Work Text:
A love that's so demanding
I can't speak
It is unnaturally still at the top, the air unmoving despite the height: there’s no wind in the Upside Down, no trace of nature. Only monsters, and death.
When Will makes it to the platform, Mike is already pushing his water bottle into his hands: he has always cherished this trait of Mike’s character, his willingness to quietly but surely take care of his loved ones in a million tiny ways. Ever since they were kids, Mike would be the first one to notice that Will was tired, sad, or hungry, even before Will himself, and he was always there, ready with a snack, a glass of juice, an extra blanket, before WIll could even voice the need.
Now, Will accepts the water gratefully, taking a big sip as he regains his breath. It’s comforting to know that Mike is still here after Will’s broken confession at the WSQK. He had been ready to lose him there and then, so much that he had downplayed his love for him to a goddamn stupid crush, for God’s sake, something Mike hasn’t been for ages— perhaps never was. It has always been blinding, his love for Mike, since the very first day, like the sun itself: burning up; sublime.
Will gives the bottle back. He grasps both hands on the railing, looking ahead, where the horizon stretches out impossibly wide, coated in that bluish shade that still haunts his nights.
He kind of expects Mike to say something about it, as this is his first time here; perhaps a comment on the freezing, unnatural temperature, a cold that seeps into your bones despite the layers of clothing. But Mike remains uncharacteristically silent, not even looking at their surroundings: he’s fidgeting with the sleeve of his jumper, eyes on his own hands. He seems nervous, which Will reads as them quite literally not knowing if they’re gonna make it through the night, but when Mike finally speaks, it is not about Vecna, or the Upside Down.
“Hey, so,” he breaks the silence, startling Will out of his conjectures. “I wanted to talk to you about something, if that’s alright.”
“Of course.” Will says. “What is it?”
Mike stops fidgeting with his sleeve, placing a hand on the railing, moving the other in the air as he speaks. “So, I have been thinking about what you said at the WSQK, earlier.”
Oh.
Will braces himself for it.
If he says you can’t be friends anymore, explain that you’re still you, and nothing has to change. Tell him he has no reason to feel different about you. Tell him you love him— as a friend. A friend. A friend. Just a friend.
He swallows the nervousness down, forcing himself to speak. “Yeah?”
Mike nods. “And I guess I have a question about it.” He says, somewhat hesitantly, looking at Will from the corner of his eye.
Just tell him that you have no control over this. That if you could, you would choose to be normal. To be like him. But you can’t, and this is how you are. Explain he has no reason to fear this— to fear you.
“Okay.” Will says, forcing himself to feel the metal under his hands, the coldness of it. It is so cold here.
“I guess I was wondering how did you know,” Mike hesitates a moment, looking for the right words. “That you were… I mean, that you are—”
“Like that?” Will says, at the same time as Mike says “Gay?”
“Oh.” Will’s heart skips a beat.
Mike says the word gay like Will never had the courage to do outside the safety of his own mind and, even there, he could only mutter it timidly, tentatively tracing the contours of that one syllable, wondering what it would have sounded like in real life, spoken in his own voice. He still has to find out: he was planning to do it today at the WSQK, had this whole speech planned out, divided in introduction, argument, counter-argument, and conclusion, revolving around this one tiny word that describes so much of who he is as a person but, in the end, didn’t manage. He wanted to, but something held him back, as if saying it out loud was going to be the final, undeniable confirmation that Will really is like that: different; outside the norm.
And here comes Mike, saying it out loud at his very first try and, if it is true that he does it tentatively, stumbling on it like a puppy standing on his own legs for the first time, he still does it, and seriously, not in scorn nor to make fun of it, but giving it the seriousness and respect it deserves. More than that: Mike speaks the word gay like he’d do with love, or kiss: like it's something attractive, something he’s curious about. It suddenly makes Will realise how much he wants to be able to do the same and, he thinks, perhaps it is alright that he couldn’t do it earlier. Perhaps he can do it now, here. With Mike.
“I guess I’ve always known.” He starts, taking his time to pick each and every word. “I think I’ve always felt it— that I was somehow different. Even when we were kids, I used to feel like I couldn’t completely relate to anyone else, not even Lucas, or Dustin, or— you.” He forces the last part out: he wants to reassure Mike that he knows he’s not like him, though it is a bold, fat lie. Will has always felt a special kinship with Mike, like Mike could understand him in a way the rest of the Party and even Jonathan and his mom would never do, no matter how much they loved him. Mike had always made him feel seen, like Will was real, even when reality became elusive.
“Different… how?” He now asks. His tone is not judgemental, as Will was bracing himself for; if anything, he sounds utterly invested in the topic, like he needs to understand what Will means. “Like, how did you feel? What did different feel like, to you?”
Will does his best to convey what it had meant to walk through life with this big, unnamed feeling wrapped around him.
“Like, when I was a kid I would hear everyone talk about how I’d grow up and fall in love one day, and it always felt like such a wild concept to me. I would see Jonathan with Nancy, Lucas with Max, and it never felt like something I would have wanted for myself.” He risks glancing at Mike, who looks utterly focused on absorbing his every word. “But then I grew up and I finally realised it wasn’t because I didn’t want to fall in love or be loved. I actually want that, and very much. It was just that for the longest time I thought I had to fall in love with a girl.” He takes a breath, chest heavy. "And that was just— not possible. I couldn’t even picture it in my mind if I’d forced myself to.” And God knows how much effort he had put into that, always fruitlessly. “Being in love is supposed to feel good. Picturing myself with a girl didn’t feel good at all.”
But with you, it feels so good I can’t stop doing it, haven’t stopped in years, even though it is simultaneously so painful it cracks my ribs open, each time.
“But it would feel good with someone else. Right?” Mike asks, eyes trained to his. “With a boy.”
He nods, unable to speak, hardly daring to believe that they’re openly talking about this, the main topic —after his love for Mike— he’s been carefully avoiding since he understood it himself. He’s both frightfully excited and equally terrified about this conversation, has to grip the railing again to ground himself here, now: in Hell, discussing love with Mike Wheeler.
“And you just… You just knew that?” Mike asks, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s having a hard time understanding.
“I think I’ve always known, yes.” Will nods. “But I didn’t really understand it at first, because I didn’t know that was even a possibility, I didn’t know I was allowed to do that. I couldn’t see it, you know? I never saw another boy, or a man, doing it, so I didn’t know it was a real thing.”
“And then what happened? How did you realise you could—” Mike licks his lips, “Love another boy?”
“I saw someone.” Will says, heart thudding in his chest. “Someone— like me. And it was like— like this huge realization that hit me, all at once. That I’m not the only one like this. Others exist, I’m not crazy, or wrong, or a monster for being who I am—”
“You’re not.” Mike interrupts, reaching out for him but stopping just a whisper away from Will’s hand. “Of course you’re not, Will.”
“But I didn’t know, Mike.” He says, voice thick with the all-consuming yearning he’s felt all his life for something he couldn’t define. “I didn’t know. No one had told me.”
“Will,” Mike murmurs, expression softening, “Why have you never talked about this before? With me? I could have helped— I had no idea you felt like this— all of this.”
He shakes his head. “I was terrified of it, of what I was feeling. Of what— what I am.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s not bad.”
“I know that now, but it’s hard to understand that when people behave like you shouldn’t be the way you are, or worse, they pretend not to see.” He swallows thickly, batting against the emotions rising in his throat. “Sorry. It’s okay now.”
“But it wasn’t before,” Mike says, leaning toward him, clearly taken in the discussion. “And you felt all of this on your own, Will. Have you ever told anyone before today?”
“Not really.” He thinks about it. “Well, there’s one person who kind of knows. But that was only recently.”
Mike’s jaw set in a hard line, making Will’s stomach close with nervousness: had he said too much, already? Did he break this fragile precious moment they were having?
“Is it the guy you mentioned?” Mike asks, voice tight. “What was his name, Timmy—”
“Tammy, oh God, no.” Will has to shut his eyes against the nauseating wave of shame at the memory of how it all came out the wrong way. “Forget that, it was so stupid. I panicked, I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore.”
“I would panic too if I was about to confess something that important to that many people.” Mike whispers in that soft voice Will absurdly thinks as reserved for him. “You were super brave for it, by the way.”
He shrugs, not knowing what to say. “I had to do it. I couldn’t let Vecna have that kind of power over me.”
“Still.” Mike insists. “It was badass.” He catches Will’s gaze, smirking conspiratorily: “Bitchin’.”
Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, a laugh bubbles up Will’s chest, which he doesn’t try to fight. “Bitchin’.”
The tension eases and they fall into that familiar type of silence they can share for hours at a time without it ever getting uncomfortable. Will tries to relax into it, telling himself he couldn't have asked for a better outcome: not only was it Mike who brought the topic up in the first place, but he did it not out of a sense of duty, but genuinely listening to Will’s experience, just like when they’re discussing school, music, or the Upside Down, no matter how big or small the topic.
And perhaps it is this, that’s making Will’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest: the fact that, among all his friends and family, it is still Mike the one who shows him the utmost care, and who, somehow, seems to understand what Will needs better than anyone else, better than Robin too. Even though Mike is not like them.
“So, this Tammy guy.”
Will tenses up.
Don’t ruin it now, please, don’t ask about it, don’t make me say it. Don't make me talk about you.
He keeps very still and silent, absurdly hoping Mike would get bored and drop the topic. But of course Mike doesn’t drop it: he had always been too curious for his own good, and fucking stubborn too, which are features of his character Will is actually deeply enamoured with, so he can’t even blame him for insisting.
“You never mentioned him before. Or anyone else.” Mike indeed says. His tone is somewhat tight again, like he doesn’t like this side of the conversation either and is forcing himself through it.
“Yeah, well,” Will tries his best to remain as vague as possible, “I didn’t know if it would have been okay to do.”
“It was. It is.” Mike confirms at once. “It would have been okay if you would have told me.”
“Okay.” Will says. The muscles in his neck and shoulders are straining with the effort of keeping still, terrified of revealing too much by merely breathing the wrong way and spilling his bottomless love for Mike right here, in the scarce space between them.
“Tell me about him?”
It kind of makes him want to cry, this heartbreakingly gentle tone Mike uses, like he’s determined to handle Will’s experience and, therefore, Will himself with gloved hands. Like Will is something precious, not to be damaged.
“There’s nothing to say, really.”
“Of course there is.” Apparently Mike is not accepting a no as an answer. “You know you can tell me who he is, right?”
Will almost stops breathing. “It’s not that interesting. Nothing ever happened anyway.”
“Still.” Mike insists. “He sounded pretty important to you.”
He was. He is. You will never not be.
He nods again, avoiding Mike’s eyes.
“Was he the one who made you understand?” Mike asks, still so painfully respectful about it that Will can’t even hold it against him. “That you— that you like boys?”
He can't help it but find Mike’s insistence impossibly lovely, recognizing the glint in his eyes from all the times he’s seen it driving Mike to the next chapter, the next point of discussion, the next question. It is a pity he’s at its mercy, right now.
“I think I knew already.” He carefully says. “But he was the one who made it real. Tangible.” Unavoidable. Inescapable.
Mike looks like he’s processing the words, working on making them make sense for him. Who is he even picturing, Will wonders; does he see himself in Will’s words? Can he read between the lines of Will’s voice? How plainly is Will’s love for him tattooed on his skin?
“What does that feel like?” Mike eventually asks. “To like boys, I mean. Is it the same as liking girls?”
Will stares at him. “Mike.”
“What?”
“Did you forget I don’t like girls?” He smiles fondly at him. “I don’t know what that feels like.”
Mike’s eyes go almost comically wide, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. “Oh. Oh, shit! Shit, sorry, you’re right. Fuck.” He swears, flustered, slapping a hand on his own face in adorable embarrassment. “That came out all wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry, Will.”
Will only chuckles, terribly enamoured with this mess of a boy.
Mike shakes his head, like he’s pushing the flusterness out of it with the movement; it’s weirdly endearing.
“What I was trying to ask is, what does it feel like? Is it what people expect you to feel? When you like someone? Or is it different?”
“I mean, I’ve only ever liked one person, so I’m probably not the best conversation partner for this.” Will says. “But to me it feels…” Painful. Heartbreaking. Desperate. Unavoidable. So beautiful it hurts my chest. Incredible. Like I’m kissing the sky. “I guess it feels right.”
Mike’s eyes widen again, but in sudden understanding now, apparently grasping whatever concept he’s been trying to get around to since the start of the conversation.
Then, in a barely audible whisper, he asks: “Like it’s something easy to do?”
Having to hide his love for Mike has never been easy. At times, it had felt impossible, as if no matter how much effort Will would put into it, everyone would nevertheless be able to read it on his face the moment they’d land eyes on him. Having to hide his love for Mike had become a full-time job, a restless occupation he will never be able to say no to; it is a constant worry on the back of his mind that makes him question his every movement, his clothing choices, the way he speaks, how loud or quiet he decides to be.
However, if hiding the sentiment is exhaustingly hard, the act itself of loving Mike is the easiest, most natural thing Will’s ever experienced. He never had to think about how to do it: he was born with that knowledge engraved in his bones. At first, he didn’t even know it was love, because to him it was just Mike. Then, he discovered what people called that warm, bubbly feeling he associated with his friend, and that he wasn’t supposed to feel it for him at all. Not like that, at least; not that intensely. Will knew it, yet he couldn't do anything about it: his love for Mike has always burned so naturally that there was simply no way for him to extinguish it.
“Yes.” He says at last. “Easy.”
Mike nods, looking very pensive.
“I’m not sure loving ever felt easy to me.” He says eventually, and it strangely registers like a confession.
Will frowns. “What do you mean?”
Mike takes a shaking breath, brows furrowed. “I’m not sure I’ve been doing it right. Like, ever.”
“You mean with—”
“With El.” Mike says, in a rush. “I don’t— I don’t know. I’ve kinda been thinking about this for some time, and then what you said today, and now— I don’t think it ever felt easy to me.” He finally looks at Will, gaze painfully earnest. “Sometimes it felt nice, sure, but never easy. It was the opposite of that, actually. I always had to think so much about it.”
Will arches an eyebrow. “About love?”
“About how to love El.” Mike nods. “How I was supposed to act about it.”
“You shouldn’t act.” Will says. “It should feel natural. Even when it’s hard.”
“That’s the point!” Mike agrees, emphatically moving his hands, like when he’s explaining one of his theories. “It felt like I was always acting, and it’s like you said, I’m only now realizing it shouldn’t be like that.”
“Oh.” Will says. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
“It’s okay.” He says, then squeezes his eyes shut. “Shit, I’m talking about myself when this was supposed to be about you.”
“It’s alright.” He reassures him, not wanting him to think he doesn't appreciate this. “It can be about the both of us.”
He mentally curses his word choice, realising how they might sound, but Mike simply gives him a tiny, hopeful smile.
“It almost feels like what you said today is pushing me to wake up from a trance I didn’t know I had fallen into.”
Will frowns. “Like Vecna’s curse?”
“Precisely.” He nods, eyes shining when Will understands. “I didn’t know I was under this trance to begin with, which is why I never questioned it, but I’m starting to think that I’ve been… asleep for a long time. Maybe always.” He sighs heavily. “Which means I have to wake up now, but I’m not sure how.”
It’s Will’s turn to digest the words. He’s starting to have a feeling of what Mike might be saying, but that can’t possibly be right. Will must simply not be thinking straight, as biased he is in his judgment of anything related to Mike Wheeler. This can’t be going in the direction Will is sensing, yet he wants to understand what Mike means with this trance metaphor, so he shifts his mindset to think like him, using their shared language.
“Suppose it’s DnD.” He proposes. “What would Mike the Brave do if he’d be under Vecna’s curse?”
The answer comes at once: “He’d fight against it until he’d be free.”
“Right.” Will agrees. “He would try everything in his power to free himself from it.”
“But suppose that in order to free himself and wake up from the curse he must follow this other new road ahead of him. What if it’s too risky?” Mike asks, pressing for an answer, eyes a bit frantic. “What if— if, by going that way he risks losing someone? Someone precious to him.” His eyes find Will’s for a moment. “I can’t— he can’t risk that.”
“At least he’d tried.” Will says, strangely feeling like he’s begging Mike for something they’re both skittering around. “He’d regret it all his life if he didn’t.”
Mike looks torn, like he’s fighting against himself to reach something Will can’t fully see yet. He can, however, help him get to it, whatever that is.
“You can do that too, Mike.” He encourages him. “Don’t you want to wake up from the curse? To be free?”
Mike swallows. He nods, just once. He's silent for so long then, that Will thinks they are done talking about this.
“I—” Mike eventually starts saying, then shuts his mouth, only to open it again, but no words come out. At last, he asks: “we’re friends. Right?”
Something breaks in his chest at the reminder that that’s everything they’ll ever be. He quietly swallows it down. “Of course we are.”
“And we will always be friends,” Mike says, insistently, like he really doubts Will might not want to be his friend anymore one day, for whatever reason. “No matter what happens. No matter what either of us is going to do. Right?”
“Yes, of course.” He assures him. “We’ll always be friends, you know that. What’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.”
“No, it’s alright, nothing bad is happening.” Mike reassures him, and he sounds honest about it.
“Okay.” Will says, breathing more easily. “I trust you.”
The look of utter fondness Mike gives him makes him physically ache, like Mike is reaching in between his ribs to squeeze his heart in his hands.
“I promise everything’s fine.” Mike assures him once more, gaze warm.
“Okay.” Will says.
“Okay.” Mike smiles tentatively. Then, he takes a deep breath, and Will can almost see the gears shift in his head, until they apparently fall into place and Mike seems to make a decision: he turns fully toward Will, a fire burning in his eyes.
“I’m gonna do something now.” He tells him, and Will doesn’t even manage to ask what exactly he is going to do, because he's rarely seen Mike looking this scared and determined, but for some reason he is, right now, one hundred percent focused on Will and Will only, pinning him to the spot. “If this makes you feel bad, you tell me and I promise nothing will change between us. Okay?” He awaits for Will’s answer like his life depends on it.
“Mike, what—”
“Please, Will.” He urges him, hands gripping the railing. “Just— we’ll always be friends, promised? Best friends?”
Will is starting to get seriously worried despite the reassurance, but he gets no time to overthink it before Mike speaks again, all broken sentences and palpable anxiety.
“Because— because there’s something I’ve been thinking about. And I’m not sure it’s the same for you, but— I can’t ignore it any longer.” He looks straight into Will’s eyes: “I don’t want to be asleep anymore.”
“You shouldn’t.” Will whispers, heart beating painfully against his ribs. “You should wake up from the curse.”
“Indeed.” Mike agrees. Then, his gaze moves lower, in between them, and Will follows it, and realises Mike is looking at his hand, gripping the railing. And then Will’s hand gripping the railing is suddenly being covered by Mike’s own hand, bigger and wider, which means Mike’s palm is covering the entirety of Will’s hand, which means his heart almost leaps out of his throat.
I’m not making this up, I can’t be making this up, this can’t be a dream, please, not again—
He stares at it, at their hands together, one gently placed over the other, shielding it from the evil of the world, and the sight of it physically hurts him, reminding him of a similar touch they shared long ago, when Mike had reassured him he was going to stay with him, even go crazy with him, if it’d ever come to that. Will feels pretty crazy right now, with Mike touching him like this.
“I think—” Mike says, making Will’s gaze snap up on his face, finding him terrified, which in turns makes Will feel painfully seen, because that’s how he’s been feeling for the past decade, trying to make Mike see, to make him wake up, as he’d put it. But Mike is also wearing that look Will’s only ever seen on him in life or death situations, which he’s been privately referring to as his Paladin look: utterly determined, with a clear goal in mind and the single focus to reach it, no matter how dangerous.
“I think,” Mike tries again, voice shaking. “I think I got it all wrong. Always.”
Will can only stare at him, not daring to speak, nor breathe. Luckily, Mike seems to be needing to talk for the both of us, as if a dam finally broke.
“I’m sorry if this is messed up, and I’m messed up, and this probably sounds like it’s coming out of nowhere, and now is definitely not the best time for this, but I—” He looks at Will, begging him to understand. “Will, I think I— you—” He swallows. “I think I was looking for something that’s been right in front of me all along.” He tries to catch Will’s gaze. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Does Will understand? He thinks he’s never understood anyone better, yet this can't be possible, he must be reading it all wrong, surely, although if this is not it, then what do Mike’s open gaze, shaking voice and desperation might possibly mean?
He realises there's only one way to find out for certain. Gathering all his courage, Will slowly turns his own trembling hand over, palm slotting perfectly against Mike’s. He watches, transfixed, how his friend’s eyes widen in wondrous disbelief.
“Will,” he says. “Can I— is it okay if I hug you?”
He barely has the time to nod, heart soaring, before Mike crushes him into a desperate embrace.
He can’t recall another time when Mike had touched him with a similar sense of urgency, holding onto him so tightly Will can barely breathe. Not even after Will had saved him from that Demo just two days ago had he been this desperate, shaking like a leaf in his arms, holding onto Will like this is something he’d been waiting to do for a long time and finally got the chance.
Will is lightheaded with shock, in total disbelief of what’s happening, pretty certain he didn’t get it wrong, though there’s still a suspicion, like maybe Mike is just saying he likes boys too, not that he likes Will specifically. Still he clings onto him the same way he’s been holding onto that tiny flicker of hope he has been fanning into a feeble flame since the moment Mike first asked how did you know you were gay: hopelessly, with all of himself.
Mike holds him back double as tightly, so much that Will can feel their heartbeats beating against one another, reunited after a long time apart.
“I’m sorry.” Mike chokes out, face pressed into his shoulder.
He shakes his head, unable to speak; if he opens his mouth he’ll cry.
“I’m sorry, it’s just— is this okay?” Mike asks again, and Will can’t believe this, he just can’t, it’s so much. He can only nod, hot tears spilling from the corner of his eyes when he pulls Mike even closer, whispering, “Yes— Mike— Yes.”
Mike lets out a sob of his own, like he’s finally easing an unspeakable weight off his shoulders. He slowly moves back just a touch, the side of his face against Will’s.
Why is this happening now? Is it really happening at all, or is this yet another one of his dreams that’s going to turn into a nightmare as soon as he realises he’s making it up?
“I never—” Mike stammers, and God, it is not a dream, could never be, because Will does not have the mental capacity to picture Mike like this, eyes full of tears, face cracked open with emotions, looking at him like Will holds the stars. “I never understood anything, Will.” He shakes his head, frustrated. “But I understand now. I get why you always felt so different from everyone else. Even from Dustin, from Lucas. It’s because it’s you.” His hands shift upwards, until he’s cupping Will’s face, heartbreakingly gentle, which tears a wretched noise out of Will’s throat, because he never even dared to imagine he could have had this.
“I think it’s always been you.” Mike confesses, and Will can only cry, cry, cry, holding onto him. “Always. I just— never understood it.” He wipes Will’s tears away with his thumb, and Will doesn’t have the presence of mind to do the same with his, can’t even remember how to use his hands, but he does want to wipe Mike’s own tears away too, so he simply pushes his face against his cheek, wiping his pain away with his own skin.
“You mean—” He forces himself to speak, has to know exactly what Mike is saying, can’t take anything for granted, not now, not with this. “Me? Mike, what do you mean—”
“I mean that I— I like you.” He says, finally, incredibly. “Like, a lot. And a lot of things are starting to make sense now, because of this. My relationship with El, why it always felt so… artificial. Why being with you never felt like that.” Will feels his quickened breath against his own skin. “It’s all because I lo— like you, Will. A lot.”
Will chokes on a sob, and Mike wraps his arms around him at once, like he knows exactly that he needs it.
“Me too,” he sobs, “Mike— you don’t know— me too.”
“Fuck.” Mike swears, overcome with emotions just as Will. He buries his nose into the side of Will’s neck, holding him close, so close.
They hadn’t touched like this in years: Will knew he missed it, but he only now realises how deeply he needed to feel Mike’s arms around him, to have a physical proof of his affections.
They stay like that for a while, soaking in each other’s physical presence and, when Mike moves back, he doesn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together (oh God, Will can barely breathe, Mike is so close—).
“You like me?” Mike double-checks, in a barely-there whisper. “Really?”
“Yes,” Will nods, crying like a baby, but who the hell cares, Mike likes him. “Always. So much.”
Despite the tears, Mike’s face breaks into a smile. “But— and the guy you mentioned, Tammy? What about him?”
“Mike,” Will does his best to put more than a decade of unspoken love into his next sentence: “I was talking about you.”
“Oh.” Mike’s eyes widen in surprise. Then, he frowns. “You said you were over him.”
“It’s called a copying mechanism.” He tries to laugh it off, to make it sound less depressing than what it actually is, but it comes out all thin and pathetic. “A survival strategy. That’s what you do after spending years hopelessly pining for your straight best friend.”
Mike’s eyebrows pinch together. “Will,” he whispers, caressing his cheek, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” He says. “Come here?”
Will goes; of course he goes. He closes his eyes, burying his face into Mike’s chest, letting himself bask in his familiar smell, his warmth.
He has never felt this safe before. They are in literal Hell, but this boy’s arms are Heaven.
“I don’t think I am, by the way.” Mike whispers eventually.
“What?”
“Straight,” he clarifies, “I mean, I thought I was, but I’ve started to think about it recently, like really think about it, mostly because of how I had been thinking about you.”
His heart skips a beat. He moves back to look at him: he needs to see Mike for this. “How have you been thinking about me?”
“Like, always wanting to be near you, to touch you.” A faint blush raises on his cheeks, which is so adorable Will wants to scream. “Or, I don’t know, getting to places first so I could make sure to sit next to you before Lucas, Jonathan, or anyone else could steal my spot—”
“I always keep you a seat next to me, Mike.”
His expression softens impossibly, “See, this is exactly what I meant.”
“And you realised it all, when? Today?”
He doesn’t mean to press him, or to make it sound like an interrogation, but he needs to know that this is really happening and that Mike really means it; he can’t risk misunderstanding even a word of this conversation, which, he suddenly realises, it possibly is one of the most important he’ll ever had.
“Uhm.” Mike’s blush deepens. “As you said, I guess I’ve always known, but I didn’t understand what it was either. I just thought the reason why I saw you differently was because you weren’t just a friend, but my best friend.”
Will loves Mike Wheeler, good Lord he does, but after years of being repeatedly reminded that they are friends, no, best friends, he has reached a stage where those words have almost become triggering. Still, he wants to hear what Mike has to say, so he silently encourages him to go on by tracing loose circles on his back (and the simple fact that he can do something like this makes him weak at the knees).
“Anyway, no, I didn’t realise it today. I think I really started to understand it this past year, having you living with us.” Mike absentmindedly smiles at the thought, like he’s re-examining a very pleasant memory. “You were always there. And it was so nice, Will, I love having you around all the time, not just at school or when we hang out. It made me see so many more sides of you I’ve never had access to before, and I thought I saw everything already, but no! Suddenly I knew what you looked like when you were having a really shitty day and you wanted to be left alone because of it and, if normally you would have apologised and went home, now home was with us, with me, which meant I still got to see you, and—” He suddenly stops, cheeks flaming red. “Shit, I’m rambling. You should tell me to shut up.”
Will is speechless, trying to process the revelation that Mike has been possibly thinking about him in a romantic way for months. He decides to file the thought away for later, or he’s going to pass out, and he definitely doesn’t want that, because he’s loving how gorgeous Mike looks like this, confessing his private little thoughts about him and blushing furiously because of it.
“You’re basically saying you realised you liked me because you saw me having a bad day?” He asks, teasing.
“No!” Mike exclaims, throwing his head back and groaning in adorable embarrassment. Mission accomplished, Will thinks, delirious with love. “I’m saying that I’m an idiot who’s been kept under a trance for God knows how long, not seeing the obvious.”
“And now you are awake?”
“Yes.” Mike says with a tentative smile forming on his lips. “Even though this feels like a very nice dream.”
Then, he slowly leans toward Will, like he’s leaving him the option to move back, if he’d want to.
Will does not want to. Instead, he leans toward Mike too, until his forehead is once again pressed with his. He might be a bit obsessed with this specific touch: he doesn’t think they’ve ever been this physically close before, not even when they were children and clinging to one another constantly. Like this, he could easily count the freckles dotted along Mike’s nose and cheeks, if he wasn’t about to have a heart attack.
“Mike,” he breathes in a whisper, just needing to say his name.
Mike’s gaze snaps from his lips to his eyes, and God, his pupils are blown wide, eyes still shiny with unshed tears. Will has to close his own eyes, or he’d kiss him, but Mike doesn’t seem happy about it, because he insistently pushes his forehead against him, like a puppy would do to attract his owner’s attention.
“Say something?” He softly begs.
“I love you.”
Will can’t even be mad about how it tumbles out of him; there would be no point in saying anything but this, now.
Mike’s breath catches in his throat, and then he’s pulling Will closer, burying his nose into his cheek like he’s trying to fuse himself with him.
“You do?” He asks, sounding euphorically happy.
Will nods, and Mike just holds him tighter, like he can’t stop touching him now that he knows he’s allowed. Then, he brings a hand on the back of Will’s head, gently threading his fingers through the short hair there, sending shivers down his spine. “I think— I do, too.” He whispers, impossibly.
“Oh, God.” Will sobs, tears flowing freely. “Stop making me cry.”
“Sorry,” Mike says, but Will can hear the smile in his voice.
Mike’s hand shifts from his hair to the side of his face, gaze locked on Will’s mouth.
“Will,” he whispers, “is it okay if I—” He swallows.
“Yes.” Will nods immediately, the tip of his nose catching against Mike’s.
Mike nods too; then, he gently, oh so gently, tilts Will’s face upwards and finally, incredibly, gives him his first kiss.
Will can’t feel his limbs anymore, his entire being solely focused on Mike, on how Mike feels against him, on his physical, very tangible presence enveloping him in a cloud of blinding happiness.
Later, he will realise how he never once had to think about how he was moving, or what he was doing, as it all came natural, like kissing Mike Wheeler is what he was meant to be doing all along.
The kiss is not that long really, as they are both still shaking, and Will is crying into it, and Mike is smiling into it, but it is perfect, unforgettable, with Mike’s hands running up to cup the sides of his face, guiding him a touch to the side, so that they fit together even better.
When they break apart, Will can’t help it but bursts into yet another sob, which Mike matches at once.
“Fuck.” Will swears, simultaneously frustrated about his own crying and so happy he could scream.
Mike smiles through his own tears. “It was so bad it made you swear?”
He snorts a surprised laugh, which at least means he stops crying like a baby. “It was so perfect it made me swear.”
“So perfect,” repeats Mike, smile widening. “I like that.”
“Don't brag about it.”
They probably should keep going with the plan instead of getting lost into each other’s eyes like a lovesick couple, but damn it all: Will has been dreaming about being the other half of a lovesick couple featuring his best friend (ah!) for ages: everything else can wait.
“I understand what you meant, now.” Mike whispers. “About love feeling easy.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. “I mean, everything with you always felt easy. Except for when I was acting like an idiot, but that’s because I didn’t even know who I was anymore.” He moves a hand in a quick gesture, as if to push the thought away. “But when I’m myself, you’re the easiest thing ever.”
“Mike, I can’t cry again.” He complains, fighting against the tears.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise how many things I’ve been wanting to tell you until I started and now I can’t stop.” Mike chuckles, self-consciously.
“I want to hear them all.” Will assures him, sniffling. “If you want to tell me.”
“Definitely.” Mike nods. “I’m still realising a lot of them myself, though, so it might take time.”
“That’s okay. I can wait.”
Mike’s entire face melts into a pained expression: “I’m sorry I made you wait already.”
“It’s fine.” Will says, meaning it. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better than this— except for the Upside Down, probably.”
Mike chuckles. “In my defense, I told you this wasn’t the best time—”
“Nor place.” He adds, just to tease.
Mike flushes red. “A-at least I did it!”
“Yes. You did it.” Will pulls him close, trying to convey how much he appreciates it— not just the content of the confession itself, but the fact that Mike managed to do something so important for himself in the first place. “We’re in the worst place ever,” he muses, drunk on love, “But it now feels like I’m on a date or something.”
He flushed hot as he says it, but doesn’t hide it: he wants Mike to see it all, awkward confessions and forbidden wishes.
“We can do that— right? I mean, I want to do that.” Mike says excitedly, immediately rushing to add, “Not here! When we’re back home. Would you like to do that?” He asks, eyes shining. “To go on a date? Together?”
Will couldn't fight the smile breaking onto his face (and more tears swelling in his eyes) if he’d try. “I don’t think there’s anything I want more.”
It feels really good to finally confess it, after having carefully kept it locked away in the depth of his chest for years. Still, there are a million things he would like to ask Mike: isn’t he worried they can’t do real date stuff together? Won’t he miss doing them? Is he really okay with dating Will? But, he thinks, let’s have this, at least for now. Let's enjoy it. He could die any minute, for all he knows, so why not take what he can, while he can. Perhaps, for once, he can give himself this.
“Then we’ll go on a date.” Mike promises earnestly. “And then another one. And another one. And—”
“Mike.” Will begs, unable to contain the tears.
“Sorry, too much? I’m just really excited about this.” He really is, Will can feel it in the way he’s almost buzzing in place. “Like, holy shit, Will— this is crazy.”
“It is,” he agrees, willing his heart to stop beating so fast, so hard, “But you told me once that you would have gone crazy with me, if needed, so I guess we are sticking to the plan.”
Mike gasps. “You remember that?”
“You remember that?” Will asks back, as surprised as Mike himself seems to be.
“Of course I do!” He says. “Will— I was so worried that night. You were terrified, like never before. It felt like you were somewhere I couldn’t reach, and it scared the shit out of me.”
“I was, but you did reach me, Mike. I still remember it, the way you pulled me out of here with your voice only. You—” He swallows, willing himself to remember that he’s here again, yes, but not alone. “I was here, and then you called my name, you touched me, and I was back with you at once. I don’t think anyone else could have done it. Not even mom, or Jonathan.”
“Oh.” Mike says, eyebrows arched upwards. He pulls Will in, gently this time, a hand threading in the hair behind his ear. “I feel like there are so many things about you— about me and you, that I haven’t noticed.”
“It’s alright. I’ll tell you.”
“Will you, really?” Mike asks. “I do want to know. I want to know everything, everything I’ve missed while I was asleep.”
Will smiles. “You make it sound like you were some kind of Sleeping Beauty.”
“Not sure about the Beauty part, but being alive while not really seeing what’s happening because an evil magician has casted a spell on me sounds pretty apt for what it felt like.”
“I’m glad you are awake now.” Will makes sure to look into his eyes as he says it, wanting Mike to understand how he means this.
“Me too.” Mike smiles reassuringly. Then, in a lighter tone, he adds, “So, I was thinking—”
“Dangerous.”
“I was thinking,” Mike repeats, looking way too pleased by Will’s teasing. “Well, that we’ll be going on dates once we’ll be back, right? So, instead of friends, I guess, if you want, we could be—” He timidly takes Will’s hand. “Well. We could be boyfriends?”
Will tries his best, he really does, but in the end he can’t fight the tears, making Mike smile sappily at him. This time, instead of his thumb, he uses his sleeve to wipe them dry. “I take that as a yes? Sorry, I just want to be extra sure that I’m not getting any of this wrong.”
“Yes— of course it’s a yes, Mike.” He nods, sniffling. “I want that. So much. I can't even tell you.”
“Boyfriends, then.” Mike confirms, voice full of wonder, caressing the back of Will’s hand. “Wow. I have a boyfriend. Can you believe it?”
“I can’t, I genuinely think I’m in shock right now.”
Mike snorts out a laugh, nodding back. “I feel hungover.”
“You’ve never been hungover before.”
“But I suspect this is what it would be like.” He insists, threatening to crack Will’s heart open with all the happiness he’s giving him. “Like I’d need a couple of days to recover.”
Reality crashes back on him like a cold shower. “We don’t really have that much time now.” He says, “Mike— listen, whatever’s gonna happen, you’ll be careful. RIght?”
He squeezes Will’s hand. “Yes. And you too. Promise me?”
“I promise if you do it too.”
“Alright then.” Mike raises his free hand in between them, pinky finger stretched toward him in offer.
A memory breaks through Will’s vision like a flash: Mike in kindergarten, a mere few days after coming up to Will asking if he wanted to be his friend. Mike with his tiny little hand held out in front of him, offering Will his pinky, because “this is how you do a promise, and you can never break a promise, because if you do, that’s really bad.” “Oh,” Will had said, “Really?” “Yes,” Mike had solemnly nodded. “If we say we are friends forever, we can never break the promise.” “That’s okay,” Will had said with no hesitation, “I want to be your friend forever.” Mike’s chubby little face had splitted into an euphoric smile: “I also want to be your friend forever!” He had carefully taken Will’s hand in his, putting it into the position he deemed right. “Do this with your pinky, like this.” Will had followed his instructions, wrapping it around Mike’s own finger. “Like this?” “Yes.” Mike had nodded, looking very serious and very focused on the task. “Now close your eyes and we promise it. And that’s it, we’ll always be friends!” Will had done it at once: he had closed his eyes, wished, and promised, with all of himself, to always be Mike’s friend. When he had opened them again, he had found Mike looking at him, lips parted. “Did I do it right?” Will had asked, suddenly worried he might have done something wrong, which he really didn’t want, because he wanted to be Mike’s friend more than anything else! Luckily, Mike had smiled and nodded. “I like to say my promises out loud, but that’s okay too. You were thinking really hard about it,” he had added, chuckling softly, “it looked pretty.” “Oh,” Will had felt his chest growing all warm, a sensation he had never experienced before. He really liked it. “Thank you. You are pretty too.” Mike had hidden behind his own hand (the one that was not intertwined with Will’s), like he hadn’t known how to handle what Will had said. “So, now we’re friends forever?” Will had asked, wanting to make sure he really did it right. “Yes!” Mike had smiled, satisfied. He had closed his own eyes: “I also promise we are going to be friends forever. It’s done!”
“Oh, Mike.” Will breathes now, overcome by how much he’s always been loved. It had been there all along: Will had simply failed to notice it for what it was, because he’s always thought it was just Mike being Mike.
He raises his own hand next to his friend’s (no, he mentally corrects himself, his boyfriend’s!), catching his pinky with his, repeating the motions he first performed more than a decade ago. Mike chokes on his own breath, a tear falling on his cheek.
“Promise you’ll be okay.”
“I promise.” Will says, choked up with it. “Promise you’ll make it home.”
“I promise.” Mike’s voice cracks, “Promise me you won’t do anything extreme, or excessively dangerous.”
“I promise.” Will tells him. “Promise you’ll look after yourself.”
“I promise.” Mike says. More tears fall from his beautiful eyes as he asks for the next oath: “Promise you’ll stay by my side where I can protect you.”
This one makes Will weep harder than he ever did since the start of this conversation. Mike holds him through it, crying himself, because they’re just two boys about to walk into war, terrified for themselves, each other, and their loved ones.
“I— promise.” Will eventually breathes through the tears. “Promise you won’t put yourself in danger because of me.”
He feels presumptuous, asking for this, but Mike actually hesitates, making Will’s heart drop. “Mike.” He implores. “Please. Do not— You can’t—”
“I promise it,” he says, “Only if you promise to not do it either, if it comes to me.”
And ah, now Will understands the hesitance: he wouldn't think about it twice, if it meant saving Mike.
“Will.” Mike urgently calls him back. “You have to promise it.”
“I—” He’s got half a mind to remind him that their situations can’t be compared: Will’s connection to Henry and the hivemind is too precious not to be used, and if he could use it to save Mike then of course he’d do it. It’s not even a question, really.
“Will, no— stop, please.” Mike actually begs him, shaking him by the shoulders like he’s trying to bring him back to reality, to him. “You’re gonna keep yourself safe, not doing any stupid shit, even if it comes to me, or anyone else, I can’t lose you—”
“Okay. Yes.” He nods at last, solely because he can’t stand the pure terror written all over Mike’s face. “I’m sorry— I promise that.” He wraps his pinky tighter around Mike’s. “I swear it, Mike. I’ll be safe.”
“Okay.” He breathes, still looking on the verge of a panic attack, staring unblinkingly at Will’s face. “Then close your eyes—”
“And make your oath. I remember.” Will gives him a tentative smile, hoping to calm him down. He closes his eyes: “I promise I’ll be safe, and that I’ll make it out alive.”
He can hear Mike swallowing thickly. “I promise I’ll do the same, and that I’ll protect you.”
“I promise I’ll do the same with you, and that I’ll be careful doing it.” Will whispers.
He hears Mike breathing brokenly through the tears, “I promise I’ll do the same, and that we’ll make it to tomorrow.”
Will nods, even though Mike can’t see him. “I promise I’ll take care of you in any way I can, while being careful with myself too.”
Mike tightens his hold on his bicep, “I promise I’ll do the same, and that I’ll kill anything that tries to touch you.”
“I promise I’ll do the same with you, and that you won’t have to kill anything, because I’ll kill them before they can get to you.” He says, meaning every word.
Then, Mike says, in his most solemn voice: “I promise I won't let him hurt you again.”
Will breaks down. His eyes fly open without his permission, his legs give out underneath him. Mike scoops him into his arms at once, keeping him upright with his own body while Will is shaken by violent sobs, face buried into his chest, wailing wretchedly because of the unspeakable terror he’s been harboring for years, and all the love Mike is pouring on him, reaching the deepest, biggest fear he has carefully hidden inside of himself in order to survive his day to day life.
“It’ll be alright,” Mike whispers into his hair, letting him cry, “I swear to God, Will. I fucking swear.”
It takes him some time to calm down; Mike holds him through it all.
Will distantly realises that they’re still holding their pinkies together, crushed in between their bodies.
“I promise—” He has to clear his voice when he finally manages to speak. “I promise I will survive him.”
“You better.” Mike tells him, “I’m not losing you.”
“Nor I, you.”
Mike gently moves his face back to look at him, giving Will a painfully enamoured smile: “I promise I’ll take you on a date as soon as we’ll make it home.”
“I promise I’ll take you on a date, too.” Will says, to really make him understand that he means this: they’re gonna make it. These are not just words: they are their future.
Mike grazes his thumb along his cheekbone. “I’m going to kiss you now, alright? Then, we have to go.”
“Yes,” Will breathes. “Of course. Yes.”
At the top of a tower, at the end of the world, stand two boys, limbs intertwined, grasping at each other’s heart. They cast oaths of protection over one another, promising to survive the imminent battle for the other’s sake, not knowing that their love had been written a long time ago, predestined to survive it all.