lips firmly sealed because if he doesn't, he's afraid he might accidentally ask Will if he wants to get fucked into the mattress tonight too and they haven't even kissed. 

Another buzz, a wave so strong Mike thinks he might not come back for a second. But then he does, looking at Will through hazy flickers that dissolve into a clear picture of the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and—the song.

His eyes lock onto his phone with laser sharp focus and suddenly he's muttering to himself while he swipes furiously through the saved tracks. The glowing light is blinding him, obscuring his vision with more flickers. It's hard to focus on the screen when it keeps blurring in and out like that, and he's growing more and more agitated the longer it's taking him and he wishes he could just remember the name of the song or at least the damn lyrics—

"Mike."

He keeps his eyes glued to the vibrating screen. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a song."

Will scoots closer, nudging Mike's calf with his socked toes. "Thought we landed on Mazzy Star."

"I know but— I just— I have the perfect song, okay? I just… can't— I can't fucking remember—"

Mike turns his head to look at Will. He’s gazing up at Mike with crinkled eyelids and a fond, crooked smile, and Mike is dizzy and flickering and can’t remember how to breathe. He wants to be brave, but he can't do it without the song, even though he doesn't know the name of the song. 

Eyes back on the phone.

"Mike."

"What?"

"It's fine. Forget the music. Just—"

Mike shakes his head. "No, I— I can't, Will. I can't just forget the music because—"

Will blinks. "Because… because why? I'm the one that asked for music in the first place, just— here."

He reaches out for the phone. Mike pulls it back. "Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not… being weird."

"Yes," Will huffs. "You are."

"Just let me—"

"Give me the phone."

"I—"

Will presses into him, tangling up their legs, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers in Mike’s hair. He digs, kneading at Mike's scalp, and Mike is reduced to a vibrating ball of energy. He is nothing but buzz, his head lolling against the pillow, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Fuck."

"You like that?"

Mike lets out a desperate whine, feels himself going pliant under Will's fingers.

"Uh huh, god, Will it's so—hey!"

Will snatches his phone and scrambles off the bed, laughing evilly as he backs into the wall.

"Sorry," he says, grinning in a way that tells Mike he's not sorry at all. "I wanted attention. And also, you seemed stressed—"

"I was trying to find a song—"

"Which was stressing you out, and don't even try to say it wasn't, because you were chewing on your lip, and making those little frustrated grumbles you make when you're about to start pulling your hair out, and I could practically see you driving yourself off the cliff straight into an anxiety meltdown. So no. We're on drugs that are supposed to be fun—"

Then, Will gets this glint in his eyes and his lips curl up into this devilish smile before he says, "You know what? That gives me an idea," and scurries over to his duffel bag—Mike's phone still in his hand, no idea what kind of mental spiral he's causing.

He spends about a minute rummaging through his bag before he procures a black bag that looks like it would hold toiletries, but Mike highly doubts Will was thinking about deodorant.

Will plops back onto the bed, unzips the bag, and casually says, "I think we should smoke."

Mike stares at the bag, which is full of all kinds of accessories that he didn't know even existed, let alone in Will's possession. Every time he thought about Will smoking weed in the past, he imagined he would have a plastic baggie and a pipe, maybe some rolling papers. That's what he imagines casual smokers would have. Will is not a casual smoker. Will has a tackle box full of drug paraphernalia.

"Um— I've never—"

"I know."

"You do realize tonight is the first time I've done any drug, ever, right?"

"I'm aware. You'll be fine. Honestly, this molly is so strong you probably won't even notice a difference. It'll just… blur the edges a little. Chill us out some."

For a moment, Mike turns to stone. It's too many firsts for one night. First time doing molly. First time touching Will's bare chest. First time realizing he's probably gay. Weed might be taking it too far.

Then, he sighs. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"I said okay." 

Will glows and turns his attention over to the bag. He effortlessly tears a single thin paper out from a seam on one of the inside pockets, which looks like it's expressly designed for that purpose. He unzips another pocket and pulls out something round and metal. Another compartment, that appears to be built into the bag, has a plastic top that looks like it seals in place. Probably for the smell, Mike guesses when Will fishes a pungent leafy green ball out of it. As Will places it into the metal device, grinds it up, and sprinkles it into the center of the paper, Mike realizes a tackle box might have been too harsh of a comparison. This bag is classy, designer, made for smokers that take care of their possessions, and of course it is. Will is meticulous and intentional and he cherishes his things as much as he cherishes the people in his life and Mike loves that about him. He loves—

Whoa. Will is running his tongue along the rim of the paper and Mike is transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away. He hasn't ever paid much attention when people have rolled joints in his presence because he wasn't really that interested, but now he finds himself wondering whether everyone looks like that when they're doing it or if Will really is just that sexy. 

Then, he holds up a perfectly rolled up joint. Tight. Beautiful, Mike thinks, which is an adjective he never thought he'd use when thinking about drugs but it's not really about the joint so much as it is the person who made it.

Another compartment holds a lighter. Will digs it out with the end of the joint dangling from his lips, which he then sparks up like it's nothing. He makes eye contact with Mike as he inhales, drawing the smoke into his throat. A coy smile stretches across his face as he pulls the joint from his lips, exhaling after a few seconds.

He passes it to Mike.

Mike's hands are shaking. His vision floods with flickers right as he goes to take it.

Will chuckles. "So nervous."

"Don't make fun of me. I don't know what I'm doing. Can you—"

"Okay," Will says, sitting up cross-legged, facing Mike. He flips the joint around to show him the back of it, which is pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "You hold it like this, by the filter. This is the part that goes in your mouth."

Mike snorts. "You mean the side that's not on fire?"

Will huffs a sharp laugh, shoving the joint back in Mike's direction. 

"Okay, expert. You want my help or not?"

"Sorry, I'll stop. Please continue with the weed lesson."

Will shakes his head. He brings the filtered end up to his mouth. Mike is trying to pay attention, he really is, but he's only human, so naturally he can't stop wishing he could know what it feels like to be held between Will's pretty, pink lips. Buzz. Flicker.

"Mike."

"Huh?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Um… something about…" Mike wracks his brain, finding nothing but Will's pretty, pink lips. "Uh, no. I missed it, sorry— can you say it again?"

Will brings it up to his mouth again and Mike grits his teeth, determined. 

"You probably won't do it right the first time, and you'll probably cough before you can really get a good lungful, but what you're supposed to do is inhale deep into your lungs. Don't just hold it in your mouth."

"Okay. Deep into my lungs. I'll probably cough. Got it."

Will extends the joint out to Mike. "Do you want to try?"

"Um." Mike takes it. "What if I fuck it up?"

"Then you can try again. Or if you hate it, you don't have to. Or…"

Mike arches a single eyebrow, curious. "…or what?"

"Let's just… see how this goes first."

He lifts the joint to his mouth and catches it between his lips, and then he sucks, which doesn't really work the way he was expecting it to and then he remembers Will said he should inhale so he takes a deep breath in through the filter.

Smoke billows in his mouth and the moment it hits his throat it stings.

"Fuck," he sputters, coughing up smoke and probably also bits of his vocal cords that have been seared off and turned to ash because what the fuck.

Will chokes back a laugh. 

He's laughing while Mike is actively dying. Great. This is humiliating.

Mike is still coughing. Will hands him the bottle of water from the nightstand, which he downs. "It— fuck— it fucking burns."

"Well, it is smoke." 

Will grabs the joint, takes another hit. Exhales a plume of smoke. So casual.

Then, he holds it back out to Mike. "Do you want to try again?"

"Not really," Mike sulks. He coughs again, remembering what Will had said before. Or more importantly, what he hadn't said. "Unless… what were you, uh… 'or'."

"What?"

Mike gives a sort of half-shrug. "Before— you said, ‘if you hate it, you don't have to, or.' What was the 'or'?"

"Oh." Will looks at the joint. 

He takes another hit before responding, and it's probably only about fifteen seconds, but to Mike it feels like hours. Flicker. "Well, it's uh— there's another way of doing it that might be less… intense for your throat, maybe."

"I'm down to try it. What do I do?"

Will hesitates.

Then, "Maybe… lean back against the pillows?"

Mike's breath hitches. Seems like a weird technique, but okay. He slides down the headboard, coming to rest on his back with his head and shoulders propped up. "What now?"

"Okay. The way it works is that I'll take in a big hit, then I'll blow it out, and you'll sort of… catch it, I guess."

"Catch it… how?"

"With your mouth."

"Right but—"

Will lets out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not explaining this well. Hang on, I'm—" He shifts from his cross-legged position, sitting up on his knees. "It'll be easier if I just… show you."

Mike doesn't know what he thought was about to happen next, but it certainly wasn't Will swinging a leg over and bringing his knee to rest on the other side of his hips, straddling him. He can't breathe. He can't think. Buzz. Flicker. Will is on top of me.

He chokes out a noise that isn't much of anything, because he also can't speak, apparently.

"Is this okay?"

Will looks worried. Like he thinks he messed up. 

Mike can't have him thinking that, so he swallows the lump in his throat preventing him from both breathing and speaking and nods.

"Uh huh. Yep, it's— that's good."

Stupid fucking idiot Jesus fucking Christ. 

Will studies him for a good long second, way too long—his eyes trail across his face, taking in his expression, the bob of his Adam's apple, the heat on his cheeks which he’s sure is so much more apparent than Will's because Mike is pasty and white and Will is tanned and—

"I'm gonna inhale," he says, just mimicking the motions, not actually doing it. "And then I'll sort of lean over you, like this." He demonstrates and Mike just about faints. "You'll open your mouth and I'll blow into it. I'm gonna have to, um— get close. And you have to breathe it in."

What Mike wants to say is: I think you're trying to kill me.

What he actually says is, "Oh."

Will blinks a couple of times, fluttering his eyelashes.

"You still want to—"

Mike's vocal cords betray him, cracking in that high-pitched register he only croaks out when he's nervous. 

"Yeah! Totally!"

It's awkward and mortifying and Mike hates himself but Will just laughs and scrunches up his nose and Mike wonders if it's possible to actually pass out from being so into someone.

His vision flickers and suddenly Will is leaning over him and Mike doesn't want to mess this up so he opens his mouth and waits. 

Will's lips ghost over his and his brain short-circuits. He regains control just as Will is exhaling the smoke and Mike somehow manages to remember to inhale when he does. It still stings, but it's not as bad as the first time. He’s not sure whether that's because he's more used to it now or if it's because the burn in his throat pales in comparison to the inferno roaring through him, a blazing wildfire originating from where Will’s lips meet his. 

Yeah, probably the latter.

There's a moment when Will lingers, for just a few seconds after Mike successfully inhales (which Mike feels weirdly proud of, even though all he did was inhale secondhand weed smoke). Their faces are so close together and they're both looking at each other, their lips still touching just barely, and there's a stutter in Will's chest the next time he tries to take a breath.

This is it, Mike thinks as he holds the smoke in his lungs. This is when it happens.

But then Will is sitting up and Mike is breathing out and yes, he's coughing again, though much less than the first time.

He can still feel Will burning on his lips, somehow more than the smoke and the touch and all of it combined, a searing hot want that grows stronger the longer Mike does nothing.

Will, still straddling him, looks frantic. Mike knows he must look conflicted, because he is, but not for the reasons Will is probably thinking. Come back, he thinks. Please.

But Will can't read minds.

"Did, um— did you get it?"

Not all of it. I think I missed some. Can you come back here, just to make sure?

Mike gulps. "I— I think so, yeah. When will I— y'know."

Will looks like he's about to shrug, but then he shivers instead. His eyes oscillate. 

"Whoa— fuck, ha— sorry. I'm still so—"

"—so fucking high, I know."

Then, the world ends.

At least that's how it feels to Mike when Will rolls off of him, leaving him flayed and raw and achy and needy, a gaping hole in his chest.

Will leans up against the headboard with his shoulder pressed against Mike’s. "Sorry, what did you—"

Mike rifles through everything he said in the past five minutes, or he tries to, except everything got blown to bits when the world ended.

"Forgot."

"Oh," Will says, snapping his fingers. "Um— when will you feel it— uh. Like… I don't know. Usually it's pretty quick, but like I said, you might not notice much of a difference."

"Because we're already so high?"

"Yeah. The molly kind of… overpowers it a bit. But it should still take the edge off some," Will muses before bringing the joint back up to his mouth. "Oh, you know what? Forgot about music. Hang on.”

The joint dangles from his lips as he stands up and grabs his phone from the nightstand. He takes a puff as he fiddles with the speaker for a minute or two before he gets it connected and he finally puts on She Hangs Brightly.

He sits back down. Takes another puff.

Mike just watches him, taking it all in, savoring every micro-shift. The way his lips part and pucker around the joint. The nearly imperceptible scrunch around the corners of his eyelids when he inhales and the way the skin relaxes when he blows the smoke out. The way his tongue ghosts over the puffy, pink flesh immediately after, wetting his lips. He's so… good at this. So practiced.

"Can I ask, um—"

Will tilts his head to look at Mike, smiling. 

"'Course," he says. "You can ask me anything, Mike."

Anything. He can tell Will really means it. Will is blown wide open, as open as his pupils. Mike wonders if that's the whole reason the molly makes your pupils expand so much in the first place—to more easily take it all in and carry it, all the vast, deep emotions that would normally be too much to bear just stored there, hanging in your eyes. Even if that's not quite scientifically accurate, it feels right, because Mike has never felt so capable of holding so much.

It's in this moment that Mike realizes that Will is on molly too, and he knew that already, but he hadn't considered the fact that Will might be feeling the same way. That he can carry more.

Mike wants to know everything. He starts small, with something easy. Just because they can hold it doesn't mean it won't break under pressure if they add too much, too fast.

"You're good at this— smoking."

Will laughs, loud and bright. "That's… an interesting thing to say. Thanks… I think?"

"That, uh— came out weird. I guess what I meant to say was… I don't think I realized you were as into it as you are."

"Oh." 

The corners of Will's mouth twitch. He averts his eyes for just a moment before looking back.

Mike clears his throat. Flicker. "And I— I don't mean that in a bad way. Not at all. I mean, I think it's really cool," he sighs, steadying himself on his next inhale. "It's just— I didn't know… y'know? When, uh— when did you start?"

Will looks at him like he's not sure what the right thing is to say and that sort of breaks Mike's heart. 

But Mike must have gotten it right—Will is feeling as open as Mike is—because these aren't the sort of conversations they've been able to have in a long time, yet the next thing he knows Will is letting out a shaky breath before he tells him. Not just bits of a story, the digestible bits. The whole thing.

"When we moved out of Hawkins, to Lenora, I kinda thought everything was… behind me, or at least on its way. I stopped having so many nightmares. It was nice," he says. "But then when we moved back it was like I was right back where I started. I was getting them every night and Jonathan— he was a huge help back then. I mean, whenever he wasn't sneaking into Nancy's room, obviously. Anyways… it wasn't super long after we moved in that he… offered. Said he thought it might help me sleep better, and it actually did. It didn't get rid of the nightmares entirely, obviously, and I still get them sometimes but… the weed does help. So yeah."

The hole in Mike’s chest throbs, the remains of the wildfire that Will left in his wake smoldering as Mike realizes it’s so much more than Will going out to clubs and trying new things and Will becoming an expert in all things weed right under Mike’s nose. Will has been keeping secrets for years.

But Mike isn’t angry—just confused.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

Will twists his mouth up. He looks down at the joint in his hand that has gone out and sets it off to the side on the nightstand. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't know you were having nightmares. Why didn't you tell me?"

Will shrugs, his eyes fixed forward, a little glazed over. "There was a lot going on back then, Mike. Jane was forced to go into hiding again. You were taking care of Holly more. I guess I just… didn't want to burden you, maybe?"

"What?" Mike huffs. "A burden? Will. Why would you think that? You know I could never think of you that way, right?"

"I don't know! I just," Will sighs. He turns to look at Mike, his cheek resting against the headboard. "I thought it would be better if I stopped… relying on you so much. It seemed… wrong, like I'd be taking too much of your attention.”

Mike shakes his head, and suddenly he feels different. The buzz is still there, but it's fuzzier. Like Will said—it blurs the edges. Makes it a little easier to think. He gets another flicker, but it's smaller and doesn't cloud his vision as much.

It hurts to hear Will was holding back all those years ago, that he thought of himself as a distraction. Mike gets it, but it hurts.

What he doesn't get is why he continued keeping secrets, for years, up until this very moment. And they're only coming out now because they're high. If it weren't for the molly, Mike isn't sure Will would have ever told him any of this.

"But what about after? You still have nightmares sometimes and— what, you didn't think I'd want to know? We've lived together for three years, Will. I want to help you."

"That's weird, Mike. I shouldn't be relying on you for help," Will says. His tone is meek and soft and it looks as if he's trying to blend into the headboard. He's not shut off, just… ashamed, maybe? Mike doesn't get that.

"Wh— why not?"

Will sighs, waving his hand flippantly. "I don't know. You have, like… your own life or whatever."

Mike lets out a dry laugh. "No, I don't."

There's a moment of silence between them. Silence is something Mike fears, usually, but it feels different right now. It's not heavy. It just is. 

He watches Will shift around on the bed—he swivels his legs around, settling in cross-legged, facing Mike, looking up at him. Open. "Okay, but… what if you want to get one?"

Mike mirrors Will's position, folding his legs underneath himself as he turns toward him. He shoots him a wide grin. "Not possible."

"What does that even mean?" Will says, rolling his eyes. It's not rude, just playful, but it bothers Mike a bit anyway, because he still doesn't seem to believe he's worth being cared for.

The molly—and maybe the weed too—makes Mike feel braver than usual. He wants Will to know where he stands with Mike. He needs to know.

"I already have a life— he's sitting right next to me."

It's cheesy, but effective. Will tries to hold it back, but the corners of his lips deceive him, giving him away. Mike knows he got him with that one, and the moment he sees it his body is buzzing all over again, proving his earlier theory that Will is one hell of a potentiator. 

"Mike, come on," Will says, his smile still mid-bloom. "You don't think that's a little weird?"

"No," Mike says simply. "Why would that be weird?"

"Because I'm—" Will gestures vaguely to himself. "Gay. And you're…"

Will trails off, stopping himself, as if it just occurred to him that he could be wrong about the way he planned to answer that sentence.

Mike isn't sure how he'd answer it either. On the one hand, he's known for a while now that straight is glaringly incorrect, because he knew something was different. But his experiences have been too limited to rule out bisexual, so he can't exactly confirm that he's gay either.

High, he thinks. Will is gay and I am high.

It feels a bit reductionist, but nothing else feels right. He doesn't say it though. Obviously.

"I guess I just figured you'd be… I don't know, uncomfortable," Will says finally, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Uncomfortable with what? You being gay?"

Mike can see Will tense up, averting his eyes. 

"No, the— y'know, the, uh—" Will says, except he isn't really saying anything at all. He glances back at Mike, waving his hands around as if it would help. Mike feels a bit like he's playing charades on extra-hard mode and his brain feels foggy and—

"I'm… sorry, I'm totally lost. Can I get a hint?"

Will either doesn't get the joke or he's too stressed about this conversation to put up with Mike's antics right now, because he just blurts out, "I looked right at you!"

Mike has no idea what that means either.

"Okay? I— I'm sorry if— if I wasn't supportive enough, or—" 

And Mike is pretty sure he fucked something up, because Will sighs and buries his head in his hands, but he has no idea what he did or how to fix it, but then Will looks back up, throwing his hands in front of him as if the answer is right there hanging in the air between them.

"'He's not like me'?”

"What— who's not like you?"

"Oh my god," Will groans. "You, Mike. You're not like me."

Mike pauses. Processes. 

His brain buffers. He holds on to the little spinning wheel for dear life.

He's not like me.

You're not like me.

I looked right at you.

The spinning wheel stops. "We should smoke again."

Will stares at him for a second, blinking. "Right now? We were just—"

"Yeah, I know, but— just trust me. I think we need it."

"I think the last thing we need for this conversation is to be more—"

Mike launches himself off the bed and grabs the joint, putting it between his lips and lighting it up with a staggering amount of confidence considering he just smoked weed for the first time like, thirty minutes ago.

Will spins around and watches on with his jaw unhinged, eyebrows up into the stratosphere. He says, "I've created a monster," and then he just laughs. 

Mike is happy with that. Laughing is good for this moment. 

He drops the lighter onto the nightstand and climbs back onto the bed, settling in front of Will with the lit joint in his hand.

"Lean back against the pillows. Like you had me do."

Will sighs, but he's still smiling. "Are you seriously—"

"Just do it. Please," Mike says.

"Fine," Will smirks, settling in against the headboard, his head and shoulders propped up by pillows. "So bossy."

Mike crawls on top of him, the same way Will did. Mike didn't like the way it felt before, towering over Will like this—like he was cornering him, making him uncomfortable, but he kind of likes it now.

Now that he knows what he knows.

He meets Will’s eyes. "You're wrong, you know."

Will blinks twice. "About what?"

He lifts the joint back to his lips, maintaining eye contact with Will as he inhales, ignoring the tickle in his throat, the urge to cough, because he's determined not to fuck this up.

Lungful of smoke, he leans over Will, lowering himself until their noses bump. He can hear Will swallow his nerves before he opens his mouth.

Then, he presses closer and blows, their lips grazing. It's the lightest touch, but it's electric, and Mike can feel the atoms on the outer edges of their lips reaching out for the other's, begging for more. More more more.

Mike pulls back, not fully, just enough to see Will's face when he says, "You never asked."

Will's eyes are darting, searching. "What?"

"Ask me, Will."

Mike can see it in his eyes. He's on the spinning wheel. 

He just hasn't figured out that Mike is waiting at the end for him when he gets off.

"What do you want me to ask you, Mike?"

"Will. You know."

I'm right here. See me.

It's not at all the way Mike experienced the wheel. His stop was sudden, halted by the emergency break, sending him flying.

Will comes to a stop slowly, gracefully. He sees Mike before he gets off, but it's like he's scared—like he expects him to be gone when he comes down, or to have never even been there at all, for this to all have been an illusion.

But Mike stays.

And when Will gets to the bottom he can see that it's real. Mike is really there.

Then, he lands safely with a deep grounding breath and he asks. 

"Mike— are you like me?"

Finally.

"Yeah, Will. I'm different. Like you."

The moment it's out, time stops.

But it's different than Mike expects it to be. It's charged with anticipation, as if every moment in their life has been building up to this, and now that it's here it's like he doesn't know what to do with it.

Both of them are holding their breath, afraid that everything might shatter if they so much as move a muscle, because it all feels so fragile.

Because it is fragile, and it could break, but Mike decides that it's worth it anyways.

When Mike kisses him, nothing shatters, but the buzz washes over him like a monsoon.

There are flickers, but it's not just his eyes. His entire body is vibrating.

Mike is flickering and buzzing and vibrating and Will is underneath him, making soft, sweet noises as the atoms on their lips try to merge, and he gets it now. 

It was never the drugs. It was always just Will.

Then, Will gasps. 

Mike pulls away, but Will breathes, "Mike," and pulls him right back in by the nape of his neck, and this time Will is hungry.

It was gentle before. Hesitant, because kissing someone for the first time is a little like going for a swim in unfamiliar waters. You dip your toe in first, wade in slowly, let your body adjust to the change in temperature.

There's a moment before everything changes, when you know you have to make a decision, when you're up to your waist and there's a wave coming and if you don't get out soon you're going to get drenched and you could get carried out to sea. Or you can dive under and surrender.

Mike doesn't have to decide. He’s known what he wanted since he first grazed the surface, because it feels more like home than the ocean he was born in. As if these waters were made specifically for him, and they’ve been waiting for him to come home.

He surrenders, his free hand scrambling for purchase in the Ocean of Will, holding on to the side of his face as the waves carry them both under. Their lips are wet and warm, slotting together, sucking and licking and nibbling as their particles collide.

Will's fingers are digging into Mike's sides, pulling him closer as he whimpers into his mouth, desperate pleas for more. More more more, and Mike gets it, because it's still not enough.

Mike gives him more, dipping his tongue inside Will's mouth, and Will meets him there. They dance around each other, tangling, gliding. Their taste buds learning the unique flavor of each other, beneath the faint taste of ash and mint. The tips of their tongues explore, mapping every ridge and every bump, desperate to know the inside of each other's mouths better than they know their own.

At some point, Will moans into his mouth and it sends Mike flying straight into a buzz so strong he has to pull away because he genuinely might pass out. The moment he does, he's gasping for air and so is Will, recovering from their brush with asphyxiation, the past who-knows-how-long spent breathing each other’s recycled air.

Then, they're laughing. Spending precious oxygen because it's so absurd—this idea that they've spent so long deprived of this that they forgot to breathe, that their bodies decided they'd rather die than stop.

Mike gets it, that need to hold on, because he feels so empty when it's gone. He's been feeling it all night, his chest hollowing out every time Will stops touching him—now that he has it, it's a little hard to let go.

He looks at his hand, finding the joint has gone out. Thank god, he thinks as he stretches himself across the bed to discard it atop the nightstand, because one hand is not enough to hold Will in the way he so desperately wants to. 

When he leans back over, Will has this look on his face, something like wonder. Pupils wider than they've been all night, bursting at the seams of his irises from everything they're holding in this moment. Pink lips, puffy from where Mike’s been trying to devour him, the corners curled up into a tender, dazed smile. He's so cute, Mike thinks. He's so cute I might die. And then, he almost does, because Will scrunches his nose up and yeah, I'm definitely still high, because his vision vibrates again.

"You're so fucking cute," Mike says, hands braced on either side of Will's face as he leans in to pepper him with kisses. He wants to kiss every square inch of him and he sure as hell tries, starting with his face. He kisses his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the mole that sits just above his upper lip. 

He kisses all over Will's face and then moves to his earlobes and his neck until he seems to hit a sensitive spot because Will is giggling and squirming underneath him and squealing, "Mike, Mike, stop— I can't— it tickles."

Mike plants another kiss on his lips, a tender show of devotion, a promise before he pulls back to admire him.

Will is flushed all over, grinning wildly.

It was already a bit warm in the room before they filled it with their hot, heavy breath in their attempts to crawl inside each other’s mouths, so they’re both damp. Will’s forehead is glistening with a thin layer of sweat, a few strands of hair sticking to his skin. Leaving one hand cupped against Will’s cheek, Mike brings the other up to push the sweat-soaked hair aside. Beautiful.

"So," Will says. "You said you're like me— but does that mean you like me, or—"

It’s light and playful and Will is still smiling, but there’s an air of uncertainty, a slight wrinkle in his brow. He’s only half-joking. Mike thought he was being obvious.

“Uh, yeah,” Mike laughs. “Was that not clear from the way I was shoving my tongue down your throat?”

“I don’t know, I mean— you are on drugs,” Will says, a quick glance off to the side, a quirk in the corner of his lips as he looks back at Mike. “Multiple, might I add.”

Mike kisses the tip of Will’s nose. 

“So are you,” he points out, raising his eyebrows.

Will looks away again, and he doesn’t look back as he says, “Yeah, but— that’s different.”

Mike’s forehead falls flat, then twists into a furrow. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Will sighs, biting his lip. He still won’t meet Mike’s eyes directly. “It’s just— I’ve felt this way for a long time and— I mean, what if you… what if you wake up tomorrow and realize you made a terrible mistake?”

“I won’t,” Mike says, grazing his thumb across his cheek, and that brings Will back.

His breath catches in his chest as he meets Mike’s gaze, his eyes wide and searching, still so uncertain after everything Mike said.

“You don’t know that.”

Mike is still buzzing but the ache in his heart wins out—the flickers don’t come, so locked into this moment with Will, determined to prove that he wants him. Whatever he has to do, whatever he has to say. He’ll do it. He’ll say it. “Will— I like you. A lot, okay? And— I think I have for a long time, I just… I didn’t know what it was. Not until now.”

Will shakes his head and Mike can tell he’s fighting the urge to avert his eyes, to run away, to hide. Mike holds him there with his gaze. Stay. Please stay. “How do you know this isn’t just the drugs talking?”

Feelings have never been Mike’s strong suit, even less saying them out loud. He always found it funny that Will called him the heart of the party, because Mike has felt disconnected from that part of himself for as long as he can remember. Even when he manages to figure out how he feels, he struggles to find the words, to name it, to say it out loud.

Part of him thinks this would be easier if he could just remember the name of the song, but he knows deep down it wouldn’t be enough. Will needs him to say it out loud. He needs Mike to be brave. He won’t believe it otherwise.

It should be easy. Mike has always been brave when it comes to Will, and maybe that’s why Will thinks he’s the heart—with Will, it’s easy. Easy to be brave. Easy to admit when he’s wrong. Easy to care. Easy to love.

So maybe Will is the steady supply of oxygen that makes him beat, that makes him the heart. Maybe he doesn’t need a song to be brave.

Maybe he just needs Will.

“You know… I’ve been getting this buzz all night, and it comes in these overwhelming waves. It’s so fucking intense and my vision gets all fuzzy and blurry. And I know, yes, it’s the drugs, but god it’s so much more than that, because it’s like…” Mike trails off. He knows that he’s rambling.

He reaches, pulling it back. “Okay, look— remember what you said about the molly being so strong that it just completely overpowers the weed? It’s like that. Every time you look at me, every time you scrunch your nose up, every time you touch me, I get so fucking high that I forget to breathe. And then you kissed me and— god, it’s like I was flying.”

Will watches him through bated breath, his expression softened, and Mike knows that he has him by the time he gets to the last part.

“So yeah, maybe it is the drugs. But it’s not the molly or the weed. It’s just you. And to be honest… I’m already addicted and I’m kind of fiending for another hit right now, if you know what I mean.”

The joke lands. Will lets out another one of those bright, full-bodied laughs that sends a wave straight through Mike and he’s tingling and buzzing and flickering and he’s not sure he’s ever seen Will so happy. 

“Oh my god,” Will laughs, soft and sweet, shaking his head. “You are such a fucking nerd. Only you would do drugs and turn it into a metaphor for how you feel about me.”

Mike smirks. “You like it.”

Will sighs through the wide smile that gives him away. “Yeah, I do.”

He brings his hands up to grasp Mike’s face, looking deep into his eyes with a reverence that makes Mike’s heart sing.

Buzz. Flicker.

Then, the heat in his belly is back, harder to ignore. He wants more. 

More more more.

“So… can I kiss you again? Because I’m kind of going through withdrawals here and I—”

Will cuts Mike off, crashing into him with need so strong it nearly knocks Mike off the bed, then he grabs Mike by the shoulders and flips them around until Mike is flat on his back with Will on top of him.

It’s intoxicating to see Will this way, fire in his eyes, taking what he wants. Mike melts and he buzzes and he licks into Will’s mouth, the unique taste of him a familiar comfort already, because everything about Will feels like coming home.

The air in the room gets eaten up by desire with every heavy, hot breath, growing thicker and warmer until it breaks. Something shifts, and suddenly they’re not just kissing anymore. Will bites at Mike’s lower lip and tugs, drawing a moan out of him. Mike’s hands wander, dancing around the button of Will’s, fingers grazing the hem of his boxers. It makes Will shiver, his stomach muscles flutter.

Then, Will digs his fingernails into Mike’s shoulders and gasps when their hips align in just the right way. He stills, searching Mike’s face and he must not be able to find anything but deep, dark want because then he rocks his hips forward and—

Buzz. “Fuck, Will.” Flicker. “Do that again.”

Will grinds down again, staring at Mike through pupil-swallowed eyes that have been holding so much tonight and are ready to let it all go, to surrender, to trust Mike when he says that he wants this. He’s sweating and panting and he lets out a moan and Mike thinks he’s never looked more beautiful than he does right now.

Mike rolls his hips up and Will quickens his pace in response, both of them chasing the high of this moment, buzzing and flickering and god, Mike can’t believe such a small thing can feel so good.

“Mike,” Will whimpers, his forehead wrinkled in frustration as he chases and chases, grinding down into Mike. “I— I need—”

“Take it,” Mike pants, fingers kneading into Will’s sides. “Take what you need, Will.”

Then, Will stops.

Mike braces himself to apologize for saying too much, to let Will know he’d never want to pressure him into anything he’s not ready for, that he’s totally fine with Will setting the pace, that he wants him to feel—

His mental spiral is sliced right open by Will’s fingernails, dragging along his bare chest and stomach as he moves lower and lower down the bed and oh, Mike was so wrong because Will wants to take it and Mike is going to give it.

Will pauses when his face is flush with the zipper of his shorts. He looks up at Mike through lustful eyes, mouthing at the bulge straining against the fabric as his fingers fumble with the button.

This is happening. This is actually fucking happening. Will is—

“Honey, I’m home!”

Dustin.

“Fuck me,” Mike groans, thrashing his head against the pillow. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me.”

Will laughs and hums against Mike’s zipper, continuing to work him up, because he’s evil. Evil and horny and Mike loves it. “I mean, I was kind of hoping you would fuck me, but we can do it that way too if you want.”

Holy shit. 

The buzz hits him so strong, Mike nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Will,” he whispers, his voice dripping in desperation, because his vocal cords are anything but subtle. “You— fuck, you can’t say things like that to me with our friends in the next room unless you want me to—”

Down the hall, a roar of laughter. Cups clinking on the counter. Another song, one with a beat, echoing through the walls from the living room.

Will raises his eyebrows. “You sure it’s just our friends?”

Mike scrambles off the bed and presses his ear against the door. He can barely make out voices over the music. Dustin, for sure, which he already knew. Then, he hears Jane. Makes sense. And… yep. More than one voice he doesn’t recognize.

“Did we just become the after-party?”

When Mike turns around, he sees that Will has rolled onto his stomach, perky ass on display behind him, head propped by his hands. Feet kicking away in the air as he watches Mike shuffle back toward him. Mike never knew it was possible for someone to look so cute and so sexy all at once, but he’s not complaining.

He stops right in front of him at the edge of the bed, his clothed erection at eye-level with Will.

Will briefly glances down before tilting his head back to peer up at Mike through fluttering lashes, his pupils widened to the very brim of his irises. He looks so innocent, looking up at him with big doe eyes, but Mike knows what he’s thinking.

Innocent, my ass.

“What do you think— should we join the party?” Will asks, batting his lashes all coy.

Mike huffs a short chuckle. “No fucking way.”

Will is still kicking his feet back and forth and Mike just wants to squeeze him. His face and then his ass.

“I don’t know… could be fun.”

Mike can’t tell if Will is serious.

He ghosts the pad of his thumb over Will’s lip, letting it settle the way it did in the car, and his breath hitches. “You aren’t actually considering it, are you?”

“We can hear your music!” Jane’s voice rings out sweetly from the hallway. “Pleeeaassee, come meet our new friends! Just for a minute!”

Goddamn it.

Will lets out a dejected sigh as he rolls over to sit up.

He looks at Mike with a scrunched up expression, all apologetic, and it’s so Will. Always making himself the bad guy when he almost never is.

It makes Mike’s chest swell with ache. He wants to break him of that habit someday. He hopes he gets the chance to try.

“Ten minutes?”

Mike groans, dragging his fingers over his face, tugging at his eyesockets.

“Fine. Ten minutes.” His eyes dart around the room. “Where’s my fucking shirt?”

Will shrugs, already dressed. He points to his duffel bag on the other side of the room. “Just wear one of mine. I should have an extra.”

Rummaging through the bag, Mike pulls out the only shirt inside, a worn vintage tee from The Cure’s 1992 Wish Tour.

He holds it up, glaring at Will. “Really? This is your extra shirt?”

“What? You know I love The Cure.”

Mike huffs. “I can’t wear this!”

“Why?” Will smirks. “Don’t want people thinking you have good music taste?”

“First of all, just because you don’t understand avant-garde jazz metal doesn’t make it not good— but no. Will, it’s very obvious this is your shirt.”

“It’s either shirtless or The Cure. Take your pick.”

Grumbling to himself, Mike pulls the shirt over his head. When he pokes his head through the neckline, Will has stars in his eyes, a wide grin on his face.

“What?”

Will closes the distance between them, beaming as he wraps his arms around Mike’s neck. He lifts up on his tiptoes to catch Mike’s lips in a kiss. It’s languid at first, meant to be sweet, but turns fiery within seconds. Will eats at his mouth as if it’s his first meal in days, though a feast awaits him later, because Will is just as greedy as Mike is.

Mike wants to push Will against the door. He wants to hike Will’s legs up and wrap them around his waist and latch onto his neck and make him scream.

But he can’t. Because there are strangers in the kitchen.

He kisses Will for a little longer, though. The strangers can wait.

His entire body throbs with ache when they break apart. No longer just the atoms at the edges of his lips, his entire being now reaches out to Will, every hair sticking up like tiny limbs trying to find and coil around him.

One more kiss for good measure, then his aching hand is turning the doorknob as he says to Will, a hushed tease, “Ten minutes and you’re mine.”

Will lets out a muffled squeak as Mike opens the door.

Immediately, Mike is hit by a wave. The intensity pales in comparison to the waves in the Ocean of Will, but there’s a buzz and flicker because the living room and kitchen have been transformed. Strobing lights, a trippy visualizer on the tv, Dustin and Jane and a group of five ravers all dancing around the living room while music blares—from a speaker that was brought in from the outside, because the one Lucas and Max brought is busy still playing the soundtrack to Mike’s first kiss with Will, and his second, and his third, etc.

Point is—Dustin and Jane didn’t just bring strangers. They brought the entire fucking rave.

“Ayyyyyy! You’re here!”

Dustin nearly trips over himself as he charges toward them, light up orbs in hand, because apparently they were a gift gift. It seems insane to gift a stranger something like that—but if everyone’s on the same drugs Mike took tonight, well, it actually makes sense. 

After giving them both a hug, Dustin goes right back to playing with the orbs, and Mike gets it. He doesn’t think he’d be any good at it, but they’re fun to look at.

One of the strangers they brought back Mike recognizes—the guy in neon green from earlier, the one that was waving his fingers around in Dustin’s face. Jane is standing next to him, listening and watching intently as he explains something about the strange star-shaped toy on a string in his hand. He spins it around and it creates these patterns as he whips it around that Mike can’t help but get entranced by. When he’s done, he hands the toy to Jane, who squeals with delight.

Then, Jane notices them. “Will! Mike!”

She gestures excitedly around the room, introducing their “new friends”—Birdie, Moonbeam, Cosmic Ray, Mama B, and Pickles. Mike tries to keep his face neutral as Jane skips over to them, but he leans over to murmur in Will’s ear, “I can’t decide which one I like the best. It’s gotta be a tie between Moonbeam and Pickles.”

“I’m going with Cosmic Ray,” Will chuckles under his breath. “You think any of them have legally changed their name?”

Taking a sip from the water bottle he grabbed off the counter when they walk in, Mike scans the room, his gaze landing on the girl with rainbow dreads dancing around with some sort of light-up whip. “Definitely Moonbeam.”

Jane lets the light up toy hang loose as she approaches, pulling both of them into a surprisingly bone-crushing hug. 

“I am so happy you came out!”

Mike sputters, choking on his water. Will lets out a strangled breath, biting back a laugh as he watches Mike die of aspiration. 

Dustin bolts to the “rescue”, giving Mike several slaps on the back. It does absolutely nothing to help. “You okay there, buddy?”

Gasping for air, Mike rasps a broken, “What?!” 

Jane tilts her head to the side. “You came out of the bedroom.”

Will can’t hold his laughter back any longer, clutching the edge of the island as he keels over. “Oh my god.”

Dustin shoots Jane a puzzled look. “Did I miss something?”

She shrugs her shoulders. 

“I was not trying to be funny. I only said I was happy they came out.”

“Oh,” Dustin smirks. “That’s— ha, that is funny.”

Jane narrows her gaze, eyeing them all curiously. “You are all acting weird,” she says, but she quickly loses interest, more interested in getting back to playing with the light-up toy in her hand than she is deciphering the reason for everyone’s amusement.

The muted thud of footsteps echoes through the room, drawing Mike’s attention to the stairs in the hallway. In less than ten seconds, Max comes into view—fully clothed now—Lucas following close behind her.

Max slows, bringing her hands to her hips, her eyebrows flying up the moment she lays eyes on Mike. 

“New shirt?”

Mike groans, burying his face in his hands. “Shut up.”

Lucas squints, eyeing the shirt. “Yeah, wait— isn’t that…” He trails off, a slow realization washing over him as his eyes flit between the two of them. “Oh,” he says, a knowing smile on his face. “I see. Good for you.”

“Oh my god,” Mike murmurs, daring a glance at Will, a big buzzy wave engulfing him when he sees him—gaze locked on Mike as he leans up against the counter with a lovestruck grin on his face, cheeks shiny and pink, eyes teeming with a mixture of adoration and something else far more devious. 

Will bites his lip and Mike crumbles into a million pieces right there on the floor in front of everyone, his vision blurring, so ridiculously wasted on Will.

When Dustin drags Lucas and Max into the living room to introduce him to their new friends with made-up names, Mike collects himself enough to whisper, “Has it been ten minutes yet?”

Eyes fixed on Mike, not even glancing at the clock, Will says in a low voice, “Yeah, probably.” 

Buzz. Flicker. Fuck yes. 

Mike takes Will’s hand and bolts, too lost in the high to care if everyone sees them tearing off down the hallway. 

Seconds later, he’s pulling Will through the door and shutting it, clicking the lock into place as he presses him up against it with an audible thud.

Will gasps, a breathy, “Mike,” spilling from his lips just before Mike captures them in a frenzied kiss, desperate to drown himself in the buzz.

There’s no question of how much Will wants this, the way he’s biting at Mike’s lips and drawing him closer by the nape of his neck.

Mike can tell Will wants more, wants him closer, but he already has him pinned to the door—by the lips, by the chest, by the hips and he’s not sure how much closer they can get without crawling inside each other’s mouths. It seems that’s exactly what Will is trying to do. Mike opens wider, welcoming him in, and Will sucks at his tongue like he’s trying to swallow him down.

He wouldn’t mind staying like this forever, buzzing and melting as Will tries to consume him, but after a few minutes of greedily eating at each other’s mouths, they come up for air, only because they won’t be able to keep kissing if they die. 

Will tugs at the hem of the shirt he let Mike borrow, the one that gave them away. 

“Off, please,” he hums sweetly before slipping out of his own, discarding it on the floor as Mike does the same. Then, he dives back in, pushing Mike back toward the bed with his lips.

Mike tumbles against the mattress in a way that’s anything but graceful and he still hasn’t caught his breath, because how could he when Will looks like that and sounds like that and feels like that. He resigns himself to being breathless forever as Will breaks away from the all-consuming kiss to bite at Mike’s neck.

“Fuck, Will,” Mike rasps. “I want you so bad.”

Will smiles against Mike’s neck, his warm breath cascading across Mike’s skin as he lets out a muffled, “Yeah? How bad?”

He’s teasing, toying with him. There’s no way he doesn’t know with his knee slotted in between Mike’s legs, pressing up against the achingly hard evidence of just how bad Mike wants him, but he still wants to hear Mike say it.

Mike arches into the suction of Will’s lips against his neck as he captures Will’s hand. He guides it down his chest, past his belly button, placing it firmly over his clothed cock, showing him.

“So fucking bad, Will,” he says through bated breath, breath that turns into a moan when Will begins to palm at him through the fabric.

Kissing up Mike’s neck, Will stops to nip at his earlobe all soft and tender and it tickles, triggering a buzz so strong he shivers and laughs. Mike’s eyes flicker and he closes them, collapsing into himself as he melts under Will’s mouth and when he opens them, Will is there. Hovering over him, eyes heavy with want, lips parted into a breathless gasp as he kneads into Mike over his shorts.

Will releases his grip and Mike lets out an impatient huff, his hips rolling up instinctively, because he feels so empty without it. Will pushes his hips back down into the mattress, his tongue tutting against the roof of his mouth, leaning forward to bring his mouth flush against Mike’s ear. 

“Needy,” he purrs, and then he flicks his tongue against the sensitive skin just behind it. Buzz. More full-body tremors and it’s so intense Mike has to wonder how much of it is the drugs and how much of it is Will because if it’s like this every time Mike doesn’t know how he’ll get anything else done ever again. “You really need this, huh?”

Mike somehow manages to choke out a response despite the fact that Will’s tongue currently has him floating in another dimension.

“I do—fuck, I need it, Will. You— mmm— you have no idea.”

Will licks lower, stopping to mouth at his collarbone as he ghosts his fingers just beneath the hem of Mike’s shorts and oh my god, buzz, flicker, please.

He lets his hand linger there, tickling Mike’s abdomen as their eyes lock.

“Show me, then,” Will teases.

Mike squirms, his hips jerking under Will’s dancing fingertips. “What?”

“You said… I have no idea,” Will chuckles. 

He slips his fingers lower, just beneath the hem of Mike’s shorts and says, “So show me.”

Show me.

Vibrations take over Mike’s field of vision, but he can’t wait, reaching down to fumble with the button and zipper of his shorts through the blur. Will laughs and helps him, tugging Mike’s shorts and boxers down, freeing his cock.

Mike hears a faint gasp escape Will’s lips, and when his vision steadies he finds Will on his knees, staring at his dick with his mouth agape.

“Woah— ha—” 

Will shakes his head, stumbling over his words through waves of shivers. Mike can see him short-circuiting as he processes the sight before him. “Mike, I didn’t know— how—”

Mike knows he’s big. He also knows not everyone wants that, and it’s not like Will has ever divulged the details of his sex life. If he even has one, which Mike can’t think about right now without spiraling into a moral argument with himself between the romantic side of his brain that thinks Will deserves to have whatever he wants and the jealous, greedy gremlin in his mind that wants Will all to himself. 

Basically, he has no idea what Will prefers, because he’s never sat down and asked him, Hey, so I was just wondering for no reason at all if you’re into huge cocks? And how big would you say is too big? Just curious.

“Uh— eight,” Mike says, biting his lip. “And a half.”

“Wow,” Will breathes, slowly inching closer, like he’s afraid to scare it off. 

Ha, yeah, no chance of that happening.

“Is that— it’s not too much?”

“No, not at all,” Will says, lowering himself between Mike’s legs until his mouth is hovering just above the tip, peering up at Mike like a starving beggar. “Can I?”

Mike’s brain buzzes and he nods and says, “Fuck yes, please,” and a moan rolls out of his throat as Will flicks his tongue across the head, lapping up the salty liquid beading out of the slit.

Will keeps his eyes locked onto Mike as he works the tip, swirling and flattening his tongue, sucking and licking at him as if his cock is the most delicious lollipop he’s ever had in his life and he wants Mike to know that he thinks so. He licks down his length, slicking him up with spit, pressing sloppy wet kisses along the base. When he moves back up, it’s slow and reverent and his eyes are open so he can watch himself trace the veins with the tip of his tongue, so delicate. Like he’s trying to memorize his unique geometry, the same way he mapped the grooves on the inside of Mike’s mouth.

Mike is so entranced by the way Will handles him—with care, like he’s something to be cherished—that he forgets to breathe and doesn’t even realize Will is back at the top again until his cock is enveloped by the wet heat of Will’s mouth and holy fuck, it’s so much better than he ever imagined. His hips lurch, his cock thrusting up into Will’s throat involuntarily, and Mike can’t even get an apology out before Will reacts with a muffled moan, taking it. Sliding his lips lower, even, hollowing his cheeks, wrapping a hand around the base.

He is not going to last long.

“W-will, I— fuck,” he stutters, fingers grasping for Will’s shoulders, haphazard through the hazy buzz of pleasure and the intermittent flickers. “It’s so good, but I’m— I’m not gonna last.”

Will doesn’t stop, sucking and licking at him, flicking and gliding his tongue along the top half of him as he moves up and down in tandem with his hand. Saliva spills out the corners of his mouth, dripping down where his fingers collect it and spread it, using his own spit as lube.

It’s unreal. Mike’s legs are quivering, his stomach muscles rippling, and he’s struggling to keep his hips from jerking up too much because he doesn’t want Will to choke (even though Will doesn’t seem to mind, the fact of which he stores in the archives of his brain for later exploration). His hands scramble for something to hold onto. They land in Will’s hair, fingers tugging at the strands, and Will seems to like that, letting out a broken moan around Mike’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Mike cries out, and he feels his legs tense up and then he comes apart at the seams, spilling out into Will’s mouth. Will sucks him through it, flooding him with a buzz so strong he thinks he might actually go unconscious, the periphery of his vision fading, blurring, spreading until the image is black.

When his vision returns, it’s just in time to catch Will sliding off of him with hazy eyes, wiping at the spit-slicked lazy grin on his face with the back of his hand.

“Good?”

Mike can’t imagine a universe in which that could be anything but earth-shatteringly perfect. The fact that Will even had to ask is so absurd that he can’t stop the laugh that ripples out of him as he says, “So fucking good,” followed by a wistful sigh.

His head falls to the side, sweat dripping down the side of his face, droplets landing on the pillow. Will is still sitting on his knees at the edge of the bed, watching him from way too far away, and it makes Mike’s chest feel hollow.

“C’mere,” Mike says, fingers grasping out for him. “Let me hold you.”

Will takes Mike’s hands and lets himself be pulled up the length of the bed, nestling in beside him. He tangles their limbs together, burying his face into the crook of Mike’s neck, and it’s a fit so perfect Mike can’t believe he’s never noticed it before. 

Mike thinks he would probably cry if his brain wasn’t so overloaded with happy chemicals, because he can’t believe he went this long without knowing what it feels like to hold him so close and be the thing that grounds him. It’s such a tender thing—to bring Will back to his body after making himself so vulnerable all so he could give Mike what he needs.

He wants to do that for Will too, but more—to memorize every spot that makes him squirm, to discover his deepest desires, to make him fall apart and put him back together again. Mike wonders if anyone he’s ever been with has treated him with such devotion, taking the time to learn him inside and out, to care for him exactly how he needs.

But it doesn’t really matter who came before, if anyone. To care for someone the way they deserve requires knowing them better than they know themselves sometimes, something that Mike knows how to do better than anyone, at least when it comes to Will. Bound by an oath a paladin swore to his cleric long ago, Mike has been protecting and caring for and loving Will as long as he can remember.

Sex doesn’t alter an oath like that. If anything, it makes the drive stronger.

It’s stronger right now than it’s ever been.

Mike lifts his free hand to grasp the edge of Will’s jaw, hooking a thumb over his chin to tilt his face up while craning his neck to look down at him. 

Will’s eyes meet him in the middle, sweet and half-lidded, more of the hazel poking out around the edges of his pupils. He lets out a soft hum. 

“Hi,” he says, and he just might be the cutest thing Mike’s ever seen.

He’s so cute that it triggers another buzz. Mike waits for the flickers to follow, but the visual of Will in front of him is clearer than it has been all night.

“Hi, yourself,” Mike says, leaning in to press a kiss to Will’s forehead. 

It’s sticky with drying sweat, but Mike doesn’t mind. He licks his lips, unsurprised to find he likes the taste, the uniquely salty brine only found in the Ocean of Will.

Mike plants another kiss on Will's temple, then his cheek. His neck, collarbone, sternum. Planting lower and lower, sowing seeds of intention, a promise to uphold his oath, to take care of him.

Every noise Will makes just deepens that drive and soon enough he’s hovering over Will’s hips, kissing his thighs over the cotton, fingers splayed and wandering. He nuzzles his nose into him, breathing him in. 

Above him, Will laughs.

Mike looks up at him, confused. “What?”

He shakes his head, mouth twisted up into a lopsided smile. “Nothing, you’re just— you’re being so… sweet.”

“‘Course. I wanna make you feel good too,” Mike says, grazing his hands over Will’s lower abdomen, fingertips tracing the edge of his boxers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tell me what you like, Will.” The pads of Mike’s fingers dance around the button of Will’s shorts. He gazes up at him with his mouth hovering directly over the strained, tented zipper. “Do you… like what you did to me?”

Mike pops the button. Will’s hand covers his, stopping him.

“Oh, you— you don’t have to do that.”

“But… I want to. I mean, if you want to. Do you not like that?”

Will contorts his face. “No, I do, I just— ugh,” he says, his head falling to the side. He keeps his gaze fixed on Mike, but his hands jerk up instinctively. He balls them into fists, fighting the urge to hide his face, staying in the moment with Mike.

Mike can’t discern where this embarrassment is coming from, but he supposes having his face buried in Will’s crotch might not be helping the situation. He sits up on his knees and crawls up the bed to get closer, coming to rest with his chin and forearms propped up on Will’s sternum.

“Will, come on, really,” he says, fingers tracing shapes on his skin. “What can I do to make you feel good?”

Will bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling. He shrugs as his eyes fall back to Mike. “Um… I don’t know, really.”

That can’t be right. He knows Will hasn’t dated a ton, but there have at least been a few guys that picked Will up and dropped him back off with pink, puffy lips, though Mike pretended not to notice. He must have some idea what he likes.

“You don’t know? But haven’t you, like— I mean, you date.”

“Not that much,” Will murmurs through tight lips.

“More than me.”

Will gives him a puzzled look. He shouldn’t be surprised considering Mike rarely goes out, and when he does he’s being dragged by the ankles. When would he be meeting anyone? He’s not in any clubs. Class, he supposes, is one way to meet people you might want to date and/or fuck. Through mutual friends, of which Mike is severely lacking. The apps? No thank you. Mike much prefers spending his weekends with Will and when Will isn’t available, a date with a manuscript he’s working on or a good book. 

It seems a little pathetic when Mike thinks about it. Will is so sweet to assume Mike has some social life he’s been completely unaware of.

After a minute of studying him, Will seems to put the pieces together: Mike doesn’t go out + Mike doesn’t have friends other than Will = Mike doesn’t date. It’s a simple equation, really. 

“Fair, but… I don’t know,” Will sighs. “I’m kinda… weird about that stuff. Picky, I guess.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing to have preferences, as if he’s supposed to accept mediocrity in exchange for not being alone. 

More people should be picky, in Mike’s opinion.

Mike pretends not to be thrilled. Will is picky, which means he has high standards, which means Mike meets those standards, somehow. 

“You mean you haven’t—”

“Well, once, sort of. But— yeah. Not really.”

Mike wants to ask what he means by sort of and not really, but he doesn’t. Partly because he’s not sure he wants to know the details, and partly because it’s none of Mike’s business what Will chooses to share and not share about his sex-or-not-sex life. Even if his curiosity has more to do with wanting to make sure he’s not going to completely embarrass himself the first time they do it, considering how little he knows.

“That’s cool.” Mike wants to rip out his vocal cords and stomp on them. Cool cool cool. “I’m— I, uh— haven’t either—” 

Wow, no way? I’m sure he couldn’t have guessed.

“I didn’t know that,” Will says, as if Mike isn’t the poster boy for celibacy.

He’s perfect and kind and Mike is a bumbling idiot.

“Guess we’re even,” Mike says, and he wants to crawl into a hole and die, because who even says that? Guess we’re even? Will needs him to be casual and normal right now instead of dropping cheesy lines like their life is a sitcom.

Mike pulls the focus back to Will instead of Mike’s barren landscape of sexual experiences, scrambling to recover. “So there really isn’t anything specific that you like?”

“I didn’t say that,” Will says, his lips curled up into a bashful smile.

“You sorta did,” Mike says, raising his eyebrows. “But— what is it? Whatever it is, I wanna know. I wanna take care of you.”

Will falls quiet, eyeing Mike studiously. He’s probably trying to decide how much information he thinks Mike can handle. 

Everything, Mike wants to say. He wants to know it all, do it all, be it all. If it’s something Will likes, Mike doesn’t care what it is.

Will opens his mouth. Closes it. Mike is on the edge of his seat. Tell me.

“I mean, I like… y’know.” Will looks away when he says, “Fingering myself.”

Mike is already picturing it, obviously.

“Whoa,” he breathes, as normally as he possibly can considering his mind is going wild with the visual of Will fucking himself, transposing over the image of Will’s fingers with his own. “Can I do that to you?”

Will grimaces. “Not, uh— not right now,” he says. Mike’s disappointment must be written all over his face because Will lifts a hand to cord his fingers through Mike’s hair as he explains further. “I’d have to, like, prep and stuff. Also… my diet kinda hasn’t been the best lately.”

“I don’t care,” Mike proclaims with his whole chest.

“But I do.”

Mike tries not to look as bummed as he feels.

“Okay. Another time, then,” he says, and Will gives him a look that makes him think he agrees, so Mike acquiesces. Still, he wants to do something for Will. “Nothing else you can think of?”

Will is thinking again, which means Mike isn’t working hard enough to make sure he knows how much Mike wants him. Meanwhile, his brain is still running a filthy porno it made up just from his working memory of Will and the words finger myself. He needs a distraction.

Bringing his lips flush against Will’s chest, Mike presses open-mouthed kisses to his sternum, tenderly lapping and sucking at the skin. Will reacts to the sensation with a soft hum and a shudder.

It’s a selfish act, initiated only to keep the newly awakened rabid animal inside him from pouncing, but it seems to help open Will up. Mike stores that knowledge in the archives too.

“Well, there is one other thing. It’s kinda… embarrassing though.” 

Will squeezes his eyes shut when he says it, opening them only when he’s done speaking to catch Mike’s reaction.

Mike perks up. “I’m sure it’s not. Tell me.”

Will hesitates. Bites his lip. Looks away. Looks back.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I like— I like when people, um,” he says, lowering his voice to a hushed murmur when he adds, “play with my nipples.” 

Mike can’t help but laugh. “Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know! It’s… weird,” Will huffs, hiding his now beet-red face with his hands.

“It’s not weird,” Mike says, his eyes falling to Will’s chest, both of his nipples conveniently within reach. His fingers drift, grazing the nearby skin as he looks back up at Will for permission. “Can I— I wanna try.”

Will lets his hands fall away—thank god, Mike thinks—and scrunches up his face as he nods, as if it’s painful to say yes. 

His expression shifts in an instant when Mike brushes his thumb over the raised bump, his mouth opening in a breathless gasp.

Mike flicks his thumb across Will’s nipple again, a little more pressure this time, and Will arches into it. Oh, he really likes that. He captures it between his thumb and forefinger, gently rolling it.

He feels Will’s nipple harden beneath his fingertips, the pink ring of flesh around the bud shrinking as it wrinkles slightly. 

Then, he pinches ever so lightly, and Will lets out a soft whimper.

“Mike.” Again, a little harder. “Fuck.”

“Is that good?”

Will looks at him, his eyes all squinty. “Yeah, you can—ahh—do more,” he says, earning another pinch from Mike, who watches him squirm and fold his lips in on themselves like he’s afraid to be too loud. When Mike relents, releasing his grip, Will chokes out, “Maybe, um— maybe you could try… with your mouth?”

Well, shit. Say no more.

Mike shuffles his body up a bit to get a better angle, coming to rest propped up on his elbow beside Will, then leaning over as he asks, “Like this?” Then he runs the tip of his tongue over the nipple closest to him with an experimental flick.

“Yea-ahh, mhmm,” Will squeaks out. “More, more.”

Actually, no—keep saying it. More more more.

Taking Will’s nipple fully in his mouth, Mike swirls his tongue around it as he sucks, and he must be doing something right because Will is panting and whimpering and bowing his spine. Mike can’t believe he’s making Will feel like this, and look like this, and sound like this, and he’s addicted to it the same way he’s addicted to everything else about him.

Another hit, flicking the tip of his tongue as he looks up at Will hungrily, surprised to find his gaze trained elsewhere. He follows his line of sight, landing on his shorts, which his hands are sliding down his hips.

Mike continues to suck and lick at Will’s nipple as he watches Will kick his shorts to the floor before sliding a hand beneath the hem of his boxers.

It’s pure agony, knowing that Will is working his hand along his cock underneath the fabric, making himself feel good hidden away by cotton, where Mike can’t see. Mike wants to see. He wants to touch.

He releases Will’s nipple and looks up at him. 

“Will.”

Dazed eyes meet Mike’s as Will slows his pace, stroking himself languidly beneath the boxers. He opens his mouth as if to speak but Mike gets there first.

“Does it feel good?”

Will gives a lazy nod. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Keep going.”

Mike stops, his lips hovering over the sensitive, spit-slicked bump.

“I meant your hand.”

Then, Mike sinks his teeth into the pink flesh and Will lets out a breathy moan. 

“Fuck, Mike— yes.”

“Bet mine would feel even better.”

Will gasps. His eyes lock onto Mike’s left hand drifting over his stomach.

Mike pauses at the hem of Will’s boxers to delicately graze his forearm, which has stilled beneath the fabric, Will turned to stone by Mike’s bold declaration.

When Will doesn’t respond, Mike asks in a low rasp, “You want it?”

“Yes—please, touch me.”

Gripping the edge of the elastic waistband, Mike tugs at Will’s boxers with his fingers. “Take these off first. I want to see you.”

Will pulls his hand out and tucks his thumbs inside, swiftly tugging them off, tossing them to the side.

And then, Will’s cock is freed, flushed red, leaking at the tip—staring back at Mike.

Mike’s brain buffers. It’s not nerves, per se—no, actually, it is and I’m totally freaking out because I’ve just realized I’ve never seen another dick besides my own, live and in-person, and now I’m seeing Will’s.

It’s not as big as Mike’s, thicker maybe, but he’s pretty sure it’s still larger than average based on the way it looks next to his hand. Mike thinks it’s beautiful, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has no idea what to do with a dick that isn’t his. He hopes he can take care of Will the way he wants to, even though he lacks so many of the necessary qualifications.

He tries not to think about that as he wraps his hand around Will. It can’t be that hard. He’s done it to himself probably more than is psychologically healthy, and he’s even thought about Will sometimes, which—looking back, that should have been a sign, but he’d convinced himself it was totally normal for guys to occasionally fantasize about their friends. Not weird at all (it was definitely weird).

When Mike starts to move his hand, swiping his thumb over the slit to collect the beaded pre-cum leaking from the head of Will’s cock, Will makes this sound, a sort of strangled gasp that ignites a flame inside of Mike, a burning desire to find out just how many sounds Will is capable of making. He wants to hoard them, discover which noises are common and which ones are rare, and store them away for safekeeping in his personal collection never to be sold, but he’ll keep them mint anyways because they deserve to be cherished.

So, Mike experiments. Like a damn handjob scientist, he applies different amounts of pressure, adjusts the angle of his hand, tests out a variety of speeds and techniques and notes which ones Will seems to like the most because he’s determined to get this right. 

Will likes it, he can tell that much, but the slick from his pre-cum only lasts so long. Eventually, Mike realizes the lubricant variable is totally throwing off the results.

Mike pulls his hand away and starts to lift it to his mouth, but then he gets a better idea, holding his palm out to Will instead.

“Can I use your spit?”

Will looks flustered at first, but then he takes Mike’s hand in his own and leans over it, a string of saliva spilling from his puckered lips, and it might be one of the hottest things Mike’s ever seen.

Mike forgets what he was doing momentarily, staring at the fluid in his palm.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You just spit in my hand.”

Will laughs. “You literally asked me to do that.”

“I know but— fuck, I wasn’t expecting it to be so hot.”

Another one for the archives, he thinks, tucking the I like Will’s spit file somewhere in the already overstuffed filing cabinet of depraved thoughts, which kind of has him thinking he might need to hire management soon.

He lowers his slick hand to Will’s cock, pleased to find the new variable pulls a whole new noise out of Will, a loud, shaky groan.

“Good?”

“Yeah— shit, it’s so good, Mike.”

Mike applies everything he’s learned about what Will likes in the past few minutes, gliding his hand up and down his length, his grip tight at the base and feather-light at the tip. Then, he tears his eyes away, turning his attention back to the other thing he knows Will likes.

Lowering his mouth to Will’s nipple, Mike flicks it with his tongue. He knows he’s found the right combination when Will jerks and lets out a broken whine. Mike wraps his lips around the little pink bump, licking and sucking at it while he pumps his hand until Will starts arching and squirming beneath him.

“Fuck— just like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, don’t— don’t stop, Mike, I’m gonna—”

Mike feels Will’s cock twitch beneath his fingers, and he thinks it’s a shame he doesn’t have two sets of eyes because he wants to see his face but he also wants to watch the cum spill out over his fingers and he hates that he can’t do both at once.

He settles on Will’s face and god he’s so glad he does because it might be simultaneously the cutest and sexiest thing he’s ever seen. His features all crinkled while he falls apart, his scrunched up nose, eyes squeezed tight, head falling back, lips parted.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Mike breathes, and that’s it, Will is done for, pulsing into Mike’s hand all warm and sticky. 

Then he looks at his hand wrapped around Will’s cock, covered in cum, and his brain buzzes even though he’s pretty sure the drugs have worn off because I did that, holy shit, I made Will come.

He stares for probably way too long until he realizes Will is watching him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Shit, that was… really good, Mike.”

“Yeah?”

Will smiles, managing a weak nod. 

“Yeah,” he says, then he’s nudging Mike’s shoulder. “Can you come back up here?”

Mike starts to move but stops, remembering his hand is covered in cum. I made Will come. Holy shit. He kind of wants to let it dry on his skin and wear it forever, but he’s not really ready for Will to witness the most intimate perversions of his mind. Not yet anyways.

He gestures to his hand. “Um— I don’t know what to—”

“Hang on,” Will says, letting out a tired grumble as he reaches over to the nightstand to grab the box of tissues. “Here.”

Mike wipes Will off first, even though most of the cum is on his hand. When he’s done, his eyes dart around the room, looking for a trash can.

“Under the nightstand,” Will chuckles.

“Right. Obviously.”

As Mike chucks the tissues into the small wastebin under the bed, he notices the half-smoked joint still sitting on top of the nightstand.

He glances at Will. “Are you still high?”

Will squints his eyes up at the ceiling, then he looks back at Mike, smiling as he says, “I don’t think so. Not, like, significantly anyways. Are you?”

Mike’s eyes flit back to the nightstand. 

“Not really. Maybe a little,” he says, and then he reaches over to grab the joint, giving a playful shrug. “Is it crazy that I kinda want to…”

“Oh my god,” Will laughs. “What time is it even?”

“Like 3:30.”

“It’s past three?!”

Mike shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I thought you said it helps you sleep.”

“Well…” Will tilts his head as he looks at the joint. “Yeah, that’s true, but— on molly, sometimes it can, like, bring your high back.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

Will rolls his eyes. “At three am, yeah. Unless you don’t plan on sleeping tonight.”

Hmm. Mike hadn’t really thought about it, but now that Will brings it up, he’s not sure if he could sleep even if he tried. He’s too wired off Will.

And actually, he’s already starting to feel the withdrawal symptoms creep in again. Mike’s not sure if he’ll ever sleep again.

He lowers his mouth to Will’s chest, drawing a line up his sternum and collarbone with his tongue, then he lifts his head up to capture Will’s lips in a hungry kiss. When he breaks away, his mouth is turned up into a smirk as he says, “I can think of a few things I’d rather do instead.”

“Oh my god, you’re insatiable.”

Another kiss. “I’m making up for lost time.”

“Okay, you know what, yeah— let’s smoke,” Will says. He grabs the joint from Mike’s hand, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the lighter. “Maybe it’ll calm you down.”

Will lifts the joint to his lips, holding it there as he sparks up the lighter, which he tosses to the side when the paper starts to burn again.

Mike is just as transfixed as the first time he watched Will do this a few hours ago. His eyes take in every microscopic movement, only this time there’s a whole new context to it, because he knows what the inside of his mouth tastes like, what his lips feel like under his tongue, what it feels like to be held between his lips the way he holds the joint, only Will holds him with so much more tenderness.

When Will hands it back to him, Mike laughs to himself as he takes a hit, remembering how nervous he was. Just look at him now. Practically an expert, if you ask him. The smoke barely stings. Okay, it stings a little, and he still coughs, but Will isn’t laughing at him anymore so he’s pretty sure he’s got it mostly down.

He’s still sitting on his knees. Will had asked him to come closer about ten minutes ago, so he adjusts his position on the bed after handing the joint back to Will, settling in on his side with his head on his chest, looking up at him.

Will weaves his fingers in Mike’s hair. Mike isn’t surprised to find he likes it just as much as he did when he was rolling.

Closing his eyes, Mike lets out a soft hum as Will massages his scalp, melting into the sensation. His mind begins to wander, flooding with every possible thing that might happen whenever they finally leave this room. He doesn’t have all the answers, but he’s not scared, because it’s Will.

He’s excited mostly, too excited not to blurt out what he’s thinking.

His eyes flutter open, craning his neck to look at Will. “We need to figure out what to do about the apartment.”

Will does his adorable nose scrunch that makes Mike die of cuteness overload and cocks his head to the side. He passes the joint back and they fall into a back-and-forth rhythm with it, though Mike is a bit slower to remember than Will is.

“What do you mean, ‘figure out what to do’?”

Mike takes a puff, gazing up at the ceiling, and he doesn’t cough when he blows it out this time. He shrugs then looks back at Will.

“I mean, now that we’re, y’know—”

Will smiles knowingly, his voice teasing as he asks, “What are we… exactly?”

Lovers. Boyfriends. Husbands, someday, maybe?

“I don’t know.” Mike grins. “Are we… dating?”

“Don’t you have to go on dates to be dating?”

Mike considers the question. He thinks about Sunday night takeout. Every movie they’ve seen at the theater. Art supply store runs and sunny days at the park. That day they realized they hadn’t done any New York City sightseeing when they went to Times Square and took the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty all in one day and afterwards decided they’d had enough tourism for one lifetime. All of it suddenly feels very romantic.

“What counts as a date? Because I think we’ve been on lots of dates, Will,” Mike says. “We just didn’t know what they were at the time.”

He can see the cogs turning in Will’s brain. He wonders which ones come to mind. He thinks Will probably likes their park dates the most, sunny afternoons spent on a blanket under a tree, a sketchbook in Will’s lap, a book in Mike’s hand, though Mike spends more time watching Will than reading.

His lips curl into a lopsided smile. “I mean… you have a point.”

“Exactly. So… we’re dating?”

He waits for Will to respond, trying not to seem too eager, but who is he kidding—he’s quite sure he looks like a dog with his tongue dangling out of his mouth, not at all patiently waiting to find out if he gets to go on a walk.

Will throws him a bone, grinning widely as he says, “Yeah. But only if you agree to take me on a real date when we get home.”

Mike is wagging his tail and doing backflips.

“I can do better than that. Baby, I’m going to smother you in dates. We’re gonna go on so many dates you’ll be begging for a normal night at home.”

“Oh my god, you’re insane,” Will laughs, shaking his head. “But… wait, what does this have to do with the apartment? What do we need to ‘figure out’?”

Mike has a very clear vision, one that evidently requires a visual element because suddenly he’s standing up and Will is watching him with amusement as he talks with his hands, pacing around the room while he paints a picture. 

“I mean, I love your room, don’t get me wrong, but mine kinda feels like the obvious choice, right? ‘Cause it’s more… square,” he says, demonstrating with his hands. “And yours is more… weirdly shaped.”

Will giggles mid-hit, and erupts into a coughing fit, barely managing to choke out a, “What?!”

“You don’t think we need to move, do you?” Mike continues, taking the joint from Will while he coughs up a lung. He takes a puff as he looks out the window, tapping his foot on the floor. “I mean, I’m not opposed, but it might be kinda hard to find another two bed in the neighborhood for what we’re paying, and we can’t get a one bed. I have a vision, Will.”

“Is that so?”

Mike nods and takes another puff before handing the joint back to Will, walking around the room like he’s an interior designer giving a presentation. 

“I was thinking we’d turn your room into a studio slash… working space. I mean, all I really need is a desk for my computer and a bookshelf, so the rest of it would basically be yours to make your own. Think about it.” He shuffles back to the window, gesturing with his arms. “Your room has more natural light than mine, so I was thinking you could put your easel by the window maybe. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Will is looking at him sort of funny, like he’s just seen a dog walk on its hind legs, which… that’s kind of exactly what Mike was doing.

“I think you’ve clearly thought a lot about this.”

Well, yes. Since we moved into the apartment, actually, though originally I wasn’t thinking we would share a bed or maybe I was, I don’t know. 

He doesn’t say that, opting for, “Maybe,” with a smirk. “Or… maybe drugs are the key to unlocking my creative genius. But—what do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Will says, clearly entertained, “and I also think we need a bigger bed if we’re going to share.” 

The joint is barely a nub at this point, but Will holds it out anyway. “You want the rest of this? I think I’m good.”

Mike starts to reach for it, but stops himself. “I have to pee.”

Will snorts. “You don’t have to take it. Go to the bathroom.”

“No, I know, but…” He shuffles over to the door, pressing his ear against it. “The living room still sounds like a hippie commune.”

“So? Just put your clothes back on.”

“I never found my shirt.”

“You can keep wearing my shirt, Mike. It’s fine.”

“Ugh, fine,” Mike grumbles as he steps back into his boxers. He grabs Will’s shirt from the floor and turns it right side out, slipping it over his head as he adds, “But I’m totally blaming you if I get roped into a massage train.”

He sneaks out the door, tiptoeing down the hall with the stealth of a ninja. The music is softer, more chill, but he can still see strobing lights in the periphery of his vision. He doesn’t dare look or breathe or make a sound, keeping his gaze fixed forward until he slips into the bathroom unnoticed.

His mind feels clearer being out of the bedroom, away from the dizzy haze that seems to wash over him in the presence of Will, even since the drugs have worn off. He wonders if he’ll still feel dizzy in the morning, if the molly has triggered a permanent chemical reaction in his brain that might hang around forever. He doesn’t think he’ll mind if it does.

Standing in front of the mirror, he looks a mess. Hair sticking up wildly, swollen, red lips, flushed cheeks. He can even see a little hickey forming on his neck, which he doesn’t remember receiving, but again, everything’s been sort of fuzzy.

The 1992 Wish Tour tee doesn’t look half bad on him, but maybe he just likes knowing that it belongs to Will, likes that it carries his scent. He buries his nose into the collar of the shirt. It smells like that weird organic laundry detergent he uses. It smells like Will. He melts.

He looks down at the shirt.

And then, he remembers.

Mike bolts out the door, probably alerting the hippie brigade when he nearly slips and falls, but he doesn’t care.

He shuts the door to the bedroom behind him, barely catching his breath as he scrambles around the room to grab his phone, the speaker.

Will looks at him like he’s crazy as he works to get his phone connected, muttering to himself about technology being a little bitch sometimes, because it shouldn’t be so hard to play music. 

“What are you doing?”

The speaker beeps, a blinking green light indicating it worked.

“I remembered it.”

“What?”

Mike sets the speaker down and climbs back on the bed beside Will. He scrolls through his phone until he finds the album he’s looking for. “The song I wanted to play for you earlier.”

Will beams. Buzz. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Mike says, hitting play.

The opening notes of the song ring out, and Will laughs.

“Mike— I don’t know how to tell you this, but…” He gestures to The 1992 Wish Tour shirt currently adorning Mike’s body. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard this song before.”

“No, I know, I just— look.” Mike chews on his lip. He thought he’d feel less nervous talking about this, after everything he’s said tonight already. “You know I’m not always the best at… saying how I feel.”

Will clocks his anxious tics immediately and he softens, scooting closer. Buzz.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And earlier, everything was so…” Mike waves his hands around his head. “Well, you know. Anyways, I was just sitting here totally spiraling because I couldn’t— I didn’t know how to tell you and I thought maybe… if I could find the right song, it would help me figure out how to say it.”

Mike realizes his hands are shaking.

Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick

The one that makes me scream, she said

The one that makes me laugh, she said

Will just pulls him in, tangling their legs up. “To say what?”

The touch grounds him immediately. He lets out a shaky breath as Will brings a hand up to caress his face.

He looks into Will’s eyes. “How I feel about you.”

“Oh,” Will giggles. “That’s sweet.”

Spinning on that dizzy edge

Kissed her face and kissed her head

Will leans in to pepper Mike’s face with kisses. “Why’d you pick this song?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Is it ‘cause I make you dizzy? You did compare me to drugs earlier.”

With Will kissing him all over so sweetly, Mike feels like he’s floating, the waves carrying him out to the middle of the Ocean of Will. And he does feel a bit dizzy from the strength of the current. So he’s not entirely wrong.

Dancing in the deepest oceans

Twisting in the water

You're just like a dream

“I mean— yes, but… I don’t know, it’s more than that,” Mike says. “When we were talking earlier— you said you still get nightmares sometimes.”

Will nods. His fingers find Mike’s hair. “Yeah. What about them?”

Mike takes a deep breath. “I get them too… about you.”

“What? About me?”

“It’s always some version of losing you,” Mike says. “Like, I’m twelve again and we never found you. Or you never came back when Vecna took you the last time.”

Mike is surprised to find himself tearing up. He used to wake up crying from the nightmares when he was a kid, but he didn’t realize it still affected him so much.

“That sounds really scary,” Will says.

“It is— I mean, I don’t get them as much anymore, but… I still get so scared sometimes that I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”

The dam in Mike’s tear ducts springs a leak and suddenly he’s crying and god, it’s so embarrassing, but Will just kisses his tears away, because he’s so sweet and Mike is so lucky. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. You know how I know that?”

Mike sniffles. “How?” 

“Because you would never let that happen,” Will says, and he’s holding Mike’s face with so much tenderness as he does, looking through his eyes straight to his soul. “You always take such good care of me, Mike.”

That’s not true.

“But that’s the thing— I haven’t. Not always,” Mike chokes out. The tears are really coming now and that’s how Mike knows the drugs have definitely worn off, because he’d felt like crying earlier and couldn’t.

Will swipes at his cheeks with his thumbs and kisses his face again, kissing and clearing away all of the hurt. The hurt that Mike caused, that ripped holes in their stitching. “What, when we were teenagers?” he croons. “I don’t hold that against you.”

Mike shakes his head and reaches up to take Will’s hands from his face, holding them. “Not even just that, Will, it’s— it’s like, I’ve been walking around with my eyes shut. You’ve been right in front of me this whole time and… I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see you. And… I could feel you slipping away.”

It was everything he needed to say earlier, to make everything right—or to try, at least. Will deserves that much.

I opened up my eyes

And found myself alone, alone

Alone above a raging sea

That stole the only girl I loved

And drowned her deep inside of me

“So… that’s why,” Mike continues. “Not just because you make me dizzy. It’s that part at the end, where he wakes up alone and she’s gone… I just kept replaying that part over and over in my head and thinking… that’s gonna be me. If I don’t say something now, I’m gonna lose him. But— y’know, I couldn’t remember the name of the song, so…”

Will crinkles up his eyelids, smiling fondly.

“So you compared me to drugs instead,” he teases.

“Oh, god,” Mike huffs. He tries to grimace at Will but his mouth is decidedly stuck in a stupid, lovesick grin. “I had to improvise, okay? I was high on, like, two different drugs at once. Of course that’s what’s gonna come to mind.”

“Yeah… that one’s on me, I guess,” Will laughs. “Sorry about that.”

Mike’s hands fly up to Will’s face. “Will, no. You have nothing to apologize for,” he says, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m glad you got me high— in fact, you wanna know something?”

Will gives him a curious look. “What?”

“I wish we would’ve done this a lot sooner.”

It’s kind of ridiculous to think about—Mike Wheeler regretting that he waited so long to do drugs. Mike from twenty-four hours ago would be rolling in his grave if he knew just how many firsts he experienced tonight.

Will knows it too, because he rolls his eyes, but then he laughs and says, “Me too,” before he leans in for a kiss that makes Mike buzz again.

And that’s how it goes for the next hour. Kissing and laughing and buzzing and maybe Mike makes Will come one more time because he might be a little insatiable but how could he not be when Will looks like that and sounds like that? Besides, he has years of research to catch up on.

Mike doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but he wakes to the early morning light spilling in through the window, finding their limbs intertwined. Their bodies woven together so tightly it’s almost as if their stitching had never been coming apart at all.

Somehow, they’ve been repaired. Loose ends weaved back in and tightened up. Holes stitched together with new threads, not quite the same color, but Mike thinks he likes it better this way. It’s more beautiful like this. Perfectly imperfect. Unique. 

Like Will said—they’re not most people.

Mike isn’t sure how or when the repair happened. Maybe new threads emerged overnight, weaving them back together in their sleep. Maybe he was too busy buzzing and flickering to notice it was happening gradually throughout the night. Every shared look, every touch, every kiss a mended stitch.

He looks down at Will, still fast asleep against his chest, and presses a kiss to his forehead. Another mend for good measure.

Will stirs against him, letting out a soft hum. Buzz.

Maybe that’s it, Mike thinks.

The buzz is the thread, the thing that binds them, and it’s been inside them this whole time. Dancing on the tips of their fingers. Buried in the fibers of their hair. Reaching out from the edges of their lips.

Mike couldn’t feel it before, but he can feel it now—it’s all around him, a current carrying him through the Ocean of Will.

The water is gentle now, like he’s floating. So unlike the unpredictable groundswells from the night before.

He remembers how scary it was to surrender—to stand at the edge of the waters as the turbulent waves approached, to make the choice to dive in, to let himself be pulled in without knowing what would happen next. But once he did, he was shot up to the peak of the wave until he was standing on top, soaring through the sky with Will right next to him.

Maybe this is what Max means about “riding the waves.”

Sometimes it feels like drowning. Sometimes it feels like flying. Sometimes it feels like being carried out to the middle of the ocean by rolling waters, all the while knowing a wave could come at any time.

But it’s not scary anymore, because it’s Will.

And surrendering feels like coming home.