Work Text:
Mike had always been… affectionate with Will.
An arm slung casually around his shoulders, a hand resting on his knee, sitting just that bit closer than necessary on the sofa. It was the sort of closeness that had always been there - natural, unthinking - woven into the rhythm of their friendship like it had existed before either of them knew how to name it.
They were best friends. They’d been best friends for years. That kind of history broke down boundaries. It made things easy, familiar. It made sense that they didn’t think twice about the small touches, the quiet moments that other people might mistake for something else.
But still - Mike touched Will more than he touched anyone else.
And it was driving Will absolutely mad.
Every brush of fingers, every nudge of knees beneath the table, every absent-minded squeeze of his shoulder sent his thoughts spinning in directions he couldn’t control. Mike never meant anything by it, Will knew that. It was just Mike being Mike. But knowing that didn’t stop Will’s pulse from quickening or his stomach from twisting itself into knots every single time.
He’d long since come to terms with the fact that he was in love with his best friend. That realisation had settled in him years ago, quiet and certain. In fact, he’d accepted that long before he’d ever managed to accept that he was gay.
Because somehow, loving Mike had always felt easier to understand than anything else.
Things hadn’t really changed as they’d got older. Not in the ways that mattered, anyway.
Sure, they argued more. The older they grew, the easier it was for small things to turn into something sharp. Will had felt left out more than once, pushed aside in ways Mike probably hadn’t even noticed. They’d come to blows about it. Will could still remember that fight in the rain, Mike yelling, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.”
Then there was the whole California arguments. The way Mike had barely spoken to him after he moved, the awkwardness when they saw each other again. Will noticed then, how Mike no longer touched him the same way. How he didn’t even want to hug him. And it hurt.
And then there was El.
He hated that he’d ever felt jealous of her. El was like a sister to him - kind, brave, someone he loved deeply in her own right. And Mike was his best friend. Of course he wanted them to be happy. He’d told himself that again and again. But every time he saw them together, that quiet, aching feeling returned, heavy and sour in his chest.
He hated it. He hated himself for it. He hated the way it hurt to watch them kiss, to see their fingers intertwined, to hear Mike laugh in a way that wasn’t for him.
But things changed after California. After Vecna. After the world nearly ended again and somehow didn’t. El and Mike broke up not long after, quietly, gently, like they both knew it had run its course. The fighting stopped. The distance between Mike and Will seemed to dissolve overnight.
And the touching… Mike was touching him again. Constantly.
If anything, it became worse - or better, depending on which part of Will you asked. Mike still reached for him without thinking: a hand on his shoulder, a tug at his sleeve, a nudge of knees when they sat too close. Little things. Familiar things. Things that sent Will’s mind reeling every single time.
Like now.
Movie night. A half-hearted attempt to distract themselves from the chaos that had become their lives. The Party were all gathered in the Wheeler basement - same as always, same as years ago - but the air felt different somehow. Quieter. Closer.
Will sat on the sofa, pretending to watch the screen, pretending not to notice the warmth of Mike’s arm pressed against his.
“You okay?” Mike asked, his voice soft enough that it barely carried over the sound of the film.
Will turned his head towards him. Mike’s face was lit by the flickering light from the television, all soft shadows and half-formed smiles.
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Mike didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it either. He shifted a little, stretching his arm before draping it casually along the back of the sofa, just behind Will’s head. It was a small movement - natural, unthinking - but Will felt every millimetre of it.
He told himself to focus on the film. He tried to breathe normally. But then Mike’s fingers brushed against his shoulder, just barely, and Will forgot how to think at all.
The touch was feather-light at first, almost accidental, but it lingered, fingertips tracing slow, absent-minded circles against the fabric of Will’s shirt. Will’s pulse stuttered. He could feel the heat of Mike’s skin through the thin cotton, the whisper of movement as his fingers drifted up, brushing the edge of his neck.
Will leaned back before he could stop himself, just enough for their shoulders to touch. The contact sent a shiver racing through him, one he tried desperately to hide.
He could smell Mike’s aftershave - faint, clean, familiar - and it made his heart ache in the strangest, sweetest way.
Mike’s eyes stayed on the screen, but there was something in the way his fingers moved, slow, steady, deliberate, that made Will wonder if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Will wanted to lean further into him. Every part of him ached to, in fact. But he was painfully aware of Dustin sitting on his other side, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on his knees, and the rest of the Party crammed together on the opposite sofa. The laughter and commentary from the others felt distant, muffled, like background noise to something quieter happening between him and Mike.
Mike shifted again, subtle, almost casual. His arm slid down until it was draped properly around Will’s shoulders, the weight of it warm and steady. Will stopped breathing for a second.
Then Mike’s leg shifted too, just enough that their knees brushed, then stayed touching. Will’s whole body seemed to hum with the contact. He told himself not to read into it, that Mike just didn’t realise how close they were, but the thought didn’t convince even him.
The film flickered on. Someone, probably Lucas, said something from across the room that made the others laugh. Will smiled vaguely, pretending to listen, but all he could focus on was the gentle rise and fall of Mike’s breathing beside him and the faint warmth seeping through every place they touched.
He wondered if Mike could feel his heartbeat. It felt loud enough to shake the room.
Mike didn’t look at him, but his thumb moved in a small, unconscious motion against Will’s shoulder, tracing a slow arc. It wasn’t teasing or obvious, just soft, steady, familiar. The kind of touch that said everything neither of them could in front of their friends.
By the time the credits rolled, the others were half-asleep or already gathering their things. Dustin yawned loudly, muttered something about homework, and headed for the stairs. One by one they all drifted off, the noise of them fading until only the low hum of the VCR and the rain outside remained.
Will and Mike didn’t move. Mike’s arm was still around him, loose now, but he hadn’t pulled away.
When the last set of footsteps disappeared upstairs, Will finally exhaled. The quiet that settled in the basement was deep and comfortable, broken only by the occasional creak of the old house.
Mike looked over at him, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Guess it’s just us again,” he said.
Will nodded, his heart doing that unsteady flutter it always did when Mike looked at him like that. “Yeah. Just us.”
They didn’t say anything for a while. The television screen dimmed to black. Mike’s hand slipped from Will’s shoulder to his sleeve, fingers brushing lightly against his wrist before falling still.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mike said quietly. It wasn’t dramatic, just honest.
Will turned to face him, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Me too.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Mike laughed under his breath, nervous but warm.
“We’re getting really good at sitting in silence, you know.”
Will’s answering smile was small but certain. “I don’t mind it. Not with you.”
Mike’s eyes softened. The tension that had been sitting between them all evening melted into something easier, something that felt a lot like peace.
Mike’s arm was still around his shoulders, heavy and warm, and Will couldn’t help himself. The question slipped out before he could stop it.
“Why do you always touch me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mike froze. The air between them seemed to still completely, as if even the basement was holding its breath. His arm tensed and he immediately began to pull it back, but Will caught his wrist before he could move away.
“I didn’t say I minded,” Will added quickly, his fingers curling around Mike’s sleeve. “It’s just… you’ve always touched me.”
Mike let out a small, awkward laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You make it sound creepy.”
Will smiled, though it was faint and a little uncertain. “It’s not creepy. Just… different. Most friends don’t touch like we do.”
Mike blinked at that, his mouth parting slightly as if to answer, but no words came. The silence stretched, quiet and heavy, filled with something Will couldn’t name.
He could feel Mike’s pulse beneath his fingers where their hands still rested together. It was fast, faster than normal. That realisation made his own heart stumble to match it.
Mike’s expression softened then, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said at last, voice low, thoughtful. “I guess they don’t.”
Mike looked at him carefully, searching his face as if trying to work out whether he’d really meant what he’d just said. Will could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, every pulse loud in his ears.
Then Mike leaned in. The movement was small, hesitant, and when his lips brushed against Will’s it was barely a kiss at all. A soft, fleeting touch that seemed to steal the air from the room.
Will blinked, dazed. It was gentle and uncertain, but it was real, and it was the best thing he’d ever felt.
Mike pulled back slightly. “This okay?”
Will smiled slightly, disbelieving. “Yeah.”
He reached forward, gripping the front of Mike’s shirt and pulling him back in. Their mouths met again, messy, uncoordinated, and full of everything they’d never said aloud. Will felt the world narrow to the press of Mike's body against his, the warmth of him, the soft sound he made when their lips moved in sync.
Will’s fingers tangled in his shirt. Mike’s hand came up to cradle the back of Will’s neck, keeping him close. Every breath was shared, every exhale shaking. It was desperate and tender all at once, the kind of contact that felt like it could either break them or save them.
Will broke the kiss first, only barely, his forehead resting against Mike’s. Both of them were breathing hard. Neither spoke. They didn’t need to.
Mike let out a soft, disbelieving laugh and brushed his thumb along Will’s jaw, still flushed and trembling beneath his touch.
“I can’t believe we did that,” Mike mumbled, his voice barely audible in the quiet.
Will froze, uncertain whether to smile or panic. His stomach twisted, and he couldn’t tell if Mike meant it in a good way or a bad one. But, as always, Mike could read him. He always could.
“Hey,” Mike said quickly, eyes softening. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I can’t believe it in a good way. Like… I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”
Will blinked, the words taking a moment to land. “You have?”
Mike let out a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t think you’d ever want me to.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Will could still feel the ghost of Mike’s lips on his own, his pulse still fluttering wildly.
“I’ve wanted to for a long time too,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t think you’d feel the same.”
Mike’s hand found his again, fingers intertwining like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Will,” he said, and there was something almost disbelieving in his voice. “I’m sorry. I love you. I thought… I thought you knew.”
Will’s brow furrowed. “You were dating El… I didn’t know you were interested like that.”
Mike swallowed, squeezing Will’s hand. “When you left, for California… that’s when I realised. I loved you. And I loved El, but… not in the way I thought I did. I thought… I thought you’d figured it out, in California. I couldn’t even hug you, Will. I… I didn’t know what to do. And I was scared. I’m so sorry. But… I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The words fell softly into the space between them, but they hit Will like a wave.
He’d imagined hearing them a hundred times, maybe more, but nothing compared to this, the way Mike said them like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Will felt his throat tighten. “I love you too,” he whispered, and when Mike smiled, the whole room seemed to glow just a little brighter.
They stayed like that - quiet, smiling, fingers still tangled - the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.
Then Mike leant forward and kissed Will again. Will smiled against his lips. Despite the impending war with Vecna, the Upside Down, all of it… here, with Mike’s fingers in his, Mike’s lips against his own, Will felt perfectly at peace.