Chapter Text
┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈
The Wheeler dining room was warm. Too warm.
The lasagna sat heavy in Will's stomach. He kept eating anyway. It gave him something to do with his hands.
Everyone was here. Lucas, Dustin, Max, Nancy, Jonathan, Mike's parents. The table was crowded. Loud. Normal. The kind of normal Will spent years thinking he'd never get back.
He should be happy.
He was happy. Sort of.
But every time Mike laughed — really laughed, the kind that wrinkled his eyes and made him throw his head back — Will's chest twisted. He'd spent years trying to ignore it.
Stop it, he told himself. You're being stupid.
Across the table, Lucas stabbed at his lasagna with unnecessary force. "I'm just saying, Dustin, not everything needs to be a competition."
Dustin pointed his fork like a weapon. "Everything is a competition, Sinclair. That's what makes life interesting."
"You literally tried to race me to the bathroom earlier," Max cut in, not looking up from her plate. "I wasn't even participating."
"You were winning," Dustin said defensively. "That's participation."
Max finally looked up, deadpan. "That's not how any of this works."
Lucas snorted. Mike laughed — that loud, genuine laugh — and Will's chest twisted again.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
His fingers tightened around his fork.
But he couldn't stop. He'd never been able to stop. Not since he was five years old. Mike Wheeler had looked at him like he was the only person in the world.
At the other end of the table, Nancy was holding a crumpled piece of newspaper like a treasure map. Jonathan leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the tiny print.
"The lease says we can move in as early as August fifteenth," Nancy said, trying to keep her voice down but failing. "We'd have the whole place to ourselves before school starts."
"Does it have a window in the kitchen?" Jonathan asked. "You said you wanted a window in the kitchen."
"It has two windows in the kitchen, Jonathan."
Jonathan laughed softly. "Then I'm in."
Karen passed by with a pitcher of water. She glanced down at the newspaper. Recognized it. From Ted's pile by the door.
"You two are moving in together?" Karen asked. Sounding pleased. A little too pleased.
Nancy's cheeks flushed. "Mom, we talked about this—"
"I'm just asking!" Karen held up her free hand in surrender. Smirking now. She leaned closer to Nancy's ear. "I won't tell your father." Then she walked away.
Ted was half-asleep in his chair, a fork dangling from his hand.
No one commented on it. No one ever did.
The dining room fell quiet. Just forks clattering against plates.
Jonathan took a huge bite of lasagna. Groaned. Theatrical. Almost performative. A few heads turned.
"Nothing beats Karen Wheeler's lasagna," he announced. "Not even the pizza from Argyle's van back then."
Dustin perked up immediately. Max mumbled something under her breath — "here we go again" — but Will saw the small grin on her face.
She always tried to hide it. She never could.
"Okay, hold on," Dustin said. "Argyle's pizza was art. You don't just say that."
"I'm saying it," Jonathan said, chewing.
"It was literally just dough and cheese," Max muttered.
"You don't understand," Dustin insisted. "It was the vibe."
He added a surfer-stoner accent, imitating Argyle's voice. Lucas laughed and threw a bread roll at him. Dustin caught it with one hand. Took a bite out of it in defiance.
Will felt eyes on him from across the table.
He didn't need to look up. He already knew whose eyes they were.
He looked anyway.
Not at Mike.
At Max.
She was already watching him. Her gaze flicked to Mike — then back to Will.
Something moved across her face. Understanding? Pity? Will couldn't tell.
Then she looked away. Reached for her water glass like nothing had happened.
Will's fork stopped mid-air.
The van. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut. The painting. The lie.
He hadn't stopped thinking about it since the day he told it.
"You're the heart," he'd said. But he hadn't meant it like El. He'd meant it like himself. Like I love you. Like please see me, please see me, please—
Mike believed him. Of course Mike had believed him. Why wouldn't he?
The lie sat in Will's chest like a stone he'd swallowed years ago. He'd thought it would dissolve. It hadn't. It just got heavier. Some days he forgot it was there. Most days he didn't.
Dustin's voice cut through, pulling the table back into laughter.
"So wait," Dustin said, mouth full of bread roll. "If we're ranking food from everything we went through—"
"Please don't," Mike said. He rolled his eyes — not from annoyance, from fond amusement. The corner of his mouth was already twitching into a smile.
"—then where does Surfer Boy Pizza actually rank? Because I think it's in the top three."
"It's not even top five," Lucas responded.
"You're wrong."
"I'm not."
"You're so wrong."
Max sighed. Loudly. "Can we please just eat dinner without another food fight? I'm still finding crumbs from last time."
"That was one time," Lucas argued.
"It was three times, Lucas. Three. To be exact."
Will wasn't listening anymore. He was somewhere else.
Mike laughed again. That laugh he could recognize from a mile away. That same loud laugh.
It had been the first thing Will fell in love with. He just hadn't known it at the time.
He forced himself to take another bite.
It tasted like nothing.
So did everything else.
He wanted to disappear into the lasagna. Let the feelings fade. At least it would keep him warm.
At least, that's what he thought.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Dinner ended the way all dinners end. Plates cleared. Chairs scraping against the floor. People saying goodbye like they'd see each other tomorrow.
Lucas was already at the door, one hand on Dustin's shoulder, still arguing about something stupid. Max rolled her eyes but didn't walk away. She never did.
She stays, Will thought. Even when she's annoyed, she stays.
He wondered what that was like.
Mike stayed too. Once. Will wondered when that changed.
Nancy helped Karen with the dishes, their voices low and warm as they talked about Nancy and Jonathan's new apartment. Jonathan said something to Ted — college, photographs, whatever Ted pretended to care about. Ted nodded along like he was listening, but his eyes were already half-closed.
Normal. This was normal. This was what normal looked like.
Will's mind drifted back to earlier. The final D&D campaign. Mike's last game as Dungeon Master.
"A lone hero remains," Mike had said, his Dungeon Master voice low and dramatic. "Will the Wise, Barovia's last and only hope."
Will had felt it then — that familiar ache. Because Mike had written it that way. Mike had decided that he would be the hero. Not Lucas. Not Dustin. Him.
"The incantation!" Dustin shouted. "What's the incantation?"
Will said it. The words Mike had planted somewhere in the campaign, waiting for him to find them.
"Oh, mage! Arise and end our fall from darkened paths and secrets deep. Come forth and help your promise keep."
They'd won. Thanks to him.
Mike had made him the hero.
Will looked across the table at Mike's smiling face — proud, excited, glowing — and he'd thought: You see me in the game. Why can't you see me in real life?
He looked away before anyone could catch him staring.
He pushed the thought away. He always pushed it away.
But it always forced its way back in.
After the campaign ended, everyone walked upstairs for Karen's lasagna. The younger kids came running from the living room. Holly and her friends had been waiting, apparently all evening. They rushed past the dining room, heading straight for the basement door.
"We're planning our own campaign," Holly announced.
"You don't even know how to play," Mike called after her.
He was almost at the top of the stairs now. Will could see his shadow stretching up from the basement, hovering at the door. Will looked away.
"We'll learn!" Holly shouted back, already halfway down the stairs. Mike pulled the basement door shut behind him.
The basement was theirs for the rest of the evening. Or so everyone thought.
But now dinner was over. Dishes were being washed. Lucas, Dustin, and Max were saying their goodbyes.
Then Will heard it.
Footsteps. Coming up from the basement.
Holly appeared first, her friends trailing behind her. Derek was mid-sentence, still arguing as usual.
"A campaign would take hours. We can just watch a movie at my house instead."
"Fine," Holly said, rolling her eyes exactly the way Mike did. "But I'll pick the movie."
"No way —"
"My house, my rules."
They filed out the front door, still arguing, still loud, still young. Mary waved goodbye to no one in particular. Joshua nearly tripped over the welcome mat.
And just like that, the basement was empty.
Will watched them go. He thought about being that young — about spending entire nights in Mike's basement, sprawled on the floor with pizza boxes and character sheets, not caring what time it was because nothing else mattered.
Those were his favorite moments. The ones he'd held onto during the worst of it. The ones he'd been afraid he'd never get back.
The house went quiet.
Too quiet.
He should leave. Follow Lucas and Dustin out the door. Get in Jonathan's car. Pretend tonight was just another dinner, another game, another night of not saying what he meant.
He looked toward the door.
Max was still there.
She wasn't looking at Lucas or Dustin anymore. She was looking at him. Something in her eyes. Something that looked like she was putting pieces together.
Will held her gaze for a second. Maybe two.
Then he looked away.
I don't know what you're thinking, he thought, but you're wrong.
He didn't even know what she was thinking. He just knew he didn't want her to be right.
She turned. Walked out the door. Followed Lucas and Dustin into the night.
Will stood there. Alone in the hallway.
Then he stopped.
Shit.
He forgot his jacket.
He'd left it in the basement during the chaos of the campaign ending — after the cheers, after Mike had looked at him with those eyes and said "Good campaign."
It was cold outside. He could survive without it. Come back tomorrow. Ask Jonathan to grab it on his way out.
He could —
"Forgot my jacket."
The words came out before he could stop them. His voice sounded normal, but it shouldn't, not after everything. Not after the van. Not after the painting. Not after Mike made him the hero of a story that wasn't real.
He didn't look back to see if anyone was watching.
But he felt it.
Those eyes. Mike’s eyes. The ones he had been avoiding all night. The ones that made his chest churn and hurt. The ones that looked at him across the D&D table and said "Will the Wise, Barovia's last and only hope."
Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't—
He turned away from Mike and headed toward the basement stairs.
Just get the jacket and leave. Don't look at him. Don't think about him. Just go.
The house was quiet now. Holly and her friends were gone. Lucas, Dustin, Max were gone. Nancy and Jonathan were somewhere upstairs, or maybe they had already slipped out. Ted was half-asleep in his chair. Karen was drying dishes in the kitchen.
The basement was empty. Free.
Why did he notice that? Why did he think he was free?
He wasn't going down there for the jacket. Not really. But he couldn't admit that — not even to himself.
His feet hit the first step. The wood creaked under him.
He didn't look back.
He never did.
The basement stairs creaked under Will's feet. Old wood. Familiar. Worn down from years of teenage feet pounding up and down.
He started searching. The couch first, then the chairs where they'd been sitting just a few hours ago, playing D&D. A wistful feeling settled in his gut. The party was starting a new chapter. Leaving Hawkins behind. Leaving all the harrowing memories.
He pushed the thought away. Focused on the jacket.
No sign of it anywhere.
He went back to the couch. Crouched down. Looked behind it.
There it was. Thrown on the ground like it had been completely abandoned.
"There you are," he muttered, standing up. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
He rubbed the dust off the jacket. Held it close.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps. Coming from the stairs.
He crouched down again, pressing himself against the armrest. The jacket was crushed against his chest.
What are you even doing? The voice in his head was sharp. You're being ridiculous.
It doesn't have to be him. Could be anyone. Maybe Jonathan, coming to check on you so you can both leave.
The footsteps grew closer.
Black sneakers came into view.
He knew those shoes.
No. No, no, no. Please don't—
"Will?" Mike's voice. Soft. Searching.
Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.
But part of him didn't want Mike to leave. Part of him wanted to be found.
This is a mistake. Get up. Let him know you found it. Leave.
He didn't move an inch.
Mike flipped the light. The basement glowed to life. The D&D table, the old couch, the piles of forgotten things. The smell of dust and childhood. Everything they used to be.
And the painting.
Oh God. The painting.
Still leaning against the wall. The three-headed dragon. The party. The paladin. The stupid heart he'd painted on the shield.
All those feelings. Safe inside a world that only his eyes could see.
Mike was still looking for him. Will tried to steady his breathing, tried not to make a sound.
Then Mike's face turned. Right where Will was crouched.
Their eyes met.
His heart pounded. Loud. Fast. Trying to run away.
The air changed. Thick. Heavy. Like it would choke him right there.
Neither of them moved.
Will's hand stayed on the armrest. Mike was just a few feet away. There was no reason for him to be down here. But there he was. Standing tall. And Will was trying not to fall apart just from looking at him.
"There you are," Mike said softly. A half-smile stretched across his face, and Will's breath caught.
Mike got closer.
Suddenly he looked like the little boy Will used to play with down here. The one who laughed at his stupid jokes and fell asleep on the couch.
"I came to check up on you," Mike said, his voice gentler now. "To see if you already found your jacket." He paused. "Are you okay?"
He heard me. That I was coming down here. He came to check on me. Even when I thought our friendship was already forgotten.
Maybe it wasn't. Maybe Mike still cared.
He blinked the tears away. Stood up.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm okay."
His voice tried too hard to sound normal.
Mike smiled and scanned Will's face for a second. Will didn't know what he was looking for. He let him look anyway.
The basement shifted. Awkward. Will wanted to leave. But his feet wouldn't move.
They were standing close. Neither seemed to notice until Will cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed.
"Oh, sorry." Mike stepped back, clumsy.
Will exhaled. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.
Mike’s eyes landed on the jacket.
Will pulled it out from behind his back.
The jacket. Right. That was why he came down here. That was the only reason.
Mike's face shifted. Stunned, maybe.
"Seems like you didn't need my help after all."
The joke landed flat. Will smiled anyway — small, awkward — and finally looked Mike in the eyes. Something he'd found so hard to do all night.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mike."
His voice came out shy. Quiet.
He walked past Mike. Didn't look back.
He left before he could blurt out the words he'd been holding in all night.
Will walked past him, jacket clutched in his hand, heart pounding so hard he was sure Mike could hear it.
He was almost on the stairs. Almost free. Almost—
"Wait."
Will stopped. He didn't turn around. He couldn't. If he turned around, he'd stay. He always stayed.
The basement was silent. Will could hear Mike breathing behind him. Could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Could hear the dust settling on the D&D table.
"I've been thinking about something," Mike said. His voice was different. Careful. Like he was holding something back.
Will's stomach dropped.
"All through dinner," Mike continued. "Ever since Jonathan mentioned the van."
The van.
Will's blood ran cold. His fingers tightened around the jacket.
No. No, no, no. Not the van. Please not the van.
"I couldn't stop thinking about it," Mike said. "What you said. How you said it."
Will's mind was racing. He knows. He must have figured it out. He'd been sitting there all night. Had he been watching me? Had he known? And I didn't — I didn't see —
"El told me something," Mike said.
Will's breath caught in his throat.
"About the painting."
A pause. Too long. Will could feel Mike's eyes on the back of his neck.
"I don't —" Will started. His voice came out wrong. Too high. Too fast.
"She said she never commissioned it."
The floor dropped out from under Will’s feet.
Oh god.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
He couldn't breathe. The room was spinning. The walls were closing in.
This is it. This is how it ends. He knows.
His chest was too tight. His hands were shaking. He wanted to run. He wanted to disappear. He wanted — Vecna.
He wanted the ground to split open and drag him down into the darkness. He wanted to feel the cold, wanted to hear the clock chime, wanted anything — anything — but standing here, in this basement, with Mike's eyes on the back of his neck and the truth about to crack his chest open.
Vecna was dead. They'd killed him. They'd won.
And Will had never hated that more than he did right now.
Because the Upside Down would have been easier. The Upside Down didn't have Mike looking at him like that. The Upside Down didn't have a heart that could break.
Anywhere but here, he thought. Anyone but him. Please. Please. Please.
He turned around slowly. Mike's face was hard to read — not just angry, not just confused. Something else. Something that looked like it had been sitting in his chest for a long time. Something that had been there all night, hiding behind every forced laugh and every too-long glance.
"What do you mean?" Will asked. The words came out thin. He hated how small they sounded.
"I mean exactly what I said." Mike took a step closer. "El never asked you to paint anything. She never told you what to draw. She never told you to say any of that."
Will opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Nothing came out.
Say something. Say anything. Lie again. You're good at lying. You've been lying for years. One more lie. Just one more. You can fix this. You can —
Who are you kidding?
There's no fixing this. There's no lying your way out. He knows. He's always going to know. And now he's going to look at you the way everyone looks at people like you. Like you're wrong. Like you're broken. Like you're something to be pitied.
"Mike, I can explain—"
"Why would you do that?" Mike demanded, his hands shaking. "Why would you pretend it was from her? Why would you let me believe—"
He didn't finish.
"Because I couldn't lose you," Will said suddenly, letting the words blurt out of his mouth. "I'd rather you never know than have you hate me."
Mike stared at him with wide eyes, brows scrunched up in hurt confusion.
"Hate you?" Mike's voice broke. "Hate you? Will, I—"
He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. He paced, taking a few steps away from Will, trying to gather his thoughts. Will stood silently, watching it all happen. Mike was pulling away. Will could see it in the way he paced, the way he wouldn't look at him. Will was about to give up when suddenly Mike appeared in front of him, back to where he stood before and yet somehow it felt closer than before.
"You should have told me," Mike said in a small voice. "You should have just told me."
"And what would you have said?" Will asked. Tears were pooling in his eyes and gathering in his lashes. Blinking them away, he wrapped his hands around himself. "If I'd told you in the van that I—that I had been in love with you since we were kids—what would you have said, Mike?" Will finally let the words that he was fighting so hard to grasp slip out of his mouth.
Mike didn't answer.
There it was. The silence he had been so afraid to face.
"That's what I thought," Will whispered.
He turned to leave. He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand there and watch Mike silently stare while his own heart was cracking open—
"Wait."
Will stopped but didn't turn around.
"What happened to you?" Will asked, his voice shaking — not from sadness but from something else. Something louder. Something hotter. "What happened to the Mike who slept by my hospital bed? The Mike who held my hand when I thought I was going crazy? The Mike who held me on Halloween when I thought I was getting taken again?"
Mike went very still.
"Where did that Mike go?" Will turned around. His eyes were blazing, tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care. "Because I've been looking for him for the past few years. And all I found was you. Pulling away. Ignoring me. Making me feel like I was— like I was too much. Like I was wrong."
"Will—"
"You were such a bad friend, Mike." His voice caught on the last word. "No, wait. As you would say — best friend."
Mike flinched like Will hit him.
"I needed you," Will continued, his voice loud in ways he never thought it would be again, not after their fight when they were 14. "I needed you so many times. And you weren't there. You were with her. You were always with her. And I had to just — smile. And pretend. And tell myself it was fine. That I was fine. That I didn't need you."
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. It didn't help. The tears kept coming.
"But I did need you, I still needed you. And I hate that. I hate that you still— that I still—" His voice broke completely.
"That I still love you," he whispered, looking away almost ashamed. "Even after all of it, even after you made me feel like I was a mistake. Even after you said—" He couldn't finish.
Mike was crying now too, silent tears streaming down his face.
"I know," Mike said, his voice barely a whisper. "I know I was— I know I hurt you. I know I wasn't there. I know I said—"
"You said it wasn't your fault I don't like girls," Will said. The words came out cold. Flat. "You said we weren't kids anymore. Like what we had — what we were — was just something you grew out of."
"I didn't mean it—"
"Then why did you say it?"
"Because I was scared!" Mike shouted, his voice echoing off the basement walls. Will looked at him again, stunned. "I was scared, Will,” he continued, ” I was scared of what it meant that I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was scared of what it meant that every time I kissed her, I wished she was you. I was scared of what my dad would say, what Dustin and Lucas would say, what everyone would say. I was scared of—"
He stopped, his chest heaving.
"Of you," he admitted. "I was scared of you. Of what you made me feel. Of how much I—"
He didn't finish.
"How much you what, Mike?"
Mike finally looked at him. His face was a wreck, wet from the tears, eyes puffy, cheeks red. He looked so sad, so pained. The sight made Will's stomach turn.
Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Nothing came out.
But Will saw it. Something in Mike’s eyes, something raw and terrified and desperate. Like he had the words right there.
He was scared, Will realized. He was still scared.
And for some reason, that made Will angrier than anything else.
“You want to know something, Mike?” Will’s voice was low. Dangerous. “At the radio station — when I came out — I said I had feelings for someone. Someone who wasn’t like me.”
Mike’s brow furrowed.
“I looked right at you when I said it,” Will continued, stepping closer. “Right into your eyes, I was begging you to see me. To finally get it.”
Mike’s face went pale.
“But you didn’t. You just sat there. Oblivious. Like always.” Will’s voice caught in his throat, but he didn’t stop. “I borrowed Robin’s story. I said it was about Tammy. I said it was never about “him”. I said it was about me. And that was true, it was about me. But it was also about you. Damn it, Mike, it was always about you.”
He took another step. They were inches apart now.
The silence between them was suffocating.
“What more do you need?” Will asked, his voice breaking open. Tears were streaming down his face again, but he didn’t wipe them away. “What more do you need for you to finally see me? I’ve been standing right in front of you my whole life. I’ve been telling you without telling you. I painted you as a heart, Mike. I painted you as a heart, and I let you think it was from her because I was too scared to say it myself.”
He was crying so hard now he could barely see.
“But I’m done being scared.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I’m done waiting for you to figure it out. So I’m going to say it one more time — and this time, I need you to actually hear me.”
He grabbed Mike’s face with both hands, forcing Mike to look at him.
“I love you. I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve years old. Fuck, probably even longer. I don’t even know anymore. You are the reason I survived the Upside Down. You are the reason I came back. You are the reason I kept fighting when I wanted to give up. And every time you pulled away, every time you chose her, every time you made me feel like I was too much — I still loved you. I couldn’t stop. I don’t know how to stop.”
His throat closed around the last words. He couldn't get anything else out.
“So please — please, Mike — tell me right now. Tell me if there’s any part of you that feels the same. Because if there isn’t, I need to know. I need to know so I can finally let you go.”
Will held his breath. He'd said everything. There was nothing left.
The silence after his own words was the loudest thing he'd ever heard.
He's going to say no, Will thought. He's going to walk away. This is it. This is where I lose him.
He'd played this moment in his head a thousand times. It always ended the same way.
He braced himself for the rejection he'd been expecting for years.
Mike didn’t answer with words.
He closed the distance.
Mike moved so fast Will didn't see it coming.
One second they were standing three feet apart. The next, Mike's hands were on Will's face — rough, desperate, shaking — and his mouth was on his.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't romantic. It was angry and hungry — years of a closed dam finally breaking open.
But it was also awkward at first. Their noses bumped. Mike's teeth grazed Will's lower lip too hard. Will made a small, startled sound against Mike's mouth.
Then Will pulled back.
Just an inch. Just enough to look at Mike with those eyes — wet, terrified, hopeful and longing.
"Mike—"
Will's hand came up to Mike's hair. He ruffled it — deliberately, almost playfully — until the black neatly-waved strands puffed out into the curls Mike had been hiding for years.
"I love your curls," Will whispered. "Don't cut them again."
He didn't know why he said that. Why now. Maybe because he needed something soft. Something that wasn't screaming or crying or years of silence cracking open between them.
Mike let out a shaky breath. Will felt it against his lips.
Then he dove back in.
And this time — god, this time — it wasn't awkward, It wasn't messy, It was hungry. Will's fingers tangled in Mike's curls and tugged, just a little, and Mike moaned — actually moaned — into Will's mouth.
Will moaned back. The vibration passed between them like a current.
For a second, Mike's body went rigid — like something inside him was fighting back. Then he melted into Will like he couldn't help it.
He tugged again, harder, and Mike's hips jerked forward.
"Keep doing that," Mike gasped against Will's lips.
Will did.
Oh, Will thought, tears spilling down his cheeks. Oh, this is happening. This is actually happening.
He kissed Mike like his body had been waiting for this since he was twelve years old. Because Mike's lips were warm and soft yet chapped and real.
Then Mike pulled back, just far enough to press their foreheads together.
"I don't hate you, you idiot," Mike breathed.
He stayed, Will thought. He actually stayed.
Will started crying. He didn't care if he looked ridiculous because the boy he had loved for so long, the boy he had been longing and yearning for so long, finally loved him back.
But then Mike's thumbs were on his cheeks, wiping the tears away — gentle, careful, like Will was something precious.
"Hey," Mike said softly. "Hey, look at me."
Hazel met dark brown, both pairs of eyes swallowed almost entirely by their dilated pupils.
"I'm sorry," Mike said. "I'm sorry for all of it. For every time I made you feel like you weren't — like you weren't everything."
Will's lip trembled. "Mike—"
"Let me show you," Mike said. "Let me show you how sorry I am. Let me show you —"
He kissed Will again — softer this time, not hungry, not desperate, just... tender. Like he was trying to say something he didn't have words for.
Mike pulled back. Just enough to look at Will.
He said it. He said he loves me.
Will's throat tightened. His eyes were still wet, but he wasn't crying anymore. He was just... full. Like every lonely year had been leading here.
"You really mean it," Will whispered.
Mike's thumbs brushed his cheekbones. "Every word."
Will let out a shaky breath. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Mike's. Closed his eyes.
"I thought I'd never get this," Will said quietly.
Mike's hands tightened on his face. "You have me now."
Will opened his eyes. Looked at Mike. "Yeah," he said softly. "I do."
They stayed there for a moment. Just breathing.
Then Mike's lips brushed his again. Not a real kiss. Just a promise.
Will pulled back just enough to breathe. His heart was pounding hard. But there was something he needed to say first, something small, something to close the loop.
“You really didn’t know?” Will asked, his voice barely there. “About Tammy?”
Mike shook his head, forehead still pressed to Will’s. “I thought you found someone else in Lenora. Fuck, Will. I thought I lost you.”
Will let out a breathless laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah.” Mike kissed him again — quick, soft, desperate. “I know.”
Will’s hands found Mike’s face. Held him there.
“I thought you’d never love me back,” Will admitted. “That’s why I used the name. Because saying yours would have broken me.”
Mike’s eyes glistened. “I love you,” he said again, like he was trying to make up for every year of silence. “I love you, I love you, I love you —”
Will kissed him to make him stop. Not because he didn’t want to hear it, but because he finally believed it.
Mike started walking him backward. Slow. One step, then another. Will's legs hit the edge of the couch.
"I'm not going anywhere," Mike said against his lips.
Will let himself fall back onto the couch. Mike followed him down.
"I'm here," Mike said. "I'm not leaving. I'm never leaving again."
Will wrapped his arms around Mike's neck and pulled him closer.
"You better not," Will whispered.
Mike laughed. "I won't."
He kissed Will's forehead. His cheek. The corner of his mouth.
"Let me show you," Mike said again. "Let me show you how much I love you."
Will nodded. He couldn't speak. He didn't need to.
They kissed until Will lost track of time. Until the only thing that existed was Mike's mouth on his, Mike's hands cradling his face like he was something precious.
Mike pulled back just enough to breathe. His forehead rested against Will's.
"Can I — Can I take your shirt off?"
Will nodded.
Mike was always so gentle with him. From the first moment they met on the swings, Mike had been gentle. Even when he didn't know how to say the right thing. Even when he got scared. His hands never stopped being careful with Will.
God, Will thought, I love him so much.
Mike's fingers fumbled with the hem of Will's shirt. It caught on his ears. Will laughed, reaching up to free himself.
"It's okay," he said softly. "I don't know what I'm doing either."
The shirt came off. Then Mike's hands went to Will's belt. He missed the buckle twice. Will covered Mike's hands with his own.
"Here. Like this."
When the jeans came off, they got stuck on his hips. Will had to wiggle. Mike almost lost his balance.
"This is not going smooth," Mike muttered.
Will snorted. They were both laughing now, breathless and nervous.
"I know how it works," Mike said, face red. "Technically. From magazines."
Will laughed. "Yeah. Me too."
Then Mike bent his head and pressed a kiss to Will's stomach. Right above his navel. Where that small brown mole sat.
Will's breath hitched.
Mike kissed another mole. And another. Traveling up Will's stomach, slow and deliberate. When he reached Will's ribs, Will shivered. When Mike's lips brushed the side of his neck, a small sound escaped Will's throat — something between a gasp and a moan.
Mike didn't stop. He kissed up Will's neck, across his jaw, until he reached the corner of Will's mouth. The mole just above his upper lip. The one Will had always been a little self-conscious about.
Mike kissed it.
Will giggled. Actually giggled, like he was twelve years old again and Mike had just made a stupid joke in the back of Mr. Clarke's class.
"What are you doing?" Will asked, breathless.
Mike pulled back just enough to look at him.
"I'm kissing every mole on your body," Mike said. "They were always my favorite."
Will's heart stopped.
"I used to wonder," Mike continued, quieter now, "how many I hadn't seen yet."
Will stared at him. This boy. This stupid, beautiful boy who never gave up. Who stayed when everyone else left. Who told him Hawkins wasn't the same without him.
Will lifted his hand and traced Mike's face. His cheekbone. The bridge of his nose. The freckles scattered across his skin like constellations.
"I used to count these," Will whispered. "When you were sleeping. On the basement floor, or in your bedroom, or in the back of the van. I'd just... look at you. And count."
Mike's breath caught.
"Every summer," Will continued, "there were more. And I'd think — I hope next summer there are even more. So I could keep counting."
Mike made a sound — small and broken and full of something Will couldn't name.
Then Mike kissed him. Soft. So soft it almost hurt.
Will's hands found the hem of Mike's shirt. He tugged. Mike understood instantly, lifting his arms.
And Will looked at him.
Not the quick, ashamed glances he'd stolen for years. This was different. This was Will letting his eyes travel across Mike's collarbones, his chest, the faint trail of hair below his navel.
He was allowed to look now.
Mike's skin flushed under his gaze.
"Will —"
Will kissed him again, deeper this time. Mike's hands found his waist. His fingers were shaking. Will noticed and loved him even more for it. Then Mike was pressing against him, rolling his hips forward, and oh. He could feel him through both their jeans, hard and desperate and wanting.
Will gasped into Mike's mouth.
Mike did it again. And again.
They both realized it at the same time. The shared look that passed between them, dark and electric.
Yes. This. Now.
Will moved first. He shifted his weight, rolling them over until Mike was on his back and Will was straddling his thighs.
"Fuck," Mike breathed. "Will."
"Yeah," Will said, and his own voice sounded different. Steadier. "Yeah."
He positioned himself over Mike's lap, sitting fully on him. The pressure of denim against denim, their lengths pressing together through the thick fabric, made them both moan. Will braced his hands on Mike's chest, feeling every breath Mike took.
Then he started to move.
Slow at first. A gentle rock of his hips that made Mike's eyes flutter shut.
"Jesus," Mike whispered.
Will leaned down and kissed his jaw. "Can I take your jeans off?"
Mike's eyes snapped open. He looked almost surprised.
"Can you —" Mike laughed, breathless and disbelieving. "Yeah. Yeah, Will. Please."
Will's fingers found the button of Mike's jeans. It popped open easily. The zipper came down with a sound that felt impossibly loud in the quiet room. Mike lifted his hips to help.
He looked up. Mike nodded.
Yes.
Will pulled.
In one movement, Mike was naked beneath him.
And Will looked.
His gaze traveled down Mike's body — the sharp lines of his hips, the ridge of his bones, and then... there. Will's mouth went dry.
"Fuck, Mike," Will whispered. "You're —"
Mike's face went red. He turned his head slightly, like he could hide.
"Don't," Mike started. "I know, it's —"
But Will just shook his head and leaned down to kiss him again.
Mike's hands found the waistband of Will's jeans. His fingers trembled.
"Can I —" Mike started.
"God, Mike, yes," Will said before he could even finish.
Mike stripped him in one motion — jeans and boxers both, pulling them down Will's legs until he could kick them free. And then Will was naked too,
His hands moved to cover himself. His face burned.
"Hey," Mike said softly.
He cupped Will's face in both hands. Made Will look at him.
"Don't," Mike said. "Will. Don't. You're so beautiful. My god. I can't believe you're real."
Will's eyes widened.
Then Will's hands started moving.
Down Mike's chest. Past his ribs. Over his stomach. His fingers traced the line of hair below Mike's navel and stopped.
Mike held his breath.
Will looked up. Met his eyes. A question.
Mike nodded.
Will's hand wrapped around him.
Mike's whole body jerked.
"Sorry—"
"No," Mike gasped. "No, it's — just —"
Will didn't move at first. Just held him. His grip was light, hesitant. His thumb brushed over the tip and Mike's hips bucked.
Will's mouth curved. He did it again, slower this time, watching Mike's face the whole way.
"You're really sensitive," Will said.
"Fuck you," Mike breathed.
Will leaned closer, his lips brushing Mike's ear. "Why don't you just fuck me?"
Mike's hips jerked up into Will's fist.
Will laughed — soft, breathless, a little mean. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
He wasn't thinking about what he sounded like. He just felt drunk on it. On the way Mike was looking at him. On the weight of Mike's cock in his hand. On the way his own dick was pressed against Mike's thigh, hard and leaking and so fucking ready.
This was the dream he'd been having for years. Except in the dream he always woke up before anything really happened. He wasn't waking up now.
"You okay up there?" Will asked, his voice smug.
"Shut up."
Will grinned. "Make me."
Mike's hands shot up, grabbed Will's face, and pulled him down into a fierce, desperate kiss. Will kissed him back, his hand still moving.
Then Mike's hand left Will's face. Traveled down. Stopped at Will's lips.
Will froze.
"Open," Mike said.
Will's heart stuttered. He opened his mouth.
Mike pushed two fingers inside. Will sucked on them, his tongue wrapping around Mike's fingers. Mike groaned against his lips.
Mike's fingers in his mouth. He should have been embarrassed. He wasn't.
Mike pulled his fingers out. They were slick, wet.
Then Mike shifted their weight. Rolled them over.
Will's back hit the couch cushions. Mike was on top of him now, between his legs.
"Do you trust me?" Mike asked.
Will looked at him. He nodded.
Mike's hand moved lower. Pressed between Will's legs.
Will's breath caught.
He'd touched himself there before. Curious, desperate. Alone. But no one had ever touched him there.
Mike pushed in. Just one finger. Just a little.
Will gasped.
"Okay?" Mike asked.
Will nodded.
Mike moved his finger slowly. In and out. Will felt his body opening.
This. Mike's finger curling inside him, Mike's breath on his neck— this was so much better.
"More," Will said.
Mike added a second finger. Will's hips bucked.
"Too much?"
"No. Just — give me a second—"
Mike waited. Held still.
Will breathed. Let his body open.
"Okay," Will said. "Move."
Mike curled his fingers.
Will's whole body jerked. A sound came out of him — loud, broken, desperate — that he didn't recognize.
There.
Mike did it again. Will moaned.
"More," Will gasped. "I need — I need more —"
Mike added a third finger. Will cried out.
The stretch was sharper now, fuller. Will's hands fisted the couch cushions.
"Too much?"
Will shook his head. "No. No, it's — it's good. Just — stay there. Let me —"
He breathed. Let his body open.
After a moment, he nodded.
Mike started moving again. Will was shaking now, his hips moving on their own, pushing back against Mike's hand.
His body wasn't his own anymore. It belonged to Mike's hands, Mike's rhythm.
"Please," Will gasped. "Mike, please — I'm ready. I want you inside me."
Mike pulled his fingers out slowly.
Will reached up. Grabbed Mike's face. Pulled him down into a kiss.
Then he pushed.
Mike's back hit the couch. Will was on top again, straddling his thighs.
"My turn," Will said.
Mike's eyes went wide. His hands found Will's hips.
Will positioned himself. One hand braced on Mike's chest. The other reached down.
He paused. Looked down at Mike.
"You okay?" Mike asked.
Will nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I just —"
He lowered himself. Just an inch.
They both gasped.
"Oh —" Mike's breath hitched. His hands found Will's hips, gripping tight. "Oh, fuck, Will —"
Will stopped. His whole body was shaking.
"Okay?" Mike asked again.
"Yeah," Will breathed. "Just — give me a second —"
"It hurts?" Mike's thumbs pressed into Will's skin.
"No." Will shook his head fast. "No, don't stop. It hurts but —" He let out a shaky laugh. "It also feels good. Really good. I just need a moment."
Mike nodded.
They stayed there for a second. Two. Will breathing. Mike holding him.
"Okay," Will whispered.
He sank down lower. Mike's head fell back against the couch cushion.
"Look at me," Will said.
Mike looked.
"There you are," Will whispered.
He was here. He was real. He was looking at Will like he was everything.
Will bottomed out. Full. Deep. They both let out a breath at the same time.
"Holy shit—" Mike's voice came out strangled. "Oh my god. Will."
Will couldn't answer. His mouth was open, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body shaking. Mike was inside him. Actually inside him.
"Okay," Will finally gasped. "Give me a second—"
He breathed. Once. Twice. Felt Mike pulse inside him.
Mike's hands were gripping his hips like anchors. "Take all the time you need. Just— you feel—" He couldn't finish.
Then Will started moving. Slow at first. Rocking his hips. Mike's hands stayed on his hips, thumbs pressing into soft skin.
"Like that," Mike breathed. "God, Will — just like that —"
Will found it. The rhythm. The pace.
Mike's hands traveled down. Sliding from Will's hips to his ass, squeezing gently.
Will moaned.
"Yeah?" Mike asked.
"Yeah." Will gasped. "Do that again —"
Mike squeezed again. Harder this time.
Will's hands found Mike's curls. He tugged, and Mike's hips bucked up hard.
"Shit—"
"Sorry—"
"No, don't be sorry, do that again—"
Will tugged again. Mike moaned.
Then a creak came from upstairs.
They both froze.
Will let out a shaky breath. "Not here," he said. "Not on the couch. Not for the first —"
"The table," Mike said. "The D&D table."
Will looked at the table. The scattered dice. The miniatures. The paladin figure still standing.
The table where Mike had made him the hero.
"Okay," Will said.
Mike pulled out and climbed off the couch first, then reached down and pulled Will up. Their hands stayed intertwined together.
"Come on," Mike said.
Will followed him.
The D&D table was cold against Will's back. Mike had laid him down on it — actually laid him down, like he was something precious — and was now hovering over him, bracketing Will's head with his arms, looking down at him like he was the only thing in the world.
Dice scattered beneath Will's shoulders. A character sheet crinkled under his spine. He didn't care.
"Look at me," Mike said.
Will looked.
"No," Mike said. "Really look at me."
Will's eyes focused. Mike's face was flushed, his curls were falling into his eyes, his lips were parted. He looked wrecked already, and they hadn't even—
"I need to see you," Mike said. "When we— I need to see your face."
Will only nodded. He didn't trust his voice to speak.
Mike paused. His hands came up to cup Will’s face. “Hey. You still with me?”
Will nodded again. Swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m — I’m good. Just nervous.”
“Me too,” Mike admitted. His thumb brushed Will’s cheekbone. “But it’s just us. Okay? Just us.”
Will let out a breath. “Okay.”
Mike pushed in.
They both gasped. It was different from the couch — deeper, somehow, or maybe just more real. Will's hands flew up to Mike's shoulders, nails digging in.
"Oh my god—"
"Yeah," Mike breathed. "Yeah, fuck—"
He started moving, slow at first. His eyes never left Will's face. Every time Will's eyes fluttered shut, Mike said his name.
"Will."
He opened his eyes
"Look at me when you feel it."
Mike thrust deeper. Will's hips buckled up, his back arched off the table with a loud moan, nails digging deeper into Mike's shoulder.
"There—"
"Here?"
"Fuck— yes— right there—"
Mike kept that angle, Steady, Deep, His hands braced on either side of Will's head, Their faces were inches apart. Will could feel Mike's breath on his lips, could see the way Mike's pupils had blown wide, could count the sweat dripping down his temple.
"The way you looked at me during my campaign," Mike said, voice rough. "The way you said that incantation. God, Will. I wanted to fuck you right then. Right there on this table. You have no idea what you're doing to me."
Will's breath caught. "Mike—"
"No idea," Mike repeated, thrusting harder. "You're so beautiful," Mike said. The words came out before he could stop them, softer than he probably meant.
Will's eyes widened. "What?"
"Don't make me say it again."
"Mike—"
"I said don't make me—" Mike thrust harder. "—say it again."
Will's laugh turned into a moan. Mike was still moving — slow but deep, each thrust pushing Will's body up the table just a little. Will reached up and grabbed Mike's curls, tugged, and Mike groaned into his mouth.
"Fuck, Will—"
"Don't stop," Will gasped. "Please don't stop—"
Mike didn't stop. He kept that same rhythm — deep, steady, endless — until Will's thighs were shaking, his nails were leaving crescents in Mike's shoulders and his mouth was falling open with every thrust.
"Mike—"
"I know—"
"I'm so close—"
"I know—"
"Mike—"
"Let go," Mike said. "I've got you. Let go."
Will's hand left Mike's shoulder. Slid down his own chest. Past his stomach.
Mike's hips stuttered. "What are you —"
"Just —" Will couldn't finish the sentence. His fingers wrapped around himself, pumping in time with Mike's thrusts.
"Holy shit," Mike breathed.
Will didn't answer. His head was thrown back, his mouth open, his hand moving faster.
Then Mike's hand left Will's hip. Reached around. Covered Will's hand with his own.
Will's eyes flew open. "Mike—"
"Together," Mike said. His voice was wrecked. "Let me —"
He didn't finish. He just moved his hand alongside Will's, their fingers tangled together, stroking in unison.
Will sobbed. Actually sobbed. "Oh my god—"
"Yeah," Mike breathed against his ear. "Yeah, I know. You're so close. I can feel you."
Will's whole body tensed. "I'm gonna —"
"Do it," Mike said. "I've got you. Come for me."
Will's back arched off the table, His whole body tensed and spasmed. And then he squirted, a gush of wetness that soaked the table edge, splattering across the scattered papers and maps.
Directly onto Mike's paladin figure.
The little plastic miniature stood right at the edge of the table, exactly where they'd left it after their last campaign. Will's release dripped down the paladin's shield, off its tiny sword, pooling around its base.
Will stared at it. Mike stared at it.
"Did you just—" Mike started.
"On your paladin—"
"Yeah."
"I'm so sorry—"
"Don't be." Mike was grinning. Actually grinning. "That's fucking hot."
He'd expected disgust. Or awkwardness. Not this — not Mike grinning like Will had given him a gift.
Will's face went red. "Mike—"
"No, I mean it. That's—" He thrust back in, and Will's protest died in his throat. "—that's mine now. You marked him."
Before Will could respond, Mike dipped his head and pressed a kiss to Will’s forehead. Soft. Quick. Like he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re perfect,” Mike whispered against his skin. “You know that?”
Will’s throat tightened. He didn’t know that. But maybe, maybe he was starting to believe it.
Mike kept moving. Will could feel Mike getting close, his thrusts getting sloppier, his breath getting rougher. The sight of Will's release on his paladin figure, the feeling of Will still clenching around him —
"Fuck," Mike breathed. "Fuck, Will, I'm gonna—"
Mike groaned — low and broken — and Will felt it happen.
The jerk of Mike's hips.
The dig of his fingers.
The heat of him, inside.
Oh, Will thought, his mind going white. Oh, that's —
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Mike pulled out slowly. Will collapsed onto the table. Mike collapsed beside him, one arm thrown over Will’s chest, forehead pressed to Will’s shoulder.
"That was—" Mike mumbled against his skin.
"Yeah," Will said.
Mike pressed a kiss to the back of Will's neck. Right where the shadow monster had been. Right where Will still flinched sometimes.
The spot that used to burn with cold — with terror, with the feeling of something dark crawling inside him — now felt warm. Safe. Mike’s lips were soft there. Gentle. Like he was trying to erase every bad memory with this one small touch.
Will’s eyes fluttered closed.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The table was cold beneath them but they didn’t care.
Will could feel Mike’s heartbeat against his side, Could feel his own heart trying to match it.
Then Mike’s lips moved.
Not a kiss this time. Something slower, Softer, Mike dragged his mouth along the curve of Will’s neck up to his jaw, then down again. Will shivered.
“Mike…”
Mike didn’t answer. His hand slid from Will’s chest up to his shoulder, fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone. Like he was mapping him. Like he was memorizing every inch.
Will turned his head. Just enough to see Mike’s face.
Bad idea.
Mike was looking at him like he was everything. Like the rest of the world had burned away and all that was left was this table, this basement, this moment.
Will grabbed him.
Hands in Mike’s hair, pulling him in, Their mouths crashed together — not soft, not sweet, not anymore.
Then Mike pulled back. Just an inch. "Is this okay?" he asked, breathless. "I don't want to — I don't want to hurt you —"
"Mike." Will grabbed his face, made him look. "I'll tell you if it's not. I promise."
Mike's eyes searched his. Then he nodded. "Okay."
Will kissed him again, Messier this time. All teeth and tongue and too much want. His hands were everywhere — Mike’s hair, Mike’s shoulders, Mike’s back, nails dragging down his spine.
Mike shifted. He pushed himself up, swung one leg over Will’s hips until he was straddling him — on top, chest to chest, looking down at Will with dark, blown-out eyes
“There you are,” Will whispered.
Mike didn’t answer. He just moved.
His mouth found Will’s again. Then his jaw. Then his neck. He sucked gently, and Will’s back arched off the table.
“Mike—”
Mike’s hands were everywhere too. Gripping Will’s hips, sliding up his ribs, cupping his face like he was something precious, then pulling him closer like he couldn’t get enough.
They were both shaking.
They were both lost.
Will didn’t know how long they stayed like that — tangled together on the cold D&D table, kissing like the world was ending, like they were trying to make up for every year of silence in a single night.
He didn’t care.
Nothing existed outside of this, Not the Upside Down, Not Vecna, Not the years of longing and lying and pretending. Just Mike’s mouth on his. Just Mike’s hands on his skin. Just the sound of their breathing.
Then Mike pulled back.
Just enough to press their foreheads together, Both of them panting, Both of them wrecked.
“The painting,” Mike said. His voice was barely there. “We’re not done.”
Will’s heart clenched. He knew. He knew what Mike was asking, but he didn’t want to move, he wanted to stay here, in this bubble, where nothing hurt yet.
“I know,” he whispered.
Mike sat up slowly, His hands found Will’s waist — not rough, but firm — and he helped him up. Will’s legs were shaking, His whole body was shaking, His lips were swollen.
Will stumbled, just a little, and Mike caught him.
“I’ve got you, baby.” Mike said.
Will's heart stopped.
Baby. Mike had never called him that. Never called anyone that, as far as Will knew. The word hung in the air between them, fragile and new, like something that could shatter if either of them breathed wrong.
Will looked up. Mike's expression was shifting — something flickering across his face, a flash of panic that disappeared almost before Will could name it. Like Mike had surprised himself. Like the word had fallen out without permission.
He's scared, Will realized. He said it without meaning to, and now he's waiting for me to — what? Pull away? Laugh?
Will didn't do any of those things. He just looked at Mike. Let himself stare. Let himself be seen staring.
"Baby," Mike said again, quieter this time. Testing it. Letting it settle.
The word sounded different the second time. Less like an accident. More like a choice.
Will watched Mike's shoulders drop, the tension draining out of him. Watched his eyes go soft, the fear replaced by something that looked like hope.
Will's mouth curved — just a little, just enough — and Mike's breath caught. Will felt it more than heard it, the way Mike's chest hitched against his own.
Something in Will's chest loosened. He didn't know what. Fear, maybe. Or the last thread of anger he'd been holding onto. It just... released.
Okay, Will thought. This is okay. We're okay.
Mike's hands stayed on Will's waist. He didn't let go. Instead, he pulled Will closer — chest to chest, forehead to forehead — and kissed him again.
Slower this time, Not hungry, Not desperate but Tender. Like he was trying to say something he didn’t have words for.
Will melted into it. His hands found Mike’s shoulders, then his neck, then his hair.
They stayed like that for a moment — just kissing, just breathing, just being — before Mike pulled back.
“Come on,” Mike said.
He took Will’s hand and led him across the room.
The painting got closer, The heart on the paladin’s shield got bigger, Will could see the brushstrokes now — the ones he’d spent hours on, the ones where his hand had trembled, the ones where he’d almost ruined the canvas because he couldn’t stop thinking about Mike, Mike, Mike —
Mike stopped walking.
Will stopped too.
For a second, neither of them moved. They just stood there, in front of the painting, still holding hands.
Then Mike turned Will around.
Not rough but not gentle either. Firm. His hands were on Will’s shoulders, turning him until his back was to the painting, until Mike was right there in front of him, until their chests were almost touching.
Mike’s hands slid up to Will’s face, cupping his cheeks. Holding him there.
“I need you to look at it,” Mike said. His voice was shaking. “But first — I need you to look at me.”
Will looked.
Mike’s eyes were wet, his lips were parted, he looked terrified. Hopeful.
“Tell me,” Mike said. “Tell me everything you said in the van. But this time — say it like it’s yours. Because it was never hers, Will. It was always you.”
Will’s throat tightened. “Mike—”
“Please.”
Will nodded and took a deep breath.
Then he turned around, facing the painting. Mike pressed up behind him — chest to back, hips against Will’s ass — and braced one hand on the wall beside Will’s head.
“Start talking,” Mike said. His voice was rough. “Don’t stop until you’ve told me everything.”
Will’s hands trembled against the wall.
The painting hung to his left. The three-headed dragon, The party, The paladin with the heart on his shield. His own work, His own heart, poured onto canvas and hidden behind a lie.
Mike pressed up behind him. Will could feel his presence enveloping him. One hand braced on the wall beside Will's head, the other gripping Will's hip hard enough to leave marks.
"Start talking," Mike had said and Will knew there was no going back.
Good, he thought. He didn't want to go back anymore.
He looked at the painting and took another breath.
"In the van," he started. His voice was barely a whisper. "I said all of this. But I said it like it was from El."
Mike's grip on his hip tightened.
"I told you that El commissioned it, That she told me what to draw." Will swallowed, his throat tight. "That was a lie."
"I know," Mike said.
"She didn't ask me to paint anything. She didn't tell me what to say. It was all me."
Will could feel Mike's breath on the back of his neck. Hot. Steady. Waiting.
Waiting for the truth. The real truth. The one Will had been swallowing for years.
"Keep going," Mike said.
Mike's lips brushed the back of Will’s neck. Soft. Barely there. A reminder that he was still there. Still with Will, even through the anger.
Will's breath caught. His fingers pressed into the wall.
He closed his eyes. The van scene played in his mind. Mike's face, the way he'd listened, the way he'd believed.
He'd believed a lie. And now Will was going to give him the truth, even if it killed him.
"I told you that you were leading the party. That you were guiding us, inspiring us."
The words came out ragged.
"That's still true. It's always been true."
Mike's hips pressed forward behind him — not a thrust, just a reminder.
He's here, Will thought. He's listening.
"I told you that you're the coat of arms... the heart... that's holds the party together." Will opened his eyes, he looked at the painting, at the heart on the paladin's shield. "Without heart, we'd all fall apart. Even El. Especially El."
"You said that," Mike said. "In the van. You said all of that."
"I meant it."
"You said it like it was from her."
"I know."
Mike's hips pressed forward, just a little, enough for Will to feel his hard on against his ass.
He could feel how much Mike wanted this. How much Mike wanted him. The thought made his head spin.
"Keep going," Mike said again.
Will's hands trembled. He braced them against the wall.
"I told you that these past months, she'd been lost without you. That she was no different from anyone else. That it was scary to be different."
His voice dropped.
"I wasn't talking about her, Mike. I was talking about me."
Mike went still behind him.
His hand slid from Will's hip to his stomach, palm flat against his skin. Holding him.
Then his lips pressed to the side of Will’s neck. Slower this time. Firmer. His breath was hot against Will’s skin, and for a second, neither of them moved.
I’ve got you, the kiss seemed to say. Keep going.
And Will believed him. For the first time, he actually believed him.
"When you're different," Will continued, his voice shaking, "sometimes you feel like a mistake."
"No," Mike said. The word was sharp. Certain. "No, Will."
The words hung in the air. Will's eyes were wet, tears building, stinging his already sore eyes.
He'd felt like a mistake for so long. Like something broken that needed fixing. But Mike's hand on his hip felt like an anchor.
"You make me feel like I'm not a mistake, Mike” he said. "You've always made me feel like I'm not a mistake. Like I'm better for being different. Like I'm worth something."
Mike's forehead dropped to the back of Will's shoulder. His breath was hot and uneven.
Mike's hand moved from Will's hip to his waist, then up his chest, then back down.
Touching him like he was memorizing him. Like Will was something worth remembering.
"I told you that if she was mean to you, if she pushed you away, it was because she was scared of losing you." Will's voice broke completely. "I wasn't talking about her, Mike. I was talking about me."
Mike made a sound — small, broken, pressed into Will's skin. His hips stuttered, lost the rhythm for just a second.
Then Mike's face pressed hard into the curve of Will's neck, his nose against Will's jaw. Will felt something wet against his skin. Mike was crying too.
"I said that if she was going to lose you, she'd rather just get it over with quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid." Will was crying too, tears streamed down his face. "Because loving you... it just hurts too much."
"Say it again," Mike said, voice rough. His hips snapped forward — harder this time. "Say it hurts."
"I wasn't finished."
Mike went quiet.
He was listening. He was finally listening.
"I said that El needs you. That she always will." Will turned his head, just enough to see Mike's face out of the corner of his eye. "That was the only true part. But it wasn't El, Mike. It was me. I need you. I've always needed you."
Mike didn't speak anymore. He just thrust — deeper, slower, like he was trying to prove something. His hands were shaking on Will's hips.
Silence.
Mike's free hand came up to Will's chin. Gently, he turned Will's head just enough to look him in the eyes. A question. ‘Can I?’
Will nodded.
Yes. Always yes.
Then Mike pushed into him.
No warning, no slow buildup, just a single, hard thrust that made Will gasp and grab at the wall. The angle was different from the table. Deeper. Sharper. Hitting something inside him that made his vision blur.
Will could feel every inch of him — the stretch, the burn, the way Mike’s anger made him thicker, harder, more desperate. He clenched around Mike involuntarily, and Mike groaned against his neck.
Mike wanted him. Needed him. Was inside him. Will could barely breathe through the weight of it.
"You lied to me," Mike said. His voice was shaking. "For years, Will.” Another thrust. “You let me believe—"
"I know—"
"You let me believe it was from her." Mike thrust harder and Will cried out. "You let me think— I could have had this.” Thrust. “We could have had this. And you just—"
"I was scared—" Will choked on his tears. Choked on Mike’s cock.
The words came out wrong, broken, but they were true. He'd been so scared. Of losing Mike. Of being hated. Of saying I love you and hearing nothing back.
"I know you were scared." Mike's hips snapped forward, deeper than before. Will cried out, eyes half-lidded, legs shaking. "I'm scared too. I've been scared my whole life. But I didn't lie to you. I didn't—"
His voice broke.
Will reached back and grabbed Mike's hip to pull him closer.
"I'm sorry," Will said. "I'm so sorry, Mike—"
"I don't want you to be sorry." Mike thrust again and Will’s hand slipped against the wall. "I want you to mean it. I want you to say it.” Thrust. “Not like you said it in the van.” Thrust. “Not like it was from someone else.” Thrust. “Say it like you mean it."
Every word was a thrust, Every thrust was deeper than the last. Will could barely breathe, barely think. His brain started to fog.
But the words kept coming anyway. They'd been in his chest for years. Mike was fucking them out of him, and Will was letting him.
He'd imagined saying this a hundred times. Always to Mike's face, never like this — never with Mike inside him, making the words come out whether he was ready or not.
Mike’s mouth found Will’s throat again. Not a kiss this time — a soft suck, right over his pulse point. Will’s knees buckled.
Mike could probably feel his heartbeat. Could feel how fast it was racing. Could feel what he was doing to him.
“Mike—”
“Say it,” Mike murmured against his skin. “I’m right here. Say it.”
Mike's hand left the wall and found Will's ass — grabbing, squeezing, the way Will had moaned earlier.
"Fuck —" Will's whole body jolted.
His brain short-circuited. But he had to keep going. He had to say it all.
"You're the heart," Will gasped. "You're the heart, Mike. You've always been the heart."
Mike's thrusts got harder, faster. The angle was perfect, hitting his prostate with every one.
"Without you, I’d fall apart," The words scraped out of him, wet and barely understandable. "Without you, nothing makes sense.” A thrust cut off his breath. “Without you, I feel like I'm not real—"
But Mike made him real. Mike's hands on his hips, Mike's breath on his neck, Mike inside him — this was real. This was the realest thing Will had ever felt.
"Keep going—"
"You make me feel like I'm not a mistake.” Will was crying so hard he could barely see the painting anymore. “You make me feel like I'm worth something.” Mike thrust impossibly deeper. “You make me feel like I'm—"
Like I'm loved. Like I'm whole. Like I'm not broken after all.
Will's whole body tensed. He was so close. But not just from Mike's cock. From something else. Something building in his chest.
"You're the heart," Will said again. His voice was barely there. "You're the—"
He couldn't finish. The words stuck in his throat.
Say it, he told himself. Say it like you mean it.
"Mike," he whispered. "Mike, please... don’t stop… you're my heart. You always were."
The truth hit him like a wave.
Not Mike's thrusts. Not Mike's hands. The words. The truth of them. The way they finally existed outside his own head, spoken aloud, heard by the only person who mattered.
Will's whole body seized. His mouth fell open. A sound came out of him — broken, raw, nothing like he'd ever heard himself make. His release hit the wall beneath the painting, hot and sudden, his body clenching hard around Mike as he came untouched.
He hadn't touched himself. He didn't need to.
The truth had done it. Saying it had done it. Being seen — finally, completely seen — had done it.
Will's vision went white. His hands scrabbled against the wall. His legs gave out.
Mike held him up.
And Will felt Mike react. Felt him go rigid behind him. Felt his breath catch — sharp, sudden, right against Will's neck.
Then Mike's hips jerked. Once. Twice. Three times. Hard and desperate and sloppy, like he'd lost control completely. His forehead pressed hard to the back of Will's neck. His fingers dug into Will's hips hard enough to bruise.
A sound came out of Mike. Something Will had never heard before — between a sob and a surrender. Hot and wet inside him.
Mike was coming.
From this, Will realized. From watching me. From hearing me say it.
The thought made Will's head spin. Mike wasn't coming from his own pleasure — not really. He was coming from Will. From Will's courage. From the truth finally spoken.
Will felt Mike's body give in against his back. Felt the last jerk of his hips. Felt him go slack.
He came from me, Will thought. I did that. Just by telling the truth.
Will's body gave out completely, but Mike held him up. Of course he did. He always had.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Will's heart was still pounding. His legs were shaking. He could feel his own release cooling on the wall beneath the painting. Could feel Mike still inside him, softening now. Could feel everything.
He didn't want to move. He wanted to stay here, in this swollen silence, where nothing had been said yet and nothing could be taken back.
Then Mike pulled out slowly. Will turned around.
They looked at each other. Faces wet. Bodies wrecked. Eyes wide.
Will didn't speak. He couldn't. He just looked at Mike's face — really looked — and let himself see what was there. The tears. The terror. The wanting.
And something else now.
Awe.
Like Mike was looking at someone brave. Someone who had just done something impossible.
"I love you," Mike said.
Will let the words settle. He believed them now.
"I've always loved you," Mike continued. "I just didn't know what to call it. With El, it was... nice. It was safe. It was what I was supposed to feel." He reached up and touched Will's face. "This isn't nice. This isn't safe. This is—"
"An explosion," Will said.
That's what it felt like. Everything he'd been holding inside, finally detonating.
"Yeah." Mike laughed. It came out wet. "Yeah, that."
Will grabbed Mike's face and kissed him. Soft this time, Not hungry, Not desperate. Just... real.
Mike pulled back just enough to look at Will’s face. His thumb wiped away a tear. Then another. Then he leaned in and kissed the corner of Will’s mouth softly.
Then Mike's lips dropped to Will’s neck. Right where he’d kissed him before. Right where the shadow monster used to be.
That spot didn't belong to the Upside Down anymore. It belonged to Mike. To them.
“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered against his skin. “I didn’t mean to be so —”
"Don't." Will shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I needed that. I needed you to—”
“To what?”
Will looked at him. “To fight for me.”
Because no one ever had. Not like this. Not like Mike just had.
Mike’s eyes teared up again. He pulled Will into his chest and held him there, both of them sticky and sore and completely wrecked.
“I’ll always fight for you,” Mike said into his hair. “I just didn’t know I was allowed to.”
Will turned his head and looked at the painting again. The paladin with the heart on his shield. The party standing behind him. The three-headed dragon at their feet.
I painted this for you, he thought. And now you know.
And now he was free.
No more secrets. No more lies. No more hiding.
They stayed there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling. The painting watched over them. For the first time, it didn't feel like a secret.
It felt like a promise
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
After a while, Mike sat up slowly. He found their boxers in the dark — Will's bunched by the couch, his own tangled near the table leg. He tossed one to Will. It landed on his chest.
Will laughed softly. "Thanks."
Mike snorted. "Shut up."
They pulled them on in silence. Mike tossed Will his shirt too, but Will let it land on the couch cushion beside him. He wasn't cold. Or maybe he just didn't want to cover up yet.
Neither bothered with the rest of their clothes yet.
When Mike lay back down, he reached for Will immediately — arm sliding around his waist, pulling him close like he was afraid Will might disappear.
Will pressed his face into Mike's neck and breathed him in.
He's still here, Will thought. He actually stayed.
They stayed on the basement floor, where it was cold and dusty, but neither of them cared anymore.
Will was curled against Mike's chest, Mike's arms wrapped around him, their legs tangled together. The painting watched over them from the wall.
Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked, then nothing. The house had gone quiet hours back. Everyone had moved on with their night.
But not Mike and Will. They were still here. Still on the floor. Still holding each other.
"We should probably..." Mike started.
"Yeah," Will said, but neither of them moved.
"In a minute," Mike finished.
"Yeah."
Mike's hand traced slow circles on Will's back. Will's fingers played with the curls at the base of Mike's neck. The silence wasn't awkward — it was full and content. Packed with everything they'd finally said.
"My arm is falling asleep," Mike said after a while.
"Then move."
"I don't want to."
Will laughed, soft and tired. "Then don't."
Mike pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Then another. Then another.
"I meant what I said,” Mike said quietly. “On the table. When I said you were beautiful."
Will's throat tightened. He'd waited so long to hear Mike say things like that. He hadn't realized how much he needed it.
Will's face pressed into Mike's chest. "Mike—"
"No, let me say it. I've spent years not saying things. I'm done with that. I don’t wanna have any more regrets.” Mike's hand stilled on Will's back. "You're beautiful. You've always been beautiful. I just didn't let myself see it."
Will was quiet for a moment. "You're not so bad yourself."
"Wow. Romantic."
"Shut up."
Mike grinned, Will could feel it against his hair.
Then Mike spoke again, softer this time. "You know, when we were at the tower. When I said 'best friends.'"
Will went very still.
"You had just come out," Mike continued. "At The Squawk, in front of everyone. You were so brave, Will. You were sitting there, shaking, and you still said it.”
He swallowed.
“And I couldn’t even say it to you, alone. I had the words right there in my chest, in my throat. I wanted to tell you that I felt the same. That ‘best friends’ wasn’t enough."
His voice cracked.
"But I couldn't get them out. So I said 'best friends' like a coward. Like that was all you were to me. Like that was all you'd ever be."
He looked at Will. His eyes were wet.
"You were Will the Wise up there. The brave sorcerer." A broken laugh escaped him. "And I was just Mike. The idiot who couldn't say what he meant."
Will stared at him for a moment. Then a slow grin spread across his face.
“Can I tell you something?” Will asked.
“When you said that — on the tower. When you went ‘Friends’? and then paused?” Will’s mouth twitched. I thought you were going to say it. I thought — this is it. This is finally it.”
Mike’s face went pale. “Oh god.”
“And then you said ‘Best friends’.” Will laughed, shaking his head. “Mike, I was this close to actually throwing you off that tower.”
“You were not — “
“I was.” Will grabbed Mike’s shoulders. “One good push. That’s all it would have taken.”
Mike stared at him. Then he burst out laughing — loud and genuine, the kind that wrinkled his eyes. It didn't hurt to hear it this time. It just made Will's heart feel more at ease.
“I’m serious!” Will said, but he was laughing too. “What the fuck were you thinking back then? Best Friends? After a pause like that?”
“I was panicking.”
Mike buried his face in Will’s hair, still laughing. “I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah,” Will said, breathless. “You are. But you’re my idiot now.”
Mike pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were soft. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I am.”
Mike's arms tightened around him, pulling Will closer against his chest.
"I'm never letting you go," Mike mumbled into his hair. "Just so you know."
Will pressed his face into Mike's neck and breathed him in.
The laughter faded into something quieter. Mike's hand found Will's. Their fingers laced together.
"The rain," Mike said after a moment. "At my house. What I said to you."
Will tensed. Just a little.
"It's not my fault you don't like girls." Mike's voice was barely there. "I've played that moment back a thousand times. I've wanted to take it back every single day since."
"Mike—"
"I was scared. Not of you — of myself. Of what it meant when I couldn't stop thinking about you. Of what it meant that every time I kissed El, I was wishing she was someone else."
He looked at Will.
"We were kids. Stupid, scared kids. But that doesn't make it okay. I hurt you. I made you feel like something was wrong with you. Like you were broken."
Will was quiet for a moment.
"It did hurt," Will admitted. "What you said. It made me feel like I was a mistake."
He took a breath. Let it out slow.
"But it wasn't just that. It was Lenora. It was the way you didn't write. Not once. Not a single letter. I waited like an idiot, thinking — I don't know what I was thinking. That you'd remember me. That I mattered enough for a stamp."
Mike flinched. His hand loosened on Will's waist, then tightened again.
"I know," he said quietly. "I know I didn't. I can't — I don't have an excuse for that."
"And you didn't call either. I know my mom was always on the phone, but you could have tried, Mike. You could have tried more than once. And I sat in my room, night after night, telling myself you were busy. You had El. You had your life. You didn't need me anymore."
His voice caught. He hated that it caught. He'd had years to get this right.
"The only thing I got from you was what El shared from your letters to her. Little snippets. Like I wasn't even worth a sentence of my own. You wrote her so many letters, Mike. And I got nothing."
He finally looked at Mike. Mike's face was pale. His jaw was tight.
"And then the airport." His voice cracked. "God, Mike. The airport."
He could still see it. The flowers in his hand — yellow and purple, but mostly yellow. Mostly my color. Mike saying "I know you like yellow" to El — but El didn't really like yellow. I liked yellow.
Will's throat closed. He had to stop. Just for a second.
"You kissed El. Well — she kissed you. And then you hugged her. Gave her the flowers." He swallowed. "I was standing right there, Mike. Holding the painting I'd spent months on. And you didn't even look at me."
Mike made a sound. Small. Broken. His forehead pressed hard against the back of Will's shoulder.
"I saw you," he whispered. "I always saw you. I just — I couldn't —"
He stopped. Swallowed.
Will waited.
"You said hi to Jonathan. You said hi to Argyle — a guy you'd never met before." His voice broke on the last word.
"You barely touched me. It was almost a tap. Like I was a stranger."
The tears were falling now. He didn't wipe them away. He let them fall. Felt them hot on his cheeks.
Mike's arms tightened around him. Desperate.
"I'm sorry," he said into Will's hair. "I'm so sorry."
"You knew about the painting. And when you saw the tube in my hand, you asked me what it was." He laughed, bitter and wet. "And I said it was nothing. Just a painting. I lied right to your face. Because I was so embarrassed, Mike. I was so hurt. I had spent months on that painting — months — and you couldn't even hug me. So I didn't give it to you."
He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"I wish you'd given it to me anyway," Mike said. His voice was rough. "I wish you'd shoved it into my chest and made me take it."
"And then you put your arm around El — around your girlfriend — and you walked away. And I just stood there. Holding nothing. Feeling like I'd imagined everything between us."
He took a shaky breath.
"And then Rink-o-Mania. That fight. I asked you what we were. And you said 'friends.' Just friends. Like we hadn't been best friends for ten years."
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"And I said 'we used to be best friends.' Because I was hurt. Because I wanted you to fight for me. And you said 'maybe you should have reached out more.' Like it was my fault. Like I was the one who pulled away."
Mike went very still.
"I remember saying that," he said slowly. "I remember watching your face fall. And I still didn't stop."
Will dropped his hands. Looked at Mike.
"I forgave you for that fight a long time ago. For the rain. For the airport. Not because you deserved it. Because missing you hurt more than being angry at you."
He found Mike's hand. Squeezed.
"I forgave you a long time ago, Mike. I just needed you to catch up."
Mike didn't answer right away. His face was a mess of emotions. Will watched him process, watched the words form behind his eyes.
Then Mike spoke. His voice came out rough. Desperate.
"I tried to call," he said. "I tried so many times, Will. Your mom was always on the phone — that fucking telemarketing thing — and I'd just get the busy signal over and over."
Will's stomach dropped.
"I called at night. I called in the morning. I called so many times I memorized the busy signal."
His chest was doing something strange.
"I felt like an idiot, sitting there with the phone pressed to my ear."
Will's eyes widened.He tried to call? All those nights Will sat on his bed, convincing himself Mike didn't care. And Mike had been listening to a busy signal.
"And after a while, I stopped. Because I thought — I don't know what I thought. That you didn't want to talk to me. That you were avoiding me. That you'd moved on. I was scared, Will. I was scared that you'd answer and I wouldn't know what to say. I was scared that you wouldn't answer. I was scared of everything."
He was scared. Of course he was scared. Mike was always scared. He just hid it behind bad jokes and worse decisions.
"The flowers —" Mike let out a broken laugh. "I didn't even realize what I was doing. El said she liked purple. I know she likes purple. But when I saw the yellow ones, I just... grabbed them. More yellow than purple. I didn't even think about it. I just saw yellow and thought of —"
He stopped.
"I thought of you. I was always thinking of you. Even when I was standing right next to her."
Will's heart was pounding. He was thinking of me. At the airport. With her.
"The painting. At the airport. I knew it was the one El mentioned. 'For someone special.' And I asked you what it was because I needed to know. I needed to hear you say it was for me. I needed you to hand it to me and prove that I hadn't lost you."
Mike swallowed hard.
"And you said it was nothing. Just a painting. You said it was nothing, Will. And I thought — I thought that was it. That was the proof. You'd found someone else. You'd painted it for someone else. And I was too late."
He thought I painted it for someone else, Will realized. All this time, he thought I'd moved on.
"That's why I didn't hug you. Not really. I couldn't. Because if I hugged you — if I held you — I wouldn't be able to let go. And you belonged to someone else. Or so I thought. So I put my arm around El instead. Because that was safe."
"And then Rink-o-Mania. God, that fight."
Mike pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"You asked me what we were. And I said friends. I said it twice. Like I was trying to convince myself. Because if I said friends enough times, maybe I'd stop wanting more. Maybe I'd stop lying awake at night thinking about you. Maybe I'd stop comparing every kiss with her to the kisses I hadn't had with you."
He dropped his hands. Looked at Will.
"You said 'we used to be best friends.' And I heard what you were really asking. You were asking if I still loved you. You were asking if I'd ever loved you at all. And I was too scared to answer. So I got defensive. I said 'maybe you should have reached out more.' I blamed you. Because it was easier than blaming myself."
His voice cracked.
"I was such a coward, Will. I was so scared of what it meant that I couldn't stop thinking about you. And instead of figuring it out, I just... ran. I ran to her."
He reached out and grabbed Will's hand. Held on.
"But I'm not running anymore. I'm done running. I love you. I've always loved you. And I'm sorry it took me this long to say it. I'm sorry I said 'friends' when I meant 'everything.' I'm sorry I asked about the painting instead of just telling you I hoped it was for me. I'm sorry I didn't hug you at the airport. I'm sorry I made you feel like you were nothing when you were — when you are — everything."
He took a shaky breath.
"I wrote to you, you know. All the time. Dozens of letters. Pages and pages."
Will's breath caught.
"I'd stay up late trying to find the right words, and then I'd throw them in a box because nothing sounded right. Nothing sounded like what I actually felt."
Will's fingers curled against Mike's bare skin. He didn't remember reaching for him. His hand was just... there. Holding on.
A weak laugh escaped Mike. "They're in my closet. Behind old yearbooks and D&D manuals."
Will's throat tightened. Letters. In a box. For years.
Mike looked at Will, and there was something almost like humor in his eyes now. Exhausted. Raw. But there.
Will didn't look away. He couldn't. His eyes were burning again, but he kept them open.
"I guess I was in more than one kind of closet," he said quietly.
Will stared at him. Then — despite everything, despite the tears still wet on his face — a laugh burst out of him. A real one.
"Did you just make a joke?" Will asked. "Right now? After all of that?"
Mike's mouth twitched. "I'm trying to lighten the mood."
"You're insane."
"Did it work?"
Will looked at him. At this stupid, beautiful, ridiculous boy who'd been writing him letters he never sent, who'd been picking yellow flowers without knowing why, who'd been so deep in the closet he'd built a whole second closet for his unsent feelings.
"...Yeah," Will admitted. "It worked."
Mike grinned. Small. Shy. Real.
"Can I read them?" Will asked. "The letters?"
Mike's eyes softened. "They're yours. They always were. I just didn't have the courage to give them to you."
Will thought about all the nights he'd lain awake, convincing himself Mike didn't care. And all along, Mike had been writing letters he was too scared to send. They were both cowards. They were both in love. It was the same thing.
"I'd like that," Will said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Mike squeezed his hand.
"With El," Mike said, his voice quieter now, "I thought I knew what love was supposed to feel like. It was nice. It was safe. It was normal."
Will waited.
"This isn't normal," Mike continued. "This is — I don't know what this is. It's like being on fire."
Will just kept looking at him.
"I don't know how to do this," Mike admitted. "I don't know what comes next. I don't know how to tell my parents, or Dustin or Lucas. I don't know if I'm ready for any of that."
"That's okay," Will said.
"I don't even know what to call this. What we are."
"That's okay too."
Mike looked at him. "How are you so calm about this?"
Will laughed. "I'm not calm. I'm terrified. I've just had more time to think about it."
Mike was quiet for a moment.
"I made you a promise, Will. That I would never leave you and I meant it. I know all of this might seem kinda crazy but, we will get through it together… right?" Mike said gently as he squeezed Will's hand.
Will's smile was small. Real. "Well, if we're both going crazy, we'll go crazy together… isn't that what you said back then?"
Mike smiled right back. "Yeah… crazy together."
Will's eyes drifted to the table. The paladin figure was still there, tipped slightly to one side, the dried streaks catching the dim basement light. His stomach flipped, not with shame, exactly. Something hotter. Possession.
That was his. On Mike's figure. On Mike's game. On Mike.
He looked back at Mike, who was watching him watch the figure. Mike's ears went pink.
"Don't," Mike muttered.
"I didn't say anything."
Mike's mouth twitched. "You didn't have to."
Will felt his own face heat. But he didn't look away. Neither did Mike.
Then Mike's lips curved — small, shy, real. Will smiled back.
They stayed on the floor a little longer, the furnace hummed, the house settled.
"We should probably actually get dressed," Will said eventually.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
"In a minute," Mike said.
"Yeah."
Will closed his eyes. Mike's arms tightened around him.
The painting watched over them. The three-headed dragon. The party. The paladin with the heart on his shield.
For the first time in years, Will wasn't scared.
And for the first time in years, Mike didn't seem confused.
They were just... them. Together. On the basement floor. Embracing the silence of the house.
Will's eyes found the painting again. His heart, finally not hidden.
He didn't feel like crying anymore. He just felt... whole.
Whole meant Mike's arms around him. Whole meant the painting on the wall and the truth finally out. Whole meant this — right here, right now, on a cold basement floor, with nothing figured out and everything okay anyway.
And that was enough.