Chapter Text
"It wasn't about El, was it?"
Will's head snaps up. Mike's standing in the doorway to the Wheeler's basement, Will's on-off bedroom since he came back to Hawkins. The curtains are open, and Mike's face glows with sunlight.
"What?" Will asks.
Mike closes the door and sits on the couch, opposite where Will's sitting with a sketchbook balanced on his knees. He closes it and sets it on the carpeted floor.
"Your, um," Mike bites his thumbnail. "What you said. In the van?"
Fuck.
Fuck.
Mike knows. Mike knows now that he's different, and how he feels, and Will has no doubt that he doesn't like it.
"The thing you said about being…" Mike meets his eyes. Will wants to crawl into the walls and never leave. "Being different." He wants Mike to stop talking more than he's wanted anything in his life. He doesn't. "Feeling like a mistake." Will knows what's coming. He'll tell him, yes, Will, you are a mistake, you are gross and weird.
But for some reason Mike's expression softens. He gives him that look. The look he had on his face he had, in this very basement, three years ago, when he said they could be crazy together.
"I don't think you're a mistake, Will." He says, soft but firm.
Mike doesn't know what he's talking about. There's no way he knows and is just fine with it.
"Mike-" Will's voice, horrifyingly, breaks. He stops talking. There's nothing to say, is there?
Mike looks at him for a few more moments, as if searching for something, then looks away and looks somewhat disappointed. Will doesn't know what he was looking for but he can tell he didn't find it.
"I'm sorry." Will finally works up the courage to say. He is, he's sorry about everything. Even when Will can barely feel anything (sitting in his bed in Lenora, staring at the ceiling with the faint sound of Jonathan's The Cure floating in from down the hall), the guilt never goes away. It's constant, consuming.
"Don't be." Mike says, almost immediately. Will needs him to stop talking, like, yesterday. "Don't be sorry, Will, you don't have anything to be sorry for. Please, just…" Mike moves closer and Will wants to stab something. They're knee-to-knee now, and Mike's hands are scarily close to his own. It's hard to avoid eye contact this close together, but Will's making a valiant effort.
"Just talk to me." Mike says, quieter now because of the proximity.
Will takes a deep, shaky breath and finds a stain on the carpet to stare at while he talks. "It- it wasn't about El. It was about me because that's how I- that's how I feel. A lot of the time. Like I'm wrong or, uh-" he swallows. "Or gross, or whatever. For being-" He looks up and meets Mike's gaze. He's staring attentively, really listening, and it gives him the courage to just say it. "Queer." The word gay feels weird to say in front of Mike, but queer gets the point across just fine.
There's a brief flash of surprise across Mike's face, but then he's nodding like that's normal and like he expected it.
That's when Will realizes- oh. Mike doesn't know. He doesn't know all of it, anyways. He doesn't know how he feels about him.
"It sucks that you feel like that." Mike says simply. It's, somehow, the perfect thing to say at this moment. It does suck.
"Yeah." Will laughs lightly. "It sucks."
Mike smiles at him and Will can see him reach his arms out, then hesitate. Like he can't possibly hug him, like they haven't been close enough to kiss each other before. That thought brings a faint blush to his face but he pushes it away.
"You can hug me. The gay isn't contagious," Will tries to joke, but it falls flat. Mike winces.
"Sorry." He says quickly before reaching out and scooping Will into his arms.
It takes impressive amounts of self-control not to do something stupid like sigh contentedly or tangle a hand in Mike's hair or, like, kiss his face off.
He tucks his face into the crook of Mike's neck and Mike squeezes tighter and rubs his back.
Fucking shit bitch asshole what the fuck.
Will makes a strangled sound that he tries to play off a cough but it ends up sounding comedically fake and it's sort of gross to cough into someone's neck anyway, so instead he just pulls away from the hug.
Mike seems a little disappointed when he sits back down (somehow closer, which is pretty impressive considering they weren't an inch apart before.)
"How'd you find out, anyway?" Will says, breaking the tense silence that fell upon them.
"Well, I was talking to El." Mike shrugs. Will is so fucked. "And I was saying I was upset that she felt like she couldn't tell me all that stuff. You know, the stuff you said." Mike gestures aimlessly at him. "And she told me that she never said that stuff. Then I remembered what you said about opening up…" Mike shakes his head. "And it all just sort of clicked." Then hesitates. "Why… why didn't you tell me?" He asks, looking into Will's eyes and into his soul, probably.
Will's heart promptly shatters.
"I was scared." He says honestly. "I was scared you wouldn't like the truth."
Mike rests his hand on Will's forearm and squeezes. Such a small show of affection has Will blushing and he has to take a deep breath to settle the butterflies in his stomach.
"I like you no matter what you are, Will." Mike says. It's almost perfect. It's almost what Will wants, not quite.
Because Will Byers never gets what he wants.
"I'm sorry you thought I'd react badly." Mike says. "And I'm really sorry if I ever did anything to make you think that."
Will winces a little. Because of course, Mike doesn't remember.
Mike notices his reaction and frowns. He sort of looks like a kicked puppy. "What?"
"Remember, uh, that summer…" Will sighs. "We had that fight outside of your house and you said…"
Mike's look of shock causes him to trail off. "Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Will, I'm so sorry," he actually looks a little teary-eyed, "I didn't even think about- fuck. I'm really sorry." Mike moves his hand off of Will's arm and buries himself in Will's chest.
Will is very glad Mike can't see his face. "It's okay." It's a little odd that he's the one comforting Mike in this situation, but Will doesn't mind. He tentatively places a hand in Mike's hair. Mike tightens his grip and Will takes that as a sign that it's okay, so he runs a hand through it. His hair is soft, impossibly soft, and he combs through the (various) tangles.
"Thank you for being my friend." Mike says after a while, muffled against Will's chest. It's sweet, and it shouldn't make Will's stomach sink.
But…
Friend.
Will tries not to let the word affect him, but it's like ignoring a knife sticking out of your chest. It hurts, a deep, stinging pain that nothing can soothe.
He tries to choke out some variation of "you're not an asshole" or "of course, platonic homie" but his vocal cords refuse to cooperate.
Mike seems to sense the change in mood (he always does, he must sniff it out like a dog or something), because he sits up and cocks his head.
"What is it?" He asks.
Will Byers can never have what he wants.
And Will Byers is fucking tired of it.