Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I've been meaning to tell you

I've got this feeling that won't subside

[…]

I wanna hold you so hear me out

I wanna show you what love's all about”

  -   Hungry Eyes, Eric Carmen.

Hawkins, July of 1989.

Summer had finally arrived in Hawkins, and July promised to be the hottest month of the year.

Mike’s basement was still a little cold, despite the nearly ninety-eight degrees outside. It was always like that down there. Cold concrete, low ceilings, the faint smell of dust and old board games. A place frozen in time, stubbornly isolated from the seasons that came and went.

Will stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the change in temperature settling against his skin like a reminder of who he used to be, back when strange things still lived inside his body. Even though Mike’s basement was his temporary home now, the cold still felt unfamiliar to him.

Mike noticed first, rubbing his hands over his arms in an exaggerated way, as if trying to warm himself against the barely-there chill.

“Jesus,” he said, squinting. “It feels like a fridge down here.” He looked at Will. “How do you and Jonathan deal with this? I’ll tell my mom to bring down some extra blankets later.”

Will shrugged. “It’s fine. We’re only down here to sleep, so it doesn’t really matter if it’s hot or cold. Winter’s probably worse.” He lingered at the bottom step for a second longer than necessary. The cold brushed against his legs, raising goosebumps along his thighs, but it didn’t crawl inside him like it used to. It was just a change in temperature now. Not a bad feeling.

Dustin, already sprawled on the floor with a bag of chips in his lap, shrugged. “At least it keeps the electronics working. And we don’t melt from the heat.”

Lucas kicked the old couch Jonathan slept on into a better position and flopped onto it. “You could just open a window, man. Balance it out. It’s like a mausoleum down here, and hell outside.”

“We already opened them earlier, before you guys got here,” Mike said. “Didn’t help. And if we move the couch and chairs closer to the windows, it gets way too hot…”

“So,” Will cut in, “the basement stays in mausoleum-hell limbo until summer’s over.” He stepped fully into his makeshift room.

He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, and Mike followed him down, watching him carefully. He’d been doing that for days now. It was uncomfortable, but Will didn’t ask why. He already knew.

The fan in the corner rattled uselessly, pushing cool air without much conviction. At some point, Jonathan had taped a handwritten sign to it that read "DO NOT TOUCH", which meant it had definitely been touched. The D&D table was abandoned, maps still spread out and lightly dusty, character figurines scattered where they’d been left weeks ago, when they’d dropped a campaign at its peak to look for Dustin’s mom’s cat.

“Steve said Lover’s Lake is clear,” Mike said, flipping through a stack of Jonathan’s old cassette tapes like he was looking for something important. Probably the one he’d lent Will last week and never gotten back. “No cops. No parents. Just us, Max, El. And… the others.”

“The others” meant Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Jonathan. Adults, technically. People who’d been through too much shit with them to count.

Dustin grinned. “He also said he can get beer.”

Lucas groaned. “He always says that.”

“And he usually does,” Dustin shot back.

Will turned their voices down for a moment, like lowering the volume on a radio, letting the room exist around him.

Since July had started, he’d been feeling that strange sense of nostalgia - maybe déjà vu. The basement had always been safe, even before the day he disappeared, even before he was eleven and hiding down here with his friends after stealing some weird magazine from Ted Wheeler. Cold, but safe. A place where he could crawl into his shell like a hermit crab, where no one asked him to be anything other than himself.

This summer, though, he didn’t want to hide. His shell didn’t fit anymore. He’d grown, and he didn’t know what to do with everything that now existed inside him. Legs. Arms. A heart.

He sat on the arm of the couch instead of the floor, legs stretched out, bare skin visible. The cold lingered, but the heat from upstairs followed him down, stubborn and persistent. He didn’t cross his arms. He didn’t tug his shorts down to hide his thighs. He let himself be seen in the quiet, ordinary way he always did when he didn’t want attention.

Mike glanced again as Will nervously smoothed his hands over his thighs. It was quick, unreadable, and then Mike looked away, cheeks faintly pink. Nothing was said. And again, Will knew why.

The last weeks of school before summer break had been hell. Test after test. Assignments due before the end of the semester. And, of course, the useless little blurbs in the school paper.

“Will Byers, the Zombie Boy, caught kissing a marching band member in the locker room.” Big, bold letters. And, to Will’s misfortune, a blurry photo of him leaving the locker room with Bob Smith.

He could’ve denied it. He could’ve said nothing happened. And nothing had - he’d been changing after gym class, and Bob had coincidentally been heading to band practice.

But Bob Smith had been tabloid fodder ever since he’d been caught reading a gay political magazine in the school library. And he couldn’t be crucified alone. They needed someone else to torment. Will, freak, Byers.

And like it had been said before, he could have denied it. But he didn’t. And maybe that was why Mike kept looking at him like that. Like he wanted to ask something but didn’t have the courage. And Will was too tired to keep explaining himself.

He felt like his friends knew, too. Like they’d all been pretending not to notice the not-so-subtle change in him over the past few days.

He turned the volume back up in his head, listening as plans for Lover’s Lake continued to form in half-finished sentences around the basement. Who would bring food. Who had a radio. What time they’d meet. Casual, imperfect, unfinished - like all summer plans always were.

Will listened more closely than he expected to.

And still, he could feel something else coming when Dustin shifted on the floor, suddenly forgetting the chips in his lap. He wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans, eyes scanning the room like he was checking for exits.

Dustin Henderson was many things, but subtle had never been one of them. And even so, he hesitated.

“So,” he finally said, far too casual to be natural. “Uh.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and obvious. They’d all thought it - probably more than Will himself. They’d all avoided it, circling him like one wrong word might make him fold back into himself, retreating into that quiet shell - now too small - where he used to disappear when things became too much.

Dustin scratched the back of his neck, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his cap. “Is it… actually true?” A roundabout attempt. “Like. The Bob Smith thing.”

The fan sounded louder in the silence that followed.

Will didn’t flinch. He shook his head once, simple and firm. “No,” he said. “That part isn’t.”

Relief moved through the basement.

“Okay,” Lucas said immediately, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn’t look relieved. He looked fed up. “Then let’s stop the bullshit and get to the point.”

Everyone looked at him. Will felt his heart kick hard against his ribs.

Lucas met Will’s eyes, steady. “Are you gay?”

The basement went very quiet.

The fan worked overtime in the corner, clicking and groaning like it was the only thing still alive. Will’s breathing went sharp and instinctive. For half a second, every old reflex screamed at him to shrink. Joke. Deflect. Disappear.

He remembered the things his father used to say. That Will would never be a real man. That he was too sensitive. A faggot. A mistake. And he’d only been seven.

Instead, he dragged in a slow breath. It felt wrong to compare his father to his friends - his best friends. Still, fear lived there. Fear of being abandoned. Of being treated differently. Fear of so many things.

His hands slid down to his knees, and he let them stay there. He looked at the floor for a moment, choosing his words. Then he nodded.

“Yes,” he said.

The word sat lightly but firmly in his chest.

“And… it’s been a while,” he added, voice lower but steady. “I think I knew before I had a word for it.” He swallowed. “I was scared you’d… I don’t know. Treat me differently. Or not want me in the group because I like boys.”

No one interrupted as Will opened himself up.

“My mom probably knew before I did,” Will continued, a weak, almost embarrassed laugh escaping him. “God. Jonathan definitely knew.”

Dustin blinked. Then, without much tact this time, he said, “Yeah, man. Finally admitted it. I mean- we kind of knew too.”

Will looked up. “What?”

Dustin shrugged. “You’ve never liked a girl. Ever. Not once. And trust me, I notice stuff like that. I clocked Lucas and Max before they even knew.” He paused. “We just didn’t want to ask.”

Lucas nodded. “Didn’t feel right. Wasn’t our place.”

Something warm settled in Will’s chest - unexpected and almost overwhelming. He wondered if Mike had thought the same. Thought about all those awkward moments where Will’s feelings had turned into stupid fights. 

He wondered, terrified, if Dustin had noticed that Will had been in love with Mike for years.

Will looked at Mike, who was still silent, trying to read something - anything -in his face. Trying to see if Mike knew the truth. That Will had loved him since they were kids. That he’d built half his life around the idea of them always staying together.

Dustin tilted his head. “So… if the Bob Smith thing is fake…” His eyes gleamed with curiosity. Will’s breath caught. “Do you like someone?”

Will laughed nervously. He could lie, but it didn’t feel right here. Not now.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

Mike shifted uncomfortably on the couch beside Lucas. It was quick - just a subtle movement - but Will saw it. He always did. The way Mike leaned back. The way his eyes slid away like they’d landed on something they didn’t want to see.

Will’s mouth went dry, suddenly far too aware that he’d just come out to the most important people in his life. And to the person he loved most. He hadn’t thought this through. Hadn’t considered the risk that Mike might feel disgusted.

“Whooo,” Dustin and Lucas said in unison, like the loud idiots they were.

Lucas slapped Will’s shoulder, grinning. “Alright, who’s the lucky guy?”

Will’s face heated instantly. “I’m not saying.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No way.”

Dustin leaned closer. “Is it someone we know?”

“Definitely someone we know,” Lucas added.

Will shook his head, laughing despite his heart racing. “Drop it.”

“Never,” Dustin said proudly.

Mike cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. “Hey, idiots,” he said, a little too sharp. “Leave him alone.”

They groaned, disappointed.

“Fine,” Lucas said. “For now.”

The tension eased, but Will still couldn’t relax. Someone - probably Dustin - started talking about Lover’s Lake again. Food. Music. What time they should leave. How much sunscreen to bring.

“My mom has tons,” Dustin said. “Like, industrial amounts. Weird formulas.

“And how,” Dustin continued, eyes lighting up with a new problem, “are we gonna convince Hopper to let El come?”

Mike groaned. Lucas muttered something about being tired of thinking. Will leaned back against the couch, listening, smiling to himself.

[✦]

Later, when Lucas and Dustin had already gone home, Mike and Will were alone in the kitchen.

They were finishing the dinner dishes, moving around each other in the narrow space with the kind of quiet familiarity that only comes after months of shared routines. The television in the living room was loud, Ted Wheeler’s voice and sharp laughter bleeding through the walls of the house.

Will had been living with the Wheelers ever since his old house was sold when the Byers moved to California. Coming back to Hawkins had been too rushed for anything practical or planned. Vecna, the military barriers, the damage left behind. There hadn’t been time to look for a new place, at least not yet. So the Wheelers and the Byers had fallen into this strange, chaotic domestic life together, equally temporary and undefined.

Mike washed the dishes in silence while Will dried them, stacking the plates neatly and placing them into the cabinets. It was peaceful in a strange way - the kind of silence that only worked because neither of them tried to fill it.

Until the noise from the TV was replaced by the loud snore of Ted Wheeler, and Mike finally said something.

“So,” he said carefully. “Who is it?”

Will’s hands faltered.

The plate he was drying wobbled dangerously, his fingers tightening around the edges just in time to keep it from slipping and shattering on the floor. His heart jumped with it - or maybe it was the question.

“What?” he asked, too quickly. “Why- why are you asking me that now?”

Mike didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on the sink, on the steady stream of running water over his hands.

“Because we’re best friends,” he said. “And… I don’t know. I thought maybe we should talk about it. Like we did before. You know. With me and Eleven, before we broke up.”

Will swallowed hard, wishing he could open a hole in the floor and crawl into it right now.

He turned the plate in his hands, dried it again even though it was already dry, then slid it into the cabinet. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Part of him knew he should say something - spill everything, be honest, stop carrying all those feelings alone. It had been too many years of longing pressed tight inside his chest, and there came a point where everything became too heavy, too frightening.

But loving his best friend in the wrong way was a different kind of fear.

Will felt like his chest would explode every time he thought too much about what he felt for Mike - and he thought about it every day. He felt like a minefield, where one wrong step with his own words could blow apart everything they had rebuilt over the past few months.

Things had changed when Will went to California, and everything had seemed to fall back into place when he returned to Hawkins. He didn’t want to risk opening himself up to Mike only to say something stupid again, like the last time. Like the day of the painting.

But he also couldn’t stand suffering with so many hidden feelings anymore.

He glanced toward the living room, at Ted Wheeler asleep on the couch with his mouth open, oblivious to everything around him. Afraid he might hear something, Will looked back at Mike.

“It’s different,” Will said, low enough that only the two of them could hear. “Talking about you and El was… easier than talking about this.” It wasn’t entirely true - talking about Mike’s relationship with a girl had hurt too. Will continued, “These are things I’ve been trying to figure out for years. And they’ve been there for years.”

Mike turned off the faucet.

The sudden absence of running water made the silence heavier, sharper. He turned fully to face Will.

“What is different?” he asked. “You liking guys doesn’t make this different.”

Will felt an abrupt, crushing exhaustion, like something heavy had settled onto his shoulders. Mike made everything sound easy, but it wasn’t.

“It’s different,” he said. “It’s very different. We never talk about me. We never talk about me liking someone. One night I disappeared, and when I came back, you and Eleven already existed together. I didn’t see it happen, and we never talked about how it started.”

Mike looked tired too, or maybe just frustrated.

“Different how? I don’t understand this… thing you have about bringing up the time you weren’t here. And I’m not even talking about me and El, I just gave you an example, damn it.” He huffed, his damp hand running nervously through his hair. Mike took a deep breath, a habit he had whenever he felt like he might hurt Will with his words. “What the hell makes it different? Is it because it’s a guy? I’m not going to judge you for that, I don’t care. Why can’t you just open up to me?”

He looked straight into Will’s eyes. He seemed hurt as he said those words, but Will was the one who had truly been hurt in this situation for years.

“Let me be your friend, Will.”

Will pushed himself away from the counter. He took a step forward. Away from the sink. Away from Mike. He chose his words carefully, each one heavy on his tongue.

“You don’t understand. It’s hard because I wouldn’t be talking about someone else in this conversation,” he said softly. His hands were tingling. “Not like I did with you and Eleven.”

The air shifted suddenly, the weight on Will’s shoulders crashing loudly onto the kitchen floor.

He didn’t say the rest. He didn’t need to. The confession hung between them - unfinished, but undeniable. It had taken everything in him to say even that much, and it wasn’t his job to help Mike digest his words. He couldn’t even organize his own thoughts anymore.

Before Mike could respond, before he could even fully understand what it meant, Will left the kitchen.

His footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving Mike alone with the dishes still half wet.

[✦]

It was Friday, and the week had gone by in the blink of an eye.

The party at Lovers’ Lake was scheduled for Saturday. Dustin had said over the walkie-talkie that everything would probably work out, as long as there wasn’t a police patrol wandering too far from its usual route - or else the party would end at the station.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. Steve really had managed to get the beer, which surprised absolutely no one. Robin was bringing a state-of-the-art radio she’d “borrowed” from the video store where she worked. Even Nancy had found a van big enough to fit all of them and everything they planned to take to the lake.

Everything was fine.

Except, of course, between Mike and Will.

The week at the Wheelers’ house had been strange. Mike kept throwing long looks that Will was terrible at avoiding. On Tuesday night, one day after the thing in the kitchen, Mike had gone down to the basement and sat beside Will’s mattress while Will pretended to be asleep. He had even forced himself to breathe slowly until Mike left.

He feared what Mike’s sudden presence might mean, so avoiding him at all costs seemed like the wisest choice.

But it didn’t last long. One thing Mike was great at - and Will recognized this - was getting what he wanted in his own time. Which, most of the time, was fast. Too fast for Will to avoid.

Karen Wheeler handed Will a grocery list and gave Mike a wallet stuffed with coupons and cash.

“I have to go to Holly’s school to sort some things out before her summer camp ends,” Karen said, already with her purse over her shoulder, ready to leave. “I need you two to do the shopping today. We’re out of coffee, and Ted is unbearable without at least five cups during the day. So, boys, please behave and don’t forget the coffee.”

Will felt exhausted before even leaving the house, but he kept listening carefully.

“And Will,” Karen added, “don’t let Mike buy soda. I’m putting that responsibility in your hands.” She leaned in and kissed Mike’s forehead like he was still a child. Mike grimaced. “I’ll be back later, sweetheart. Bye-bye!”

They looked at each other briefly when the front door closed and the sound of Karen’s car filled the silence.

Will stood in the living room for a second, holding the folded grocery list between his fingers. Mike was still near the door, his mother’s wallet in hand, watching the hallway as if Karen might come back at any moment to say she’d forgotten something.

She didn’t.

“So,” Mike said, breaking the silence. “Should we go now?”

Will nodded. “Yeah, before the sun melts the asphalt.”

They grabbed their bikes from the garage. Chains creaking softly, tires a little too flat, marked by years of similar summers - just never quite like this, with everything feeling too strange to ignore.

Will mounted his bike first. Mike adjusted his own handlebars, his movements a little stiff, as if he were nervous about something that had nothing to do with balance or Hawkins’ nonexistent traffic.

The ride to the supermarket was short, but it felt too long for the silence that settled between them.

July heat clung to their skin. The air felt thick and heavy, and the wind from their speed helped less than it should have. Will pedaled ahead, too focused on the road, acutely aware of the rhythmic sound behind him. Mike always kept the same pace as him, and since the day Will came back from the Upside Down, that seemed to happen more often.

At an intersection, Will slowed down. Mike pulled up beside him.

“About the other day…” Mike began, almost swallowed by the distant sound of a military truck passing on the main avenue.

Will squeezed the brakes, stopping completely. Mike stopped right behind him, putting one foot on the ground.

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Will said quickly, before he could think too much. “Let’s just… do the shopping, okay?”

Mike blinked, clearly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, already messy from the wind. “Okay,” he replied after a second.

They started pedaling again.

Inside the supermarket, the blast of air conditioning was immediate - too cold after the heat outside. Will felt his arms prickle beneath his thin t-shirt and avoided thinking about the dark memories it brought with it.

He grabbed a shopping cart and started following Karen’s list with almost exaggerated focus, as if it were an anchor for his messy thoughts.

Coffee.

Milk.

Bread.

Mike walked beside him, close enough that their arms almost brushed as they turned down the narrow aisles. He seemed restless but stayed quiet. At one point, they both reached for the same bag of sugar on the shelf.

Their fingers touched - light, quick skin against skin. A stupid accident. Still, Will pulled his hand back as if he’d been shocked.

“Sorry,” Mike said automatically.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Will replied, not looking at him.

In the coffee aisle, there was a stack of soda bottles in the middle. Mike reached out for a Coke on instinct, then froze halfway through the motion. He looked at Will, as if questioning what he should do or looking for approval.

Will noticed. He looked at the bottle, then at Mike. “Karen’s going to yell at you.”

Mike grimaced. “She always does.”

Still, he put the bottle in the cart. Will didn’t comment. That small domestic act of rebellion felt strangely intimate.

At the checkout, as the cashier scanned the items and the repetitive beeping filled the space, Mike finally spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly, not looking at Will. “About what you said. And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Will’s stomach tightened.

“Mike.”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Mike continued quickly, like he was afraid of losing his nerve. “But I… I don’t want to pretend nothing happened.”

Will gripped the edge of the cart tightly.

“I’ve never thought of you that way,” Mike said, too honest to be comfortable. “Not because there’s anything wrong with it. But because, to me, you were always just… you. Will Byers. My best friend.”

It hurt more than Will expected.

“I know,” he said, his voice controlled with effort. “That’s exactly why I hid for so long.”

The cashier pushed the bags aside, signaling she was done. Mike paid. The conversation seemed to die there.

Outside, the heat hit them again. They tied the bags to their bike handlebars with almost excessive care. Before getting on, Mike took a deep breath.

“I don’t want this to ruin anything,” he said. “You’re the most important person in my life, Will. You always have been.”

Will closed his eyes for a second. That was almost cruel, even without intent.

“I… know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m not asking anything from you. Not even an answer.”

Mike nodded, swallowing hard. “But you deserve one. And I just need… some time to think. Not to avoid you, or run away, or freak out like I usually do. I just need to understand what I’m feeling.”

Will opened his eyes and finally looked at him. He avoided thinking about what that meant- about what Mike wanted him to understand with I just need to understand what I’m feeling. What else could he be feeling? He had never loved Will in the wrong way. Mike was perfect. He would never love him that way.

“Okay,” Will said. And for the first time that week, he meant it.

They got back on their bikes.

The ride home followed the same quiet rhythm as the way there, the sound of chains and tires on hot asphalt filling the space between them. Will pedaled ahead again, the wind hitting his face.

Joyce arrived at the Wheelers’ house in the middle of the afternoon, shortly after Mike and Will finished putting the groceries away.

The sun was still high when she knocked on the door, her hair tied up carelessly and a bag far too large slung over her shoulder, as if she’d left Hopper’s cabin in a hurry and decided halfway there that she needed to bring everything with her. Karen opened the door first, smiling wide, and Joyce walked in talking before she’d even fully crossed the threshold.

“Hi, Karen! God, I’m sorry for showing up like this out of nowhere after a week away, I just-” She stopped when she saw Will. Her smile softened. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Will stepped forward without thinking. Joyce pulled him into a tight, warm hug, the kind that always seemed to last exactly as long as he needed. The smell of cheap soap and cigarette smoke clinging to her jacket was familiar in an almost painful way.

He never stopped to think about how much he missed his mom every day.

Mike watched for a second before Joyce turned to him and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi, Joyce,” Mike replied, suddenly a little awkward.

They talked right there in the entryway while Karen went back to the kitchen, their voices kept low so Mike’s parents wouldn’t overhear. Joyce explained that Hopper had finally come home after a “mission too weird even by his standards,” she said, making invisible quotation marks in the air, and reassured them that El was safe at the cabin.

“She’s okay,” Joyce repeated, looking from Mike to Will. “Really. A little tired after all the training we’ve been doing, but okay.”

Something in Will’s chest loosened at that - a small knot he hadn’t even realized was there. Eleven had been in hiding for so long, and he’d barely gone to see her since summer started. He missed talking to his sister, just the two of them, watching TV together. He’d remember to go to the cabin on Sunday after the party and bring her waffles.

That night, to Karen’s visible relief, Joyce made dinner. It happened sometimes when the two of them were home, one taking turns in the kitchen with the other. That was when they didn’t just decide to order pizza. Will liked those moments when the two families seemed to blend seamlessly, even if in a clumsy way.

Karen seemed exhausted after returning from Holly’s school, talking nonstop to Ted about their daughter doing poorly in math, about how “no one teaches like they used to,” and about how she swore Holly had inherited the Wheeler side of the family in all the wrong ways.

“I never liked that teacher,” Karen said, pouring water into a glass and handing it to Joyce. “Since the first day. Math teachers are terrible monsters!”

Mike looked at Will when she said that, and they laughed at the irony that Karen had never seen a real monster.

“Maybe Holly just needs more help learning,” Joyce replied. “I was awful at math. I still count on my fingers.”

Ted let out a short chuckle without taking his eyes off the newspaper. The acidic comment was already on the tip of his tongue. “That explains a lot.”

Will glanced at Mike, clearly irritated by Ted’s rudeness. Mike just shrugged - there was no point using harsh words on a man with a brain made of shit.

The table filled up quickly when Jonathan and Nancy arrived. Dinner was ready, and a large dish of mac and cheese sat in the center, surrounded by plates, glasses, and buttered toast. Joyce added more cheese on top, as if that might fix everything.

“This is great, Joyce,” Karen said, already on her second plate.

“It’s just mac and cheese,” Joyce replied with a shrug. “But it tastes even better in the summer.”

Jonathan reached across the table to grab the bread Nancy asked for and agreed with his mother. “It really does. Your food is amazing.”

At some point, Karen opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass for Ted and another for Joyce.

“Karen, you don’t have to-” Joyce started.

“I insist,” Karen said. “After the shitty fucking day I had today, I insist you drink with me-” She suddenly widened her eyes, realizing she’d cursed in front of the kids. Even though Nancy and Mike were grown, that reflex still lived in her.

Mike looked at her with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, repeating a phrase she’d said a thousand times: “No swearing on the table.”

Ted sighed and lifted his wine glass as if proposing a toast. “To my survival in this house. Cheers.” And took a sip.

Will watched everything quietly, sitting between Mike and Nancy, his plate abandoned on the table after eating more than he thought he could. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had dinner with so many people like this - without rushing, without the immediate fear that something in the world would go wrong.

He also noticed the exact moment the wine started to take effect on Mike’s mom. Nothing scandalous - Karen Wheeler was never the type to show when she was really drunk - but there was a specific brightness in her eyes, a growing animation in her hands, and the way the conversation began to spill across the table without much filter.

She laughed louder, touched Joyce’s arm as she talked, and had already told the same story about Holly’s math teacher at least twice. “When I was her age, math was easy. Or at least that’s how I remember it.”

That was when Mike leaned slightly to the side, closer to Will, without drawing the others’ attention. The noise of overlapping voices covered the whisper well.

“I can’t stand it when she drinks,” Mike said, his mouth almost brushing Will’s ear. Will shivered. “In a minute she’s going to show baby pictures of me. Including the horrible ones.”

Will turned his head just enough to look at him, trying not to laugh. “I bet you were cute.”

“I was bald,” Mike replied, far too serious. “Bald and weird.”

“You’re still weird,” Will shot back softly, and this time a smile slipped out.

Mike let out a quiet laugh, like he was afraid of being heard, and nudged Will’s shoulder with his own. Across the table, Karen gestured animatedly, explaining something to Joyce with far too much detail.

“This is it,” Mike said. “If we don’t go upstairs, my dignity is over.”

As if reading his mind, Karen clapped her hands and stood up at that exact moment. “Joyce, have you seen the pictures of Mike when he was little?”

Mike closed his eyes for a second, defeated. Will bit his lip, holding back a laugh.

“Mom! Uh. We’re going to… go upstairs for a bit. To listen to some new tapes,” Mike announced, pushing his chair back before anyone could object. He tugged on Will’s sleeve to make him follow. “We’ll be back down later.”

Karen waved distractedly, already heading toward the living room shelf where the family albums were kept. “Go on, boys.”

They went up the stairs far too fast for people who weren’t running from anything. Upstairs felt quieter, like the noise of dinner had been trapped below. Mike opened his bedroom door and stepped inside first, holding it open for Will to follow.

Mike’s room was another space frozen in time, almost as untouched as the basement. The full-size bed sat in the same place, covered with a simple blue quilt. Old posters still covered the walls, some faded, others crooked, held up with old tape. There were some drawings pasted in random places, drawings made by Will years ago. The only recent one being that painting that made him feel ashamed from head to toe. 

There were subtle changes - a stack of new tapes near the desk, some books Will didn’t recognize, comics scattered without much order - but nothing that really betrayed how much Mike had grown over the years.

Will closed the door behind him and stood there for a second, taking it all in, the familiar smell of Mike drifting through his head. He sat down on the floor, pulling the box of cassette tapes from under the bed toward him, feeling the rough carpet beneath his legs. Mike sat across from him, his back against the bed, and started flipping through the tapes as if it required his full concentration.

“What have you been listening to lately?” Mike asked, breaking the silence.

Will thought for a moment. “Jonathan listens to a lot of the same stuff on repeat. But I like The Cure, and Bowie. I always have.”

Mike made a thoughtful face. “Not really my style…” he started, then added, slightly reluctant, “But I like some songs.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” Will commented, sifting through the tapes.

“It’s a huge compliment coming from me,” Mike replied defensively.

He pulled out a specific tape and held it up like it was too important to ignore. “This is what I’ve been listening to.”

Will read the name handwritten on the worn label. “When In Rome?”

Mike smiled to the side, satisfied. “Exactly.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Will admitted. “Are they good?”

“They are,” Mike said immediately, then added, like he was correcting himself, “Like. Really. They’re on the radio all the time, man! How have you never heard of them?” He went to the desk, grabbed the tape player, and set it down carefully. Will remembered borrowing Jonathan’s tape player from the basement a few days earlier, and now Mike pulled it to the center of the room with almost ceremonial care. He slid the tape in and rewound it.

The dry, mechanical sound of the tape spinning filled the space for a second before the music started.

The Promise echoed through the room, soft synthesizers spreading through the July heat, filling everything without hurry. They stayed silent, sitting on the carpet, letting the music exist on its own between them, as if it didn’t demand comments or explanations.

After a while, Mike started humming softly, his voice too low to compete with the music, fingers tapping distractedly against his thigh. He wasn’t in tune, but there was something focused there, a strange care, like he was paying too much attention to every word.

Will watched him in silence, far too attentive for someone who was supposedly just listening. His mind latched onto the lyrics before he could stop it.

“I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say,

I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be”

He swallowed hard.

The song spoke of hesitation, of waiting for the right moment to open your heart, of not knowing how to say something important without ruining everything. It was a confession song - the kind you listened to alone in your room, not with your best friend who had loved you for years.

“But if you wait around a while I’ll make you fall for me”

Will looked down at the floor when Mike sang that part, the familiar tightness in his chest settling in more strongly. Mike’s room, with its walls covered in familiar posters, miniatures from past campaigns, and the damn smell of him, suddenly felt too small. Like the shell that no longer fits.

“I promise, I promise you, I will”

The song went on, filling a silence neither of them seemed willing to break. Only when it ended, and Mike started going through the box again, did Will allow himself to relax.

“Do you want to hear another one?” Mike asked.

Will nodded, more because he needed something to fill the space than because he really cared which tape came next. Mike picked one at random, put it in the tape player, and the room filled with sound again - less intense, more safe.

Downstairs, the noise of dinner continued: cutlery clinking against plates, overlapping voices, and Karen’s occasional laughter crossing the ceiling like a distant echo of normalcy.

Will must have drifted into his thoughts without realizing it, because suddenly Mike stopped the music mid-song, the click of the button sounding too loud and pulling him out of his haze.

“Will,” Mike said, his voice low, serious in a way that made Will’s stomach tighten. “About… what we talked about at the supermarket.”

Will felt his whole body go alert. He nodded slowly. “I said you didn’t have to-”

“I know,” Mike interrupted. “And I’m not trying to figure anything out right now. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, nervous. “I don’t want you to think I’m pretending that nothing changed. Because it did. At least for me.”

Will swallowed again, his heart pounding. “Changed how?”

Mike took his time answering. He looked around the room - at the old posters,  the drawings that Will made for him when they were kids - as if searching there for an answer that wouldn’t require words.

“I think about you all the time,” he said finally. “And I always have, because since we met, you’ve taken up a big part of my mind. But now it’s different, and I keep wondering why.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Will felt something warm spread through his chest, a mix of hope and fear he knew too well.

“I don’t need you to figure anything out fast,” Will said carefully. “Really. I just… didn’t want to lie anymore. Not to you. Not to myself.”

Mike nodded, eyes down, wrapping his shoelace around his finger. “I know.” He looked up again, meeting Will’s eyes. “Thank you for that. Even if it’s scary.”

Will smiled softly. “It’s always been scary.”

Mike laughed quietly, agreeing. He moved a little, closing the distance without actually touching him. There was no urgency in the gesture - just a cautious attempt to be nearer.

“Can you stay here for a bit?” he asked, almost shy. “Until my mom gets tired of showing the pictures?”

Will nodded, his heart beating far too fast over something so simple. “Sure.”

[✦]

It’s Saturday, and Will wakes up on the mattress in the basement with the uncomfortable sensation of something pressing his back against the cold wall.

He shifts, still half caught in sleep, the icy concrete sticking to the bare skin of his arm, and only then does he realize he isn’t alone. He turns carefully and finds Joyce lying beside him, taking up a space that would normally be impossible to share without complaints, her mouth open in a soft snore and her hair spread across her face as if she had simply fallen there and decided to stay.

Will smiles before he can even think about it, a small, automatic thing, and remembers the night before - how, after leaving Mike’s room and heading down to the basement with his chest too tight to sleep properly, he could still hear his mother’s loud, drunken laughter traveling through the floor, mixed with Karen’s voice in the kitchen. The two of them were talking far too loudly while washing dishes, like teenagers.

It had been… good. Strangely good.

Will felt relieved knowing that Joyce could still just be a normal mom sometimes. A mom who didn’t need to check the locks three times, or ask whether he was too cold or too hot, or worry about invisible monsters hiding in the shadows.

A mom who could drink cheap wine on a Friday night and laugh about silly things with a talkative friend, complaining about the world and life like anyone else in Hawkins.

Joyce had probably drunk more than she should have, because when Will carefully brushed her hair away from her face and she muttered a “fuck, I’m sleeping,” he could smell the alcohol on her breath before she even opened her eyes.

Will chuckled softly, trying not to wake her completely, but failed anyway. He shook her gently, just enough to pull her out of that half-asleep state, and Joyce grumbled another curse before finally opening her eyes, confused and clearly grumpy. She frowned when she recognized him, as if she were genuinely offended that he existed at that moment.

“You woke your mother on a Saturday morning just to smile at me like that?” she asked, her voice hoarse and slow. Will shrugged, feigning innocence.

“I needed to make sure you were still alive.”

Joyce snorted, complaining about a headache and ungrateful children, but then she pulled Will closer, her arm wrapping around his shoulders with enough force to crush him against her chest.

“You have dragon breath,” Will said, laughing into her t-shirt.

Joyce opened one eye to glare at him. “You used to like dragons when you were little.”

“I liked anything that didn’t try to kill me,” he replied automatically.

She laughed, a low, sleepy sound, and tightened the hug. Will let himself stay there, curled against his mother, breathing in the familiar smell. It was the kind of smell that meant home, even when everything around him felt temporary and chaotic. The basement didn’t feel so cold that way, with Joyce there - warm and real beside him.

He couldn’t say exactly what made him do it. Maybe it was the comfortable silence, maybe the fact that he was still half asleep, or maybe it was just the weight of the past few weeks finally finding somewhere safe to land. But suddenly, the words were out.

“I love him,” Will said all at once, before he could think better of it. The sentence hung between them, too simple for everything it carried. “I love Mike.”

Joyce didn’t move, nor did she seem surprised by her son’s confession. She just kept rubbing his back, slow and steady, as if telling him without words that he could keep going.

“Since when?” she asked at last, her voice low and careful.

Will shrugged, even though he knew it wasn’t really an answer. “Always, I think.” He let out a weak laugh. “Or at least since I grew up enough to understand what it means.”

Joyce nodded slightly. “And he knows.”

“He knows now.” Will took a deep breath. “Not in a direct way, but… he knows.” He hesitated before continuing. “I told him on Monday, when we were doing the dishes. And after that, he tried to talk about it, even though I kept trying to avoid him.”

“And what did he say?” Joyce asked.

“That he doesn’t want to pretend nothing happened.” Will gripped the fabric of her shirt between his fingers. “That he’d never thought of me that way, but that he needs time to understand what he’s feeling.”

Joyce sighed, resting her chin lightly on the top of his head. “That must be scary for you, honey.”

“A little.” Will nodded. “Because he’s finally thinking about it, while I’ve been thinking about it my whole life… And I don’t know what could come out of that.”

Joyce was quiet for a moment, then spoke with the calm certainty she always had when she needed to be a mother.

“If he’s trying to understand what he feels, that means you matter.”

Will stayed silent for a few seconds after that, breathing slowly, as if testing the weight of everything he had just said. Joyce studied him carefully, her expression skeptical but far from harsh.

“He didn’t deny it, did he?” she asked. “Your feelings, I mean. If he didn’t even consider feeling something, Mike would’ve said so.”

Will frowned almost immediately. “I don’t think that means anything.”

“Mmm,” Joyce hummed, tilting her head slightly. “Sometimes it does.”

He shook his head too quickly, as if trying to chase the idea away before it could take root. “No. I think he just doesn’t want to hurt me. That’s what you all do now.” Will swallowed hard, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. “You treat me like I’m fragile. Like I’ll break if you do anything wrong.”

Joyce’s expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Since the Mind Flayer,” Will continued, now almost whispering, “everyone’s careful with me. Too protective. Like even words could hurt me for good.”

Joyce let out a small, knowing smile. “Mike has never been particularly careful with his words when it comes to you. He might use the wrong ones, but he ends up being honest. Remember when you were thirteen?” she asked gently. “When you two fought?”

That stopped him. For a moment, the basement seemed to fall away. The memory came back whole, uninvited.

“You’re ruining everything. And for what?! So you can swap spit with some stupid girl!”

Rain pounding outside, anger burning in his chest, the bitter taste of having said something that hurt because it was true.

“El is not stupid!” Mike had shouted back. “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

And then, almost immediately, regret. Mike closing his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath, already wanting to take the words back.

“I'm not trying to be a jerk. Okay?” He said, his voice tight. “But we're not kids anymore. I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”

Will blinked, coming back to the present.

Joyce was watching him closely now, as if she’d followed every detail of that memory.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that Mike has been dealing with his feelings for much longer than you realize. Maybe just as long as you.”

Will shook his head on instinct. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He always seemed perfect. He dated El, and it looked perfect like that.”

Joyce moved a little closer, resting her hand lightly on his arm. She could hear the real meaning behind his words - he wasn’t talking about perfection; he was talking about not being gay.

“I know things have been hard,” she said softly. “And I know I can’t understand everything. But I care. And I love you.”

Will’s eyes burned.

“I don’t care what the newspapers say,” Joyce went on. “Or TV. Or all this talk about seeing gay people as something wrong, sinful, or criminal. None of that changes who you are. I know you’re scared, but you’re also perfect.”

Will stayed quiet, fighting the knot in his throat.

“And,” she added carefully, “I think Mike loves you too. Maybe in a way neither of you knows how to name yet. But he does, and he’s probably scared too.”

Will swallowed, the growing urge to cry into his mother’s chest. “How can you be so sure?”

Joyce sighed. “Because fear doesn’t come from nowhere.” She hesitated before continuing. “There are a lot of powerful people saying horrible things. Talking about erasing people just for existing.”

Will shrank in on himself slightly.

“Ted Wheeler isn’t the most open-minded man in the world,” Joyce said gently. “And of course some of those ideas passed through his house and affected his kids. Mike has probably been struggling with that longer than you think.”

Will looked at her. “How can you know all of this?” He sighed, resting his forehead against his mother’s shoulder, breathing deeply and taking in the familiar, comforting smell. “It’s like you get inside people’s heads.”

Joyce smiled, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Mothers know these things. And we kind of went through this too, when your father still lived with us.” Will grimaced, and Joyce tightened her arms around him. “You might not remember because you were too young, but he said horrible things to Jonathan. We were lucky that he was always a smart boy and didn’t let the crap his father said affect him - just like you, sweetheart.” She kissed his cheek lightly. “Just give it time. And be kind to yourself.”

Will nodded, eyes shining.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”

Later, after Mike finally woke up and Nancy came back from the car rental place with the oldest, loudest van she could find, everyone - except Max and Eleven - started gathering in front of the Wheeler house as if it were some kind of inevitable meeting point.

It happened slowly at first. Bikes leaning against the fence. Backpacks dropped on the grass. Steve’s cooler thumping onto the porch with a dramatic sigh from Steve himself. The sun was already dipping lower, the heat still heavy but softened just enough to make it bearable.

Nancy stood by the open trunk of the van, hands on her hips, surveying the mess like a general.

“Okay,” she said. “Everyone grab everything you brought. Food, drinks, towels, the radio. And don’t make me say it twice.”

Robin popped her head up from inside the trunk. “She’s serious. I can hear it in her voice.”

Mike groaned but moved anyway, grabbing a bag and slamming the trunk shut once it was empty. Within a few minutes, they were piled inside the van, knees bumping, arms overlapping, too many people and not enough space.

Will ended up wedged between Mike and Robin.

The engine roared to life with a sound that felt personal, like the van was offended to be used at all. As they pulled away, Robin immediately leaned closer to Will, already mid-thought.

“Okay, so I made you a mental list,” she said. “Not a physical one because I value my job and my freedom, but- have you ever seen After Hours?”

Will shook his head. “No, but Jonathan’s mentioned it like three times.”

“Of course he has,” Robin said. “It’s weird and stressful and kind of perfect. I think you’d love it.”

They talked like that for most of the drive, bouncing between movies and scenes and which endings ruined everything and which ones made it worth it. It was easy, familiar. Something they’d been doing for weeks now - trading recommendations, watching separately, then dissecting everything later like it mattered more than it probably did.

Will laughed, gesturing with his hands as he talked, but he was hyperaware of Mike beside him the entire time. The warmth of his thigh pressed against Will’s. The faint, clean scent of his cologne. The way Mike shifted every now and then, close enough that Will felt it before he saw it.

At some point, Mike’s hand settled on Will’s knee. Just suddenly. Just there.

Will’s words trailed off. He looked down before he could stop himself, his breath catching just a little. Robin noticed immediately. She followed his gaze, then looked back up at his face.

Their eyes met.

Will smiled, nervous and small.

Robin smiled back, slow and knowing, like she’d just realized something important. Something that meant their conversations were about to get a lot longer - and not just about movies.

Will swallowed, then carefully placed his hand over Mike’s.

Mike didn’t look at him. He just turned his palm up, threading their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned his head against the window, staring out at the passing trees, jaw relaxed, pretending nothing had changed. But everything had.

When they reached Lover’s Lake, Max and Eleven were already there, sitting near the water with their feet dangling in, talking quietly. They waved when the van pulled in.

Everyone spilled out at once, the air filling with voices and laughter as they unloaded everything. Will helped where he could, passing bags and towels, listening to the easy chaos of it all.

Mike groaned as he and Robin lifted the radio out of the van. “This thing weighs a ton. There’s no way this is just a tape deck.”

“It’s not mine,” Robin warned. “It’s from work. So if you drop it, I will absolutely kill you.”

Will laughed as he walked past them, arms full of folded sheets and a basket of food. “She means it.”

“I always do,” Robin said.

Lucas and Dustin suddenly made a loud, excited noise behind them, nearly dropping the cooler Steve had brought.

“You actually did it!” Dustin shouted. He opened the lid of the cooler and his eyes shone when he saw that it was full of beer. “I never doubted you. Not even once.”

“That’s a lie,” Steve said. “You doubted me on that date last week.”

“Yeah, but this cancels it out.”

Once everything was set up, the lake slowly started to fill with movement. Shoes were kicked aside. Shirts discarded. The air buzzed with the sound of water and laughter.

Will sat down on a sheet near the edge of the lake, hugging his knees for a moment as he watched Lucas and Max splash each other, both of them laughing too loud, like they didn’t care who heard.

He slipped off his shoes. Then his shirt.

The old instinct hit immediately - the urge to fold in on himself, to hide. His scars were there, pale against his skin, proof that he’d survived things he still didn’t fully understand. He was proud of them in a quiet way, because they meant he was alive.

He just didn’t have Steve’s confidence. Steve took his shirt off like it was nothing, like his body was just another fact.

Something cold touched Will’s skin. He startled and looked up.

Mike stood beside him, holding out a bottle of beer. His legs were bare, long and tanned. His Hawaiian shirt hung open, loose, the buttons undone. Will was painfully aware of how obvious he was being as his eyes dragged up, taking him in. He tried not to think about the dark trail of hair disappearing below Mike’s waistband, or how it made his stomach twist.

“Here,” Mike said.

Will took the bottle and Mike sat down next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Will lifted it, took a sip - and immediately made a face.

“That’s awful,” he muttered.

Mike laughed softly, Will took another sip anyway.

Mike tipped his head slightly, watching Will over the mouth of his own bottle.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,” he said. “Not even back when Nancy and Jonathan started letting us drink with them. You always just… disappear.”

Will shrugged, rolling the cold glass between his palms. “I do get drunk,” he said. “I just get… quiet. Everything feels lighter. Calmer. So I kind of just sit there and enjoy it.”

Mike hummed, a thoughtful sound. “Yeah. I think I get that.” He took a sip and leaned back on his hands. “I feel lighter too. Like I could do anything.”

“Anything?” Will asked, amused.

“Anything,” Mike repeated seriously. “Like running down the street naked.”

Will snorted before he could stop himself. “You’d get arrested.”

Mike grinned. “Worth it.”

Before Will could answer, Dustin appeared out of nowhere, squinting up at them like a concerned parent. He shoved a bottle of sunscreen into Mike’s chest.

“Ultraviolet radiation causes premature aging and skin damage,” Dustin said solemnly. “It absolutely wrecks you. My mom says it’s basically invisible fire.”

Mike looked at him. "You're between eighteen and fifty years old talking like that."

“And alive, with baby skin,” Dustin shot back, already backing away. “Use it.”

Mike laughed and set his beer down in the grass. “You’re unbelievable.”

He squeezed sunscreen into his palm and started rubbing it onto his arms, long fingers dragging slowly over his skin. Will tried not to stare. He failed. He told himself it was normal. It wasn’t like Mike was doing anything special - just spreading lotion - but Will’s brain seemed determined to catalog every movement.

He took another drink of beer and forced himself to look away.

Mike finished and held the bottle out. “Your turn.”

Will wedged his beer between his thighs and took the sunscreen, rubbing it between his hands. He spread it over his arms, the smell sharp and familiar. He could feel Mike watching him, not subtle at all.

Then Mike’s hand was there.

His fingers slid over Will’s shoulder, warm against his skin, smoothing sunscreen where Will had missed a spot.

“Oh-” Will froze. “I- uh. I was gonna get that.”

Mike pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “Sorry. I just- there was, like, a whole glob.”

“It’s fine,” Will said quickly, heart pounding. “I mean. Thanks.”

There was a beat of silence, awkward and charged.

“So,” Mike said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You wanna… go swim?”

Will nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

They stood up at the same time, like neither of them wanted to be the one left sitting. Mike left his shirt on the grass.

Will slipped the beer bottle into the grass near the blanket, careful not to knock it over, and followed Mike toward the water. The ground near the shore was uneven and warm, small rocks digging into the soles of his feet. The lake stretched out in front of them, dark green and glittering under the late-afternoon sun.

Mike waded in first without hesitation, water climbing up his calves, then his knees. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, that’s cold.”

“You’re the one who wanted to swim,” Will said, stepping in after him.

The water hit his ankles and sent a shiver straight up his spine. He hissed softly, instinctively grabbing Mike’s wrist for balance before he even realized he was doing it.

Mike didn’t pull away.

Instead, he steadied him, thumb pressing briefly into the inside of Will’s wrist. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “Just being dramatic.”

They moved deeper together, the water creeping up their legs, then their thighs. Will could feel the fabric of his shorts clinging to his skin, heavy and strange. For a moment, that old panic flared - the sense of being too visible, too exposed - but it dulled quickly when Mike bumped into him again, shoulder to shoulder, solid and real.

Behind them, Lucas splashed Max hard enough that she shrieked, laughter ringing across the lake. Dustin shouted something unintelligible from the shore. Steve whooped like an idiot.

Mike glanced back at the noise, then at Will. “You wanna go out farther? Or is that too much?”

Will considered it, then nodded. “Farther’s fine.”

They kept walking until the water reached their waists, then their ribs. It was colder there, the kind of cold that made everything feel sharper, clearer. Will took a breath and dunked under quickly, resurfacing with wet hair plastered to his forehead.

Mike laughed. “You didn’t even warn me.”

“Surprise,” Will said, wiping water from his eyes.

Mike dipped under too, coming back up shaking his head like a dog. Water sprayed everywhere. Will laughed, real and unguarded, the sound feeling lighter than it had in days.

They drifted a little apart, then closer again, floating without really trying, the lake rocking them gently. Will felt loose in a way he hadn’t in a long time - like his body wasn’t braced for impact for once.

Mike kicked softly, staying close. Their arms brushed beneath the surface, fingers knocking together. This time, neither of them pulled away.

“You okay?” Mike asked again, quieter now.

Will nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Mike studied him for a second, then smiled - not big or careless, but something smaller and thoughtful. “Good.”

They stayed there, water lapping around them, the sounds of their friends blurring into the background. Will leaned back slightly, letting the lake hold him up, trusting that Mike was right there if he needed him.

Music drifted in from the radio, thin at first, then louder as someone - probably Steve - cranked the volume up. The synths blended with the sound of splashing water and shouting voices, the whole place buzzing with life.

One by one, everyone else made their way into the lake. Dustin cannonballed in without warning. Steve followed, yelling something triumphant. Max dove under the surface and resurfaced a few feet away from Lucas, immediately trying to dunk him again. Even Eleven waded in, laughing softly when the cold water hit her legs.

Nancy was the only one who stayed dry. She lay stretched out at the edge of the lake on a towel, sunglasses on, swimsuit immaculate, one knee bent lazily. She looked like she’d planned it that way.

Will was floating near Mike when Robin suddenly appeared beside them, grinning wide and wild.

“Oh, lovebirds, you two look way too calm,” she said. “You can’t just float like sad mermaids in front of me.” Before either of them could react, she scooped up a double handful of water and flung it straight at their faces.

“Robin!” Mike spluttered.

Will gasped, then burst out laughing. “What was that for?”

“For balance,” Robin said seriously, already splashing again. “You can’t let a lake party get too emotionally stable.”

Mike retaliated immediately, kicking water toward her with surprising force. Robin shrieked and ducked, laughing like a kid, and that was all it took.

Water flew everywhere.

Lucas charged through the lake like a maniac, dragging Dustin down with him. Max shrieked and jumped onto Lucas’s back. Steve yelled encouragement from absolutely nowhere. Will barely had time to react before Lucas barreled into him, tackling him straight into the muddy bottom.

They both went under.

Will came back up coughing, hair plastered to his face, laughing so hard it hurt. Water dripped from his chin as he sucked in air, still grinning. Mike looked at him, clearly worried, but Will wiped his face and smiled at him, bright and steady, as if to say "I’m fine".

Mike exhaled, shoulders dropping, and splashed him lightly in return. “Idiot.” Will laughed again.

A moment later, a rogue wave of water arced out of the lake and splashed directly onto Nancy’s legs and towel.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” she shouted, sitting up. She yanked her sunglasses down, glaring at the water. “Are you all twelve years old?”

Silence followed for exactly half a second. 

Then everyone laughed.

Will eventually dragged himself out of the lake, skin goosebumped and hair dripping, and flopped back onto the sheet from before. His beer was still there, warm now, but he picked it up anyway and took a long sip.

He made a face. “Ugh.”

Nancy leaned over, lowering her sunglasses just enough to look at him. “You don’t know how to drink,” she said flatly. “Today’s teenagers are embarrassing.”

Will laughed and shook his head, flicking water from his hair without thinking. It splattered right onto her arm.

Nancy yelped. “Will!”

He grinned. “Sorry.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

And despite hating the flavor, Will still grabbed another beer from the cooler. He told himself it was just to have something in his hands, an excuse to stay where he was, watching instead of being watched. It felt easier that way - being on the edge of things, warm and loose, letting the moment happen around him.

Mike and Eleven were still in the water, laughing, splashing each other until Eleven suddenly lifted a wide stretch of lake water into the air. It collapsed over everyone at once.

Will laughed out loud, the sound surprising even him.

Nancy jumped up, tearing off her sunglasses. “You’re all going to regret this!” she yelled, before charging into the lake, hair officially ruined.

Later, when the sun began to dip behind the trees and the light softened into gold, Steve and Jonathan lit the fire. The smell of smoke mixed with wet grass and lake water. Robin and Eleven crouched near the flames with sausages and bacon, bickering as they cooked.

Will stayed by the water, sitting at the edge, watching the sun disappear. He felt full in a quiet way - like something inside his chest had finally loosened its grip. Max and Lucas sat nearby, tangled together, laughing and kissing without caring who saw. Will watched them without the usual ache, just warmth. 

Mike sat down beside him.

“They’re disgusting,” Mike said. “They should do that somewhere else.” Max didn’t even look over when she raised her middle finger at him.

Will smiled. “You’re just jealous.”

Mike snorted, but didn’t argue.

Will had lost track of how many beers he’d had. At some point the bitterness faded, or maybe his body had simply given in. He leaned back on his hands, feeling the cool grass against his palms, the firelight flickering over Mike’s face.

Mike looked at him for a long second, softer now. “You’re drunk.”

Will smiled back, slow and easy, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “Fucking yes.”

Mike kept looking at him.

Not in the careless, distracted way he usually did when his attention drifted - this was focused, quiet, like he was trying to solve something without saying it out loud. The fire cracked behind them. Someone laughed near the water. Music played low from the radio.

Will felt it anyway.

“You’re staring,” Will said, not accusing, just stating it. His voice came out softer than he expected.

Mike huffed a breath, shaking his head like he’d been caught doing something stupid. “You’re… different today.”

Will tilted his head. “Different how?”

Mike didn’t answer right away. He picked at a blade of grass, then let it go. “I don’t know,” he said. “You look-” He stopped, jaw tightening. “Happy.”

The word settled heavy in Will’s chest. He swallowed, the beer warm and buzzing in his blood. “I am,” he admitted. Saying it out loud felt dangerous. Real.

They sat there in it, shoulders close enough that Will could feel Mike every time he shifted. The space between them wasn’t empty - it was charged, tight, waiting.

Mike’s knee bumped into his. Not an accident. It stayed there. Will’s breath caught, just for a second. He didn’t move away.

“You’re gonna fall in if you lean like that,” Mike said, trying for casual, failing.

“Then catch me,” Will replied, before he could stop himself.

Silence.

Mike turned his head slowly, really looking at him now. The firelight flickered across his face, all sharp lines and uncertainty. His hand moved - hesitated - then rested on the ground behind Will, close enough that their fingers almost touched.

Will leaned in just a little more.

It felt easy - too damn easy. The kind of lightness that scared him later, usually, when the fear came rushing back in: the fear that Mike would pull away, that he’d look at Will differently and decide to leave for good. But right now, that fear stayed quiet. Drowned under the warmth in his chest, the buzz in his veins, the way Mike was still looking at him like he was the only thing in front of him.

Will could feel Mike’s eyes everywhere.

On the scars lining his shoulders, the faint marks on his chest. On his eyebrows, his mouth. Will’s lips went dry instantly, and he dragged his tongue over them without thinking, painfully aware of the way Mike’s gaze dipped, lingered.

Around them, the world kept existing. Will could hear voices, laughter, the low crackle of the fire. Lucas and Max were still kissing somewhere close, unashamed, noisy about it. The sound made something twist and bloom inside Will’s chest - an ache, sharp and wanting. He had the sudden overwhelming urge to press his mouth to Mike’s chin, just to feel his warmth, to prove he was real.

Mike met his eyes again, breath suddenly heavier.

Will straightened, barely, and felt it - Mike’s hand settling on his thigh, so certain, like it had always belonged there.

Mike opened his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was rough, stripped down. “Do you feel it too?”

Will didn’t pretend not to understand.

“This thing,” Mike continued, swallowing. “In your stomach. I don’t- I don’t know what it is.”

Will nodded, slow, honest. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Mike’s shoulders loosened, just a fraction. His hand slid higher on Will’s thigh, fingers warm, grounding. “How long?”

Will let out a quiet breath. “Years,” he said. “I’ve felt it for years.”

Mike nodded like that made something click into place, like it hurt, but in a way that finally made sense. His thumb brushed absently against Will’s leg.

“I want to kiss you,” Mike said suddenly, barely above a whisper. Then, firmer, like he was choosing it. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad.”

The words hit Will all at once. With them came everything that could go wrong. Every conversation where Will had said they didn’t need to decide anything. That Mike didn’t owe him answers. That it was okay to take time.

His heart was racing too hard to ignore.

Will caught Mike’s hand and guided it up, pressing it flat against his chest. Right over his heart. Mike froze, breath hitching. Will could feel his pulse there, wild and unmistakable. Mike’s fingers shifted, sliding over Will’s chest, up along his collarbone, until they curled gently behind his neck.

Mike leaned in.

So close that their foreheads touched.

Will realized, distantly, that he had never seen Mike like this before - this near, this unguarded. Like something sacred had cracked open between them.

The sounds around them faded. The fire. The laughter. The music.

Mike’s lips met his.

For a split second, Will froze - not out of fear, but awe. Like something impossibly large had finally clicked into place, like his existence, all of it, suddenly made sense in a way it never had before.

Mike smelled so good. It filled Will’s head completely. Mike’s fingers were warm at the back of his neck, sliding up into his hair, tangling at the roots and pulling him closer. Closer than close. Like there was no space left for doubt.

Mike parted his lips against Will’s.

Will didn’t know what he was doing. He’d never done this before. So he followed. He opened his mouth the same way, tentative and trusting, and somehow it worked - like their mouths had always known how to fit together. It was clumsy, a little too wet, uncoordinated in the way first things always were.

But it was so, so good.

Will felt himself melting from the inside out. Like he was slipping, falling into something deep and endless, and for once he didn’t want to grab onto the edge. He wanted to disappear into it. Into Mike.

His hand came up on instinct, fingers curling around Mike’s arm. His short nails pressed into his skin, grounding him, anchoring him there. Mike made a low sound against his mouth - something between a breath and a groan - and his grip tightened just slightly in Will’s hair, enough to make Will’s chest ache.

The world stayed gone. There was only heat, and breath, and the quiet certainty that this - this - was real.

Mike pulled back just enough to breathe.

Not far - never far. Close enough that Will could still feel his warmth, his breath ghosting over his lips. Close enough that stopping felt impossible.

“Hey,” Mike murmured, voice low, careful. “Are you okay?”

Will looked at him. Really looked. At the way Mike’s eyes were darker now, unfocused in the way they only got when he was feeling too much. At the familiar slope of his nose, the mouth Will already missed even though it had only just left his. He didn’t want to look away. He didn’t think he ever could again.

“Yes,” Will whispered. His throat felt tight. “Yeah.”

Mike’s gaze dropped - to his mouth, lingering there like it belonged to him now - then lifted back to his eyes. He swallowed.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Mike said, just as quietly. “For… longer than I can count.” A shaky breath. “Maybe since California. Since I went to see El and everything just felt- wrong. Like I was standing in the right place with the wrong person, and I couldn’t figure out why.”

Will’s chest hurt. In a good way. In a way that felt like something long-bruised was finally being touched gently.

“You were everywhere,” Mike continued. “In my head. In my dreams. Every time I tried not to think about you, it just made it worse.” He gave a short, humorless huff. “And I hated myself for it. For missing you like that. For not calling. For being too proud to admit I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

Will listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to. Every word felt like it was settling exactly where it belonged.

“I was scared,” Mike said. His hand slid to Will’s back, steady and warm. “Of what it meant. Of what I felt. And then when you told me - when I realized you liked me too - it was like something snapped.” His voice wavered. “All those chains just… fell apart. And I wasn’t trapped anymore.”

That was when it happened.

Will didn’t even notice the moment his eyes burned, only the way everything blurred all at once. The relief hit him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. He let out a shaky breath that turned into something broken, something wet.

He was crying.

Not quietly. Not neatly. Just - crying. From the chest. From years of holding himself together with shaking hands and careful words.

Mike noticed immediately.

“Hey- hey,” he whispered, pulling him in without hesitation. His hand spread over Will’s back, firm and sure, like he was afraid Will might disappear if he let go. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Will pressed his face into Mike’s shoulder, fingers on the skin of his chest. He felt everything - Mike’s arms around him, his voice, the truth of it all sinking in at once.

He was so relieved. Fuck- he was so relieved.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, the fear wasn’t louder than everything else. It wasn’t screaming in his ears, telling him he’d lose this too.

Mike was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Mike brushed his thumb across Will’s cheek, clumsy and unsure, like he didn’t quite know what to do with tears yet. It didn’t work - Will’s shoulders were still shaking, breath hitching, the crying coming in waves he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“Hey,” Mike said, nervous now. “Did I-  I mean, I didn’t screw this up, right?”

That did it. Will laughed. A broken, wet sound that surprised them both. He laughed through the tears, breathless, and shook his head. “You’re so stupid,” he said, voice rough. “You’re stupid for not noticing. I’ve loved you for years.”

Mike flushed instantly, pink blooming across his cheeks. His hands came up to Will’s shoulders, holding him like something fragile and precious. “I thought it was just… in my head,” he admitted. “That you were just-  I don’t know. Being you. Being my best friend.”

Will sniffed, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He looked at Mike like he was seeing him for the first time - really seeing him. Not the boy who left, not the boy who hurt him without meaning to, but this one, being so honest with him. 

He cupped Mike’s face with both hands, pressing his cheeks in until Mike made a small, startled pout. Will opened his mouth to say something - anything - but nothing came out. There was too much. Too many years packed into his chest.

So instead, he let himself have this.

He smiled, soft and real, and then pushed Mike back as he leaned forward, momentum carrying them both down onto the blanket. Will landed half on top of him, laughter still caught in his chest, and then their mouths met again - eager this time, certain, like they already knew the way.

They only broke apart at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Mike groaned quietly. Will lifted his head.

Robin stood there, hands on her hips, grin wide and unapologetic. “Wow,” she said. “So this is happening, lovebirds.”

Mike groaned again. “Oh my fucking god.”

Will laughed, cheeks burning, and glanced around. Eleven was nearby, smiling softly at him. Dustin’s jaw dropped.

“I knew it!” Dustin yelled at Max and Lucas. “I told you that Will liked someone we knew!”

Lucas pointed between them. “Dude. It was obvious.”

“Yes, it was,” Max said flatly, rolling her eyes. “You’re just loud.”

By the fire, Jonathan had an arm around Nancy, watching him with something like pride. He nodded once. Nancy gave Will a thumbs-up.

Will looked back down at Mike, still pink-cheeked and stunned beneath him. Mike looked back at him, and shrugged. Will probably gave the most sincere smile of his life.

[✦]

It’s Sunday, and Eleven kept staring at him.

Will pretended not to notice. He focused on the paper bag in his hands, on pulling the waffles out one by one, on the way the syrup pooled too quickly when he poured it over the plate. He pretended he didn’t hear the small, irritated sound she made in the back of her throat while he took his time. He pretended really hard.

But once they were sitting across from each other at the small table on the cabin, there was nowhere left to hide.

Eleven didn’t waste time.

“How long,” she asked, blunt as ever, “have you liked Mike?”

Will cut into his waffle carefully, eyes fixed on the plate. “Longer than I can count,” he said evenly. “Probably years, maybe my whole life.”

Eleven grunted, taking a bite of her own waffle like she needed something to do with her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Did it hurt? When Mike and I were together?”

Will nodded once. “Yeah. It did.” He didn’t rush it. “But he was my best friend. And you were-” He paused, searching. “You were my sister, all of a sudden. I loved you both.”

Something shifted in her face. The tension eased. She reached across the table and took his hand, thumb brushing gently over his knuckles, careful in the way she always was when something mattered.

“I want you to be happy,” she said. “You deserve that.”

Will looked up at her then, really looked. He smiled, small but sure. “I’ve never been this happy before.”

Eleven smiled back. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and stole the waffle right off his plate. “You’re an idiot,” she said, already chewing. “You waited too long.”

Will didn’t argue. He didn’t reach for it. He just shrugged and said, quietly, “I just give it time.”

When Will got back to the Wheelers’ house, it felt empty in a way that was almost disorienting.

The kind of quiet that didn’t belong there.

He dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter and waited for the usual sounds to fill the space - Ted’s television booming from the living room, some game show or the news; Karen’s voice drifting in from somewhere upstairs, calling for Nancy or talking on the phone. Nothing came. The house just breathed around him, hollow and still.

Mike had been asleep when Will left that morning, curled on his side with the blanket half-kicked off, hair a complete mess. He probably had plans today. Or maybe he didn’t. Will hadn’t asked. Joyce had walked with him part of the way back from the cabin, squeezing his hand once before heading off in the opposite direction, smiling like she knew things she wasn’t saying. Jonathan was probably doing Jonathan things - taking photos of light through trees, or kissing Nancy somewhere quiet.

Will moved through the kitchen, opening the fridge without really looking, then closing it again. He headed toward the hallway, intending to go down to the basement, when a sound made his shoulders tense.

A creak.

The stairs.

It was faint at first, the familiar complaint of old wood under weight. Will paused, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. A chill crawled up his spine, sharp and instinctive, and his hand went to the back of his neck automatically - an old habit, one he never quite managed to break.

The creak came again. Louder.

Will turned, and was suddenly shoved back against the wall. His back hit the plaster with a solid thump that knocked the air out of him. He barely had time to gasp before he was pinned there, the space in front of him completely taken up.

Mike.

His hair was a disaster, a soft, ridiculous cloud of curls like he’d just rolled out of bed and never bothered to tame it. His eyes were bright, intense, fixed on Will like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

Will forgot how to breathe.

Mike leaned in, close enough that Will could feel the heat of him, the familiar scent that made his stomach flip instantly. “Why did you take so long?” Mike asked, low and almost accusing.

Will swallowed. “I was talking to El,” he said. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

Mike made a sound somewhere in his chest, rough and impatient, and then - unexpectedly - leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of Will’s nose.

Will’s hands came up without thinking, sliding around Mike’s neck, pulling him closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why did you leave my room without saying anything?” Mike asked, his voice softer now, threaded with something vulnerable.

Heat rushed to Will’s face all at once. The reality of it hit him then - sharp and dizzying. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t something he’d imagined himself into late at night, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling. He and Mike were… something. Together, in whatever fragile terrifying way that word now meant.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Will said quietly. “And I-” He hesitated, then admitted, “I didn’t know what to do.”

Mike’s hands settled at his waist, grounding. “You could’ve stayed.”

Will’s chest tightened at that.

And suddenly, he remembered the night before.

The way they’d stumbled back from the lake, still half drunk, still buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief. The world had felt unreal, like everything was wrapped in warm static. Laughter too loud. Touches lingering too long. Mike’s knee brushing his, again and again, like neither of them wanted to stop testing the boundary now that it had finally cracked.

They had slept together. Not just in the same room - but together. Will could still feel it if he focused hard enough: Mike’s warmth pressed against his chest, the weight of his arm slung carelessly around Will’s waist sometime in the early hours of the morning. The faint smell of his shampoo tangled with smoke, soaked into the pillow. 

They hadn’t really slept, not fully. They’d talked in low voices until their words blurred into laughter. They’d touched each other constantly - hands finding wrists, shoulders, hair - like they were afraid the other might vanish if contact was broken. Will’s lips still tingled with the memory of it, of how many times Mike had kissed him like he was learning him by heart.

And now Mike pressed him harder against the wall.

The plaster was cool against Will’s back, a sharp contrast to the heat in front of him. Mike’s body caged him in, close enough that their breathing tangled together, uneven and familiar already. Will could feel every place they touched, could map it without looking.

Mike tilted his head, mouth brushing close to Will’s ear. “You know,” he murmured, voice low in a way that made Will’s stomach flip, “you can’t just disappear on me like that anymore.” 

Will made a sound he didn’t recognize, something caught halfway between a laugh and a breath, embarrassingly close to a whine. “You trapped me against a wall,” he shot back, trying - and failing - to sound steady. “I think you lost the right to complain.”

Mike huffed softly amused, his breath warm against Will’s skin. Mike didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in, closing what little space was left between them. Will could feel his heartbeat through his chest, like it was trying to keep up with Will’s own. The wall was solid behind him, but Mike was warmer, realer, everything pulling him forward.

“Say that again,” Mike murmured, mouth so close Will could feel the words against his lips.

Will didn’t. He couldn’t. His thoughts were too loud, his body too aware. All the fear that usually sat heavy in his chest - the fear of losing Mike, of wanting too much, of being too much - felt distant, blurred, drowned out by the way Mike was looking at him now. Like Will was something chosen, like he was staying.

Will lifted his chin without really deciding to. Mike noticed immediately.

Their mouths met.

It wasn’t hesitant. It was soft, but sure - like they already knew the shape of each other now. Will felt it everywhere at once: in his chest, in his hands - which slid up Mike’s arms just to have somewhere to go, in his mouth, where every small movement sent a rush of heat straight through him.

He kissed back, slower, more deliberate, learning the way Mike breathed against him, the way his lips curved when Will pressed closer. It made his head spin. 

It made his eyes burn. This was Mike. This was really Mike. Not a dream, not a quiet longing swallowed down and hidden away. Mike was here, kissing him like it mattered, like it meant something.

Will’s emotions spilled over, sharp and bright and overwhelming. Relief tangled with want, with years of holding himself together finally unraveling. He felt fragile and strong at the same time, like he might crack open or like he might finally be whole.

When Mike pulled back just enough to breathe, Will followed without thinking, chasing the warmth. His forehead rested against Mike’s, the eyes closed.

Will slid his hand up the back of Mike’s neck, his fingertips threading through the soft curls that grew there. His cheeks ached from smiling so much, and he couldn’t make himself stop. He leaned his nose against Mike’s as Mike squeezed his waist.

“I fucking love you. I’ve wanted to say this for so long, but I really fucking love you.” Will drew in a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to Mike’s jaw. “Before, just thinking about you finding out the truth made me feel like I could explode. And now…” He laughed softly, breathless. “Now I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t tell you how much I love you.”

Mike laughed, a breathy sound, his arms tightening around Will like he was afraid to let go. He squeezed him once, twice, almost absentmindedly, like he was trying to memorize the feeling. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’m really sorry it took me so long to just… accept that I wanted you. That I wanted you by my side.”

Will didn’t interrupt. He just stayed there, forehead near Mike’s shoulder, listening.

“I didn’t even know how to look at it,” Mike went on, words coming slow at first, then faster, like something had finally opened. “From the beginning. From the very beginning.” He swallowed. “When you disappeared… God, Will, it felt like the world collapsed. Like everything I knew just-” He made a small, helpless gesture with his hand. “Nothing worked without you there.”

Mike pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright and unguarded. “I was terrified. Angry. All the time. And I didn’t know who to be mad at, so I just… buried everything.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “And then there was my dad.”

Will felt Mike tense as he said it.

“He said horrible things,” Mike continued, jaw tight. “About you. About people like you. About what men are supposed to be.” His voice dropped. “He used to say being gay was worse than betraying your own country. Like it was the worst thing a person could be.” Mike shook his head, disbelief still there. “Once he said he’d rather have a dead son than a homosexual.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I fucking hated him for that. I still do.”

Will’s chest ached.

“And my mom…” Mike hesitated. “She never really stopped him. Not the way she should’ve. She’d change the subject, or pretend not to hear.” He sighed. “That hurt. But I still love her. I don’t know how not to.”

He looked away for a moment, then back at Will. “Nancy’s the one who helped me get out of that. She didn’t let me stay quiet about it. She called him out. She called me out.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “She’s brutal like that.

“And Holly,” he added softly. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any of this yet. I want it to stay that way.” Mike’s hands slid up to Will’s shoulders, holding him gently now. “So I told myself it was all in my head,” he said. “That what I felt about you was just… you being my best friend. That I was imagining things.”

His voice dropped to almost nothing. “But I thought about you all the time. When you were gone. When you were in California. Even when I was with El, it felt wrong, because you were still there. In my head. In my dreams.”

He let out a shaky breath. “And finding out that you felt something too?” Mike laughed softly, disbelieving. “It was fucking terrifying. Like I could finally breathe.” He looked at Will again, open and honest. “I was scared of what it meant. But I’m more scared of not choosing you.”

Mike swallowed hard, like there was one last thing lodged in his throat that refused to go down. “There’s something else,” he said quietly. “Something I’ve been carrying around for years.”

Will didn’t move. He nodded once, giving him space.

Mike let out a deep breath. “The day we fought,” he said. “Back when we were thirteen. In the rain.” His jaw clenched. “I think about that day all the time.”

Will’s stomach tightened.

“When I said-” Mike winced. “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.” He shut his eyes for a second. “God. I knew the second it came out of my mouth that it was wrong. I could hear it. I could see it on your face.”

Will remembered the way the words had lodged somewhere deep and never quite left. 

“You weren’t just mad,” Mike continued. “You were telling the truth. And it scared the hell out of me.” He opened his eyes again, looking straight at Will. “You made me desperate.”

Will frowned slightly. “Desperate for what?”

“For honesty,” Mike said. “For myself.” He shook his head. “You said I was ruining everything. And part of me knew you were right. Because we were happy. Just us. Playing games, building stuff, sitting in the basement for hours. Being together.” His voice softened. “That was enough. It was always enough.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Dating El felt like I was trying to fill a hole I didn’t understand yet.”

Will’s breath hitched, but he stayed quiet.

“I did love her,” Mike said quickly. “I really did.” He looked almost pained as he said it. “But I fell in love with her because she showed up when you were gone. Because she helped me find you.” His voice cracked. “Because loving her felt like hope, when everything else felt like it was dying.

“And when you came back…” Mike shook his head slowly. “Everything got messy. Because suddenly the thing I’d been missing was right there again. And I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

He looked at Will, eyes glassy. “I stopped loving her like that when you came back. I just didn’t know how to say it. Or what it meant. Or how to be the kind of person who didn’t hurt everyone around me.”

Mike stepped closer, hands curling into Will’s shirt like he needed something solid. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “For hurting you. For hurting her. For being a coward.”

Will’s chest felt too full, like it might split open. He reached up without thinking, resting his hand over Mike’s heart, feeling it pound beneath his palm.

“You didn’t ruin everything,” Will said softly. “We were kids. We were scared.”

Mike leaned into the touch, eyes closing. “I just wish I’d understood sooner,” he murmured. “That what I was missing wasn’t something new. It was you.”

Will stayed very still, letting every word settle, feeling the weight and the truth of it press warmly into his chest. 

Will felt the dampness spreading slowly through the fabric of his shirt. Mike was shaking against him, breaths breaking apart as he cried quietly, like he was afraid to take up too much space even now.

Will didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around Mike with everything he had, pulling him in tight, chest to chest, anchoring him there. He wanted Mike to feel it - that none of what he’d said had fallen into the void. That every word mattered. That it had landed somewhere safe.

Mike’s face pressed into his shoulder, fingers curling into Will’s back like he was afraid of slipping away. Will held him harder, grounding, steady. The past - the hurt, the fear, the wrong turns - all of it felt distant in that moment. Not erased, but no longer in control. What mattered was now. The way Mike was here. The way he trusted Will enough to break apart in his arms.

Will pressed a soft kiss to the top of Mike’s head, breathing him in. The smell of his hair made something in his chest ache in the gentlest way.

“Just give it time,” Will whispered, voice low and certain. “And be kind to yourself.”

Mike’s shoulders trembled again, a quiet sound caught in his throat. Will didn’t pull away. He stayed exactly where he was, forehead resting against Mike’s curls, heart steady against his.

“I’m with you now,” he said softly. “And I will be. I promise you.”

Will didn’t feel afraid when he say it. He didn’t feel wrong or ashamed of who he was. He just felt perfect, and exactly where he was meant to be.

[✦]

San Francisco, January of 1990.

Will woke up to the sound of the radio before he fully understood where he was.

The voice felt far away, muffled by sleep, filling the dim room with something too serious for that early hour. He tried to ignore it, turning his face into the pillow, but the words kept pushing through, slowly making sense.

“… Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega surrendered to U.S. forces following the American invasion of Panama, which began in December of nineteen eighty-nine…”

Will frowned, hovering between asleep and awake. The radio was probably on the wrong station again.

“…Noriega was taken into custody and transported to the United States to face charges related to drug trafficking…”

He reached out blindly, trying to shut it off, but his arm didn’t move the way it should. A sharp tingle ran down to his fingers. Confused, he glanced down.

Mike was sprawled across his chest, fast asleep, his arm trapped beneath Will’s body, heavy and warm. His boyfriend’s weight pinned him in place, steady and real, his hair a dark mess against Will’s collarbone.

Will smiled to himself.

He tried curling the fingers of the arm that had gone numb beneath Mike’s weight, barely succeeding. The tingling spread again, Mike shifted slightly in response, a soft sound leaving his throat. Will took the opportunity to brush Mike’s hair away from his face, fingers gentle, almost reverent, before letting his thumb trace the warm curve of his cheek.

For a moment, he considered letting him sleep.

Mike was unfairly cute like this - lashes dark against his skin, mouth relaxed, breathing slowly. There was something disarming about seeing him unguarded, like the world couldn’t reach him here. Will felt that familiar swell in his chest, the kind that made everything feel fuller than it should.

But reality tugged at him anyway. They had work. They had a bus to catch. And Mike, if left alone, would absolutely sleep through both.

Will leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Then another. And another, closer to the corner of his mouth.

Mike groaned quietly, scrunching his face in protest. “Mm- no,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Five more minutes.”

Will smiled against his skin. “You said that yesterday.”

Mike cracked one eye open, then the other, blinking slowly as his gaze focused on Will’s face above him. His lips were pushed into a sleepy pout, hair sticking up at odd angles. Will couldn’t help it. He leaned in and gave him a quick gentle peck.

“Morning,” Will whispered.

Mike exhaled a small laugh, eyes half-lidded. “Morning,” he replied, dragging the word out as if it cost him effort. His hand shifted, fingers curling lazily into Will’s shirt. “Why are you awake already?”

“Radio woke me up,” Will said softly. “And we’re gonna miss the bus.”

Mike sighed dramatically, dropping his forehead against Will’s chest. “I hate the bus,” he muttered.

“I know,” Will said, still smiling, fingers brushing through Mike’s hair again. “But I like you awake.”

Mike hummed at that, lifting his head just enough to look at him again, eyes warm despite the sleep. “Yeah?” he asked.

Will nodded. “Yeah.”

Mike woke up all at once.

It was abrupt, like a switch flipping - his body lifting, shifting until he was straddling Will without really thinking about it. Sleep clung to him in loose pieces, but his smile was sharp and awake, unmistakably Mike. His hands slipped under Will’s shirt, palms warm against bare skin, fingers spreading as they moved upward, slow and deliberate. The tips brushed over Will’s nipples, just enough to make him inhale sharply.

“Well,” Mike murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “guess I’m awake now.”

Will flushed instantly, heat crawling up his neck. He laughed under his breath, embarrassed and helpless all at once, hands tightening around Mike’s waist like he needed something to hold onto. Mike was bare-chested, skin still warm from sleep, and Will was painfully aware that he was wearing Mike’s shirt.

“We don’t have time for this,” Will said, trying to sound serious and failing completely.

Mike leaned down instead, pressing his mouth to Will’s neck, right below his jaw. “You always say that,” he replied, lips brushing skin.

Will laughed, breathless, his nails digging into Mike’s hips. Despite himself, he tilted his head to the side, giving Mike more room. He let go. Let himself feel it.

Mike took his time kissing, lingering, tracing the curve of Will’s neck with his mouth like he had nowhere else to be. Will let out a soft sound before he could stop it, suddenly very aware of the house around them, of doors and hallways and the fact that they weren’t alone.

Mike’s finger traced lightly over Will’s chest again, slow, intentional- a loud knock hit the door.

“Get up!” Eleven called from the other side. “Breakfast is ready!”

Mike exhaled sharply, forehead dropping against Will’s shoulder, his tongue still warm against his skin as if he refused to retreat just yet. 

“She’s so fucking unbelievable,” he muttered, clearly annoyed. Mike finally pulled away with a frustrated sigh, shifting his weight back and climbing off Will. The mattress dipped as he stood, stretching his arms over his head before bending down to search for his clothes scattered across the floor.

Will stayed sitting for a moment, watching him without shame. Mike’s body had become familiar in a way that still felt unreal sometimes - the slope of his shoulders, the lines of his back, the easy way he moved like he belonged exactly where he was. It was always good to look at. 

“We should shower together,” Mike said casually, tugging his jeans up his legs. “Save time.”

Will snorted, pushing himself off the bed. He peeled the shirt over his head and tossed it toward Mike, who caught it easily. “You know that’s the last thing that would save time.”

Mike grinned, unmistakably wicked, and crossed the room in two quick steps. He hooked an arm around Will’s waist, pulling him close, and kissed him — slow and confident, like he had nowhere else to be. Will melted into it, hands coming up automatically, the world narrowing down again.

They were dangerously close to forgetting everything when Eleven’s voice cut through the door again.

“I can hear you,” she said flatly.

Will groaned, dropping his forehead against Mike’s shoulder. “Fuck- Jesus Christ,” he muttered, genuinely annoyed this time.

Mike laughed softly, pressing one last kiss into Will’s hair before letting him go. “Later,” he promised.

They dressed quickly after that and made their way downstairs.

The kitchen was already alive. Joyce and Hopper sat at the table, mugs in hand, talking quietly. Eleven stood by the stove, focused on flipping eggs in a pan. Will greeted them first, slipping easily into the space, while Mike trailed behind him, still yawning, rubbing at his eyes as if the morning had personally offended him.

They took their seats at the table.

Will poured himself a glass of orange juice and reached for toast, stacking eggs on top with careful focus, like concentrating on breakfast might save him from being perceived. Mike sat beside him, still half lost somewhere else, staring at nothing in particular while Joyce slid a plate in his direction.

For a few quiet seconds, it almost worked.

Then Hopper cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “You two have been… pretty loud lately.”

Will nearly choked on his juice.

Mike snapped fully back to reality, coughing once, face immediately flushing red. “What?” he blurted, a little too fast.

Eleven laughed openly as she sat down across from them, clearly delighted. “I heard it too,” she added, completely unbothered, biting into her toast like this was premium entertainment.

Joyce shot Hopper a look and kicked him hard under the table. “Jim,” she hissed, mortified. Then she turned to Will and Mike with an apologetic smile. “You boys just- maybe be a little careful. The walls are thin.”

Hopper shrugged, unfazed. “Exactly my point. We’re the ones hearing everything.”

Will stared down at his plate, cheeks burning, suddenly very invested in his eggs. Mike wasn’t doing much better, shoulders tense, eyes fixed anywhere but up. Eleven kept eating, amused and unbothered, like this was the best day she’d had in weeks.

Breakfast dissolved into a quiet kind of discomfort.

Joyce and Hopper exchanged a few low comments about work schedules and grocery lists, the kind of domestic small talk meant to smooth things over. 

Eleven ate peacefully, completely unbothered, occasionally glancing up just to watch Mike’s scowl deepen every time he realized she was looking at him. Will kept his eyes on his plate, the heat in his cheeks slowly fading, replaced by a familiar, manageable calm.

As soon as the last dishes were cleared, everything moved fast. They rushed to get ready for work, shoes pulled on half-wrong, jackets grabbed from the backs of chairs. 

They did end up in the shower together, steam fogging up the small bathroom - but under Will’s strict supervision. He kept Mike at arm’s length, batting away wandering hands, laughing softly when Mike tried to steal kisses anyway.

“You’re evil,” Mike complained, forehead resting briefly against Will’s shoulder.

“You’ll survive,” Will replied, smiling.

San Francisco hadn’t been part of some grand plan at first. It had happened in pieces.

Joyce had landed a job as a sales representative for a soda company not long after moving west - steady pay, long hours, something that let her finally breathe without looking over her shoulder. Hopper came with her under a new name, driving delivery trucks across the city, learning the streets like they were a map he could memorize into safety.

Eleven was back in school, repeating her last year of high school after everything she’d missed. She complained about it loudly, but she went every day.

And Mike - Mike had chosen this.

Hawkins had started to feel too small, too tight around his chest. And more than that, he couldn’t stand the idea of Will being far away again, of time and distance doing what monsters quite managed to do.

So he stayed.

And every morning was like this, awkward breakfasts and rushed showers included, felt like proof that he’d made the right choice.

They were already on the bus when the city fully woke up.

Will sat by the window, Mike pressed close at his side, knees touching, shoulders warm against each other as the bus rattled forward. Their fingers were laced together in Will’s lap, easy and natural, like they’d always belonged there. 

The morning light slid through the windows in pale stripes, catching on dust and movement and the quiet rhythm of the ride.

Mike worked at a computer store in the mall, surrounded by blinking screens and humming machines. Will worked nearby, in a small bookstore that smelled like paper and coffee and dusted shelves. Close enough that they shared the commute, close enough that lunch breaks sometimes overlapped if they were lucky.

Every morning was like this.

They talked about nothing and everything - work schedules, a movie they wanted to see, something stupid Hopper had said the night before. They didn’t lower their voices. They didn’t pull their hands apart when someone walked past or glanced their way. If anyone looked too long, neither of them noticed. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t care.

When the bus stopped in front of the mall, they stood together, stepping down onto the sidewalk with the rest of the morning crowd. Mike squeezed Will’s hand once before letting go.

“I’ll see you after,” Mike said.

Will smiled. “Don’t be late.”

Mike grinned back, already walking backward toward his entrance. “You love me too much.”

Will rolled his eyes, still smiling, and watched Mike disappear inside before turning toward the bookstore, the day settling into place around him.

[✦]

A few days later, it became a problem.

What Hopper had said lingered in the house like a bad smell that refused to fade. It turned into a rule without ever being spoken out loud, and Will and Mike bent themselves around it until it almost hurt.

They learned how to be quiet in ways that felt ridiculous.

They kissed without laughing too hard afterward, mouths pressed together while their shoulders shook with the effort of holding it in. They talked in low voices even when they were alone, words brushing instead of landing. When Mike decided - deliberately, cruelly - that waking Will up with more than kisses was a good idea, Will clamped a hand over his own mouth, biting down on his knuckles to keep from making a sound.

It was exhausting.

It was also impossible.

They were young and restless and very much in love, and the house felt smaller every day. Eleven, apparently, had chosen chaos as her new hobby. Any time Mike and Will managed to steal a moment - any time the door closed for more than a minute, any time things got too quiet - she appeared. Knocking. Calling Will’s name. 

Once, she just stood in their room and stared, head tilted, clearly unimpressed. Mike had stared back, jaw tight, hands fisted at his sides like he was holding himself together by force alone.

“Someday,” he muttered afterward, pacing the room, “I’m going to set her room on fire.”

Will snorted, collapsing onto the bed, half-laughing and half-losing his mind. “You’re dramatic.”

“She does it on purpose,” Mike insisted, dropping down beside him. “She fucking senses it. I swear to God.”

Will turned onto his side, watching him with fond, tired eyes. He reached out and brushed his thumb over Mike’s knuckles, grounding him. “She’s not wrong,” he said softly. “We have been… loud.”

Mike groaned, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I hate this house.”

Will smiled despite himself, leaning closer, pressing his forehead to Mike’s shoulder. 

But the truth was that Will couldn’t take it anymore either.

He spent the rest of the week counting days like they were something physical, something he could peel off the calendar with his fingers. Sunday became a promise he replayed in his head over and over - quiet house, closed doors, no interruptions. 

Six long days dragged themselves by before it finally arrived.

That morning, Joyce, Hopper, and Eleven left early for their usual breakfast at the waffle place El loved. Will stood by the window and watched them go, watched Hopper fiddle with the keys, watched Eleven climb into the backseat, watched his mother laugh at something Hopper said.

He didn’t even wait for the engine to turn over.

The second the front door closed behind them, Will grabbed Mike by the front of his shirt and shoved him back against it, hard enough to make it rattle in its frame. Their mouths collided immediately - messy, desperate, all heat and impatience. Mike made a surprised sound into the kiss, half a laugh, half a breathless, “Jesus- fuck, Will.”

Will growled back at him, low and frustrated, like the sound had been building for days and finally had somewhere to go. He barely pulled back enough to breathe.

“God-” Mike started, breath wrecked, forehead knocking lightly against the door behind him. “We didn’t even-”

“Don’t,” Will cut in, voice low and rough, mouth brushing Mike’s as he spoke. “If you say anything about time or- fuck it, I don’t care.” He shook his head, pressing another hard kiss to Mike’s lips. “I’ve waited all week.”

Mike let out a breathy laugh that dissolved into a groan when Will’s hands fumbled with his shirt buttons. “You think I haven’t?” he muttered. “I swear, if El knocked on the door one more time…”

Will growled softly in agreement, finally getting one button undone, then another. “I was losing my mind,” he said, words spilling out between kisses. “I couldn’t even look at you without getting hard.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, hands already at Will’s waist. “Same. You’re not special.”

Will huffed a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to Mike’s shoulder for half a second. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you love me,” Mike shot back.

Will lifted his head, eyes dark, breath uneven. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I really do.”

Mike’s answering smile softened instantly, something warm and real cutting through the impatience. He leaned in again, slower this time, lips brushing Will’s. “Then don’t stop,” he whispered.

Will didn’t, he barely managed to shut the bedroom door before Mike was there again, hands on his waist, breath warm against his mouth.

“God,” Mike muttered, half a laugh, half a plea. “I thought we were never gonna get a minute.”

“Stop talking,” Will whispered back, but he was smiling when he said it.

They kissed again, slower this time, heavier. Will’s fingers went straight to Mike’s shirt. He could feel his own hands shaking, not from fear, but from how badly he wanted this. Mike noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured against Will’s lips, catching his wrists gently. “It’s okay.”

That only made it worse. Will exhaled sharply and nodded, letting Mike help, their hands overlapping as the last button came free. Mike shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall somewhere near the bed, and Will didn’t look away. He never got tired of this part - of seeing Mike like this, still unreal. .

Mike’s hands slid under Will’s shirt next, thumbs brushing his skin as he lifted it slowly. Will raised his arms without being asked, cheeks warm, heart loud. The fabric was pulled over his head and tossed aside, and suddenly there was nothing between them but air and breath and the way Mike was looking at him.

“You okay?” Mike asked quietly, grounding a hand at Will’s hip.

Will nodded, stepping closer. “More than okay.”

That was enough. Mike kissed him again, deeper now, backing him toward the bed. They fumbled with belts and waistbands, laughing softly when they nearly lost their balance, the sound muffled like it didn’t want to travel past the walls.

By the time they reached the bed, clothes were scattered across the floor in careless pieces, forgotten. Will sat back against the mattress, pulling Mike down with him by the wrist, their foreheads touching as they caught their breath.

It felt like the first time again - only softer, steadier, like they finally knew how to find each other without rushing.

Will knew now where to touch, where to linger. He learned Mike’s reactions the way you learned a favorite song, by heart. When he pressed closer, when he tightened his grip just enough, Mike made a low sound against his mouth that sent warmth straight through Will’s chest. It grounded him. It made him feel real.

For a split second, Will remembered that first night - how clumsy they’d been, all elbows and nerves and breathless laughter. How they’d paused too often, asked too many questions, messed up and figured it out anyway. It had been strange and overwhelming and good in a way Will hadn’t known how to name yet.

Now, it was still good. Just quieter. Deeper.

Will shifted above him, bracing himself with his hands as he moved, feeling Mike beneath him. Mike’s eyes were closed, lashes resting against his cheeks, hair spread across the pillow in a dark mess. His mouth was parted as he breathed, chest rising and falling steadily, like he trusted Will completely.

That thought made something in Will’s chest ache.

He slid his hands up along Mike’s neck, thumbs brushing gently before trailing down over his chest, taking his time. He wanted to feel all of it - the warmth, the tension, the way Mike reacted to every touch like it mattered.

Mike opened his eyes just long enough to look at him, pupils dark. “You’re thinking again,” he murmured, voice rough but fond.

Will smiled, leaning down until their foreheads touched. “I always think,” he whispered. “About you.”

Mike exhaled a quiet laugh, one hand coming up to rest at Will’s side, thumb brushing there like an answer.

“Good,” he said softly.

Mike shifted them without breaking the closeness, the movement instinctive, practiced now. Suddenly he was above Will, his weight familiar and welcome, fitting against him in a way that pulled a sound from Will’s chest before he could stop it. He didn’t bother trying to be quiet this time. The relief of it - of not having to hold back - washed through him all at once.

Mike pressed his face into Will’s shoulder, teeth grazing there, grounding himself. Will wrapped his legs around him, holding him close, closer than close, like proximity alone wasn’t enough. He wanted everything to disappear except this - except Mike, warm and real and here.

Mike kissed along his jaw, slow and reverent, then claimed Will’s mouth again, tongue slipping past his lips with a devotion that made Will dizzy. It felt earnest, almost sacred, like Mike was pouring every unsaid thing into the kiss. Will’s hands slid up his back, nails digging in.

Everything built fast after that - heat, breath, the way Mike moved with purpose now, sure of what they were doing to each other. Will clung to him, trembling, overwhelmed by how much he felt, by how much he was allowed to feel. He bit down against Mike’s lip by accident, too hard, lost in it, and Mike only made a low sound in response, refusing to pull away.

The room filled with them - breath, quiet gasps, the bed shifting beneath their weight - until Will tipped over the edge, the feeling stretching out and taking him with it. Mike stayed with him through it, didn’t stop, didn’t rush, until he finally collapsed down against Will’s chest, spent and shaking.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Mike lifted his head just enough to cup Will’s face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and kissed him again - slow this time, like a promise.

Will kissed him back, still catching his breath, still feeling like he might never come back down.

Mike stayed there for a moment, weight warm and familiar, their breathing slowly finding the same rhythm again. Will could feel his heartbeat against his chest, steadying, real. He ran his fingers through Mike’s hair, gentle now, grounding himself in the softness of it.

Mike shifted just enough to rest his head properly on Will’s shoulder, one arm draped across his waist. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low and a little shy again, like he’d just remembered himself.

“Hey,” Will answered back, smiling into his hair.

They lay there like that, tangled and quiet, the house still silent around them. The urgency had burned itself out, leaving something calmer behind. Safer. Will stared at the ceiling for a second, feeling full in a way that had nothing to do with his body anymore.

Mike pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone, almost absentminded. “I’m glad to love you,” he said.

Will swallowed, emotion tightening his throat in the best possible way. He turned his head just enough to kiss Mike’s temple. “Me too.”

Eventually, they shifted under the blankets, limbs fitting together easily, like this was something they’d always known how to do. Will closed his eyes, Mike’s arm firm around him, and let himself believe - just for now - that this moment was enough.

Outside the room, the world kept going. 

Inside, they rested together. 

And they were perfect.