Chapter Text
On an average day, Will Byers would consider ice skating to be his escape. The ice is a balm, metaphorically and physically, for the hot, punishing weight of his anxieties and fears. His blades carve patterns into the surface, and focusing on the intricacy of the lines distracts him from any racing thoughts or lingering words. As he glides around the rink, it seems impossible to feel anything other than unfettered. If he skates well enough, jumps high enough, spins fast enough, he can outrun his own burdens. The numbing effect of the cold dulls the pain of rejection—of not being good enough, normal enough, manly enough. Figure skating never makes him feel like a failure.
“Will!” Jane groans, sounding incredibly put out. He can hear her frustration in the hiss of her skate against the ice. She stops, folding her arms across her chest and frowning at him in that way that makes him feel like he just gave her favorite barbie a buzzcut. “It’s a triple toe loop, not a triple flip!”
Today is not an average day.
“Well, maybe it should be a triple flip,” he argues, feeling uncharacteristically obstinate. He doesn’t stop skating—choosing instead to circle his step sister like a shark readying to strike. “Maybe it looks better that way.”
“It’s doesn’t,” Jane insists, narrowing her eyes.
“Says you,” he grumbles, skating away from her before proximity fans the flames of his temper. He attempts to deflect. “Let’s work on something else. What about the Lutz throw?”
“We need to work on the part you keep messing up,” Jane retorts, tossing her head to one side to emphasise her point. Her crimped ponytail bounces menacingly, ends just brushing the tops of her shoulders as she talks.
“Mom says when we’re having trouble with one element, we should take a break and come back to it,” Will bargains. Invoking his mom like this always makes him feel like a petulant child, but sometimes Jane respects Joyce’s advice more than Will’s own suggestions.
This is not one of those times.
“Well Joyce isn’t here, and Hop says discipline and repetition lead to success.” Jane holds her chin high. Will rolls his eyes.
“Hop would know, being such a decorated figure skater and all,” he snorts, twirling around on one blade a few times before stopping ungracefully with his legs spread wide in a capital ‘A’. He allows his body to drift forward slowly, propelled simply by gravity, back hunched and shoulders slouched with exhaustion. He feels like a sloth on wheels.
“Just because he played hockey doesn’t mean he doesn’t know the value of practice,” Jane explains. “He has two gold medals for a reason, ya know.”
“Yeah, because he throws a really mean right hook,” Will jokes.
His sister is not amused.
Will sighs, skating back over to speak to her more directly. “I’m sorry, okay? I know it’s a triple toe loop. I keep over-rotating. I think I just need to take a break for a few minutes. Can we?”
Jane blinks up at him, apprehensive, before she exhales dramatically and closes her eyes. “Fine. Ten minutes, then back to the loop.”
“Ten minutes,” Will nods, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder appreciatively. He skates backward towards the exit door. “I’m going to the vending machine. Want anything?”
Jane keeps her back to him, arms still folded and shoulders set with an air of annoyance that Will knows is only half-hearted. “Pop-tarts,” she mumbles just loud enough for him to hear. He smiles knowingly as he turns to exit the ice.
He stops short when he notices someone new is entering the practice space.
He sees the hair first—always the hair first. A mop of wavy black that curls around the ears and jawline, accentuating the curve of the cheekbones and the shadowed hollows between rows of pearly teeth, smiling timidly. Long neck, narrow, muscular shoulders, broad chest with a worn black thermal top stretched across the middle. Narrow hips, model height, pale skin and big, dark eyes. Long, nimble fingers clutching a brown paper takeout bag like it’s going to run away from him at any second.
“Mike.” That’s—that’s Will’s boyfriend, wow. The goofy little smile that twists his lips upwards is mostly involuntary.
“Hey,” Mike greets him, sidling up to the rink beside the door and leaning the elbow of his free arm over the side. The takeout bag crinkles as he adjusts his grip. “Can you take a break?”
Will’s smile widens, as if that were even physically possible, and he nods toward where Jane is practicing her sit spin. “You’re gonna have to ask my drill sergeant.”
Mike winces. “Tough practice?”
“It’s better now,” Will grins, leaning his head onto his shoulder as he bites his lip, letting Mike notice as his eyes roam around the other boy’s face. “What’d you bring me?”
Mike blushes. “Well, the other day you wouldn’t stop talking about ramen, so I figured—”
Will’s jaw drops. “You didn’t!” He leans dramatically over the retaining wall to peek at the brown bag Mike is now white-knuckling. As he leans closer, the hot smell of rich broth and aromatics hits him like a tidal wave. His stomach rumbles with anticipation, and he might even be drooling. “Oh my god, you’re an actual life-saver.” He turns to look over his shoulder and call to Jane, beg her for an extra twenty minutes, but she’s already right behind him.
She skates by, stepping off the ice and snapping her blade guards on before snatching the bag from Mike’s hand. It rips a little from his tight hold, leaving him with only scraps of paper in his fist. “I’ll take this,” she says, trudging over to a bench.
“Looks like you’re off the hook,” Mike laughs, scrutinising the crumpled pieces of paper bag in his hand with raised eyebrows before stuffing them into his pants pocket.
Will laughs too, grabbing his own blade guards—yellow and sparkly—from beside the door and popping them on. “Come on, let’s get over there before she inhales it all without us.”
-
The ceramic shower tiles are cold when they hit Will’s back, the chill seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt. That sensation is not what causes him to shiver, though—that designation belongs to Mike’s hands, currently gripping Will’s hips with the same violent ferocity with which he held the takeout bag from lunch. The force knocks the breath from him momentarily, but he’s recently learned that he doesn’t need much oxygen as long as he has Mike’s mouth on his.
Mike moves back, resting their foreheads together briefly. “One sec,” he whispers, pulling away completely and disappearing onto the other side of the clinically blue shower curtain. Will exhales, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the tile to catch his breath. He can hear Mike’s quiet footsteps on the linoleum, the metallic sound of the shower rings against the curtain rod as he steps into the next stall over. The water turns on in a powerful, noisy spray with the squeak of the faucet. Mike returns, footsteps now muffled by the commotion, and slips back through the curtain. Will opens one eye at him in question, head still tipped back.
“This is a covert operation,” Mike says, voice still low but not quite at a whisper.
“Camouflage,” Will nods against the tile, closing his eye again. “Smart.”
With his eyes closed, he doesn’t realise Mike is moving until he’s upon him, hands on either side of Will’s face to tilt it back down slightly so their lips can meet again. Mike’s kiss is rough and eager, pressing into Will with bruising pressure. His pinky fingers hook beneath Will’s jawbone, digging in and stretching the skin taut. His elbows push into Will’s ribs as he scrambles to get closer, causing Will’s shoulder blades to dig into the wall behind him. Mike’s teeth nip at his bottom lip, and he winces.
“Mike,” Will giggles, placing both hands against his chest and applying light pressure. Mike backs off slightly, eyes half-lidded and trained on Will’s mouth. “Slow down. Haven’t you ever made out with anyone before?”
Mike scoffs. “Yeah, duh, like, a lot of times.”
“Did they…” Will drawls, playing with the collar of Mike’s shirt and looking up at him from beneath his lashes. “Enjoy it?”
Mike frowns, leaning forward to snap his teeth at Will’s jaw like an angry piranha. “Yes. From what I could tell. I didn’t exactly ask for a performance review, after.”
Will laughs, reaching out to smooth his thumb along the corner of Mike’s scowl. “Just relax,” he soothes, leaning forward to press his lips lightly to the underside of Mike’s jaw. He watches with smug satisfaction as his eyes flutter closed at the contact. “Unclench,” he says against Mike’s cheek, reaching for his hands and peeling the fingers apart until the tension releases. He guides Mike’s palms until they rest just below his ribs, sliding his lips along Mike’s skin until they meet his mouth again. He kisses Mike slow and soft, lingering so that the skin sticks together as they part, desperate to stay attached. “We don’t have to rush. We have time.”
Mike breaths out through his nose and it tickles Will’s upper lip. He squirms, and Mike’s fingers flex against the fabric of his shirt in response—that tickles, too. “We’re hiding in a shower stall in a gym locker room in Norway. It feels kind of urgent.”
Will rolls his eyes and grabs Mike’s face again, pulling him close for another lazy lip-lock. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the feeling of Mike’s sharp cheekbones underneath his fingers. “I’m sorry. Would you rather do it in front of all the other skaters? Or maybe we could do it outside, for the reporters and their cameras?”
Will is only teasing, but he doesn’t miss the way Mike’s expression changes. Something dark and shadowy passes over his eyes. His grip on Will’s shirt loosens. Will’s smile falls.
“I’m just messing,” he whispers, running his thumbs back and forth beneath Mike’s eyes as if he could wipe away his words. He nuzzles their noses together, combating the sting with sweetness, like he’s always done. “I just meant…I don’t want to feel like we’re racing against a clock. Let’s just take our time. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You literally have ten minutes left on your break,” Mike whines.
Will checks his watch, upset to find that Mike is, unfortunately, correct. “We shouldn’t have wasted so much time discussing complex flavour profiles,” he frowns.
Mike snorts, burying his face in Will’s neck. Will puts his fingers through Mike’s hair, revelling in the fact that he has permission to do that now, almost whenever he wants to. He’d only been dreaming about it for, like, seven whole days at least. The ends wrap around his fingers like little silky snakes. He thinks there might be some kind of Medusa joke in that somewhere, like if he stares at Mike too long, maybe they’ll turn him to stone? Some kind of stupid sex joke. He’d probably be able to do something intelligent with it if Mike wasn’t currently sucking on his neck.
“Mike,” he gasps, tightening his grip. He feels his toes curl involuntarily inside his shoes.
“Mmmm,” Mike hums. The sound vibrates against Will’s throat and he shivers. “Salty, from your skin. Citrusy, like your shampoo. But also….” He opens his mouth, breath hot and damp on Will’s neck. Will can feel the tip of Mike’s tongue when it breaches his lips to taste. He flattens it against Will’s skin, licking a path from where he knows he has a very visible mole all the way to the lobe of his ear. Mike speaks the rest right into Will’s ear. “Just a little sweet, like honey.”
The groan that escapes Will’s mouth is something foreign and animal, having crawled up his throat from somewhere deep within his core. His body jerks forward and his head jerks back, thudding into the tile a little painfully. Mike reaches one hand up to cradle Will’s skull, soothing the ache with his long, lovely fingers. Will huffs an impatient sigh, using his own hands to suggest very diplomatically that Mike continue his work.
Mike opens his mouth, but the voice they hear next comes from outside the stall.
“Hello?”
Mike pulls back, eyes wide and worried. Will is pretty sure his own expression is similar.
“Is anyone in here?” The voice calls again. This time, Will recognises it—and his heart drops right into his stomach.
“Henry,” Will mouths to Mike, jerking his head towards the curtain. Mike’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He lifts his finger to his lips, shh.
“Did someone just leave this shower on?” Henry murmurs to himself. His voice is close, right outside the stall directly next to theirs. The faucet twists off, the screech of the handle echoing against the ceramic. “Not very environmentally friendly.”
Mike rolls his eyes dramatically. Will has to remove one hand from his hair to cover his mouth so he doesn’t laugh.
They listen as Henry stands there, presumably surveying the room to make sure nobody is around to lecture about wasting resources, before his footsteps start to retreat out of the shower block. As they disappear around the corner, Mike looses the breath he’d been holding since Henry walked in. It lands against Will’s collarbone—and he’s so ticklish today—he giggles.
From the direction of the lockers, it sounds like a shoe squeaks against the flooring.
Mike’s hand covers Will’s mouth so fast it feels like a slap. Will narrows his eyes, fully prepared to bite, when Mike raises a finger to his lips again and frantically taps it against his mouth, shhh shhh shhhhh!
The only sound that follows is the low, creaky hum of the industrial heating system.
Will grabs Mike’s hand by the wrist and removes it from his mouth. “Just the A.C.,” he whispers.
The room is completely silent except for the hum as the two boys stare at each other. Then, they burst out laughing. Will rests his forehead against Mike’s shoulder, shaking with it. Even though it would have been scary for Henry to discover them like this, it still feels incredibly silly to take so seriously. He feels like he’s back in his old room at his old house, sneaking out at night to turn on the TV in the living room and watch the Wonder Years on mute, so he could ogle Kevin Arnold and Paul Pfeiffer when his father couldn’t see. Ridiculous in hindsight, of course, but so very dire in the moment.
“Now I only have five minutes left on my break,” Will pouts. Little bubbles of laughter keep rising up like soda fizz. His chest crackles with it.
Mike raises his eyebrows, backing up until he’s pressed against the opposite shower wall. “Five minutes, huh? Tell me, would you consider that enough time to take a quick survey? How would you rate my performance on a scale of good to mind-numbingly incredible?”
“Oh my god,” Will groans, reaching out to pull the shower curtain back so they can exit. Mike follows close behind, fingers grazing against Will’s hip unconsciously.
“I’m serious! Would you say you were disappointed, pleased, or very pleased? Every solid business operation needs good metrics to improve.”
“Well, the technical elements were average in complexity,” Will relents, playing along. “But execution was slightly above average in the second half, which everyone knows is more difficult because of muscle fatigue. So, combined with program components…I’d give it a solid 250.”
“That’s not even in medal range,” Mike frowns.
“Well, some components weren’t…fully executed,” Will shrugs, grinning wickedly.
“I was interrupted,” Mike argues, cornering Will against the wall with his forearm just before they reach the exit. “There’s got to be some kind of recourse for obstructions out of the subject’s control.”
“There might be,” Will smirks, shrugging again. “Until then I guess we’ll have to leave the evaluation incomplete."
“To be continued,” Mike corrects, leaning away. He opens the exit door and gestures Will through it with a chivalrous wave of his arm. Will rolls his eyes, but it actually does make him feel sort of giddy to be woo’d, for lack of a better term. He turns away from Mike to hide his blush. Embarrassing.
“To be continued,” he echoes. He studiously pretends to ignore the butterflies in his stomach when Mike smiles at him in response.
-
The night before the pairs short program, some of the Norwegian skaters organise a bonfire. Apparently the host country does something similar every year, like tradition, and the excuse is to celebrate the halfway point of competition. But the real reason, according to Robin, is to make sure everyone gets thoroughly and properly laid before they have to leave.
“What?” Mike splutters, choking on a sip of diet coke.
“Oh yeah,” Will continues. “Of course, by this point most people have already done that. Robin says that’s really typical of the Olympics. It’s always a ‘cesspool of debauchery and sin’, her words.”
“So why are we going?”
“Because Robin is my friend, and she invited us,” Will shrugs, smiling innocently. This is all true: Robin did invite Will and ask him to bring Mike along, after Will confided in her that he’d been sneaking around with the Canadian Silver medalist on the down-low. Robin is the only other queer person Will has ever met besides Vickie, so he finds it kind of difficult to tell her no when all she claims to want is to meet the guy who managed to catch his interest. Besides, Robin usually gives decent advice, and she’s never steered him wrong in the past. If the bonfire were really dangerous, she wouldn’t have asked him to come. “She wants to meet you.”
“Me?” Mike looks genuinely confused. “Why?”
“Probably because you’re my first boyfriend, and she’s older, and she has this weird surrogate older-sister urge to vet anyone who comes within ten feet of me.” Will’s tone is annoyed, but he’s actually quite fond of Robin’s protectiveness over him. She really does feel more like a big sister than a friend, most days.
“You told her about us?” Mike’s voice drops low, unsure. He holds his soda can to his lips just in case someone walking by tries to read them. Will feels a sudden jolt of guilt at not having thought about asking Mike’s permission before revealing their relationship to anyone new. Robin has felt like a sister for years, been his friend for even longer, so he’d sort of automatically folded her into the loop without considering how scary that might be for Mike.
“Yeah, I did. I probably should have asked you first—I’m sorry. Is that okay?”
“I mean, nothing we can do about it now, just—what if she tells someone?” Mike’s voice wavers anxiously, still hidden behind his can.
“She won’t,” Will replies immediately, almost laughing.
Mike cuts his eyes, frowning. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because,” Will stops walking, pausing dramatically and looking both ways before leaning in and gesturing to Mike to lean in, too. He cups one hand around Mike’s ear and whispers: “She’s gay, too.” If his lips linger too close or his tone borders on flirtatious, it’s purely coincidental.
Mike pulls back, shaking his head from side to side like an uncomfortable dog. He’s blushing now, and Will feels the thrill of satisfaction humming through his blood at having been the cause. He idly wonders if that feeling will ever get old—and hopes sincerely that it doesn’t. They continue walking, now about three buildings away from the small, hilly field Robin had described to him earlier. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Mike speaks again.
“So, do you know a lot of…ya know…”
Will raises his eyebrows in question, waiting for Mike to finish.
Mike huffs, irritated. “Like…people, like—like Robin?”
Will nods wisely, not making eye contact in order to maintain a straight face when he says: “Oh yeah, of course. We have meetings every Tuesday. Has nobody invited you yet?”
He holds in his laughter for about three solid seconds before he can’t anymore, but the look on Mike’s face before he loses the battle is totally worth it. “Look at your face!” Will gasps, clutching his stomach with one arm. “Be serious, Mike!”
“I was being serious!” Mike defends, cheeks heating up despite his objection. “I didn’t know if, like…people always talk about like, gay-dar or whatever! I don’t know! I guess it was a dumb question, sorry.”
“It wasn’t that dumb,” Will replies, recovering from his laughter enough to nudge Mike’s shoulder with his own as they walk. “At least, not as dumb as the time you thought my step sister cursed you with a witch’s spell to fall in love with me.”
“Nobody said anything about being in love, okay,” Mike protests.
Will gasps dramatically, hand coming up to cover his own mouth. “You mean you’re not?”
“Will, stop,” Mike groans, but he’s giggling.
“I can’t believe I let you feel me up in a locker room shower and you’re not even in love with me!” Will bemoans, sighing as he turns his face up to the sky. “I feel like a fool.”
“Oh my god, shut up! Someone’s gonna hear you, idiot,” Mike rasps, shoving Will in the shoulder hard enough to throw him off balance a little.
“You’re right—if someone overhears, it’s really going to make it anticlimactic when you make your big announcement at the next Meeting of the Gays,” Will teases.
Mike shoves him again as Will laughs, face bright red with embarrassment, edges softened by his close-lipped smile. Will wishes, not for the first time, that he could lean to the side and kiss that smile in front of everyone. He tucks the desire away to the same place in his mind where the rest of them go, queued up to break out at a later time when they’re alone somewhere and safe.
They reach dorm #18 and Will steers them left. They round the far corner of the building and approach a wide footpath lined on either side by towering native Scots Pines, everything dusted in a light layer of fresh snow from this morning. There are a few other groups of people heading in the same direction, looking around the same age, and Will sticks behind them. According to Robin’s instructions, the path should eventually branch out on the right to a large, open field. If you see fire, you’re in the right place. Or, we’re in big trouble! She’d joked.
They follow a pair of young women in bulky ski jackets with the letters S.U.I. printed across the shoulders, one of whom is clutching a six-pack of glazed glass bottles sloshing with dark liquid, through a break in the trees and down a small slope. The bottom of the slope opens up into a sprawling field. Will counts six active fire pits dotted across the space, each drawing a small crowd. There must be around five-hundred people gathered here, huddled near the flames or piled onto stacks of outdoor blankets. Some people have brought folding chairs to station near the fires. Something fast and blurry—a dog, Will thinks—darts in front of them as they walk towards the crowd, followed closely behind by a young man shouting something frantically in another language.
“This is insane,” Mike snorts. Will watches his side profile as he surveys the scene. “There’re so many people here.”
Will smiles. “I know, isn’t it incredible? Come on, let’s find Robin.”
Mike is mostly useless in this endeavour, having never met Robin in his life, so he trails behind Will and focuses on not getting lost in the crowd as they search from fire pit to fire pit. Will keeps his eyes peeled for a tall girl with shoulder length blonde hair and a less-tall girl with pale red hair, but he has to admit he gets distracted more than once by some of the scenes they pass. Most people are standing or sitting around the fires, laughing and talking and drinking. But others…
They pass a red and blue gingham blanket with a mixture of country’s representatives lounging nearly on top of one another, but there’s one couple at the far end of the blanket who are otherwise occupied. The girl, from Russia, straddles the guy, from Austria, as she sits in his lap. They’re making out with the kind of desperate fervour Will has only ever seen in zombie movies (from the zombies—but they weren’t kissing, they were devouring.) The guy has removed his heavy winter coat, which seems ill-advised given the below-freezing temperature, but Will thinks that maybe the girl’s hands generate enough friction to warm him up as they roam around his chest and lower abdomen without a care as to who could be watching.
On another blanket, one of the women’s singles skaters from Belarus sits between two male skaters from Germany—each of whom have their faces buried in her black hair on either side of her neck. She has her arms around both of them, using her slender hands in their hair to pull them closer. Will glances away, cheeks heating up.
“This is insane,” Mike repeats, breathless as he tries to keep up with Will’s fast pace. “Did you see the—”
“Will!”
Will’s head snaps in the direction of the call, where he spots Robin jumping up and down and waving between passing groups of partygoers. He reaches back to grab Mike’s wrist and leads them through the crowd, muttering excuse me’s and sorry’s as they go. Eventually they reach Robin and Vickie’s little red blanket, wide-eyed and breathless.
“You made it!” Robin exclaims, wrapping her arms around Will and pulling him close. He smiles into her shoulder and she squeezes. She smells like rose petals and light beer. When she releases him, she turns to Mike, eyes flicking down briefly to Will’s hand around his wrist, which Will promptly drops. “You must be Mike,” she grins.
Mike looks like he’s just seen a ghost, and Will wonders if it was the three-person make-out. He clears his throat, reaching out his hand for Robin to shake. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you.”
Robin clucks her tongue, shaking her head from side to side. “In this house, we’re huggers. Come here.” Robin gives Mike no time to prepare before she lunges forward and envelopes him in a hug just like she did for Will. Mike’s one arm remains aloft for a moment as he processes before he hesitantly places his hands on Robin’s back to return the gesture.
“We’re outside,” Vickie interjects from her spot on the blanket.
“Home is wherever the heart is, my love,” Robin explains, releasing Mike to bend down and kiss the top of Vickie’s head, carefully dodging her fluffy orange earmuffs. She drops down beside her girlfriend and gestures up at Will and Mike to sit. “Have a seat, make yourselves comfortable! Thirsty?”
Again, Robin doesn’t wait for them to actually respond as she reaches behind Vickie into a black plastic bag and procures two brown bottles with red and blue labels. She holds them out to Vickie, who uses the edge of a car key to pop the little aluminium caps off, before passing one to Mike and one to Will.
Will sniffs his, face scrunching up in disgust. “Ugh, this smells horrible. What is this?”
“Pilsner,” Vickie says, taking a sip of her own beverage.
“It’s called Ringnes. It’s like, the most widely available and popular local beer here. You literally have to like it or they’ll kick you out of the country,” Robin adds, holding her bottle towards the two boys and shaking it back and forth. “Toast me!”
“Uh, cheers?” Mike says, clinking the neck of his bottle against Robin’s as he gives Will a hesitant smile.
“Cheers,” Will mumbles.
“To young love!” Robin exclaims before taking a long, theatrical chug of her beer. Will laughs into the mouth of his own drink before taking a slow sip. He tries not to cringe at the dry, yeasty taste it leaves behind. Mike seems to be faring a little better—at least he looks like he’s not about to vomit—and Will realises he doesn’t actually know if Mike likes beer or not.
Once Robin has settled down, Vickie perks up, leaning forward so that Mike can hear her better when she introduces herself. “Vickie Dunne,” she says. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
“Mike Wheeler,” Mike replies, smiling cordially. “I liked your SP for the team event. ‘Grease’, right?”
“Yeah,” Vickie smiles, taking another sip of her drink before setting it down at her side. “Dan is so picky about the programs he’ll agree to. It was either ‘Grease’ or ‘Footloose’.”
“Those are both great options, though,” Will points out, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, they are, just—I wanted to do something pretty for once. Like, something elegant, ya know? He never wants to skate to instrumentals. He only ever wears solid black. I just feel like it’s not as fun or creative as it could be, if that makes sense.” Vickie is still smiling, but something sad lingers behind her blue eyes.
“That blows,” Mike replies, taking another sip of his drink like he actually doesn’t mind it. Will watches his throat move as he swallows, jawline sharp and shadowed in the glow of the nearby fire. “His outfit was so boring. If you’re going to figure skate, you have to do the whole bit! Where are the sequins? The glitter? The ruffles?!”
“Exactly!” Vickie concurs, bubbling with enthusiasm at being validated by a stranger.
“Aw, leave Dan alone,” Will pouts. “He’s trying his best! It’s not his fault he’s boring. He’s so nice.”
“Try keeping that same attitude when he’s out there groping your girlfriend in front of all those people,” Robin grumbles, tapping her beer bottle against her teeth. “Er—boyfriend, sorry.”
“Dan would never do that,” Will replies smugly, his mouth turning up at the corners. “He’s too boring.”
Mike snorts so hard a little beer comes out of his nose, which causes Robin to tease him mercilessly as Vickie and Will look on and laugh. Once they recover, Mike speaks up.
“This is both seedier and way less seedy than I expected it to be from Will’s description,” he admits.
“Oh?” Robin replies, eyebrows lifted. She looks at Will with a devious expression. “How did Will describe it?”
“What did you say earlier? A ‘cesspool of debauchery and sin’?” Mike ponders, grinning evilly at Will as he repeats his earlier statement.
Will’s mouth drops open. He turns to Robin, scandalised. “Those were your words, I just relayed them!”
“I said no such thing!” Robin lies.
“It’s still early,” Vickie supplies, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Last Olympics, I saw more drive-by nutsacks than I ever needed to see in my life.”
Mike splutters, beer dripping down his chin as he tries desperately to keep the rest in his mouth. Will tries to contain his laughter at the look of pure horror on his face.
“Glad I wasn’t there,” Robin muses. “…and that I like girls. I hate the word nutsack almost as much as I hate actual nutsacks.”
“Okay, what’s wrong with nutsacks?” Mike asks, recovered from his mishap. His face is tinged pink, either from the heat of the bonfire, the buzz from the beer, or a blush at the conversation topic. Will folds in half over his own lap in an attempt to contain himself.
“They’re hairy, they’re ugly, and they smell,” Vickie replies, listing the facts as she counts them using her fingers.
“So is your…stuff!” Mike argues, half-indignant, half-mortified. Will has to set down his beer so he doesn’t spill it.
“Stuff?” Robin shouts, eyes wide with mirth. “What are you, five?”
“This is so insane,” Mike deflects, taking another sip of his beer so he doesn’t have to say anything else. They’re all laughing now, Will hardest of all. He’s so glad they came to this. He loves his friends so much. He’s happy to be able to share them with Mike. Happy to be able to share Mike with them, too.
“The figure skaters aren’t that crazy. I mean, the ice dancers can be—I heard they swing, sometimes. But the real salaciousness happens during the inter-sport gatherings. You guys haven’t had your sleep interrupted by…late night activities, yet?” Vickie asks.
“I have a corner room, so I only have one neighbour. I usually sleep pretty well,” Mike shrugs.
“It happened to me my second night,” Will confesses, biting nervously at the lip of the bottle. “I wear earplugs, now.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?” Robin teases.
“Not particularly,” Will huffs. “There was some…interesting role-play going on. I think. It was only half in English.”
“Jesus,” Mike laughs.
“Not surprising,” Vickie continues. “Last time around, they apparently ran out of complimentary contraception after only three days. They had originally planned on ten-thousand.”
“Ten-thousand?!” Will shrieks.
“Legend has it,” Vickie nods.
“Unbelievable,” Will laughs. “They must have been exhausted.”
“Satiated might be a better word,” Robin chuckles.
The foursome spends the rest of the evening people-watching, challenging each other to see who can spot the craziest (most egregiously exhibitionist) couples at the party. Robin points out a group of ice dancers who appear to be giving each other sensual back massages in a sort of human assembly line. Mike spots known rivals, a female skater from Japan and a male skater from China, feeling each other up against the trunk of a tree. Will sees the pairs skating team from Australia licking whipped cream off of each other’s fingers. Vickie calls their attention to a male skater from the Japanese pairs team and a male singles skater from Great Britain cuddling together on a patchwork quilt, the Japanese skater running his fingers through the British skater’s hair as he lies on his chest.
“That’s not salacious,” Robin argues, rolling her eyes. “It’s just nauseatingly cute.”
“I didn’t know it had to be ridiculously sexy,” Vickie retorts.
“If I wanted to see two dudes being cute I’d just look right in front of me,” Robin says.
Vickie turns her attention to Mike and Will, titling her head a little to one side as she regards them. Both Vickie and Robin are on their third beers by now. Mike has finished his, but hasn’t asked for another. Will is only halfway through his first and struggling. “I don’t know, they’re not being particularly affectionate. I wouldn’t even guess they were together.” From the corner of his eye, Will notices the tension in Mike’s shoulders ease.
“Are you joking?” Robin deadpans, sitting up straight as if gearing up for a fight. She points her beer bottle at Will in accusation. “Will has been staring at the side of Mike’s face all night. It’s disgusting.”
“Robin!” Will protests, face heating up. It’s the fire!
“I mean, there’s obviously sexual tension,” Vickie relents. She purses her lips in contemplation as she continues. “It’s not cute though. Just sad.”
“We’re sitting right here. We can hear you,” Mike says.
Robin ignores him. “You don’t think a little sexual tension is cute?”
“I think holding hands is cute. Gentle touches are cute. Flirting is cute. Sexual tension is supposed to be sexy. Not if they’re just gonna sit there and stare at each other, though.”
“What are we supposed to do, jump each other right in front of you?” Will asks, incredulous.
Vickie’s lips curl into a sinister grin. “Are you offering?”
“Absolutely not,” Mike insists. Will and Robin laugh.
“You invited lame people to the sex party,” Vickie pouts, leaning over gracelessly until she falls forward into Robin’s lap. Robin catches her head with both hands, giggling as she runs her fingers through her lover’s hair.
“Sorry baby,” Robin apologises in the same kind of tone you might use to placate a toddler. “Do you want to make out?”
“No,” Vickie huffs, voice muffled by Robin’s jeans. “I want to watch boys make out.”
“We could probably find some boys making out, you wanna walk around and look?” Robin offers, tilting Vickie’s chin up to look into her eyes. Vickie doesn’t respond immediately, but eventually nods her head, nuzzling further into the fabric of Robin’s thigh. Robin smiles fondly, helping Vickie up by her arms as they both wobble and tip into a standing position. Will gives Mike an amused glance before they stand up too.
“Well boys, you’ve disappointed my girl. So we’re going to go find some sexier boys to hang out with,” Robin says, supporting Vickie with a gentle hand to her lower back.
“It was nice while it lasted,” Mike acquiesces. “Thanks for the beer.”
“And for inviting us in the first place, even though you clearly had ulterior motives,” Will adds with a smirk.
They wave goodbye to Robin and Vickie as they wander off in search of…whatever it is Vickie is looking for. Mike turns to Will, gesturing towards his half-empty beer. “You gonna finish that?”
Will looks down at the bottle dangling from his fingers and grimaces. He looks back up at Mike. “Unlikely.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mike says softly, reaching out to take it from him. His fingers cover Will’s on the neck of the bottle, and Will isn’t even slightly buzzed, but he feels a jolt from it anyway. He watches Mike walk over to a makeshift trashcan someone has made by tying a trash bag to the arm of a folding chair and toss the bottle inside. When he returns, Will very convincingly pretends he wasn’t staring at Mike’s ass.
“Ready to go?” Mike asks. His voice lilts up and softens in a way that makes the back of Will’s neck tingle. His breath comes out in a fog, hot in the cold air. The firelight catches his profile again, shadows sharpening the line of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones, orange flames making his dark eyes glow. Will swallows a mouthful of saliva.
“Yes,” he breathes.
-
They make it back to Will’s dorm around 10PM, and Will invites Mike inside even though its technically past his Hopper-and-Joyce mandated bedtime and tomorrow is he and Jane’s SP. It’s not like Will typically gets a lot of sleep anyway, and he doesn’t think it’s the half-a-beer talking when he reasons with himself that actually going to bed at a reasonable hour and sleeping through the night may even negatively impact his performance in the short, since it would be a deviation from his normal routine. It makes sense. It’s science.
However, it might be the half-a-beer that influences him to interrupt Mike’s monologue on systemic bias in judging by standing up on his tip-toes and kissing his lips. That, too, is a deviation from the norm—one he’s more willing to overlook. Mike doesn’t seem to mind, though, if his surprised hum and hands on Will’s hips are any indication.
Will’s own hands come up to rest in Mike’s hair, pulling him down to eliminate the few inches he has on Will in height. Mike’s fingers flex against Will’s sides, sliding up from his hips to squeeze into his waist. Mike uses his own grip to pull Will’s body close, and he stumbles over the toe of his own shoe as he tries to follow the pull. The space between them disappears until they’re chest to chest. Will sighs dreamily against Mike’s lips, closing his eyes and sighing out a laugh as he rests his forehead against Mike’s.
“What?” Mike whispers, giving Will’s waist another soft squeeze. Will struggles to suppress his shiver at the amount of his midriff Mike is able to cover with just his hands. When he looks up to meet Mike’s eyes, the other boy is smiling down at him, dark irises wide and glimmering in the yellowish light of the bedside lamp.
“Nothing, just—” Will starts, lowering his hands from Mike’s hair to wrap them around his neck instead. He looks away shyly, unable to say this next part directly to Mike’s face. “I can’t believe this is really happening, I guess. It feels unreal.”
“Well, it kind of is,” Mike shrugs. “I mean, not just anyone makes it to the Olympics. We’re really lucky.”
Will rolls his eyes. “I’m not talking about the Olympics, dummy. I’m talking about—about you.”
Mike grins at him, wide and honest, his face still tinged red from the cold air just outside. “Oh,” he says, flicking his eyes down to their feet before glancing back up at Will. “Maybe you’re dreaming, then?”
“My dreams are never this nice,” Will replies.
He means it as a joke, but Mike frowns. Then, just as quickly, the corners of his mouth curl up into a wicked grin. Will is too distracted by the movement to realise Mike has moved his hands. “Well, that’s no good. We’ll have to take advantage.”
Before Will knows what’s happening, Mike wraps his arms underneath Will’s thighs and hoists him into the air. He emits an involuntary squeaking sound so high-pitched that it can only logically be heard by canines. He instinctively tightens his own arms around Mike’s neck, lifting his legs to wrap them around the other boy’s waist just before he’s tossed back onto the mattress. Will lands on his back and Mike lands right on top of him, having been brought down collaterally by way of his last-second cling manoeuvre.
The added weight knocks the breath out of him, and Mike lifts himself up onto his elbows to alleviate some of the burden. Will takes quick stock of their position: he’s on his back on his bed with Mike’s body hovering inches above him. Mike has his elbows on either side of Will’s head, caging him in. They’re both breathing heavily—he can feel it on his cheek in a rhythm that matches his own racing heartbeat. It smells faintly of pilsner, which he would have found disgusting were it not overlaid with the artificially sweet smell of the skittles they’d shared on the walk back from the bonfire.
“Do you like beer?” Will asks.
Mike scrunches his eyebrows, confused. “It’s…fine. I don’t not like it. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” Will mumbles, reaching up with one hand to fiddle with Mike’s collar. His skin is warm where Will’s fingers are cold, and he can feel goosebumps rise up wherever they graze. “I feel like I don’t really know what you like.”
“Oh,” Mike replies. He relaxes his face and rolls to the side so that they’re lying next to each other. Will can feel everywhere their bodies are touching—calves, thighs, hips, shoulders. Mike turns towards him, propping himself up onto an elbow. “Well, I like skating, obviously. But I also like video games, gummy worms, fantasy novels, and indie rock. I like the blue Gatorade even though it feels like that’s the one everyone likes. Pancakes over waffles. Beer over wine. Night over day. Mountains over beaches.” Mike averts his eyes from the ceiling back to Will’s face. He smiles noticing that he has Will’s undivided attention. “I like you, but I hope you already knew that.”
Will blushes, licks his lips. “I had some idea,” he whispers. His gaze drops to Mike’s already red, already kiss-swollen lips. He gets the overwhelming urge to bite them. “Maybe I need a little more convincing.”
Mike doesn’t hesitate to oblige, pulling Will closer with one hand on his jaw until they’re attached at the lips again. It’s much greedier than before, more like when they were in the locker room and Will was convinced that Mike might be trying to eat him, or suffocate him, or both. Will minds it less this time. It doesn’t feel rushed but desperate, like Mike is more concerned about making sure he gets his money’s worth than running out of time. Mike slots his bottom lip between Will’s own, and Will gives into his urge, biting down gently but firmly on the soft flesh. Mike groans, lips parting slightly in response, and Will feels empowered enough to take advantage by slipping his tongue inside to meet Mike’s own.
It’s an odd sensation—he can feel the topography of Mike’s tastebuds, the shape of his tongue slightly pointed where Will’s is more round and flat. It feels like spelunking, but you’re blind and you don’t know what you’re looking for. Will searches anyway, and he thinks he finds it when Mike sucks on his tongue experimentally, sending a stab of cold-heat from the top of his spine straight down to his groin.
Will pulls back for air as a visible shiver wracks his entire body. Mike kisses the top of his nose, the corner of his mouth, the jut of his chin. His hand drops from Will’s cheek to his hip and then around, resting just above the curve of his ass. “This is nice,” Mike says to the little mole just above Will’s top lip.
Will huffs a breathless laugh. “So nice,” he mocks. He throws his leg over Mike and the rest of his body follows until he’s sitting in Mike’s lap. He bites his bottom lip, feeling bold, and presses his hips down.
“Oh,” Mike breathes, closing his eyes and gripping the comforter with his free hand. With the other, he tugs on the hem of Will’s jeans to keep him in place. He blinks his eyes rapidly. “Can I add more to my list? I like when you do that.”
Will only hums in response, not trusting his voice. He grinds down again, his own lids closing as his eyes roll back at the overwhelming sensation of Mike, just as hard as he is and brushing up against him. It’s unreal, incredible, and exhilarating. Will’s been kissed before—he’s experienced the thrill of another person’s touch, hands roaming and exploring his body—but never quite like this. Something about Mike feels different, more intimate and vulnerable. Not frantic, not touch-starved. His hands touch Will with a reverence. His eyes are earnest. His reactions feel genuine as opposed to performative. It weakens Will in the knees, in the heart, in the brain.
Will slides his cold hands underneath Mike’s shirt and presses his fingers into the warm, smooth skin. Mike gasps, his abdominals tightening involuntarily. Will lets his fingers trail over the lines and muscles, imagining how they might look in his head before he realises he can actually look, and pushes the shirt up Mike’s chest with his wrists. They’re less six-pack and more pilates, all vertical lines and taut skin. Will lets his finger trail down the divot right in the centre, all the way from sternum to belly-button, revelling in the way Mike shivers.
“C-c-cold hands,” Mike stutters.
“Sorry,” Will apologises, pulling his hands away. Mike makes a small noise of protest in the back of his throat as they settle on his hips instead, but the sound quickly transforms into something deeper, more guttural, when Will leans down and traces the same path again with his tongue.
“Shit,” Mike groans, sliding his hands from Will’s hips to his ass and squeezing. Will grunts as Mike holds him there, bucking his hips up from the mattress in search of more friction. His vision blurs at the edges when they make contact. The feeling is so good that it almost hurts, something aching and empty between his legs that keeps asking for more. He leans forward, arms shaking and limbs heavy as he kisses Mike feverishly. Mike pulls his hips down again, grinding against him in time with the slide of their mouths, and it’s almost too much. He feels equal parts overstimulated and ravenous. His heart urges him to push forward but his brain begs him to pull back. He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingernails harder into Mike’s ribs as the pace picks up. He tries to think of other things—horseback riding, surfing, mountain biking, that one time Jane convinced him to try the mechanical bull at the fair and they were both equally shocked to find out he was, like, really good at it. The weird look the ride operator gave him after five full minutes of hanging on with hardly any trouble. The shame he felt when he pretended to lose his grip so he didn’t have to feel those eyes anymore. The chaos that ensued when the ride operator was subsequently electrocuted by the machine as he tried to turn it off after. The little trickle of blood creeping out of Jane’s nose as the ambulance arrived. Apprehension, fear, excitement, electricity—
Mike’s muscles tighten beneath his fingers as he takes in a sharp breath, body stilling beneath Will’s own, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Will blinks back into focus, watching in awe at the flush of Mike’s neck, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead that his curls stick to, his mouth hanging open in a soft lowercase ‘o’. He makes this precious gurgling noise with his throat that ends in a breathy little sigh, and it tickles Will’s nose and his brain. His fingers flex against Will’s ass, pulling him down for one final, rough grind of their hips. He whispers Will’s name like a prayer. The pressure explodes.
Will’s hips stutter as his arms give out, collapsing on top of Mike without decorum. His body convulses with a wave of pleasure. The sensation is so intense that he thinks he might black out. Coming like this has a sort of numbing effect, he finds, like motor skills are no longer something he possesses nor has any sort of control over.
They stay like that, breaths echoing loudly against the bare walls, for an indeterminate amount of time. When Mike finally taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, Will is already in that half-awake, half-asleep middle dimension where nothing feels real but everything is still realistic.
“Will,” Mike whispers, poking him in the cheek this time.
Will grunts in response, reaching one weak hand up to smack the finger out of his face.
Mike just laughs, and Will can feel it rumble through his chest underneath his fingers. This wakes him up a little. “Sorry, but I really have to change my pants. Do you, uh, have something I could borrow?”
Will sits up on his forearms, wincing as he regains enough consciousness to realise how uncomfortable his own jeans are. “Why, don’t wanna walk home in sticky underwear?” He teases.
Mike frowns up at him. “Walk home?”
Will laughs. “Mike, you literally live right across the street.”
“You’re really gonna kick me out?” Mike pouts, reaching up to twist a piece of Will’s hair around his fingers. Will tries to hold back a shiver at the gentleness of the touch.
“Yes,” he says, pushing himself up fully to roll off of Mike. His knees protest at the movement, and he hopes they can recover before training in the morning. “I have to wake up really early or Hop’s gonna skin me alive. The SP is tomorrow.”
“I’ll get up really early! I’ll sneak out way before you even have to wake up. I swear,” Mike pleads, reaching for Will’s arm as he climbs off of the bed and heads toward the dresser.
Will turns toward him, unable to free his hand from Mike’s vice-like grip. “It’s already past midnight. You’d only get like four hours of sleep. You should just go now,” he explains.
“But I don’t wanna leave,” Mike whines, tugging Will closer by the hand until he’s back at the edge of the bed and standing between Mike’s legs. Mike looks up at him, eyes wide and bottom lip sticking out egregiously. His eyes have a very particular shine to them, one Will finds extremely familiar—
“Did Jane teach you puppy face?” Will asks, eyebrows knitting together in the middle of his forehead.
“Maybe,” Mike shrugs, tugging Will forward again until he leans down enough to be kissed. Will can’t help but smile into it. Of course Mike would get Jane to teach him puppy face. If you can’t beat em’, join em’.
Mike swipes his tongue over Will’s bottom lip, asking permission, but Will pulls back before it can go any further. “Fine, you can stay. But you have to leave before me. We have to wake up super early, Mike, I’m not joking. Hopper will literally kill me. And if he found you in my room? I don’t even wanna know what he’d—”
“Relax,” Mike assures him, rubbing his hands up and down Will’s arms for comfort. “I’ll be gone before you know it. Quiet as a mouse. No trace of me. It’l be like I was never here.”
Will rolls his eyes. He still has his doubts, but he’s smiling as he finally shakes free of Mike’s hold to get them both a change of clothes from the dresser. He reaches into the top drawer and grins even wider as he pulls out a white pair of briefs with a glittery Team USA logo across the cheeks, tossing it at Mike over his shoulder.
“I can’t wear these!” Mike splutters, holding the underwear up in case Will didn’t know exactly what they looked like when he grabbed them. Will pushes his other clean underwear to the back of the drawer, covering them with his socks, before turning around and shrugging. He leans casually against the dresser and folds his arms across his chest defiantly.
“It’s all I have. Take it or leave it,” he challenges.
Mike frowns. “I find that hard to believe,” he says.
“You don’t have to believe it. You can always stay in your…current situation,” Will offers, grabbing a red pair for himself that are covered in tiny white hearts and little blue USA graphics. “Or you could go commando.”
Mike blushes, face so violently red it almost matches Will’s briefs. He huffs, scrambling up from the bed and heading towards the little ensuite bathroom to change without another word. Will stifles a laugh with his hand before he slips out of his own jeans, using his underwear to clean himself up before donning the fresh pair. He doesn’t bother changing his shirt—it’s cold in the room, just the way he likes it, so he won’t overheat. He returns to the bed, fluffing his pillow and frowning down at Pal, the teddy bear his brother Jonathan gave him as a gift before his first competition away from home. “Sorry you had to see that,” he says to the bear, setting him down beside the nightstand in hopes that Mike hasn’t already seen him. He snuggles underneath the comforter and extinguishes the bedside lamp just before Mike returns from the bathroom, the sound of the toilet flushing echoing through the door before he shuts it behind him.
“Can you turn the light back on? I can’t see,” he says.
“Sorry, no. Once it’s off it’s off. Those are the rules,” Will replies, smiling like a gremlin into his pillow.
“Unbelievable,” Mike grumbles. Will struggles to hold in his laughter as Mike fumbles around in the dark, knocking into both the wall and the edge of the bed before his long fingers find Will’s exposed ankle and tug, causing him to shriek in surprise. “Marco!” Mike calls.
“Polo!” Will laughs, pulling his ankle from Mike’s fingers with so much force that the other boy falls forward onto the bed. They’re both still laughing as Mike adjusts himself until he’s right next to Will, pulling at the pillow he’s hogging to distribute it more evenly between them. Their laughter fades, and Will is sort of surprised again when Mike’s hand finds his waist and settles there. Feeling braver in the dark, he shifts forward to nuzzle his face into the space between Mike’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of fire-smoke and faintly soapy cologne. Will doesn’t believe in the healing powers of essential oils, but he thinks Mike’s scent could be bottled and sold as a holistic alternative to beta-blockers. He feels cozy and warm and relaxed, and he falls asleep faster than he has in months.
-
Will wakes up slow and warm to sunlight spilling across his bed, bright and invigorating through a break in the clouds. He smiles with his eyes closed, inhaling deeply, expecting to smell the cotton and tissue of his blankets. Instead, he gets a whiff of sweat and smoke and foreign laundry detergent. He cracks one eye open to see the back of Mike’s head, momentarily stunned at the sight. Memories of the night before flood back into his brain like a tidal wave, bringing a faint blush to the apples of his cheeks. He reaches out an unsteady hand, intending the trail his fingers down Mike’s spine, before a harsh banging sound jolts him fully awake.
“Will! Open up right now!”
His spine straightens, his muscles tighten, his jaw clamps. Hopper. Fuck. He turns frantically to Mike, shaking him as softly as he can in his frantic state. “Mike, wake up!” He whispers.
“Huh? No,” Mike grumbles. He tries in vain to pull the blanket over his head to block out the light, but Will shakes him harder.
“Wake up! Hopper’s here and he’s gonna—”
“That’s it, I’m coming in there!” Hopper bellows through the door. Will feels the vibration like an electric shock. Without thinking, he shoves Mike off the bed and onto the floor between him and the window. Hopefully, if God exists and he’s listening to Will’s desperate pleas, Hopper will stop in the hallway and not see him.
“Ouch, what the fu—” Mike starts from the floor.
The door bangs open, smacking into the wall so hard that Will would be surprised if it doesn’t leave a mark. He flinches at the sound. Hopper materialises in the doorway, arms outstretched to palm each wall’s popcorn-textured surface as he fixes Will with one of his infamous death-stares. Will feels like one of those butterflies pinned to a piece of cardboard on a scientist’s wall under his gaze. He swallows hard, bracing for verbal impact.
“What the fuck are you doing? Sleeping?” Hopper questions. Will is smart enough to understand that this is a rhetorical question. “Do you know what time it is?”
Will checks his watch, barely able to comprehend the numbers on the screen. “Oh no,” he breathes.
“That’s right. Its eleven,” Hopper confirms with a sarcastically jolly shout.
The sun disappears behind another wall of clouds and Will feels the cold like a punch. He very determinedly does not look over the side of the bed to check how Mike is doing. He’s being quiet, just like he promised, and that’s all Will needs to know. “I’m so sorry,” he mutters, curling his fingers anxiously into the fabric of the sheets. His voice comes out so soft that he’s surprised Hopper even heard it.
“You’re lucky the competition doesn’t start until two. Get up. You’re skipping breakfast and lunch so you can get in some decent practice time. Jane is taking lunch early so I could come and wake your lazy ass up. Get to it! You’ve already kept her waiting long enough.”
“Right, sorry,” Will mumbles, hands shaking as he rolls off the mattress. He rushes over to the dresser to grab his sweats and a thermal training top, extra fuzzy socks to combat the creeping chill in his bones. “I’ll be right out,” he says, throwing his clothes onto the bed and hastily stripping off the shirt he slept in. He strategically keeps his back to where Mike is still sitting on the floor, only capable of feeling a mild embarrassment at being almost entirely naked in front of his boyfriend for the first time while his step-dad is also in the room, furious. Jesus.
“I’ll be outside. You’ve got three minutes before I come back in here and carry you out by the collar,” Hopper threatens, heading for the door.
His fingers have just gripped the handle when they’re both startled by a sudden, violent sneeze.
Will’s body deflates like a punctured balloon. Hopper turns on a dime, racing back into the room and towards the other side of the bed, following the sound of the nasal expulsion like a flu-sensing bloodhound. Will can tell the exact moment his step-father spots Mike by the aggressive fit of coughing that follows.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hopper shouts. Will turns, watching helplessly with one leg in his sweatpants as Hopper pulls Mike up from the floor by his armpits. Mike squeaks in surprise, and it would almost be funny if Will wasn’t so sure they were both about to get thrown out his fourth story window. “Who the hell is this?”
“Mike Wheeler, pleasure to meet you,” Mike gasps. Will closes his eyes, maturely resisting the urge to smack himself in the face.
“Put him down, Hop. He’s my friend,” Will pleads. He sounds like a child even to his own ears. He hates how easy it is for the father figures is his life to diminish him simply by existing. He grips the dresser behind him for balance.
Hopper snorts, looking Mike up and down with a disgusted air. “You let all your friends sleep over in their underwear, Byers?”
Will grinds his teeth, palms gripping the dresser tight. “That’s none of your business,” he seethes.
“Actually, it is my business,” Hopper replies, setting Mike down on his feet in a way that’s anything but gentle. Mike sways a bit before he finds his footing, reaching desperately underneath the bed where his pants had fallen last night and tugging them on like they might swallow him entirely so he doesn’t have to find out how this ends. Hopper turns his attention from Mike to Will, stepping toward him with a swagger that makes Will’s shoulders hunch automatically, body instinctively bracing for whatever is going to happen next. None of the options are good.
“I’m your trainer. I’m your step-dad. My daughter’s Olympic career is directly pursuant to yours. If you fuck up, it reflects poorly on me in multiple different ways. Not to mention Jane, who was sure that you’d never miss a practice unless something terrible had happened to you. She thought you might be sick. How do you think she’ll feel when she finds out it was actually that you just overslept after spending your night…however you were spending it? You’ll break your sister’s heart. You’ll break her trust.”
Will can feel his eyes prickle with tears. He really hates that Mike is here for this—it’s bad enough to be humiliated by Hopper in private, let alone with his boyfriend watching. He wishes he could avoid crying in front of them, but he knows from experience that trying to hold the tears back only makes things worse. He’s always been a crier, it’s just who he is. It’s one of the myriad qualities Lonnie cites whenever he argues that Will can’t possibly be his biological son.
“You,” Hopper continues, spinning on a heel to point menacingly at Mike, who is halfway into a shirt he picked up off of the floor that definitely belongs to Will. “Get the hell out of here.”
Mike stops in the middle of forcing his lanky arm into one of the sleeves. He looks helplessly at Will just as the first tear rolls down his left cheek. Will averts his eyes quickly down to the floor. “But—” he hears Mike say.
Hopper cuts him off. “No more butts. Leave. It’s not negotiable,” he says, swinging his arm in the direction of the door. Mike sighs, forcing the shirt on fully and grabbing his jacket and shoes before he opens the front door. He looks back once, trying to make eye contact with Will, but his eyes are glued to hardwood as he counts the knotholes to steady himself. Will hears the door close with a soft, nearly inaudible click.
If Hopper is looking at him now, Will wouldn’t know. It feels like his retinas are magnetised to the floor. Lifting his gaze would require superhuman strength at this point.
“Finish getting dressed and meet me outside. Don’t forget your costume. Be quick about it,” Hopper commands.
“Yes, sir,” Will whispers. He blinks, watching powerlessly as a tear splashes onto the top of his socked foot. He sniffles, reaching up to wipe his nose with the back of his hand. He lets the tears flow freely. There’s no point in wiping them away until they stop.
Hopper makes his way towards the door. Just before he leaves, he speaks again: “You’re usually more responsible than this, Will. I’m really disappointed in you.”
He flinches again when the door closes again, slamming this time. His nerves are shot. His eyes are sore. He can still feel the ghost of Mike’s pity on his skin, mixing in horribly with the revery and want from the night before—tainting it. It all morphs into a greasy slime of shame that sits heavy in Will’s empty stomach. Anger and defeat battle for dominance in his brain as he reaches for his shirt and pulls it over his head.
Disappointed in me, huh? He thinks, stepping into his sweatpants. Join the club.