Chapter Text
"Actually, did you know that you're not the only person in the Party who's gay?"
Jesus fucking Christ, who would say that? Mike scribbles out the line for the fifth time, rips the entire page from the notepad, and tosses it to the waste basket. He misses two things: one, the waste basket entirely, and two, Max. She walks into the back of Rewind Video through the double-hinged door, startling before glaring at him with raised eyebrows and a shocked grin.
"Sorry," he mumbles. There goes his promise to not talk to anyone while he's working on this.
"Whoa." She fans the air. "Lot of ice coming from inside this room."
Mike placates her with a single exhale, barely a laugh. "Whatever."
He feels her eyes lingering on him for a moment, and her face is most definitely pulled into an analytical frown right now, if history is anything to go by. But she says nothing about him continuing to stare down, forehead in hand, pen to paper, at the notepad, willing the right words to pop into his head.
Maybe he shouldn't do it tonight. Maybe he should come out to someone less risky first, like Jane. There's no chance she'd give any reaction more than an eyebrow raise and a knowing smile. She wouldn't tell Will either, most considering it mundane information, ordinary, everyday, banal, prosaic –
Great, you're listing synonyms again. And Will's not risky, he thinks, right as the chair squeaks on the floor next to him, as if it thoroughly disagrees.
"Hasn't your break been over for like, four minutes?" Max asks with her mouth half-full of apple. He gives her a blank expression, to which she frowns at, laughing almost nervously. "Finish up your… homework later, man."
"It's not homework," he snaps, closing his eyes with a quiet sigh. Great.
"Oh? Like a campaign thing then?" The chair squeaks again, dragging closer.
Instinctively, Mike covers the page with his arm with a surge of adrenaline. He hasn't written anything down on this new page except "Will, I think –", but it's surely enough for Max's intuition and her unnecessary inclination to believe that absolutely everything has a hidden meaning.
"Geez, chill out!"
"No!" Mike swallows, steadying himself. "No, you can't see. It's… it is for a campaign, and it's absolutely top secret. So no spoilers."
He slowly uncovers his arm, inwardly grimacing. Perfect, now he has to actually come up with a real campaign idea to back up this lie, as if assignments, rent, his contact lens breaking, and everything else going on in his life isn't already kicking his ass.
"Hm." Max shrugs and goes back to eating, the sound more grating than usual as heat prickles over Mike's neck. "Thought I saw Will's name."
He scowls. "So? He's in the campaign too."
She eyes him, tapping her foot, another sound that piles on to the infinite list of things his brain has to sift through. "Okay," she mumbles, turning her face away forcefully.
Quiet fills the room, broken by the clock on the wall, and by what sounds like a conversation between Jane and a customer, enough space for Mike to take a deep breath and lean down to put the finishing touches on… that. If Max weren't here, he'd face plant straight onto the notepad, smushing his nose, and probably cry so many tears it would form into a pathetic, perfectly round puddle around him. This is all wrong. He hasn't been this nervous about an interaction with Will ever since their mothers suggested they start living together during college despite their friendship taking a slow, gradual dip that summer.
Not ever since he realised he couldn't go where Will couldn't follow, and had reluctantly taken his mom's suggestion, thinking he'd doomed himself to small talk and quiet realisations in the dark forever. Not ever since he learned it was the best thing to ever happen to him in fourteen years.
Will's the last person in the world to treat Mike differently because of his gigantic queerness. Hell, he'd probably finally start introducing him to his louder, cooler, all-around better best friends from his art course. If they feel up to including a queer who doesn't know the job description, that is.
Other than the bickering that comes with growing up together, Mike can hardly recall the last time he and Will had a cross word with each other. He's never felt luckier to live with, live in the same world as, his best friend. Just in case that somehow blows up in his face as most things do, all logic tells him he should take this chance. There's never going to be a better time than tonight.
Perhaps his words will come to him in the moment. He can totally 'wing it'. Yeah.
Mike thinks about groaning again. Face plant. Crying. Perfect, pathetic puddle.
"Uh."
He's been staring into space for what must be five minutes.
As soon as he makes eye contact with Max, who was paused mid-bite but is now chewing very slowly, he stands up in a flash, pocketing his notepad. She fixes him with a waiting glare. "Yeah, I'm gonna– I'm gonna head back out there." He clicks his fingers, walking backwards into the double-hinged door and still somehow managing to bruise his spine on the frame.
Winging it, it is, then.
<3
Mike makes sure to abuse his employee discount, and takes home Will's favourite movie, stopping by the Bodega on the way, leaving with a bag full of soda, Reese's cups, and two boxes of frozen pizza.
Usually, an upcoming Will-Mike movie night – set with pausing the movie to rant about it for twenty minutes – would make him practically skip home, hop up the stairs two at a time to their tiny apartment, rush to the door before opening it with a flourish, ready to set up before Will got home from the studio. Now, his heart pounds for a whole other reason, his wonderfully irrational brain supplying him with a list of reasons not to enact his plan tonight.
Fumbling with his keys, Mike considers: Maybe the movies and snacks aren't enough to get Will in the greatest possible mood. Maybe he should try a hand at cooking up his favourite dinner, for both of them, not burn it and/or add ten times too much garlic this time. Will could come home from the studio to delicious smells, familiar comforts, and a chance to nerd out about Star Wars before his entire view of Mike is flipped upside down.
All thoughts fly out the window when Mike opens the door and sees Will sitting on the blue couch they borrowed from Hopper, his legs folded, body relaxed and leaning on the arm. Crap.
He startles dramatically, while Will seems to do the same, scrambling and sitting up. "Mike! Hey, uh–"
"Hey, I got snacks on the way home." The door closes. Mike starts toeing off his shoes, inwardly coaxing his heart into a slower rhythm.
"Oh cool, thanks." Will's voice shakes slightly, tucking a strand of his grown-out hair behind his ear.
His chances of preparing himself for the most vulnerable moment of his life scatter like paper in the wind, but that doesn't matter right now. Something is wrong. First of all, Will never breaks his routine – home by 6 PM at the earliest on a Saturday – if he can help it, not even when he's tired enough for little dark circles to form under his eyes. Artist's folly, he calls it. A death wish, Mike calls it.
Second of all, something just feels wrong. Call him crazy.
"Yeah… I, uh, I rented the Empire Strikes Back again. Or stole it, whatever." He drops the bags and his keys on the kitchen counter, just as he catches Will smiling, mumbling his thanks before 'subtly' wiping at his under-eye. "Are you okay?"
There's a pause. Maybe a year or so ago, Will would have been quicker, or Mike would have shrugged it off as his own delusion and never asked in the first place. Will takes a breath and his mouth forms a tight smile, which reaches his eyes only halfway.
"Yeah! I was just–" He points a thumb at the TV, taking a glance at the blank screen as his words trail away into nothing. "Watching a sad movie…"
"Will."
It takes another shared look for Will to roll his eyes and flop back onto the couch, groaning. "Fine, fine. It's…"
Mike rounds the corner, lifting Will's legs gently from the couch so he can sit, before placing them back onto his lap, a comfortable weight he'd happily live with in constancy. He watches Will rub his eyes, making frustrated noises with his face all scrunched up like that. At least this doesn't appear to be a terrible situation, or else Will would be holed up in his room, blasting punk rock whilst scribbling out one of those drawings that make his teachers clutch at their pearls. Not Mike, of course.
"It's…?" Mike muses with a low voice, leaning over a little. He jostles Will's legs in his lap when he doesn't answer. "Hey, c'mon. Let me know."
Will looks over, eyes still slightly shiny when he grins and starts singing. "C'mon and let me know–"
Mike pinches his shin. "Stop doing that," he laughs, to which Will also giggles, a sweet, angelic sound that, if Mike were to employ these tactics, might make the big announcement infinitely easier.
"Alright fine," he murmurs, shifting in his seat to lean back against the arm, his feet unfortunately dropping from Mike's lap. "I'm just a little disappointed with… I dunno, my day. I– I decided to turn down, um, Patrick for a second date."
Mike's eyebrows raise a little, that familiar feeling returning to say a cold hello.
"Who's Patrick?"
"Oh, sorry, yeah. He's…" Will taps on his forehead, as if he's trying to remember the poor guy. A snort escapes Mike's throat until Will clicks his fingers. "He's the guy who came up to us while we were eating those burgers in the middle of the night. Y'know, kinda tall, dark hair. He had a nose piercing –"
"I remember. Yeah."
Who wouldn't remember that indelible night? They'd been so high off a pack of Jonathammies (Jonathan's weed gummies, a.k.a. Jonathan-gummies, a.k.a Jonnies) that they decided getting burgers and milkshakes from the shitty diner below their apartment building was a fabulous idea. Will was beautiful that night, glowed with exultant joy. Who wouldn't remember the guy who interrupted you and your best friend's riveting conversation about whether the Black Lotus or the five Mox jewels were more powerful for accelerating mana in Magic: The Gathering, just to say that he loved Will's badge on his jacket? Mike had wanted to say Hey, that's my jacket, y'know. I gave it to him because he was cold, actually.
"Cool. Well, he asked me out again. I said I had fun last time but…" Will sighs. Despite his prejudices, Mike frowns. "I mean, I did have fun. He was a real… gentleman, or whatever. Sometimes I think I'm not cut out for this, though."
"What? What do you mean?" Mike's voice softens as he moves forward on the couch. "You're not cut out for what?"
Will smiles faintly. "Dating. I suppose."
His heart sinks. "Oh– oh? That's not true, you've been on like tons of dates."
Eyebrows raise at him. "Oh really?" Will says wryly, nudging Mike's knee with his own. Thank goodness Mike isn't wearing shorts, because, well, Will is. Any skin-on-skin contact would send him over the edge right now.
"What I'm saying is," Mike continues, "you've always looked to me like you were having fun, right? Did… did something happen? Did he do anything to you?"
Will's eyes roll, head lolling to rest on the couch cushions. "Mike," he breathes in the way he does whenever Mike says something annoying, ridiculous, stupid or teasing. It never fails to change Mike's brain chemistry irreparably. "He's not a bad guy. It's… it's me, really."
This Mike frowns at. "Are you kidding? There couldn't be anything wrong with you."
Will itches his face, sheepish. "I just hate the…" He gestures now, flapping his hands around. Mike's proud that over the years he's gained a skill to translate all of Will's abstract hand movements. This one translates to effort, rules, regulations. "Things I have to follow."
Mike hums in agreement. He seriously couldn't agree more, actually. The idea of going on a date with someone he doesn't know in and out, better than the back of his hand, makes zero sense in every way. Don't even get him started on the concept of having sex with a stranger. That nightmare may as well keep him up at night. Perhaps this is all a part of the package deal that comes with being a gigantic capital-Q queer, and having no clue how it works between two guys, but knowing you want it somehow, whatever it is. However, all these queer guys Will goes out with don't seem to agree. They all seem happy to sit across from someone they've never met, chat up a storm, go home with a little smitten feeling.
Then again, they're sitting across from Will. And Will's always so easy to talk to.
"I… think I want too much out of it too fast," he whispers, drawing shapes in the couch material. "All the affection, the fun, the inside jokes. The understanding of all my… weird needs. I'm too impatient for that, so it's easier to just, y'know, not try at all?"
Mike chews on his lip. He may not understand why Will would want the affection, the fun, the inside jokes with Patrick, or Eric from a couple weeks ago, or Alex from last month. But he understands it's all exactly what he deserves. The idea of going on a date with Will and not instantly wanting to move in with him, buy him a dog, get to know every inch and everything about him, is incomprehensible.
"Totally. I totally get that. But," Mike says, his voice soft, heart stuttering as Will looks up with a pleading look, "there's definitely somebody out there for you, Will. Doesn't mean you're both like– meant to be or written in the stars, maybe you just have to see where things go. I know it's hard to wait, but there could be someone out there worth waiting for."
Will is quiet, his faint smile never shifting, eye contact unwavering as he nods minutely, slow, taking the words in.
"And you're better at casual stuff than you were before, right?" Will makes an ehh noise at that, but it's good enough for Mike, who grits his teeth slightly as he says, "Maybe you just need more practice."
Sure. Practice with other guys. All the attractive, non-lanky, more muscle than average, perfect skin, beach-wave hair, visibly queer guys around campus that would surely die for Will's attention.
Everyone who isn't Mike.
Oh yeah.
If Mike hadn't mentioned this before, then he must: if there is one fact to be truest in this universe, it's that he's in love with Will Byers. He probably didn't have to say anything for anyone to guess. If he comes out to Will tonight, then he's sure there'll be a part of him that will know too. Inevitably, he'll accept it beyond logical measure, taking it with kindness and grace, giving Mike no room for misery.
The second truest fact is that this is no horrible thing. Maybe for the Mike who realised it, along with his undeniable queerness, back before college. (Right before he was just setting out to live with the newly established love of his life, no less). Well, not anymore. It's enough that he gets to share some sense of a life with Will, but he's lucky enough to love him too, be confident that his heart would pull them back together every time they drift. And though that last part immeasurably terrifies him for all future prospects, it's true – when you have a chance to show your love to Will, you never let that go. No matter what it takes.
"Yeah. Yeah maybe," Will whispers, finally shifting his gaze.
A silence drifts over them, broken only by the near-constant car horns and distant ambulances attached to living in New York. Over the years, Mike has come to appreciate it in these moments, lending him time to muster up enough energy to sound totally sane about Will finding love with another. Building a future, moving out of their shared apartment, and leaving their youth behind for good.
"So… you gonna try again with– with that guy?"
A snort is what he gets. "Oh no," Will murmurs, a smile playing on his face. "He was so arrogant. Always talking about what his family did and why he's able to afford the meal we were having, and never about anything actually cool. Not even art, which is like the bare minimum for me at this point." Mike laughs with him, a guilty relief peaks and crests in his chest.
"He also wanted a lot of things that I wasn't ready to give, to be honest. I mean, one day I would be ready, perhaps. But not on the first date, for God's sake."
It takes a few seconds, but Mike is soon shifting on the couch as Will watches with an amused expression. "Oh, of course. Mhm."
This gets a proper laugh. Well, jokes on you, Will – Mike isn't so much uncomfortable in the 'straight guy hears an implication of gay sex's existence' way.
Just mildly conflicted by the whole 'I have a massive crush on you, and I definitely want to do… that with you one day, but holy shit I haven't thought properly about it until just now on this couch and I want to go into my room and take laps or imagine whether you'd be ready to give things to me' kind of way.
Mike is frozen, body bursting with the confession that he's held in all day. Can he even do that now?
"Anyway," Will muses, smile evident in his voice, "So uh, what– how have you been doing in the realm of… that? I guess." How can he be so fine with talking about this? "What happened with um– with Stacy or whatever her name was?"
Mike has no idea what happened with Stacy or whatever her name was. She wasn't even a real fucking person. In any other case, he could have shrugged and explained that it went nowhere, that the two of them should probably start cooking the pizza before they get ravenous. But in this case – in which Mike can't remember why he'd lied, Will has implied that he might be ready to have sex with some stranger as his knee gently bumps against his, and every ripped out page in his notepad runs around in his head – he can't.
"Uh– what? I mean– nothing. Much."
"Are you okay?" Will narrows his eyes.
Fuck. "I lied."
Oh my god. When Will tilts his head in quiet confusion, he wants to die. He really, really wants to die. God, sink him into this couch and suffocate him in old loose change and lost Magic: The Gathering cards, please.
Mike pinches the bridge of his nose. "I lied about– about that girl giving me her number," he mumbles, muffled. "I dunno why. I mean– I know why, but it's really stupid."
"Oh….kay. Alright then."
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, a horrible, burning sensation erupting along his arms at the sound of Will so dismissive.
"Geez, don't worry about it," he giggles, shifting closer on the couch, which both helps and hinders the mental spiral. "Are you alright?"
Mike flops his arm back down to the couch, defeated in a battle against his worst thoughts. The familiar temptation stirs. This is a good chance, after all. Finally an explanation for all his weird crap over the past year, maybe even the past decade if he's being the right amount of self-aware. Tentatively, Mike looks to his left, turning his head, heart betraying him by immediately beating faster upon meeting Will's hazel gaze, his soft skin so easy to reach out and –
Here we go.
"Yeah… I just," Mike starts, voice breathy, eyes wandering before he realises how close they are, only several inches between them. Neither makes an effort to move. "I need to tell you something."
No turning back now. Will's face makes an expression so rarely seen that Mike may as well have struck gold. His eyebrows twitch upwards in concern, lips parting with an unreadable flicker passing across his wide eyes, there one moment, gone the next. Will switches back to normal, as if nothing happened.
"Okay. You can tell me." His smile grows into a cheeky squint. "And then we make dinner and watch a movie?"
A tight laugh pushes out of Mike's chest. "Yeah. 'Course." What if he won't want to eat with me after this? His breathing quickens, airway tight all of a sudden. No, that's ridiculous, he's the kindest person on earth, even if he hated you, he'd never show it. You wouldn't even know.
"Um, it's kinda. It's kinda big, I–"
Will's eyebrows furrow. "You're sure you're okay?"
"Mhm! Yeah, wow, sorry, I dunno what's wrong with me."
"It's alright, hey," Will whispers as though easing a startled horse, his hand barely touching him on the arm before making contact with his shoulder. This only serves to quicken Mike's already shallow breaths, coming in shorter and shorter bursts with each second, as do the hypotheticals.
"What's wrong?" he asks again.
Answer him. Just answer him.
"Okay, uh, shit –" Mike squeezes his eyes shut. In the dark it's not much easier, but at least he doesn't have Will's pretty eyelashes and even prettier dimples he gets when he's concerned distracting him. "I really need to tell you something, actually."
"Yeah, I got that," he responds lightly, his tender hand rubbing up and down, slow and steady. Always an anchor in his ocean, though he's a witness to every failing, every bad moment, everything that's wrong with him. "I'm listening. I'm listening, Mike."
"I know, it's just– it's hard. It's hard to say, Will." Especially when you're so good to me.
Beyond Mike's closed lids, Will says nothing, hand stuttering on his arm. The tears soon come, pressing behind his eyes, stinging as the lump in his throat further hinders the announcement.
Mike tries to match the easy, deep breaths coming from Will in front of him, warmth emanating from his palm through the stupid work-shirt he's wearing. It's always simpler to deescalate, restart, when Will's around. That much has been a given for years, but it never fails to shock him how fast it happens. The world isn't ending because he's a giant queer, and he won't move forward until this is over.
Though he's shitting bricks, Mike opens his eyes, meeting Will's worried ones, hoping absolutely zero tears have given the game away. As soon as he does, Will's smile shakily widens. There's only one way to dispel the concern behind it.
"I–" He chokes up. He's never said the word in reference to himself. To anyone.
"Hey, whatever it is," Will whispers, "I can take it. Promise." A soft giggle. Mike preferred it when they were silent, enjoying each other's company, to be honest.
"Right. Um." Mike finds refuge in picking at his cuticles. Even tasting the word in his mouth feels wrong. Maybe he can say something else like… I like boys? I'm not straight? I'm like you?
Mike takes a deep breath. "I'm just gonna say it."
"Mhm. Say it, yeah."
Another ten seconds pass with nothing. "I'll say it."
Will breathes out another half-exhausted, half-fond "Mike," boosting his adrenaline and forcing the dreaded phrase from his throat.
"I'm gay."
The first thing Mike hears is a sharp inhale, so he looks up. It's hard to find Will's face through the hot blur of his tears, but he has a feeling he wouldn't be able to read his expression anyway. The hand on his arm freezes, and his heart sinks to his toes, draining blood and all of the warmth from his face. Ninety-nine per cent of him refuses to believe Will would react callously, though that could very well change.
Mike's mouth fills with excuses and apologies, but Will beats him to it, voice only a whisper: "Is this a joke?"
"What?"
"Are you– Mike you aren't kidding, are you?"
"What?" He repeats, the hand finally slipping away from him as Will rubs over his own arms. Mike recognises that action from their younger years, during more dangerous times.
"Why would I joke about this?"
Will's eyelids flicker, his gaze absent, teeth continuing to play with his bottom lip.
"Will, I don't– I don't want to say it again. Please. I would never just say something like that. Would I?"
Without another word, he nods, then shakes his head, eyes indecipherable as that same rare expression passes over for the second time today. The only sound in the room is their breathing: Mike's barely restrained panting, and Will's calming breaths turned heavier.
The hand returns to his arm, gripping with a desperate fervour that he wishes he could read into. Mike dares to look at Will's eyes, and understands. As soon as a tearful smile breaks out across Will's face, his heart picks right back up, soaring, and he can't resist. Neither can Will, as he meets him in the middle, wrapping his arms around his neck just as tightly as Mike does around his back.
A comforting constant in this world is that Will is always warm. Not just in temperature, but in his scent, too. So is his heart, so are his words as he whispers, "Oh, Mike, it's okay." Mike hadn't even realised he was crying until now, a few silent tears rolling down his cheeks, landing straight onto Will's favourite lounge sweater. He'd promised himself he wouldn't cry, but who was he kidding?
He allows himself a sob, muffled by the safe crook of Will's neck as he burrows himself in there. As much as physical touch has become a norm for them, he can't remember the last time he allowed himself to be this close to Will, so close he can feel his heartbeat accelerating, maybe even so close he could reach his soul, healing whatever was left broken between them enough that he reacted like that at first. There have been hands on the shoulder, brushes of elbows, a brief hug after some time apart. But nothing comes close to this.
"I'm sorry," he whispers without meaning to.
Will immediately pulls back, his eyebrows raised, a crinkle between them. His eyes shine just as much, if not more. "Mike, I'm sorry, I should have never assumed –"
"It's fine, it's fine." Mike rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, a loud sniffle breaking the croak in his voice. He throws up his hands, letting out a small, hysterical laugh. "I'm not crying 'cause of you, it's just I've never told anyone this."
Will's lips part. "Really?"
"Well yeah. Who else would I tell first?"
Mouth opening and closing, Will looks around, like he's expecting this to all be a ruse or a prank show, until he appears satisfied.
"Well– thank you," he says, softening, "Thanks for telling me, wow. Hey." A hand reaches out to steady Mike's arm again. Subtly, he leans into the gentle pressure, trying his best not to hiccup and/or break down again at how Will's treating him.
"Yeah?"
His breath catches as Will leans forward more, hand landing on his knee. He has no idea what he does to him.
"I'm here for you," he says, voice cracking, which makes Mike want to sob into his shoulder all over again. Will, however, wipes at his eyes as if he's being ridiculous, laughing modestly. "I mean obviously I'll be here for you, but I just know that it's scary and everything. Every gay needs a gay friend, I guess, haha–"
"You're scared?" he interrupts, heart squeezing.
He'd always imagined Will as the strongest human in the history of the world, the unsung hero of Hawkins, Indiana, a regular visitor of many places in this city that would surely blow Mike's mind. He refused to imagine that somewhere in among all his confidence to wear and do whatever he pleased, there was a part of him that still cowered just like him.
Nodding, Will scrunches his mouth to the side, staring at a compelling thread on the couch that he refuses to stop fidgeting with.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Not as much anymore, perhaps, but when you're y'know, just figuring things out, it's really…" He blows out a long exhale, widening his eyes. It's cute. "Blehhh. Y'know what I mean."
"Totally," Mike replies, skin itching for the feeling of Will's soft, sweater-clad arms around him again. Just to make sure he's alright.
"I figured it out like– before we got to college."
Will's eyebrows raise, his voice tight. "Oh. That summer?"
Mike nods, looking away to reminisce, though he doesn't need an imagination to know that Will must have thought something was off. "Was I a little obvious?" he winces.
Shaking his head briskly, Will says, "No! No, not– not about that. I never thought it was that, I just figured you were growing up. Growing out of…" He pauses, shrugging before staring down at the couch again. "Me, I guess."
"What, are you serious?"
"Mhm."
The sad laugh that follows is enough to push through whatever restraint Mike forces himself to practice. His hand lands on Will's knee, making him look up as Mike swallows his nerves. "That was never gonna happen," he says, holding eye contact hard. "Ever."
Will shifts in his seat, before the corners of his mouth turn up shyly, eyes flitting away. "I know, I know." His smile grows wider, a contagious thing, Mike finds, as his own starts pressing at his cheeks.
"This is kinda cool," Will murmurs with a shrug.
Mike isn't sure why his breath stutters at that. "…yeah?"
"Yeah. I mean–" Will begins gesticulating again, Mike's eyes following every movement. There's almost a refreshment about this. The quiet realisation that everything can be okay settles, leaving behind a washed-out, clean sensation in his chest. "I have plenty of friends who are like me, but– but this is different."
Letting the words sink in, Mike nods before a whole new dread appears. Does this mean Will could begin encouraging Mike to get a boyfriend, someone who's not Will, someone who'll never want to spend an hour in a conversation sounding like medieval royalty for fun, someone who doesn't smell like a specific mix of peaches, sweet pea and cigarettes? Or will it mean Will finds more excuses to talk about his own sex life, and Mike will just have to sit there, nodding like they're gossiping, because it'll be their new normal?
"This is different cause, y'know. This is… this is–
"Us," Mike whispers, to which Will's smile grows even wider.
Maybe he can live with the jealousy and awkward pain of having to explain to Will why he doesn't feel ready to get into the gay dating scene. He's managed until now. If it gains him back the belonging he'd felt when he'd seen Will on the swings, and realised he'd never have to be alone again, then he'd gladly take it. He's nothing if not predictable.
They smile at each other long enough for Mike to break away, squinting at the sun going down through the window, casting golden shadows across the room. "Thank you," he murmurs.
"Don't mention it, seriously."
"Was it a shock?"
A few seconds of silence make Mike turn around, finding Will with an expression containing barely restrained laughter. One look sends him into a fit of infectious giggles. "Yeah! I feel like it was," he says as he calms down. "Hasn't really sunk in yet."
"Well." Mike throws his hands up as if to say look at me. "'Tis true, milord. As the people say, I am a true master of the – okay I'm not gonna say that."
Will has the same glint in his eye he gets every time they play around with accents and words. "Hmm…" He taps his chin. "One must assume you were going to say the most devilish of things then."
"Why yes I was."
"Oh, it is true?" Will leans forward, as they find themselves both in a cross-legged position now, facing each other on the couch. His normal voice is used only in a whisper. "Tell me, tell me, tell me–"
Mike groans. "Okay, I was gonna say I am… ugh, a master of the cock now, but that wasn't–" Will barks out a laugh, leaning back and covering his face as if embarrassed to even be sitting on this couch with him. "–that wasn't seemly language for an old knight now, was it?" His words are almost lost in his own laughter, watching Will shake his head and then whole body, trying to get the words off him.
"No, no thank you. Never say that again. That was the worst thing you've ever said."
Tilting his head, Mike mutters out a high-pitched wellll before they're back to grinning wildly at each other. If he had known this would be the outcome of coming out to Will, the Mike who had been scribbling furiously in his notepad and biting off all his nails would have skipped down the street instead. But having Will's friendship at all is reason enough.
Will squints again, then nods at the TV. "Wanna watch some MTV and eat?"
A sharp sigh of relief. "Yeah, yeah sounds good."
<3
As they chew on a few heated-up pizza slices, MTV shows "Last Decade's Classics." Here Comes Your Man by The Pixies plays, reminding Mike of that hot, sticky summer where he'd turned to Will in the lake, as the radio played this song from the shore, and realised he wanted to run his hands all over the lines of his shoulders, count every mole, kiss his collarbones, and most importantly, feel this way forever.
Now, Will continues to look just as devastating, if not more, in the golden glow of the sun bouncing off the opposite apartment building's windows, refracting in his pupils as he bounces in his seat and urges Mike to look at what they play next: Like A Prayer by Madonna. It's so simple, no bells and whistles. The heater clangs as always, and nothing in the world has really shifted in ways that Mike couldn't get used to.
"I don't know why I was scared," he says, tears still drying along the side of his nose. They place their plates on the coffee table, sure to stay there for days. "It's you. Of course you'd be fine with it."
Will's face softens, eyes slightly pained. He always used to feel everyone's emotions ten-fold for them – still does, even.
"Mike, seriously, it's always scary. I still get choked up thinking about my own coming out." Mike's world darkens at the reminder. "You don't need to feel one hundred per cent brave all the time. You were to me, though."
A burst of sunshine glows beneath Mike's ribs, but the memory still toys with him, dulling the fuzzy feeling.
"That was different," he says. "You were brave, telling all those people at once. You had no idea how they'd all react, I mean– you deserved to tell it, like, on your own terms, not 'cause Vecna might have used it against you. I can't even imagine what that was like."
Chewing on his lip, Will's expression falls slightly, but he nods. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned this at all. "Yeah," Will whispers, sighing and licking his lips, eyes darting up to Mike's like he's debating something. A humourless laugh.
"I do sorta wish I could have done it in private," Will says. Mike nods hard. "Especially… y'know." For a moment, Will's skin blooms pinker than usual, his eyes lowered and sheepish. Mike's brow furrows.
"Especially what?"
Will leans his head back, winces visibly with his mouth and laughs nervously, before staring back down at his hands, which look more tempting to hold now than ever. They're shaking a little, and Mike has no idea why. He's not the one confessing something he's kept in for years, right?
The jitters claw at Mike. "Will?"
A smile continues to be plastered over Will's face, but he has a feeling this isn't for fun anymore. "You know," he mumbles, curling his shoulders inward.
"I seriously don't."
"Mike," he muses in that way for the third time today. Mike may seriously have an affection-slash-panicked-induced aneurysm if there comes a fourth. When Will looks up with the same grin and widened eyes like he's missing something huge, he thinks it could very well come early.
"Will."
"Ugh, you're so annoying. Stop being mean," he mumbles with a smile, no trace of cruelty, looking back down to trace at the cushion pattern. "You know what I'm talking about, you just want me to say it again."
Mike absolutely racks his brain in the five-second window of silence, but nope. Nothing. Nada. "I– I really don't."
"Mmmmhm, sure."
"Will! Seriously– I'm so confused right now."
Will's body, which has been leaning back on the couch for the past minute, finally goes stiff. His smile slowly drops, face going slack – until it all bounces right back into him, snapping into place.
"You're so stupid– okay, uh…" He leans forward, clasping his hands together and giving him a look, as if saying the next words will at last make the last puzzle piece click into place in Mike's brain, making him go ohhhh, and they can move on to the next subject.
Instead, Will whispers, "I mean about me having a crush on you."
Everything falls away: the traffic noise, the old clanging of the heater, the TV playing a mellow, old Smiths song he can't place right now. Mike's jaw goes slack, but his mouth is glued shut. This is unprecedented territory. Never in his wildest dreams would he ever have imagined Will combining the words "crush" and "on" and "you" into a sentence directed towards him.
Will's smile also starts to waver. "Mike?"
"You… had a." Mike swallows, mouth made of cotton. "You had a crush on me."
There's barely room for a different meaning.
"You didn't know that?"
He shakes his head. "No. No, I didn't."
"But I– I said that I had a crush. On someone that isn't like… me." His eyes grow distant, the words nearly laughable.
The sound of music fills the air. Mike can't hear it, not among the questions now firing in at him from all sides. He remembers Will's words from '87, but barely even recalls what he'd been thinking, let alone who he'd assumed it was. There were a lot of moments that year in which he barely even exercised thought beyond whether those he loved were safe, let alone whether Will's crush was him. He couldn't bear to take much more.
But knowing it could have changed him. Could have made him good. Would it have kickstarted his discovery journey? Would it have made him get his head out of his ass quicker, booted him into hyper-drive enough to break up with Jane straight away? Would he have broken down right there, begged Will to take him back? Would he have still been too late?
Well, not possibly as late as he is now.
A deep blue wave washes over him, and a familiar stinging prickles behind his eyes. "Um, shit– I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispers, words tumbling out of him as fast as the memories recontextualise themselves.
A memory of rain and petrichor fills his nose. Lightning and mud. He's so much worse than he ever imagined. "I'm so sorry, Will."
"It's really alright." He won't look at him. "It was just a little crush, like a first crush kinda thing. It's okay."
"No, no it's–" Mike's voice breaks, jagged and messy. He blinks as quickly as he can to avoid a dreaded tear falling and ruining this entire evening. "It's not."
Will dares to let out a laugh. "Mike, can we please not do this?"
He opens his mouth, wishing for the words to articulate everything in a single, perfect sentence. There's no way he can tell Will, all at once, that he doesn't think he's ever felt so disappointed in himself, that he has no idea what he did to make Will get over him, that he never got a chance to form his own thoughts about it before it was already over. At least, he knows that it's not Will's fault. He should have seen something, said something, should have, should have, should have. He shouldn't have made it so hard to tell him. It would have changed his life.
"I wish I knew," he whispers.
"Why?" Will says, voice strained as he leans farther back on the couch with a serious look on his face, eyebrows twitching in worry. "You're not, like, freaked out by this, are you? I mean– I get it. I totally– I get it, but. It would be sort of weird."
Mike rushes in. "No, no, I just…" He licks his lips. This is far scarier than anything he'd been planning to say tonight. "I wish I knew. Then I could have–" Fuck. Will's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, swimming with questions. "I could have done something about it, I think."
A beat of silence, then: "Done what?"
This is stupid. All he's doing is worrying Will with his vagueness. He knows, deep down, there's nothing he's willing to divulge in this moment. He doesn't have the courage.
"Nothing," he says, giving what he hopes is his most sincere look of the night. "I'm sorry for being like this. I should have been there for you, that's all." Will's face softens again. "I was such a jerk, so many times. God, I couldn't have made it easy."
Will tilts his head with a grin. "Well… you're right there. Just a bit."
"A lot."
"Maybe," he says, no coldness, no cruelty. This should relieve him, especially when Will puts a hand on his knee again, telling him it's okay using his eyes. "Mike. We've changed. I've changed, you've changed. I'm so much happier now. It's in the past."
Happier now that he's over you. Cool. Awesome. He's always figured there was something about him that was hard to love. His too-quick attitude, his stringy limbs, his nose, his crooked teeth, how much he talks about books no one wants to read. Even when Will got the chance, he tried to get rid of it. Mike knows he's late to a lot of things – movie theatre hang-outs, his classes, group project meetings, breakfast – but he never imagined he'd be too late for Will. Even if it was some schoolboy crush, it all stings beneath his skin, burrowing deeper.
"Y-yeah," he tries, before closing his eyes.
"Are you sure you're fine?" Will asks, the tremor in his voice almost undetectable. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I swear it was a while ago–"
"I'm not uncomfortable with it," Mike says, which isn't technically a lie, his voice thin but sure.
Will squints his eyes. "You certainly seem it."
His voice carries no humour, the nervous itching inside skyrocketing to new levels. They've bickered ever since they started living together, but there hasn't been a major argument between them ever since California, if Mike remembers correctly. They just don't anymore. It's not them, this isn't them. The worst part is that it's the same old fears that hold him back from making Will understand, only this time, he knows exactly what he's trying to hide. He's back in the skating rink, knowing all he has to do is tell him the truth, tell him that he tried, while that self-sabotaging gremlin that lives in his skull steers him in the opposite direction.
"I'm not," Mike states again. He winces. That didn't exactly sound convincing.
Something worse than anger plays out on Will's face. His eyes sparkle with hurt, darting back and forth over Mike's face as he folds his arms and squeezes his hands.
"Okay," he mumbles.
Desperation pulls Mike forward. Will startles when a hand is placed on his leg. "Will, I swear I'm not uncomfortable. I just–" Oh god. Is this happening? Mike rubs his hands over his face, dragging the skin roughly, then he moves them into his hair, threading and tugging.
"Just what?" Will's voice is snappier now, teetering on the edge of impatience, which is far more than Mike thinks he deserves.
"Just… um."
"Mike."
"It's hard to say." God, he's pathetic. From all the times he's had to bang out a poem from scratch when the assignment deadline was mere minutes away, you'd think he could come up with something eloquent.
Will rolls his eyes. "It's fine if you're uncomfortable, I just don't want you to be weird about it. That's all."
"I'm not uncomfortable! I'm just annoyed with myself," he gets out. Will nods, eyebrows raised, beckoning for Mike to finish what he started. God, this might blow up his life more than he already has.
He lowers his voice. "Back then, I was confused. Maybe I even hated myself." Definitely hated yourself. "I was, like, completely in denial of who I actually was, and I knew deep down there was something really wrong with me–"
"There's nothing wrong with you," Will whispers, the first gentle words he's spoken since they started arguing. His chest nearly collapses in on itself.
Mike takes his lip between his teeth and releases it. "I didn't know that back then."
Slowly, Will's concern grows into a frown. "Uh– this isn't on me," he exclaims, the way his voice trembles making Mike's heart jump. "Are you saying I should have told you and subjected myself to you acting… strange around me? Mike, you do realise how–"
"No, no, of course not. You don't deserve that. I think– It's just I think back then…"
"What?"
Kill him, actually kill him now. It's not like Will is forcing this information out of him, he has no idea what can of worms he is about to spill, but genuinely, this might be the worst moment of his entire life.
"Back then," Mike starts, swallowing hard. "I think I also–" Some automatic instinct catches him on his last word, but it's enough. Will's expression immediately switches, his eyes growing two times the size.
Of all ways to react, Mike helplessly exhales a laugh. "I also kinda felt that way. About you."
Will has every reason to call out Mike's understatement of the century. Did he see the way Mike looked at him back then, and can he match it up with everything he does now? He could very well ask him if he still feels the same, and Mike would fold in a flash. His willpower hangs on by the thinnest thread, especially when Will's lips part, showing his two front teeth, and Mike's brain reacts in an internal scream highly inappropriate for the situation.
"You're joking," Will whispers, eyes flickering with an absent gaze. The ensuing silence is broken only by Drive by The Cars. His voice is still floaty, quiet, when he asks, "What does that mean, Mike?"
"I guess it means… if you told me back then–" He cuts himself off.
Realistically, he's sure past-Mike would have gone insane and paced around his basement for days on end, scolding himself for being an idiot for so many years, nobody able to bring him out of his stupour. But that's not it. If he's being really honest, Mike would have kissed Will on the mouth right then and there. He wouldn't have bothered questioning whether it was right, would have thrown all sense of morality and normalcy to the wolves and laid himself in front of Will and said I'm yours. I've always been.
Will's face relaxes, all anger seeping into the air, dissolved into dust. "Oh."
"Oh," Mike agrees.
More silence.
"I thought you said you didn't know you were gay until the summer of '89?"
He wonders what Will would do if he knew he was the only way that he figured it out in the first place.
"Well," he says, shrugging to loosen his shoulders, "hindsight is a beautiful thing."
Will nods, then looks away. He laughs singularly, then more, and more, until full-on chuckles fill the room, the odd beauty of the sound echoing as he shakes his head with a beaming, fully spread grin, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Mike laughs only through contagion.
"Oh god, we were a little…"
"Stupid," Mike breathes. He can say that for himself, at least.
"So stupid, yeah."
Will shoots him a smile that he can't resist sharing, despite everything. Even if it means that he has no idea what could possibly happen next, at least Will looks comfortable enough to slide back into his previous spot beside Mike, nudging their shoulders together like nothing's changed.
He watches. Will doesn't look back, his smile dissipating into a quieter smirk, staring down at his fingers and exhaling another near-silent laugh to himself.
"I liked you and you liked me," he whispers. "This is insane."
"You can say that again." The words taste wrong in Mike's mouth. Does he even speak like that? It feels like they should take this outside to the fire escape, something to share a cigarette over and swap stories of meaning, but Will doesn't seem to want to take this seriously.
"You… definitely…?" He has his hand near-covering his mouth, as if this is the most humorous thing in the world.
Technically, this could be an out. An excuse for him to hum and say he isn't sure, that perhaps he had confused the importance of their attachment to one another, and had grappled onto the nearest lifeboat. But that didn't match Will as well as it does Jane. It would only dig himself further into the pit of lies, which would snowball into a web, which would avalanche into a spider den of webs, or something.
"Yep."
"Okay," Will breathes, still eyeing him. Must he persuade him? Looking back, Mike thinks everything he did had to have been so obviously fuelled by passion and denial.
"Will, c'mon, I mean– I hadn't seen you, my best friend, in a year and all I could do was give you a pat on the shoulder," Mike rambles, quick as he can. It never does him good to remember that. "I was freaked the fuck out by… my feelings."
Slowly, Will's eyebrows raise, mouth opening just a little before it quirks up at the corners. "Holy shit. I remember that."
Mike's stomach swirls. All of a sudden, he finds the pattern on the couch extremely compelling. It was much easier living his life not thinking about how his fourteen-year-old self managed to fuck up an entire spring break. Yes, the gunmen and El being taken by Brenner again certainly aided in the fucking up, but he didn't help. Why couldn't he have shut his big mouth?
"I was awful," he says.
Perhaps he's too self-absorbed, but there's nothing he can recall from Will's side of things. Maybe there were a few quieter moments, things that he thought only he created. Things he now curses himself for scribbling out, taping over to forget and repackage for future Mike to worry about.
"How did you not hate me?"
He looks up to see a divot between Will's brow, making him realise how close they are, heads tilted back on the couch pillows, shoulders nudging and knees brushing.
"I think I'm capable of more than that," Will whispers, breath stealing over Mike's face.
Mike swallows audibly, eyes darting to the sheen over Will's bottom lip where he must have wet it with his tongue. There were moments back in that strange period between the Upside Down's appearance in Hawkins and its death, between summer and the rest of their lives, that Mike had thought about it. About saying fuck it and pushing forwards, connecting their lips and ruining everything they had ever built. But he wonders now what it would have been like to be unafraid from the very beginning, to have that same teenage, fluttery, smitten crush that Will had, to test out the waters back in California, even '85. He was terrible at kissing. Will could have shown him how.
But all of that wasn't possible, was it?
"I don't think it would have worked back then. Between us," Mike whispers, firmly watching Will's eyes.
For a moment, Mike spots a flicker of unreadable emotion and nearly reaches out to catch it, lick it up and taste it, so he can understand what he can do to fix what he didn't realise was broken. To have everything he ever wanted. They were so close. It's gone in a millisecond, and Will nods instead.
"You're right," he says, pressing his lips into a thin line, then smiling. "We… we weren't fully cooked yet."
"Yeah."
They haven't moved. He's been trying so hard not to all this time, in case it might provoke Will to disconnect them, depriving him of this warmth. Has he been doing the same, or is he just safe in this position? It's probably one of the first times Mike has allowed himself to imagine Will's thinking the same thing as he is.
It wouldn't have worked back then. Back then.
Would it be possible now if Will still felt the same? If Mike had never met Will back in Kindergarten, would he be another guy that he took on a first date and decided he was too much? Too chatty? Too nerdy? Too clingy? Would he be the reason he'd swear off dating?
Will, who sighs and closes his eyes, can't be thinking as much about this as he is. He can't be thinking about how much he wants to brush his fingers over tired eyelids, feeling the softness of his delicacy right now.
He opens his eyes. "Things won't be weird now, right?" Will asks carefully, breath huffing over Mike's face, socked foot bumping his, each touch sending a warm wave of electricity through tired limbs. "Between us. Because we used to have crushes on each other."
Will's voice lifts with cautious hope.
"'Course it won't be. More than anything, you're my best friend," Mike murmurs, scared that the rumble of his voice will physically hurt the boy mere inches away from him.
But Will grins, gratitude sparkling in his eyes. True by Spandau Ballet begins to play on MTV.
Mike doesn't think he's had a more tense evening in his life, but his mind is washed out, the world clear and easy as he looks to his best friend, the beautiful boy with a mole placed there by angels. This is the effect he has on everything. He makes everything good, no matter how far it is from salvation. The last of the sun falls behind the horizon, and Will doesn't need it. His eyes are enough to warm them both, skin tan and smooth, lips pink and–
Will's smile slips away quietly, his eyes hooded as he looks down, following Mike's. Their heartbeats climb, synchronising as a realisation clicks.
What is happening? Does Will–
"Mike," he whispers, not to get his attention.
Mike's lips move in the shape of Will's name, but his throat can't form a word. They've shared moments where his stomach has swooped like this, his heart has skipped a smitten little beat like this, but nothing comes close. It takes Mike another five seconds to realise they started holding each other's arms at some point. It must have only just occurred; he would have known. Surely he would have panicked when it happened, pulled away like he was electrified, mind screaming this is wrong, this is wrong. Right?
Will's hand gently moves over his elbow to his forearm, palm grazing over the dusting of hair before his eyes meet his again. "This okay?" he barely whispers.
God, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Mike nods, startling imperceptibly when their noses brush, and Will glides his hand further up to his shoulder. He doesn't stop there – fingertips trace the edge of Mike's shaven jaw, so unthinkable that his mind refuses to believe this isn't some dream induced by hours of giving himself away at the video store. He can't ruin this now, can't wake them up.
All he can hear are whispers of their breath and the far-off notes of a soft and unhurried song. All he can feel is Will, Will, Will, enveloping him. Giving him a chance, a choice. It feels almost like an apology for not giving him one before, and all Mike wants to do is–
He's not sure who does it first, who pushes through the barrier of friendship and shatters the glass protecting them.
Mike's lips tingle with want, naturally finding Will's in the orange glow of their apartment.
Days of his life have been spent thinking of kissing Will, whether it would taste like heaven, whether it would irrevocably change him, whether the world would implode, whether fireworks would erupt behind his eyelids. None of that happens, but holy shit, it's scary how captivating the soft press of Will's lips is. This is enough to surely make him some kind of addict, sick with want every time he looks at these lips in the future.
Will barely moves, sucking once at Mike's lower lip, as Mike sucks at his top one, gently, before it all ends with a soft click.
Nervous breaths slip into each other's mouths as they part, Will's hand clutching at the hem of Mike's shirt. Before Mike can lick his lips and push forward again, kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, Will whispers, "Mike. Did you– did you mean to do that?"
It was only a brief kiss, a nearly childlike experience. For a moment, they could travel back to the teen years in which they had no idea about each other's feelings, and give in. But Mike still feels the ghost of it on him, and he has a feeling he will all night, forever, if Will doesn't kiss it off him again soon.
"Yes. I did. Was it good?"
A tiny, gorgeous breath of a laugh escapes Will, eyes droopy and dazed, wrinkled with a smile. "Um… yeah."
A star bursts bright in Mike's chest, his body buzzing underneath his skin, urging him forward until their noses bump again, parting his lips and–
"Wait, do you," Will interrupts, swallowing audibly. Their faces are still centimetres from one another, but he's pulled back just a tad. "Do you feel the same as you did before?"
"What do you mean?" The want returns in a wave, crashing over Mike and pulling him into a torrent of urges that turns all words nonsensical. More, his brain wants, like a sailor to a siren. Will's lips are right there, taunting him with the possibility that the best thing that ever happened to him might have been a one-time thing.
"Just that– you said you had a crush on me," he whispers, voice shaking like it's a fight to get out every word.
What use is it now?
"Yes. I think I still do."
Mike feels Will's breath catch, stealing back the air from his lungs he'd previously gifted him. Shaky fingertips release themselves from Mike's arm, and Will starts pulling back. It's then that Mike notices how flushed his face has become, the orange lamp light reflecting glitter in his eyes, brighter with the light sheen of tears.
Will's eyes dart between the two of them, his thumb coming up to his bottom lip, pinching at it softly like he's only just realised what they did.
Mike's stomach drops. "Do you?"