Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's the middle of the night, and Mike is awake.

This isn't out of the ordinary. Every night this week, Mike has found himself awake late, growing increasingly frustrated with little hope of a solution. 

It wasn't Will's fault. 

God, Mike wished that he could somehow make everything Will's fault. 

It wasn’t Will’s fault. 

It wasn't Will's fault that earlier that day, when Dustin had asked for help tuning the equipment on the WSQK van for the next crawl, Will had jumped at the opportunity to partner with him. Will hadn't known that Mike was hoping Will would want to help him with the tunnel mapping system. Will hadn't known that Mike had hoped it could be like old times, plotting campaigns together.

Will hadn't known because Mike didn't say anything, and so it couldn't be his fault that Mike had felt so stung, rejected for a question he hadn't asked. 

It wasn't Will's fault that Mike felt like he needed to skip family meals sometimes, eating after everyone had left. Too claustrophobic at the small table to sit shoulder to shoulder with his old best friend, feeling the distance and uncomfortable with the silence that had settled between them. 

It wasn't Will's fault that El had asked to take a break from their relationship. Will couldn't be held responsible for El's changing feelings, for her decision to focus on building her strength. It didn't matter that Will had made such big claims about how El felt about Mike; it wasn't like he was trying to mislead him. Will had been trying to help... Will was always trying to help.

It certainly wasn't Will's fault that Mike was up in the middle of the night- again- thinking about the wall that seemed to exist between the two of them. Mike sighs, tossing to the left and scrunching his eyes shut as if he could get himself to sleep through sheer force of will. 

Will.

"Damnit," Mike whispers, his voice thick with exhaustion. He rolls onto his back, rubbing his hands across his face. 

Will...

Staring at the ceiling, Mike thinks about Will. About how frustrated he wants to be with Will. How much he wants to hate him just even half as much as he hates himself. It couldn't be all Mike's fault that they'd drifted apart again. They had said in California that they were going to be friends again. Best friends, even. They had agreed to take on whatever came next as a team. A promise takes two people; surely Mike could find some part of himself that blamed Will at least a little bit. 

But he just... well, he just didn't. 

He knew that he was the one who pulled away when they'd gotten back to Hawkins. He knew that when his mom had told him that the Byers were going to be staying with them that he had felt a deep twisting sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. The house didn't seem big enough to hold everything that the two of them weren't saying to each other. The whole structure was sure to come apart at the seams. And even with this dread apparent on his face, Will had been kind.

Will had taken it in stride when Mike had insisted on not sharing his room for vague personal space issues, insisting he'd prefer the basement for the familiarity of all the time they'd spent down there as kids. Will had been inquisitive about Mike's interests in casual conversation and thoughtful in the way he made space for Mike's trepidation. 

So it wasn't Will's fault that, for the last few months, Mike had been distant.

Whenever Mike tried to reach out, to close some of that space, he stopped himself. Mike just couldn't get himself past the feeling of sitting between El and Will during the car ride back to Hawkins. How heavy the air had seemed in the van, how little room between the three of them as they bumped elbows and stared out windows. And if Mike wasn't thinking about that, then it was the memory of Will's hand on his back, encouraging him to confess to El that he loved her, ashamed that he couldn't bring himself to say it without Will talking him through it.

Will loved El. Surely he wanted her to be with someone more capable of caring for her the way she deserved. 

When El had suggested they take a break, Mike couldn't shake the feeling that the two of them were talking about him. That El had confided in Will about all of Mike's shortcomings. It made him feel sick to think of Will knowing these terrible things about him. He wanted to be better. He just...

Mike rolls to his right side now, twisting a hand around blankets and squeezing to release some of this fizzing anger. Anger that he wishes he could direct at Will. The house is quiet around him. A suburban paradise parked right at the end of the world, two families stuffed into an inadequate amount of space. 

Mike tries to take a deep breath, tries to feel a little less like he's suffocating. This train of thought, the endless spiral of Will and the end of his relationship with El, always leaves him lightheaded, chest too tight. He really didn't want Will to think poorly of him. Even if he deserved it. Couldn't Will forever be the boy who looked at Mike and saw only his best qualities? Mike figures everything could be ok, or at least feel familiar, if Will still believed in him.

Maybe Mike didn't deserve that anymore. Maybe he never had. 

Maybe thinking about his break with El shouldn't always lead him to thinking about what Will might think of it. 

Mike twists the blanket around his hand again. The topics are just too linked in his mind, knotted together. 

Every time he has tried to talk to Will since getting back to Hawkins, he's thought about what Will must think of him for how he treated El. And every time Mike had seen El, he'd thought about Will. Talking to Will or El felt like letting them both down. He wanted to be the leader that Will had depicted in his painting. That El had seen him as when she asked Will to make it. 

The painting... Mike had rolled it up tightly and stored it in his closet. Some nights, like right then, he could feel the presence of the painting, heavy in the room and demanding his attention.

Mike's eyes focus on the closet door, staring it down as if he could see the painting from where he was lying in his bed. As if he could see straight through the door to where he had tucked away such a tender part of himself. He felt bad not displaying it, knowing how much care had gone into the making of it. But looking at it just left Mike aching. 

Sleep was feeling further and further away. 

When El had asked to take a break from their relationship, Mike had understood. He wasn't what she had thought he was. He'd been watching the world end from the sidelines, hurting everyone he cared about, and not because he wanted to but because he was too scared to do or say the wrong thing. It felt better to do nothing at all. Or at least it had felt better that way.

Less dangerous. 

Less potential for failure. 

Now...

Now Mike is desperate to do more. Since his break with El, since sending Will to sleep in the basement out of embarrassment to face him, since hiding away the painting that showed him as strong... since then, he has been desperate to do more. To prove he can still be useful to the team, to show El, show Will, that he is a leader. That he is a hero, too. 

Not in the same way as El, not even in the same way as Will or Nancy or Dustin or Lucas. But just something. Something more than what he had been recently. 

Mike blinks a few times, releasing his hold on his blankets. 

Why did his pity party always have to be at 3 in the morning? 

For not the first time that night, he wonders if Will is still awake in the basement.

Tossing and turning on the old spare mattress that Mike had relegated him to instead of- Well. Mike's thoughts slam into a wall. Even if he had let Will sleep in his room, he'd still be on that mattress. Just.... just on the ground beside him instead of two floors down. 

"You're a freak," Mike mumbles to himself, squeezing his eyes shut again. 

He just wants to talk to Will. He just wants the convenience of him being here to settle the score on all of these twisting thoughts... As if Mike would actually talk to him about any of it.

He doesn't want to share a bed with Will; it's just late, it's been a long day, and he's letting his mind get jumbled. Thinking of El and Will at the same time, confusing his own sleep-deprived brain. 

He glances at the clock, knowing that within the next hour he will be able to hear Jonathan sneak out of Nancy's room and back into the basement. Mike told himself that he was keeping careful note of the period of time Jonathan spent in Nancy's room so that he could use it as leverage against her with their parents if he needed to. 

Yes, this also meant that he knew the exact window of time in which Will was alone in the basement every night. Not that it mattered. 

He just... he knew that Will got scared. That he had nightmares.

He wished Jonathan wouldn't leave him alone down there.

Mike always slept a bit more soundly after he heard Jonathan make his exit, returning to Will. While Will was alone, Mike wanted to be awake, just in case he needed him even after all of this time. Part of him figures it would be such an easy way to mend the tear between the two of them, if Will were to need him again, like when they were younger. As if Mike would even hear Will from his room. 

God, he was so stupid. 

As if on cue- though honestly earlier than Mike had expected- Nancy's door creaks open, the muffled noise filling Mike's otherwise silent room. Mike listens to Jonathan's footsteps move down the hall and makes a mental note to ask Nancy if the two of them had gotten into another fight. Just to watch her face scrunch up, frustration twisting her mouth down. It was nice, Mike thought, to see his anger mirrored in her. To know that the two of them were the same. 

Knowing Jonathan was back in the basement, Mike feels his eyes start to grow heavy. He adjusts a final time, settling into a comfortable position and preparing to drift off. 

The final thought on his mind, repeating until everything fades to black for a few blissful hours, is the same as it always is. 

It wasn't Will's fault

It wasn't Will's fault

It wasn't Will's fault

Mike wakes hours later, the sun coming through his blinds, and the house alive with noise one floor down. 

It was nice to wake up to voices downstairs, to hear the calamity that was the Byers family moving through a house that had felt quiet for too long. Mike had said as much to Nancy once. Said that it was nice to see Joyce interact with Jonathan and Will. Nancy had seemed saddened by this comment, but she nodded. Mike avoided her for the rest of the day. 

Exiting his room, he saw Nancy waiting in the hallway for the bathroom, leaning against the wall with her arms folded and her face stoic. A very Nancy pose. Maybe she practices it in the mirror, Mike thought absent-mindedly. 

"You're up late again," she says. Her voice comes out clipped. 

"Up before or after 7, I'd be late waiting for that damn bathroom," Mike said, gesturing at the door, "who's in there? Gives me an idea of how much time I have." 

Nancy rolls her eyes. "Joyce." 

Mike smiles, "Seems like we'll both be late then."

Nancy scowls at him. He knew she tried every day to beat Joyce to the bathroom, like it was a game that marked if the rest of her day would go well. 

Mike chuckled, walking by her and down the stairs. He didn't bring up the potential fight with Jonathan. Better not to throw all of his punches in one go. 

Downstairs, his mom is bustling around in the kitchen, and his dad is sitting on the couch with his head buried in the morning paper. Jonathan stands at the sink, helping with dishes. He didn't look like he had slept that well. 

Mike let himself look at the kitchen table last. Will is sitting with Holly, the two of them hunched over a sketchbook, crayons scattered about. The book Holly is reading is close by; occasionally, she picks it up and reads something to Will, who nods and continues sketching. It occurs to Mike that Will is drawing scenes from her book, and his heart lurches. 

He remembers being younger, writing his campaigns while Will drew pictures to complement his stories. He remembers the closeness they'd had. The ease of the time they spent together. Those times feel so far away. 

Holly says something, and Will laughs, crayon stuttering on the page. Mike didn't hear what Holly said, and doesn't know if it was actually funny or if Wil is humoring Holly.

Mike feels himself frown, feels the tightness in his stomach. He hasn't made Will smile in months. Holly seems such a natural at it. 

God, are you seriously jealous of your little sister?

The thought pulls the corners of his mouth further down. He's pathetic. He's a loser. He's reached a new low. He's-

He's been staring too long, and Will has looked up from his drawing. 

Will isn't smiling anymore; he looks a little confused. Mike realizes that he's scowling at him and Holly, just hovering on the edge of the kitchen. Fuck. 

He blinks, makes his face blank, and walks over to the table to sit down. Will watches all of this.

"Morning," Mike's voice comes out sort of shallow.

He looks right at Will for less than a second, quickly looking down at the drawing between Will and Holly, forcing an interest he doesn't really have. He can feel Will still watching him. 

"Good morning!" Holly chirps excitedly, eyes focused on the drawing as she adds stars to the sky. 

"Good morning..." Will says, an echo of his companion. The two of them had been spending a lot of time together at the house. Mike thinks of this and feels his chest tighten again. Stupid. 

Mike clears his throat, looking from their drawing back to Will, "How did you sleep?" 

Will nods, eyebrows drawn together, "Fine. In and out, but mostly fine." It was an honest answer. Will didn't lie to Mike even over something so trivial. Mike felt like he was lying about everything. 

Mike is nodding, balling his hands in and out of fists below the table. Will is looking at him like he can read every thought floating through Mike's mind. God, Mike hopes Will can't see that he's actively jealous of how well Holly is getting along with him. 

Holly shoves the drawing back at Will, "She needs to be wearing a cape."

Will looks away, and Mike relaxes. He watches as Will delicately takes one of the crayons from Holly, careful with her in a way that makes Mike feel dizzy for some reason. 

"How did you sleep, Mike?" Will asks. The question is casual, but to Mike it feels like an attack. 

"Good." His answer is fast and biting, causing Will to look up at him again, eyebrows drawn back together. "Just, uh, yeah, I slept um... good." Mike is nodding too much, not making eye contact.

A part of him feels like Will knows Mike was up all night thinking about him and their fractured relationship. Not just that, but Will knows that this isn't the first time Mike was up all night thinking about their fractured relationship. 

Will nods, offering Mike an out. Letting Mike lie to him. "Good, I'm glad." 

Mike is still nodding, making himself slightly dizzy. Why did he feel like he was being interrogated?

Footsteps pound down the stairs. Nancy is swinging herself around the base of the stairs and into the kitchen. “Upstairs bathroom is yours, Mike.”

Thank god.

Mike stands quickly, bumping the table a bit. Holly giggles at his nervous energy.

Will smirks, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly.

Mike dies.

As he hurries back up the stairs, he feel’s eyes still on him. Will’s?

He mentally thanks Nancy for her timing and vows not to tease her later about Jonathan.

The rest of the day is boring.

It’s school, which feels more and more pointless. Mike finges normalcy, worrying for Dustin with Lucas and Will at lunch and getting through his classes despite not really paying attention.

After is a group meeting at WSQK with everyone working on their respective projects to prepare for the next crawl. Will works with Dustin, Mike’s face burns every time he hears their voices.

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

Occasionally he feels like he’s being watched. He’s probably imagining it. He wishes he wasn’t and then hates himself for it. 

Every moment of his entire day is colored by that final moment at the breakfast table this morning. Through school, through the evening plotting to kill a multidimensional monster, through a quiet bike ride home.

The smirk on Will’s face when Mike had bumped the table.

Mike holds tightly to it. He could still make Will smile. He was hopeful. They could be ok.

Friends. Best friends.

Chapter Text

Mike decides to chase the high of Will's smile. It's not a decision he lands on lightly. 

Only a handful of hours earlier, Will had offered him a quiet "Goodnight" from the top of the basement stairs, and Mike had mummbled in response, eyes down, a knot in his stomach. After a day of hoping, he had made himself fretful and tired. It seemed best to let his accidental victory go, not to build up the idea of their eventual closeness, and find himself let down later. 

Will had retreated down the basement stairs, and Mike had cursed himself all the way to his bedroom. It always felt like he was doing the right thing in the moment. It always felt like he had never made a good choice in his entire life right afterwards. 

And so he had gone about his ritual of getting ready for bed. A ritual that couldn't be called complete without the amount of time he spent thinking about Will. 

He had made him smile.

Maybe it was generous to call it a smile. 

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Mike started to accept he would spend this night exactly how he had spent the previous night. Angry with himself for every missed opportunity to fix what he and Will had lost. 

But then he heard Jonathan in the hallway. The footsteps had become familiar, the slight knock on Nancy's door unmistakable. Mike liked that he knocked; it felt respectful. It felt like what Nancy would want, and he bet that she had never had to ask. Jonathan understood Nancy and accepted her. Whatever they had been bickering about the night before, Mike figured it had to be fine now. The two of them made sense, complemented each other. All of Jonathan's quiet and steady energy worked with Nancy's buzzing fire... Will was steady. 

Mike blinked a few times, listening to the sound of Nancy's door opening and closing again. Sometimes when he thought about Nancy and Jonathan, he thought about Will. Sometimes he could see Will in Jonathan. Sometimes he let himself think that Will would be a good boyfriend to someone, someday. Sometimes, after he had that thought, he would feel uncomfortable with himself for thinking of Will's love life. It wasn't his buisness. 

As silence had settled through the house again, Mike made up his mind. 

He wanted to talk to Will, so he was going to talk to Will. 

Mike glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was currently a bit after midnight. He had more than enough time to sneak down to the basement and... well, his exact goal wasn't all that clear, but Will would be there. And it wasn't that late, he would still be awake. A few hours to talk, maybe get him to smile again. It would be worth it. Maybe tomorrow he could face him at the breakfast table and be honest about how well he had slept. 

Decision reached, Mike gets out of bed. 

His feet land on the cold floor below him, and a sense of panic settles in his stomach. It will be fine. 

It will be fine. He walks across the room, keeping his feet light. 

It will be fine. He slides the door of his room open and looks out at the hallway. Everything is dark and silent, no noises to be heard inside any of the rooms. 

It will be fine. He steps out into the hall and moves towards the stairs. 

The basement suddenly feels further than Mordor, each step down the stairs a forest to traverse. Through the kitchen, Mike remembers the Halloween that he and Will had gone as Frodo and Sam. It makes him smile, makes him feel more sure of himself. This was Will that he was going to see. There was no evil awaiting him, not in the basement of his own house. Outside, and tomorrow, absolutely. Mike had done scarier things. Mike would do scarier things. 

The confidence vanishes when he reaches the basement door. 

Mike frowns.

Maybe this is ridiculous. Maybe Will is just about asleep. Maybe he doesn't want to talk to Mike. Maybe everything about this plan is actually selfish. 

But maybe Will is awake, and maybe Mike should just try. 

His hand closes on the doorknob, and he twists. The door creaks a bit as it opens, and Mike winces, glancing back over his shoulder. How did Jonathan do this every night? 

Down the first two steps, he sees that a light is on. The stairs creak slightly. 

"Jonathan?" Will's voice comes out in a whisper as Mike makes it down the rest of the stairs, "There's no way she said no, I bet you didn't even try, coward."

Mike freezes on the last step as Will looks up at him from his spot on the ground, surrounded by blankets and one small lamp. Will blinks a few times. He has his sketchbook in his lap, and Mike watches as he flips it closed, holding it tightly. "Oh." 

Oh isn't exactly what Mike had hoped to hear. Mike doesn't exactly know what he hoped to hear. 

He clears his throat. "Hey, I, uh, I'm sorry to bother you." He doesn't move from the final step, his feet feeling as though they're stuck in cement. 

Will shakes his head quickly, mussed hair shuffling on top of his head. Mike stares. "Not a bother! Just- uh- a surprise..."

Mike nods, wrapping his arms around himself as he realizes he's cold. "A good surprise?"

What a stupid question. 

Will seems to freeze for a second. Mike is probably imagining it. "Yeah, a good surprise."

In the dimly lit room, they stare at each other. There is so much to say, and yet neither of them seems to know how to say it. Mike knows he needs to take charge but he can't even get himself to officially enter the room.

A strange look passes over Will's face, his shoulders tense. "You heard Jonathan. You're checking on if... you're not going to tell your parents, are you?"

What! 

Mike frowns. "What? No! That's not... That's not my buisness. I don't care that he sleeps in Nancy's room; I've known for weeks." Mike doesn't say that it bothers him when Jonathan leaves Will alone down here. He doesn't really know what it would accomplish to say that Will shouldn't be alone in case he has a nightmare. He doesn't want to sound like a kid and he is the one who sent Will to the basement in the first place.

Will relaxes. "Oh. Well... do you want to come in? Not that you'd need an invitation, but you're just sort of standing there and..."

Mike blushes, embarrassed by his hesitation and awkwardness, stepping into the basement and walking to Will. "Sorry. Just didn't want to intrude, I guess." 

Mike sits down near Will, close enough to see him with the dim lamp light, far enough not to be directly touching the mattress Will sits on. Will watches him. Mike's stomach squirms. Still nervous, he guesses, to be crossing the silent line between the two of them.

"What were you working on?" Mike gestures to Will's sketchbook. Will follows the gesture, looking down at the book. 

"Oh, just something for Holly." He smiles a bit, and Mike smiles too. 

"Can I see?" Mike's voice comes out eager. He loved to look at Will's art, but he hasn't since. Well. It's been since the painting hidden away in Mike's closet was presented to him. 

Will seems to blush now. Mike watches this change in his expression closely... because it's hard to see and he's trying to read his friend's expression. Trying to see if he's on the right track, if they're getting along the way Mike hopes they will. 

Carefully, with the book tilted away from Mike, Will flips around until he finds the page he's looking for. Without handing the sketchbook to Mike, Will holds up the drawing for Mike to see. Realizing that Will isn't going to let him hold the book, Mike leans forward to get a closer look. He reaches a hand out for balance, placing it on Will's mattress and pushing himself closer to the sketchbook. 

The drawing is beautiful. A carefully done charcoal piece illustrating the characters from Alice in Wonderland. Mike smiles. Will clears his throat. 

The sound cuts through Mike's study of the drawing, and he looks from the book to Will, who has his eyes focused down on where Mike's hand rests on the mattress. Mike notices how close his hand is to Will's leg. 

Personal space.

Mike sits back up, nods again, "It's great. Holly... yeah, she's gonna love it." 

Will keeps his eyes on the space Mike's hand had occupied, "I hope so."

"She will. She'd be crazy not to." Mike wants Will to look at him. He feels like this isn't going the way he had hoped. Again, he can't figure out what it is he hoped for. 

Will looks back at Mike now, frowning a bit. This was definitely not what Mike wanted. Will sighs, "Mike... I don't want to sound rude, but... why did you come down here?" 

Mike's heart seems to stop in his chest. Fuck. He squirms a bit, feeling the weight of Will's eyes on him. He had wanted Will to look at him seconds ago. Now he wants Will to look literally anywhere else. "I just..." He can't think of a single thing to say that feels important enough to justify this trip to the basement after months of pretending every night that he wasn't thinking about Will sleeping two floors below him. 

His hesitation doesn't shake Will. Will keeps a steady stare on Mike, waiting. It's unnerving and not helpful. 

"I just wanted to talk to you. I was having a hard time sleeping, and I thought maybe you would be up, too. I knew Jonathan was in Nancy's room, and I thought maybe you'd be lonely," he winces to hear himself say that last part, tries to recover, "not lonely! Just. Maybe bored? We didn't really get to talk much today since you partnered with Dustin and none of our classes are together so... so I was curious about how your day was?"

Will blinks a few times, face still neutral, "At dinner tonight, when my mom had asked me how my day was, you were there." 

Wow, he really isn't going to give you a break. 

Mike nods, looking down at his hands as he picks at his nails. "Yes, yeah, I was... I don't really have a good reason for why I came down here, I just wanted to."

He is afraid to look back up, to see Will's face. He keeps picking at his nails, feeling the chill air of the basement around him. He can feel himself shivering a little bit. How embarrassing. All of this was so embarrassing. 

"You're cold?" Will says into the awkward silence that had settled around them. 

Mike looks back up at Will, "Yeah, a little, I guess. I, um, I can go. I shouldn't have assumed..."

Will rolls his eyes, handing Mike one of the blankets piled around him. "You give up so quickly." 

The comment is said lightly, Will means it as a joke, surely. But it bites at Mike, hits him like a punch.

As he reaches over to accept the blanket from Will, he hates himself more than he has all day. He is reminded of his fear that Will has talked to El about him. Reminded of the shame he felt in the car between the two of them. But even as the shame rolls through him, the comment anchors Mike to his spot on the ground. He isn't going to give up. He wraps the blanket around his shoulders, tries to relax. 

Will seems to see that his comment landed wrong, "I want you to stay. You came all this way... It would be nice to talk."

Mike accepts this peace offering. 

The conversation they have... it isn't smooth or easy. It often feels like they are reading two different scripts, trying to connect and continuously missing the mark.

But it improves.

They talk about school, and it feels like they are strangers. They talk about Jonathan and Nancy, Mike wanting to know what their most recent tiff was about, and it feels like they are acquaintances with passing knowledge of each other. They talk about the books that Will is reading with Holly, and it feels like they were once friends. Mike asks if he can be included in their book club, and when Will says he will have to check with Holly, Mike laughs. 

The laughter makes Will smile, and it doesn't feel forced. It feels like the sun shining on his face. 

Will is explaining the plot of the book he is reading with Holly currently when they hear the basement door creak open. Mike and Will's heads swivel to see that Jonathan is standing at the entrance of the basement on the last step in much the same way that Mike was a few hours earlier. Hours have passed. 

Jonathan has a strange look on his face that Mike can't place, arms folded. 

"Hey, Jonathan," Will offers. His voice has an anxious edge to it.

"Hi..." Jonathan responds, raising his eyebrows. 

Mike stands, letting his borrowed blanket fall back onto Will's makeshift bed, "I'll, um, head out," he says, looking down at Will, who is looking up at him. Mike's chest feels tight. He looks over at Jonathan, who is still standing on the bottom stair. "Sorry to intrude, I'm not going to tell on you for sleeping in Nancy's room."

Jonathan nods slightly, a small laugh escaping him. He steps to the side to let Mike pass. 

Mike begins to move up the basement steps, pausing less than halfway up. He turns back to where Will is sitting, watching him.

They look at each other for less than a second, but it feels warmer than the exchange just a few hours earlier from this exact distance. 

"Goodnight, Will," Mike says, hand squeezing the banister. 

Will's face is hard to read in the poor lighting. "Goodnight, Mike."

Mike turns and quickly hurries up the stairs, hearing Jonathan move further into the basement as he goes. At the top of the stairs, he shuts the door and stays still, looking at the doorknob and thinking about what has happened over the last few hours. That wasn't so bad.

Below, he can hear quiet voices. He wonders what they're talking about as he makes his way back to his room. 

When he lies back down in his bed at 4 in the morning, he wonders if Will is still thinking about their conversation, too. 

Maybe not. But... Maybe. 

Mike smiles, rolls over, and closes his eyes. Tonight, just like every night, his last thought is Will. This time, it feels more like peace than dread. 

When he dreams, he dreams of dim basement lighting and a smile that feels like sunshine on his skin. When he wakes up in a few hours, he won't remember that. He will only remember feeling like he had a good dream.

Chapter Text

The next day was a Saturday, meaning the Wheeler house operated on a different schedule. Breakfast wasn't prepared for all by his mom at a specific time, and there was nowhere to rush off to, meaning no one cared about what time everyone got out of bed. That final fact worked to Mike's favor, and he let himself sleep late into the morning. It had been a long night, and not in the way that Mike had gotten used to. 

Laughing with Will, making jokes about their siblings, and talking about the plots of movies. Sitting in the basement where they had shared a million memories throughout childhood, stitching closed a wound that had been left open to the air for far too long. It had been only a few hours, but it was easily the highlight of Mike's week. He wanted more.

It's closer to noon when he leaves his room.

Mike walks through the hall with a nervous energy winding through him. In the light of day, he wonders if Will sees his visit last night as more strange than nice. Mike had shown up out of nowhere, forced himself into Will's personal space, and kept him up late into the night. Mike had thought it was nice... as he walks down the stairwell into the lower level of his house, he feels anxious to see if Will had also thought it was nice.

In the kitchen, Nancy is preparing a snack for Holly, who sits at the table swinging her legs. "You're up," She says, tone dipping into judgment only a little. It's an improvement for her. 

Mike nods, approaching the counter where Nancy is cutting up an apple. He grabs a slice from the platter, and Nancy brandishes the knife at him with a scowl. Holly laughs, watching the two of them with big eyes. Mike looks around the rest of the house, confused by how quiet it is. "Where are mom and dad?"

"Out at the store, they left not too long ago." Nancy finishes cutting the apple and tosses the core out, folding her arms to watch him. 

"Joyce?" Mike is dancing around what he wants to ask; he wonders if Nancy can tell. He takes another apple slice.

"She left to visit with Hopper." And El. Nancy has been careful not to mention El to Mike. The weight of it still hangs in the room, regardless. 

Mike clears his throat. "Jonathan? Will?"

The corner of Nancy's mouth quirks up. "They took a walk."

Mike frowns. "It's kind of cold out this morning, isn't it?" The sweater he had put on before leaving his room didn't feel heavy enough even in the heated kitchen. 

Nancy laughed once, a sharp sound. "I'd say so. Jonathan said the two of them needed to talk, needed some space."

Mike hates the sound of that. Space from what? To talk about what? Instead of either of these, he asks, "Did everything seem ok? Were they upset?" 

Nancy looks from Mike to Holly, who shrugs. Scrunching up her face a bit, she responds, "I guess Will seemed a little off."

Mike's stomach sinks. It must show on his face because Nancy quickly begins to add to her previous statement, "I'm sure it's fine, though, Mike. This house isn't big enough for everyone, and the two of them barely get any time just the two of them." She carries the plate of apple slices over to Holly and sits down next to their sister.

"They share the basement every night, don't they?" Mike folds his arms, putting out this challenge to Nancy. He feels slightly dizzy, and picking a fight with her just might help. 

Nancy's eyes narrow. "Hard to have meaningful conversations when they're both asleep, I'm sure."

Mike narrows his eyes, too. "I'm sure."

"I don't know what's gotten into you this morning, but please drop this. I'm not in the mood." She delicately picks up an apple slice from Holly's plate. Holly is using the slices to make a shape that resembles a flower. Watching her build the image, Mike feels some of the fight go out of him. 

What's it going to help to fight with Nancy? It wouldn't change that Will was noticeably acting unusually this morning, and Jonathan had decided to take him on a walk about it. It wouldn't change the fact that Mike might be the topic of this walk conversation. 

Just as quickly as that thought occurs to him, he realizes how selfish it sounds.

Nancy is still looking at him, her eyebrows drawn together. "Mike, please eat something more than stolen apple slices and maybe sit down for a little bit. You're stressing me out."

He nods absentmindedly and crosses the kitchen to the fridge. In a fog, Mike prepares himself a bowl of cereal and sits down at the table. Will is upset about something, and that something might be Mike. Maybe he did cross a line last night, assuming Will wanted friendship from him again. It just... it hadn't felt like Will was upset last night, not by the end of their conversation. It felt like Will had been happy. Mike had been happy. 

He pushes his spoon back and forth in his cereal, slouching.

Will could be upset about other things. There is no shortage of things to be upset about right now, Mike reminds himself. But then, if Mike wasn't the topic of this conversation, he wishes that Will would want to talk these worries through with him instead of Jonathan.

You're being ridiculous again!

Jealousy of Jonathan for being the person that Will turned to... Mike had to stop letting himself get worked up like this. He fills his spoon with cereal, then turns it over and watches it fall back into the bowl. His friendship with Will, if he could even confidently call it that, was fragile and awkward. Of course, Will wouldn't want to talk to him about whatever had been on his mind. Not yet, anyway. Mike was working on that. 

Mike takes a few bites of cereal, realizes that Nancy is staring at him, and decides to just stare back. She pulls a look of irritation and looks away. Ha, I win! 

In any game of stubborn endurance, Mike is sure that he will always come out on top. That was how he was going to get Will to confide in him again: persistence. Bullheaded persistence. 

The front door swings open, and footsteps echo through the house. The Byers were back. Mike sits up straighter.

"We're back," Jonathan calls out. 

"We're in the kitchen," Nancy responds, watching Mike.

The sounds of coats being removed and shoes kicked off, then Jonathan and Will round the corner into the room. Their cheeks are flushed from the temperature change. Mike notices the red in Will's face and sets his cereal spoon down on the table. 

"Thank God you're back, Mike was pouting," Nancy says with a smile. Mike kicks her hard under the table, and she kicks back. It's her payback for his earlier comment about sleeping arrangements. 

Jonathan looks at him and he looks back. "I wasn't." It comes out far too defensive. 

"You were!" Holly chrips, apple slice waved at Mike.

Jonathan chuckles. Mike dies, bruising himself with his cereal.

”Miss me that much, Mike?” Jonathan asks, smiling. Next to him, Will is very carefully not looking at Mike. 

Mike twists his face into a look of disgust.

Nancy scoffs. "How was your walk?" She asks. 

"It was nice, it's a pretty morning," Jonathan responds, taking the seat next to her.

That leaves only one empty seat at the table, next to Mike. Will sits down, nods a hello. He is picking at a thread in his sweater. "You slept late," he says. 

Holly is speaking with Nancy and Jonathan. The three of them are paying no attention to Mike and Will, and this makes Mike infinitely more comfortable. Something about having his siblings and Jonathan watching him as he speaks to Will leaves him feeling frazzled. He decides he just doesn't want to be judged for the awkwardness of their mending friendship. "I did, yeah. How did you sleep?" 

Will stops picking at the thread on his sweater and folds his hands together. "Pretty poorly, but that's alright, there's always tonight." 

Mike's stomach twists. 

What did you and Jonathan talk about on your walk? 

What's wrong?

Why were you upset this morning? 

Are you mad at me?

"Yeah," he says, lamely like a loser. Mike clears his throat. "Anything, um, keeping you up? Or..."

Will faulters. "No, just- uh. Just a weird night, I think." Mike feels his face fall. Will notices, "Not that your visit was weird, that's not what I meant, just after you left, I was having a hard time falling asleep."

The stammering makes Mike feel like they are mutually nervous, on the same page. He wants to put Will at ease. "I understand, you don't have to explain yourself to me."

It's a lie. Mike would love for Will to explain himself. Mike wants to hear every word Will would use to describe their late-night conversation. But he wants Will to be comfortable more than he wants this clarity. Some of the tension leaves Will's shoulders, and Mike feels success float through his body. 

He decides to keep going. "Listen, would you want to help me make some figurines today? I have all of these pieces I've been using to lay out our plans for crawls, but Lucas keeps making fun of the acorn I've been using for the WSQK van. I thought maybe with your help I could, well, we could..." 

"Yes, yeah, I'd love that. To help, I mean. I'd love to help." Will is nodding, a smile on his face that makes Mike feel warm. It reminds him of something he dreamed about last night that he can't quite put his finger on. 

"Cool," Mike smiles too. 

"Cool," Will echoes. 

The conversation between Nancy, Jonathan, and Holly had gone quiet on the other side of the table. Mike looks away from Will to see Jonathan watching them, and Nancy trying very hard to seem like she hadn't been doing the same. 

Mike frowns a bit, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan, who raises both of his eyebrows in response. 

"Figurines, huh?" His voice has an edge to it that Mike can't place. Will is scowling at his brother.

The front door of the house swings open again, more noise from the entryway as his parents shuffle inside with groceries. "Kids, we're home!" his mom calls, a strain in her voice. 

Mike decides to blow Jonathan off, taking his parents' return as a reason not to respond. He looks back at Will, who is still watching his brother, and places his hand over Will's on the table to get his attention. It works well, Will's head swiveling around quickly. "I'll go get the stuff from my room and meet you in the basement?" 

Will nods, eyes wide. 

Mike nods once in response, releasing his hand and standing to leave the table as his parents enter the room.

"Mike! Your dishes, seriously?" Nancy gestures at the half-eaten bowl of cereal as Mike takes a step away. He sighs loudly, grabbing at the bowl and dumping the remains down the sink in an over-the-top show of compliance. 

He rinses the bowl quickly in a way that no one would rightfully call clean and slides by his mom and dad with a curt nod that could mean any number of things. Recently, Mike has been trying not to talk to his dad. Ever since the lockdown, Mike feels like his dad is always watching him. On his way out of the room, he looks back at the table to see if he can catch Will's eye. He's surprised to see that Will is already looking at him, twisted around in his chair. 

Feeling caught, despite this being his goal, Mike stumbles a bit over the carpeting, and Will laughs. It's a small sound, quickly swallowed by the noise of his parents talking to Nancy and Holly talking over them, but Mike hears it like the room were empty but for the two of them. His plan is working.

Hurrying up the stairs, he can't keep the smile off his face. 

The basement lighting is just as bad in the middle of the day as it was last night.

Mike and Will are sitting in the space between the couch and the coffee table, an array of small clay pieces strewn about on the table in front of them. It's kind of a tight fit, but it seemed best for leverage over the tiny figures. Will is hunched over the figurine that would become the WSQK van, hands balanced over his knees, which were pulled to his chest. 

Mike had been rolling little pieces of clay into circles, planning to build something that could be used as Hopper. But when Will started to really make progress on his project, Mike had gotten distracted. He realized he was basically just quietly staring as Will did all of the actual work, but who could really blame him?

Will was incredibly talented, and it was amazing to watch. Setting his project back on the table, he leans over the gap of space left between the two of them, placing a hand on Will's shoulder to steady himself as he cranes his neck to see what Will is doing. 

The little clay car looks nearly identical to the radio station van.

"Holy shit, that's incredible!" Mike gives Will's shoulder a squeeze, amazed.

Will has gone completely stiff beneath Mike's touch, a blush creeping up his neck. Mike watches Will turn pink and feels his own skin flush.

"Thank you," Will says, his voice little more than a whisper.

Mike realizes it's been too long since he complimented Will. He should be telling him more often how incredible he is; one compliment shouldn't come as a surprise to Will, shouldn't be so embarrassing. He can make up for that right now. 

"Of course! I mean, of course, it's incredible because you're incredible. It's really no surprise that you can bring it to life like that; you've always been such a great artist-" as Mike rambles on, his hand still rested on Will's shoulder, eyes darting back and forth from the van to Will's face- which, well, it's a lot closer to Will than Mike has been in a long time- he can see Will's slight embarrassment turn to full shock.

Maybe you went a bit too far! 

Mike cuts himself off, clears his throat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-um- embarrass you?" 

Will's eyes get wide. "Embarrassed, no, I'm not-uh," he lets out a deep breath, "I'm not embarrassed." His eyes scan Mike's face, darting down to where his hand is still resting on Will's shoulder. 

Mike frowns a bit, also looking down at his hand, but not moving it. "I thought maybe I'd gotten a little carried away, you're blushing a lot, and I don't-"

Will laughs, which is a bit surprising. Mike didn't really think anything was funny right now. Shaking his head, Will looks from Mike's hand back to Mike's eyes again and swallows. Something in Mike's stomach flips over. "You're blushing a lot, too." 

Mike panics a bit at having this pointed out.

Will may say he isn't embarrassed, but Mike is.

He's embarrassed that he doesn't tell Will more often how great he is. Embarrassed that he has let so much time pass without them talking like this, sharing interests and... his thoughts trail away from him. He bites at the inside of his cheek, a movement that Will's eyes track.

It suddenly feels too warm in the somewhat chilly basement. Mike wonders if he's getting sick. "Yeah, I guess I am..."

For a second, neither of them says anything. They sit on the ground in a basement that they both grew up in, with their legs knocked together and Mike's hand frozen on Will's shoulder. And then Mike realizes that he's being- just- incredibly weird, and he moves his hand from Will's shoulder, sits back up a bit. 

Will looks at his shoulder, focused on where Mike's hand had been. 

Mike looks down at the ground, far too aware of every sound around him.

The sound of the heater rattling in the corner, the sound of his heart beating, the sound of Will breathing.

He feels himself panicking about crossing a line, taking their fragile friendship to a place that Will wasn't comfortable with. They had behaved like this as kids, but so much time had passed, and so much had changed, and Mike didn't know if Will even wanted to be that close again. 

Will knocks his knee against Mike's, shaking him out of his thoughts. When Mike looks up, Will has returned to painting the miniature van. He clears his throat, drawing his eyebrows together in concentration as he works, and speaks, "It's just kind of warm down here, right? That's why I was flushed... You too, right?" He doesn't look at Mike. 

Mike nods, his head bobbing in a way that makes him feel a little dizzy. "Yes. Yeah, that's what I was thinking. I thought maybe I was just... coming down with something." 

Will squints at his art project. "I thought I was, too."

They spend a few more hours in the basement, working together in a comfortable silence.

Occasionally, Mike will compliment Will. He's careful not to go too far, cross any lines. 

Occasionally, their shoulders will brush, or their knees will knock together. 

Occasionally, Mike feels a blush creeping back up his neck and kicks himself for still being embarrassed by his earlier behavior. 

Occasionally, they will speak about something. Will opens up a bit about why he had such a hard night sleeping, a nightmare he isn't too willing to talk about. Mike worries over the information, desperate to come up with something that could help.

They work through lunch, only leaving the basement at dinner time. They’re both cramped from being shoved into the small space between the table and the couch for so long. On their way up the basement stairs, Mike stops and turns back to Will.

"Maybe I could come back down here tonight? We could talk, or I could just be here, let you try to sleep." It's an offer that doesn't make much sense, but he feels he has to make. 

Will hesitates and then frowns a bit, "I don't want to burden you with-"

"You'd be doing me a favor!" Mike chirps, balling his hands in and out of fists at his sides, "helping calm me down. I slept the best I have in a while after our talk last night. It would be more for me, really."

Will smiles in a small, almost missable way. Mike doesn't miss it; he was watching for it.

After a second, Will nods. "Ok, sure. That would be nice."

Mike smiles, and the two of them begin to walk up the steps again. "Great, it's a date."

Will trips, tries to catch himself on the railing.

Mike reaches out a hand to steady him, and Will shakes his head 'no', righting himself on his own. "Great! Yeah, it's a... yeah."

Mike laughs a little at the display without thinking much about it.

He is wrapped in his own thoughts. He feels lighter, pleased that Will has agreed to let him back into the basement tonight. With every hour they spend together, Mike feels more and more like his old self.

More and more like the person he has wanted to be, unable to reach. 

Chapter Text

It's after midnight, and Mike is back in the basement. He is sitting on the couch, leaning over Will's shoulder, who sits on the ground between the couch and coffee table in the same spot he had occupied earlier during figurine painting. Will has his sketchbook open in his lap, and his eyes closed, pencil shakily moving across the page. His direction had been to draw a castle.

So far, Will had drawn a dog, a car, a dragon, and a sword. Mike supplies the words, heckles him from over his shoulder, and watches in amazement as Will manages to draw somewhat convincing pictures with his eyes completely closed. They've been at this for a little under an hour. 

When Mike arrived in the basement, Will had been lying down facing away from the stairs and lazily reading old comic books, headphones on.

He had looked peaceful, head bobbing slightly to the music in a way that made Mike somewhat desperate to know what he was listening to. Mike had shifted from foot to foot, a bit unsure how to get Will's attention and feeling unbelievably awkward. But then Will had turned around, as if he could just feel that Mike was there, and smiled.

Something about the gesture had made Mike lightheaded.

He was a bit shaken after bumping into Jonathan in the hallway on his way down. He'd told himself he would give it enough time for Jonathan to be securely in Nancy's room, but then, well, he couldn't see a good reason to be sneaking around.

It's not like it was against the rules for him to spend time with Will. 

Mike had opened his bedroom door, knowing that Jonthan would probably just then be reaching the top of the stairs, and their eyes had locked in the dark hallway. Even expecting this, Mike had still fidgeted in the doorway of his room.

Jonathan had kept eye contact with Mike as he approached, a look on his face that Mike couldn't make out. 

"You're going down to see Will, right? He mentioned that."

Mike nodded, feeling defensive. 

Jonathan let out a small sigh. "Be smart, Mike." Then he had turned away and knocked on Nancy's door. 

Mike had stood there, frowning, when Nancy opened the door to let Jonathan in. Nancy raised her eyebrows, seeing him, stepped aside to let her boyfriend in. 

"I'm going down to see Will." Mike had said, not really feeling like he owed her this explanation and knowing that Jonathan would tell her anyway.

She blinked a few times, surprise still on her face. "Have fun."

Be smart. Have fun.

The words sat at the back of Mike's mind as he watched Will draw. What the hell did Jonathan mean? What was Nancy's problem? He could feel himself scowling, distracted from the game they were playing. 

"Am I on the right track?" Will asks, his voice light. Mike feels his scowl disappear.

Will was having fun, and Mike was doing a good job of making him happy. Jonathan and Nancy could shove off.

Bringing his attention back to the page, Mike feels outraged. It looked way too damn much like a castle for someone drawing with their eyes closed. "Bullshit!" 

Will jolts below him, laughing. "It's that bad?" He asks. 

"No, it's damn near perfect, what the hell, Will!" Mike reaches down and grabs the book, wanting a closer look. Will doesn't release his hold on it, and Mike feels his hand close over Will's. A fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ignore that. "Are you cheating?" His voice cracks, and he lets go of the book. 

Will sounds outraged, now, too. "No! I'd never!"

Mike is shaking his head, grabbing at Will's shoulders, and pulling him up to the couch. As he pulls him up, Mike scooches himself over to make space. He feels dizzy, thinks maybe he should go get water from the kitchen, and ignores that thought as he settles Will onto the couch next to him.

Will is still laughing, eyes squeezed shut, hands clamped onto his sketchbook. 

"Open your eyes, cheater!" Mike is laughing too.

Will does as he was told, a smile stretching across his face. Mike is sitting with his legs criss-crossed, facing Will. Will takes this in, eyes scanning, and adjusts himself to be sitting the same way. Their knees are sort of touching. Mike feels the same dizziness from a second ago; maybe he should go get a glass of water. He doesn't want to move. 

Be smart. 

He clears his throat. "This time, I'm going to give you a word, and I am going to be able to see your eyes while you're drawing."

Will chuckles. "I haven't been cheating."

"Then you won't have a problem proving it!" 

He rolls his eyes, smiling. "No, I won't." Will's hair is sort of in his eyes. There is a golden glow from behind his head where the lamp sits. Mike stares for a second, eyes caught on this halo effect. 

Will clears his throat. Mike's eyes snap back to attention. "What's my word, Mike?"

Mike blinks a few times. "I'm trying to think of something, don't rush me."

Thinking.

He was thinking about warm light on Will's skin. He was thinking about the way Will laughed. He was thinking about the way it felt when Will shifted on the couch and their knees brushed. He was thinking about how it felt just a second ago to have his hands on Will's arms, pulling him up onto the couch. He was thinking-

Be smart.

He can't come up with anything. 

And he can feel himself blushing. What the hell was his problem?

Mike looks at Will, who is watching him with a carefully blank expression. It makes Mike mad. That he seemed so calm. 

"How about a knight?" Will says.

Mike frowns. "You can't suggest things, what if you just pick something you know you'll have an easy time with?"

Will rolls his eyes again. "You haven't exactly been picking impossible things, Mike."

Mike scoffs, faking outrage. Will laughs, and Mike is getting sort of high on the sound. "Draw a horse."

"A horse! It took you that long to come up with that!"

"You're an asshole." Mike holds his arms. 

Will's laugh trails off as he closes his eyes and sets his pencil to the page.

Mike watches, leaning forward a bit to rest his folded arms on top of his legs. Will begins to draw something that doesn't look very much like a horse to Mike. Not at first. But it gets there, the face sloppily taking shape. Mike watches Will's hands and feels as if someone is strangling him.

He can't remember his basement feeling as stuffy as it has been the last few times he's been down here. 

With Will's eyes closed, he seems serene. Mike looks from the page to his face, eyes scanning. Will occasionally twists his mouth into a shape of concentration or furrows his eyebrows. Mostly, he seems calm and confident.

It's amazing.

Mike chalks up his fascination with Will's small facial movements to his admiration for his friend's talent. 

When Will opens his eyes, he's looking right at Mike. He seems surprised to see that Mike has leaned so far forward, watching him. It's gotta be at least 80 degrees in this damn basement.

Will smiles in a small, shy way and looks down at the page. Mike looks down, too. 

It's a horse. Not a perfect horse, but imperfect in the same way as the castle, the dog, the dragon, and the sword had been. 

"I'm not a cheater." Will says, triumphant, at the same time that Mike says, "You're incredible."

A silence settles between the two of them. It lasts less than a second, but in that time, Mike sees all of the uncertainty in Will's eyes before he carefully covers over it. How could Will not think he was incredible? How could he be uncertain of that obvious truth?

"Want to play again?" Will asks, a distraction. Mike will let him paper over it. 

"Sure, yeah, let me think about what to have you draw." Mike leans back a bit, and he sees tension leave Will's shoulders. It frustrates him to see that Will is on edge. This is supposed to be calming him down, distracting him, helping him. Before he can stop himself, he says something he immediately regrets. "Why are you so tense?"

Will seems startled by this. "What?"

Mike hates himself but can't back out now. "Just... you seem stressed about something all of the sudden. You weren't before, but now. I don't know, you just seem... tense. This is supposed to be fun; you're supposed to be relaxing. I wanted to be helping you, that's why you said I could come down here tonight."

Will is frowning. 

Be smart. Have fun.

Mike isn’t being smart or having fun. 

Will takes his time responding, closing his sketchbook, and sitting up a bit straighter. "You know, Mike, you don't have to be helping someone all of the time."

Mike feels like he's been slapped. 

Will watches his face, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "I just mean that you don't have to be useful to someone for them to want you around. I didn't... I didn't agree to have you come back down here tonight because I thought it would be useful to me; I just wanted to spend time with you. And you aren't failing at something if I occasionally am less relaxed- or something- when you're around. I can feel however I am feeling, and I can still want you to be around just because. You don't have to provide me with some sort of service to spend time with me and I don't want you to."

Mike feels lightheaded in a different way than he has all night. "I don't-"

"You don't have to try to explain yourself. I just want you to know that when I spend time with you, it isn't because I want you to be anything more than yourself."

Will stares at him, watching him fidget and wring his hands. Mike looks at everything except Will, feeling the weight of what he's said settle around him. 

"Useful doesn't have to be the first word that you use to describe yourself. I'd prefer it if it wasn't on the list at all." Wil says when Mike finally does look at him. "I am having fun. I'm more relaxed than I have been in weeks. I'm glad you're here, and I want you to be. But even if I wasn't in a great mood or I wasn't having the best night ever, I would still want you here."

A fist has closed around Mike's chest; he can feel how close he is to crying, and he really doesn't want to. He nods, swallowing thickly. 

Will nods, too. One curt nod that seems to be a final punctuation mark on the conversation. 

It makes Mike laugh a bit, a squeaky sound that seems a bit pathetic. In the silence that follows, Will rests one hand on Mike's knee and gives it a small squeeze.

Mike feels a sense of peace all over, understood by this boy in the dim basement light, and overwhelmed by how badly he needed the comfort of it. 

Looking down at Will's hand, Mike sniffles and says, "Draw Jonathan."

It makes Will laugh, and Mike smiles. Immediately, he hears the echo of Will's words in his head, Useful doesn't have to be the first word you use to describe yourself. 

Mike chews on his lip as Will closes his eyes and starts trying to draw his brother. He's glad to have made Will laugh, but he reminds himself that it can be a side effect of their time spent together instead of the goal. Will doesn't need Mike to make him laugh, make him smile. He just wants him around. 

Suddenly, every thought Mike has had about his uselessness over the last few months feels charged. His desire to be needed thrown in his face and said to be unnecessary.

He can't make the thought sit right with him, can't ignore the way he's been feeling this whole time. He wants to be helpful. Even if no one technically needs him to be... but if what Will was saying was true, then Mike didn't need to prove himself. He just... well, he guesses he just wants to. 

That want feels small right now, watching Will draw.

Mike finds that what he wants more is to be happy, himself. He wants small moments with Will where everything else feels distant and insignificant.

He wants to make Will laugh, not because Will needs him to, but because Mike feels happier afterwards. Shaking his head, he lets himself watch Will draw. The image coming to life on the page doesn't look that much like Jonathan, but the lopsided eyes are squinty, and the hair looks choppy in a way that feels familiar. It's honestly not that bad.  

Will frowns at the page when he opens his eyes, "That's my worst one yet."

Mike laughs, and it feels like a warmth he hasn't let himself feel in a long time. "Yeah, it's pretty bad."

Will shoves him, laughing along. "You couldn't do better, asshole."

"Being better than me at drawing is far too low a bar for you to set yourself!"

Will is nodding, "Yeah, I guess that's true."

Looking at the twisted Jonathan, Mike has an idea that he spits out before he can regret it. "Draw me next." He wants to see Will with his eyes closed, drawing Mike's face from memory alone.

He doesn't let himself think about why.

Will faulters. "Seriously?" 

Mike nods, sure of himself without wanting to process.

Will shrugs, takes a deep breath. "When this doesn't look that great, you're not allowed to get offended. I'm drawing with my eyes closed, you'll look ridiculous."

"I always look ridiculous, it'll be great."

Will closes his eyes, a new page open below him. His voice is quiet when he says, "You don't."

Mike feels that comment in the center of his chest. Lets himself sit with it. Let's himself feel it.

Will draws with a steady hand, face calm in the same way it had been every other time they had played this game. Mike lets himself take this in, watching Will.

He realizes that with his eyes closed, Will is thinking about Mike's face. Thinking about what his hair looks like, how his eyes are positioned, what his lips look like.

A wave of nausea passes through Mike. The feeling circles through his gut, and he leans against the couch, not letting himself look away from Will. After this round of the game, he will let himself get a glass of water; it was getting harder to ignore that he might be coming down with something. 

The image on the page is undeniably Mike in a way that the drawing of Jonathan hadn't been. It is still wonky, places where Will gets spacing wrong because of the challenge of drawing with his eyes closed. But it is Mike. He can feel himself smiling as it comes to life. 

This time, when Will opens his eyes, he looks a little embarrassed to see the drawing. Mike can't understand why. It's incredibly accurate, given the circumstances.

He flips it around so Mike can see it right side up. Mike feels how big his smile is, looking down at it. "You're kidding, that's amazing."

Will lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "It's not my best one." 

Mike scrunches up his face, "I mean, I guess the sword was the best, but that was the easiest one."

Will blinks a few times, sitting up straighter. "Yeah. Yeah, the sword was the best..."

Mike realizes that Will hadn't been talking about their game. It's not his best one...

The basement door opens, and Jonathan begins his slow meandering walk down the stairs. Mike is honestly so pissed to hear him returning.

"You two have fun?" Jonathan asks, not waiting at the bottom of the stairs as he did the previous night, but walking into the basement and going about setting up his bedding. His eyes linger on Will and Mike sitting on the couch, their position and proximity. Mike feels his face flush. He hates Jonathan in that moment. 

"Yes," Will says simply, getting up off the couch and going back to the mattress on the ground, setting his sketchbook casually on the coffee table. Mike feels his absence like a knife. 

Standing up from his spot on the couch, Mike can't take his eyes off the sketchbook. He has an overwhelming urge to grab it, look at every page. This idea that Will might have other drawings of him inside that book takes over his mind as he moves through the basement towards the stairs. So consumed by this thought, he nearly misses it when Will calls out a goodnight to him. 

Mike turns back from the first step of the basement, hand on the railing. "Goodnight, Will." It's a near-identical scene to last night. 

Will smiles at him, "Thanks for tonight." Then he rolls over and turns off the lamp. 

Mike is nodding even though Will can't see him. He walks up the stairs and back to his room in a fog. He felt like he had been running sprints for four hours instead of sitting on a couch next to his best friend playing a silly game. 

Lying down in his bed, Mike's thoughts swirl. 

Be smart. Have fun. 

You don't have to be helping someone all of the time. 

Useful doesn't have to be the first word that you use to describe yourself. 

It's not my best one. 

Mike falls asleep. He dreams of Will.

He dreams of his soft smile and the way it felt to be so close to him. He dreams of the way Will spoke to him and the way it felt to know Will was thinking of his face as he drew him.

He dreams of Will's face. His hair, his eyes, his lips.

He dreams of Will. And this time, he will remember in the morning. 

Chapter Text

Mike spends the next two weeks of his life in what he begins to think of as a personal kind of hell.

It's selfish, he knows, to think about the situation he finds himself in as a sort of hell given what's going on outside the walls of his house, but who can blame him?

In every small moment of every single second of the day, Mike is untethered and confused.

His days look something like this:

Every morning, he is up early. He is first into the shared upstairs bathroom and first to the breakfast table, waiting for the basement door to open. His mom notes what a positive change this is, and Nancy is constantly looking at him like with puzzled frustration in her eyes.

Sometimes, when Mike catches her watching him, he will stick his tongue out or flip her off just to make her scoff and stomp away. It feels familiar. Mike is desperate for familiarity as everything else he knows seems to come undone. Mike supposes she sees this change in him as a challenge to her place in their family. Mike doesn’t care about that.

Honestly, his desire to feel needed and useful has never extended to his parents’ approval the way it seems to for Nancy. And he certainly isn’t going to start trying to impress his dad now that he’s trying each day to break down his habit, turning over Will’s words in his mind. 

Useful doesn’t have to be the first word you use to describe yourself. 

At every family breakfast, he sits next to Will, and they talk about the day ahead. Occasionally, their knees will brush against each other under the table. On these occasions, Mike feels his stomach turn over.

He doesn’t want to think about this.

Instead, he thinks about Will’s eyes and the way they light up when talking to Holly across the table. It no longer feels like a threat to his place in Will’s life. Instead, it feels… charming.

Mike doesn’t want to think about that, either. 

If it’s a school day, Mike passes through each class in a daze. Sometimes, during a particularly boring lesson, he will let himself think about moments between him and El where he felt his best. It stings. Since their breakup, he’s tried very hard not to think of El at all. Thinking of her now, he feels ashamed of himself. 

Every moment in their relationship that felt strong and positive to him was a time he felt needed. A protector. A provider. Someone who could help her as she learned about the world around her. He saw the line in their relationship that was drawn when El realized she didn’t need Mike.

When she realized she could protect herself, provide for herself, and came to the conclusion that Mike didn’t love her in the way she wanted him to. It was a reality laid bare by her independence and Mike’s hesitance to accept her strength. If he wasn’t useful to her, they didn’t have much to talk about. Not romantically.

So Mike sits in his boring classes, learning algebra during the apocalypse, and hopes his ex-girlfriend with superpowers will still want to be his friend when she’s finished saving the world. 

In these moments where he thinks about El, he, of course, thinks of Will. His ugly fear of the two of them talking about his short comings completely unavoidable as he pokes at all of his insecurities. Will's words, cutting to the core of Mike’s need to prove himself, only seemed to prove that he had talked to El about the breakup.

And if he had talked to El about what it was like to date Mike... god, the thought of it burns through Mike in a way that makes him squirm.

Mike is coming to accept that he doesn't need to be needed, but it feels so much more impossible to accept that maybe Will didn't have to think Mike was perfect. 

He already didn't. Will knew Mike was flawed. Mike is ok with that. It was just... it felt different for Will to think of Mike as a bad boyfriend.

Mike doesn't want to think about why it felt different. So he doesn’t. 

Mike spends every evening after school at WSQK with the party, planning. It is overwhelming and exhausting, and most of the time, he bikes home with Will feeling like they’ve gotten no closer to ending all of this. He feels a bone-deep anger in those moments that makes him want to lash out at any and everyone.

Will is usually quiet on these rides home, acutely aware of Mike’s sour mood. Sometimes, when Mike takes a second to breathe, he feels a deep sense of relief to be understood so well by the boy biking next to him. 

Having Will in his life again, being friends again, it feels like coming home to see the porch light left on, a warm glow. Mike feels at home in their quiet understanding of each other.

He doesn't want to think about what that means.

Every dinner is smothered by Mike's anger. He sits with the family, no longer skipping meals as he had been before, but he still barely eats, and he doesn’t talk to anyone.

Every dinner, about halfway through, Will offers Mike his hand below the table. And every time Mike takes his hand, things feel a little less severe. Will squeezes Mike’s hand once and lets go. It’s a habit Mike feels almost completely dependent on.

Mike does not let want to think about this, either.

To end every day, Mike opens his bedroom door and passes Jonathan in the hallway on his way to the basement. They usually exchange a nod, nothing more. As Mike goes down the stairs, he can feel Jonathan watching him while he waits for Nancy to open her door.

It pisses him off to be so closely observed, as if he doesn't trust Mike to spend time with Will. But he does nothing. Mike lets Jonathan's eyes follow him and grits his teeth. Whatever his problem is, if he isn't willing to say it, then Mike figures it can't matter enough for a confrontation. Not yet, anyway.

Mike has grown accustomed to this routine. He is no longer scared as he passes through his home, opens the basement door, and descends to the lower level of his house. Will is always up, waiting for him, stretched out on the couch or on his spare mattress, reading or drawing lazily with headphones on. Mike loves all of the time he spends with Will, but he loves the moment before Will notices he is there the most.

In that moment, he gets to see Will completely unguarded.

mike doesn’t want to think about what it is about that moment that feels so special to him. 

The two of them pass a few hours every night playing games, listening to music, talking, or reading. Sometimes they read the same book out loud, passing it back and forth. Mike reads with silly voices assigned to each character, and Will reads with his eyebrows furrowed together, focused. Other times, they read separately and are comfortably silent. In those times, they sit close enough that Mike's skin feels like it's buzzing where it touches Will.

Ever since that night two weeks ago, Mike has been at war with himself for wanting to be so close to Will. He can't really explain it to himself, and so he just adds it to his list of things that he doesn't let himself think about it.

But he notices it. He can't possibly not notice it. 

He just. Well. He just doesn't let himself do anything except notice it. He certainly doesn't let himself act on it. Any and all physical proximity over the last two weeks is hapenstance, an accident. Mike finds himself waiting for these accidents too eagerly.

On only two occasions, Mike has fallen asleep in the basement with Will and remained until morning.

The first time, Will had been reading a passage from The Lord of the Rings. They were sitting on the couch together, close enough to quickly trade the book back and forth. Maybe closer than that really called for, but Mike didn't feel all that compelled to move. Will, with his knees up, leaned against the armrest, and Mike, sitting on the other side of Will's legs, leaned against the back of the couch, feet on the coffee table.

The book was balanced on Will's knees. Every time they traded off reading, Mike's hand had brushed over Will's knee when he grabbed the book.

Accidental touch. A hapenstance. Unavoidable, obviously. 

While Will had read, Mike had felt his eyes grow heavier. He had made up his mind days ago to never cut short his visits to the basement. To only leave when Jonthan returned to kick him out. For that purpose, he would not leave just because he was getting tired. He would take in every minute of his time with Will. Determined to stay and soothed by Will's voice, Mike had drifted off. 

In the morning, he had woken with a jolt, as if thinking he was catching himself minutes after falling asleep instead of hours later. He had been curled up on the couch with a quilt that usually could be found in Will's makeshift bed. Will was sleeping on the other side of the coffee table on the spare mattress, and Jonathan was asleep in the armchair.

Mike realized he was sleeping on the couch Jonathan usually spent his nights on when he returned to the basement and felt vaguely guilty. Then decided it was fair for all of the judgmental stares Jonathan had been sending his way recently.

On that morning, Mike let himself watch Will sleep. He let himself watch the way Will's eyes fluttered when he was waking up.

He didn’t let himself think about why.

Mike thanked Will for the blanket and apologized to Jonathan for stealing his bed, then they didn't talk about it again.

The second time Mike fell asleep in the basement lurked in the back of his mind far more prevalently.

It was the second time that seemed to matter. Mike had woken up on the couch again, but this time Will wasn't on his makeshift bed on the other side of the coffee table. He was also asleep on the couch, lying against Mike with his face pressed into Mike's shoulder. It felt like waking up on fire. And Mike had been so desperate for warmth.

The details of how it happened are not clear to Mike. It didn't matter how it happened, exactly. What mattered was that Mike had spent the night holding Will, and when he had woken up in the morning, it had felt briefly like the most natural thing in the world.

And then Mike had woken up more.

And then Mike had panicked. 

Mike had pulled himself off the couch without waking Will and had sunk onto the basement floor with a twisting ache filling his stomach. And then he noticed that Jonathan wasn't in the basement at all. Waves of confusion and panic had pulsed through him, then.

Be smart.

A wave of nausea.

Sitting on the ground, looking at Will sleeping on the couch, Mike felt empty. Empty to no longer be so close to Will, having completely crossed his unspoken and not very promising boundary of not initiating any kind of touching between the two of them. And empty of any kind of understanding. 

But then... Mike just couldn't remember exactly how this had come about.

In the days after, Mike turns the night over in his mind a million times. He never talks about it with Will, and Will never brings it up. Mike hates that it feels like just another elephant sitting in the room with them, putting pressure on their newly formed fragile bond.

All Mike seems to remember about that night is that they had been talking about Star Wars. Not even an important conversation, just a general frustration with the mechanics of the force. He doesn't remember who had fallen asleep first.

Doesn't remember how they had gotten so close, not exactly.

He just remembers being cold in the night as he slept and burrowing closer and closer to Will. He doesn't feel like that’s a bad thing.

It isn't a bad thing. 

But what had Jonathan seen? 

Jonathan seems to always be watching him. And if he told Nancy? 

Mike doesn't want to think about it.

The list of things that Mike doesn't let himself think about grows constantly. And at the back of his mind every day, through every moment, Mike is thinking about Will's sketchbook.

He lets himself turn the thought over and over in his mind. Will was so cagey about the book that night. And Mike has become sure that if he could see inside of it, somehow everything would just make more sense. 

It isn't my best one. 

Mike hears these words again and again and again. He feels crazed with how badly he wishes he could know if, inside that book, there were more drawings of him.

And then he immediately is sick of himself and irritated by this need to know. How pathetic he is, to spend so much time thinking about Will's sketchbook. And a part of him knows that if he asked Will, really asked him, to see inside, that Will would probably say yes. 

Maybe. 

Honestly, even the hypothetical idea of Will maybe saying yes makes Mike feel lightheaded. 

Loser!

Why does Mike want to see these potential drawings of himself so badly? That question is on the list of things Mike isn't letting himself think about. 

A personal hell of his own creation, full of questions he won't let himself ask and thoughts he won't let himself fully explore.

Mike never thought hell would feel like butterflies in his stomach or warmth on his skin. Mike never thought hell would be Will’s head rested on his shoulder. Mike never thought hell could be the thought of Will thinking of him.

But that’s exactly what it is.