Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mike woke to the sun, warm on his face. It filtered through the half-turned blinds, tracking across the bed in slants. He nestled further into the plush bedding, lips smacking in satisfaction. Last he remembered, he was on his way somewhere. Maybe he’d had one of those dreams where he was late for work.

Mike blinked open one bleary eye, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, but his line of sight was blocked by a familiar head of sleep-mussed hair. Both of his eyes shot open, wired awake like he’d been doused with a gallon of espresso.

Will was a pleasant weight at his side, head on his chest, leg tossed over his middle as he slept. Mike’s fingers twitched when he realized they rested on Will’s thigh. His bare thigh. He swallowed tightly, a sudden lump in his throat. He craned his neck to get a better view, careful not to jostle Will too much. He’d probably have a panic attack if he woke up leeched to Mike like this. 

He couldn’t remember why they were sharing a bed, let alone why Will’s legs were bare, but it didn’t gross him out. If anything… Mike shook his head roughly. What a dangerous thought.

From what he could see, they were in a warmly lit bedroom. Brick, hardwood, matching dark furniture. The bedding was rumpled, twisted around Mike’s legs. He couldn’t remember what he’d worn to bed the night before either, but he felt pretty certain it wasn’t a pair of black sweatpants and no shirt. Will, on the other hand, devastatingly so, was in a giant t-shirt and nothing else. Mike was just as certain he’d remember that, at least.

Gingerly, just to make sure this was real and not some sex dream, he pressed his fingertips into Will’s thigh, testing the give of his body. It had to be a dream. Will lived in New York, and he wasn’t… He had a nice shape, but he didn’t look like this. Then again, they hadn’t seen each other in a few months. Still, how was it possible he’d thickened up so much?

Will stirred with a sleepy grumble, hips hitching against him, head bumping under Mike’s chin like a cat as he burrowed closer. His lips drifted over his chest in a lazy kiss, hand falling to rest over his. He dragged it up his thigh to his bare hip, placed it just beneath the hem of his shirt. It was a clear signal. Feel me up. 

Holy shit, Mike thought.

When he didn’t move, too frozen in shock, Will let out a breath of irritation, nearly a pout. He stirred, shifting over him, kissing his neck and chin, then his mouth. “Good morning,” he murmured as he settled against him.

Boy, is it, Mike thought as he kissed him back. He’d had dreams like this before, little domestic scenarios with Will. He was only a dude after all, and Will just kept getting better looking by the day. His dreams weren’t usually this vivid, though. Everything from Will’s toes curling against his leg to his mouth pressed to Mike’s in a stream of leisurely kisses felt so real.

Will’s shirt slid up his body as he moved, knees on either side of Mike’s hips, straddling him. He’d never seen so much of him, not even enough to let his imagination do the rest. He was practically naked. Mike’s eyes popped wide when Will grew annoyed with the way the shirt rolled against him. He reached behind his head and gripped the collar, shucking it off and tossing it away.

Will Byers was completely naked on top of him, humming happily against his mouth as he ducked down for another kiss, soft pecks turning deep and languid, tongue lazy as it stroked into his mouth. 

Mike was so frazzled he couldn’t make his hands move, couldn’t put them on Will’s body no matter how much he wanted to run them all over him. He just lay there, completely stunned.

A moment later, Will pulled back with his brow furrowed. He touched his cheek in concern. “You okay, Mike?”

Mike managed a jerky nod. “Yeah, fine. You’re just…” He broke off to clear his throat and finally lifted his hands to place them on the small of Will’s back. Perfectly respectable. His skin was smooth and warm. Mike’s thumb moved with the dip in his spine, tracing along the curve. “You know.” Hot and on top of me.

Will smiled, pleased at that. “I do know,” he said loftily, and Mike got the sense he really did, and frequently used it against him to get his way. “But I like it when you tell me.” He folded his arms across Mike’s chest and rested his chin there, blinking up at him innocently, yet expectantly.

Mike licked his lips, Will’s eyes flicking to the movement and back. “You’re never this speechless,” he noted with a hint of amusement. “Am I really that unexpected? You barely opened your eyes to look at me yesterday morning before you rolled me onto my stomach.”

Uh, Mike thought stupidly.

Unexpected was one way to describe it. Now that Mike looked closely, the Will draped across him wasn’t the same Will he’d said goodbye to in the summer. He was older, not absurdly so, but definitely mid to late twenties. He’d filled out, hips and thighs, the ass Mike’s hand had absently drifted down to grip. 

Will crawled up his body with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before, mouth trailing from his navel to his chest. Mike’s breath hitched when Will’s hand slipped into his sweatpants, lightly tracing the shape of him. He twitched helplessly, confused as all hell but insanely turned on.

Will grinned against his neck, and then he was eagerly tugging off Mike’s pants, looking down at him with a distinctly hungry expression as he leaned back. “I’m going to suck–”

The alarm buzzed, both of them jumping. Will almost fell off the bed as he untangled himself from Mike, diving to turn it off before it got too loud. “Oh, no. I forgot I had a meeting this morning!” he cried, Mike’s face falling when he didn’t come back to finish what he’d started.

Mike sat up as Will, gloriously naked and not at all shy about Mike seeing, disappeared into what must have been a connecting bathroom. He heard the shower turn on, then Will poked his head out of the doorway. 

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked skeptically, eyes narrowing slightly.

Mike nodded enthusiastically. This was weird as fuck, but it was also the best dream he’d ever had. Will’s eyes narrowed further. “Then why aren’t you in here with me?”

Mike stared at him. Did he mean…?

“You want me to…?”

Will made a face at him. “Not if I have to spell it out for you, Michael,” he said, and then promptly shut the door.

Mike deflated a bit. Well, he’d blown that.

Will’s absence gave him the chance to look around. This was clearly their bedroom, the bed pushed to the far brick wall beneath the wide window, wrought iron bars and a cityscape beyond of it. Will’s drawings–pages of hands and eyes, studies in human anatomy–were tacked up on the wall, placed in a stilted pattern, overlapping each other. There was a long dresser and a mirror, cluttered with knickknacks and half-burned candles, a small box television resting on top of it with a pile of haphazardly stacked VHS tapes beside it. 

Mike slowly climbed out of bed, taking it all in. He opened the closet door, found clothes hanging that must’ve belonged to Will. He’d always liked sweaters, always liked layering. They were mixed with clothes that Mike instinctually knew were his. Long sleeves, windbreakers. They’d thrown everything in together, as if it didn’t matter who the item really belonged to. After, he knelt down to pick over the bookshelf, pulling out a few titles he’d never heard of. One, a thick fantasy novel with a red heart embossed shield on the cover, had his name on it. 

As the author.

Mike shoved the book back into place and took a huge step back. This was too fucking weird. He slapped his cheeks repeatedly, muttering a frantic mantra of, “Wake up, wake up, wake up.” How could he be seeing and feeling things so vividly? Usually these… totally normal dreams about Will ended the moment he pulled away, and they were always just a bit hazy, Mike having to rely on imagination.

This Will was so real to him, like he was the most perfect version of himself.

Mike backed out of the bedroom and into the hallway, overwhelmed. Paintings of various sizes lined the walls on either side, Will’s signature scrawled in the corners. He almost tripped over the runner rug when he saw one of himself, bent over his desk with hair falling in his face, a tumbler glass of something dark resting beside him as he worked. 

He turned away from it into the living room, flushed that Will had again spent so much time on something he featured in. It was simple: a couch and a matching armchair crooked toward another TV, a coffee table stacked with books and CDs and the stray coaster. Mike felt a little bit like he’d stepped out of time. Things were the same, but they seemed sharper, the TVs a little less chunky, the furniture a little more sleek. 

Mike passed the entry to the kitchen, racing over when he saw the polaroids stuck to the fridge. There were a few photos of the party, but they were older, smooshing their faces together in what looked like a dive bar, pool tables and beer bottles scattered around them. There were some of Mike and Holly, Mike and Nancy, some of Will, Joyce, and Hop. 

There were so many of Mike and Will. Kissing, hugging, no room for any interpretation other than they were in a serious relationship. Will had neatly labeled them: Us, 1991. M + W, 1995. Still crazy together, 1999. The timeline spanned nearly a decade. In the last dated polaroid, Will looked much the same as he had when Mike woke up. Someone had taken the picture from a distance, an older Mike sat in a folding camping chair, Will on his lap. There was a beach bonfire roaring behind them.

It wasn’t the pose that struck Mike. It was the way he looked at Will. He was laughing at something out of frame, Mike gazing up at him with an unmistakably smitten expression. No, beyond smitten. It was love, adoration. 

“1999,” Mike muttered to himself, thoughtful. He touched his face, but it didn’t feel that different, though he could clearly see in the photo that he was. He went back to the bedroom, looking in the mirror just as the shower cut off, the curtain whipping open. 

Mike nearly didn’t recognize himself. Well, he did, but he was older, hair chopped at just the right length for it to curl across his forehead. He seemed taller and broader, bone structure more defined. He’d lost the gangly teenage awkwardness, growing into his long limbs. There was a subtle confidence in the eyes that stared back at him. This was the guy who was fucking Will. 

“Holy shit,” Mike said just as the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out.

Then, a scene danced before him like he was suspended between realities, the then and now overlapping. Mike sat on a stool in the bathroom, Will trimming his hair behind him. He ran his fingers through the curls, fluffing them up with a slight smile. When he was done, Mike shook himself like a dog. Will smacked him, then bodily shoved him into the shower. He darted for the tap, turning on the cold water before Mike could catch him. 

It was no matter, because Mike just pulled him into the shower too, pressing his lips to Will’s cheek, arms locked around his waist as he squirmed, the cold water raining down on them both as they stood there laughing, fully clothed. Eventually, the water heating up, Will’s protests dissolved into long drawn out moans. Mike crowded him back against the wall, hand working between his legs, Will clutching at his hair.

Mike rubbed a hand over his eyes, dazed. Somehow, he’d woken up in the future, the future where he was in a committed relationship with Will Byers–a Will Byers who walked around naked and wanted to get fucked first thing in the morning.

And he’d totally fumbled the chance to shower with him. Mike slapped himself in the forehead. “You idiot.”

When Will walked back into the bedroom, he was dressed casually in jeans and a button down. He ran fingers through his hair, tugging on it purposefully until it laid in an artful disarray. Mike sat on the edge of the bed, just watching him, wondering how he made it all look so effortless. His body was… something else, even fully clothed. How had he never noticed before? Or maybe he had and he’d just stuffed it down where it would never see the light of day. 

After Will finished lacing up his shoes, he came over to kiss Mike on the cheek, then draped himself over him in a hug, letting out a happy sigh when Mike held him back. “You’re so quiet today,” he murmured as he leaned back, pressing the back of his hand to Mike’s forehead. His eyes were soft with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mike? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m okay,” Mike croaked, Will’s cologne thick and heady in his nose, lingering from where he’d kissed his cheek and neck. 

Will frowned like he didn’t believe him. “Alright, if you say so. Maybe try to take it easy today? Do some brainstorming instead of squinting at your computer screen for hours on end?”

Mike nodded listlessly, not trusting himself to speak. He kind of just wanted to jump Will’s bones, but it hadn’t quite settled in yet that he could just do that. In this world, in this period of time, he and Will were boyfriends. They lived together. They fucked. Mike felt like he had a severe case of whiplash.

Will hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something else before he thought better of it. Mike could tell his odd reactions were throwing him off, confusing him. He seemed… hurt by it, soft hazel eyes downcast. Mike’s heart dropped. He caught Will’s wrist as he turned away. He didn’t want to bungle up 1999 Mike’s relationship while he was here. They seemed affectionate enough, Will crawling onto his lap any chance he got. 

1999 me probably can’t keep his hands off of him, Mike thought with an internal snort.

When Will glanced down at him questioningly, he tugged him close and kissed him softly on the mouth, chaste compared to every other kiss they’d shared since Mike woke up. “Have a good day,” he murmured against his mouth. “I’ll be here when you get back.” He didn’t know if he would be, if he’d wake up from this… amazing dream before then, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Will smiled slightly, a flush across his cheeks. “Okay,” he said quietly, darting in to kiss him one more time before he was off.

Mike was left in their giant loft apartment, surrounded by all the evidence of the happy, peaceful life Will and 1999 Mike shared. One he wasn’t even sure was real, much less one he thought he deserved. What if this was all in his head? He’d imagined some future where he and Will ended up together?

How was he ever supposed to go back to real life knowing this is what he’d be leaving behind? 

Mike sighed, tapping restless fingers on his knees. Eventually, he grew nosy and slipped to the floor to open one of the nightstand drawers. Sketchbooks, stray colored pencils, tubes of paint, and charcoal. The drawer was clearly Will’s. He rummaged around a bit, coming up with a small keepsake box full of notes and photographs, doodles on scrap paper and folded up short stories. Mike flipped through them, realizing almost all of them were from him. For Will. To Will. I miss you, Will. I love you, Will.

Mike sat there dumbfounded. Some of these were… a little explicit. Short fantasy stories of the paladin and the cleric locked in a smoldering embrace or the knight and the prince keeping each other warm in a hayloft on a cold winter night. The photos were racy, but amateur and all the better for it. He couldn’t believe his Will would grow up into the Will featured. Will on his knees, eyes locked with the camera as he swallowed him down. The bare expanse of Will’s back, Mike’s hand splayed across the middle of it, pressing down and deepening his arch.

Mike’s hands shook as he tucked everything away how he’d found it. He opened the next drawer, then quickly slammed it shut, his face heating. Yeah, Will and 1999 Mike were definitely fucking. If Will sleeping half-naked against him that morning wasn’t indication enough, that certainly was.

He knew he had to get out of the bedroom before he did something crazy like try to stay here forever. He was just an observer. This wasn’t his life. This wasn’t… his Will. 

Mike wandered to the living room, checking out the office area. There was an easel and a wicker stool crooked beside it, a desk and a computer chair–like he and Will might sit there in the quiet and work side by side, enjoying each other’s company. Another overlapping moment in time, or maybe a memory: Will at the easel, a smear of blue paint across his cheek. What do you think? He asked 1999 Mike. Beautiful, Mike said softly, though he hadn’t looked at the painting once.

Mike set about opening drawers and thumbing through notebooks. He wanted to know everything; how they’d come to live in the city, how they’d… How they’d ended up together. How in the fuck did 1991 Mike manage it? He wondered as he shoved a stack of old journals aside, reaching to the back of the drawer–

His hand wrapped around a tiny velvet box. Mike fished it free and popped the lid, then immediately snapped it shut like what was inside might leap out at him. His heart raced, his palms clammy.

Slowly, after a breath, he cracked it open again.

It was a Will the Wise figurine, one of the first versions he’d ever made. There was a simple gold ring looped around him like a necklace. 

Mike stroked a finger across the band of the ring, a pit in his stomach. 1999 Mike was planning on proposing. The Mike who’d done all the work to get with Will was gone, leaving a Mike who could only stare wistfully after him as he left for college, too sick over the miles between them to do anything but mope around. He hadn’t earned this. He felt like some kind of imposter, like 1999 Mike was going to appear out of thin air and kick his ass.

Mike set the ring box on the coffee table, pacing in front of it for a long while, then dropping to the couch to stare at it. 1999 Mike was clearly crazy about Will. Like, obsessed. He thought of Will straddled over him, the tilt of his hips, the draw of his dark eyes. Mike’s mouth went dry. Obviously 1999 Mike was obsessed. It was totally reasonable behavior to write all those love notes and take lewd photos of him.

But enough to get married? Could they even get married?

Mike supposed that didn’t matter. They’d done a lot of things they shouldn’t have, already. Even living here together, as a couple, was taboo. Will hadn’t seemed bothered by it. Maybe… maybe it was better in the city. Strength in numbers. Indiana was such a rotten cesspool. Of course they could–Will could, that was–be publicly gay without fear of small town and small-minded homophobia.

Who was Mike kidding? He lived here, shared a bed with Will, and quite happily it seemed.

Here, in 1999, he could be… publicly…

Mike sighed, rubbing his temples. This was too much information to process. He’d hardly gotten used to the idea of liking Will, of dating him, let alone fucking him and marrying him. But wasn’t that the natural progression of their relationship? Who else was Will supposed to end up with? Obviously it would be Mike. He couldn’t imagine Will with anyone else, living like this.

Being with Will from 1991 to 1999 meant Mike had gotten his shit together at some point, likely their second year of college. What was the trigger? There had to have been some catalyst. Mike hadn’t thought of Will like that, at least consciously, when they’d said goodbye in 1989. There must have been–

Another memory: Will, much younger, still a little skittish, but remarkably brave as he introduced Mike to some faceless blob of a guy. He hadn’t even looked at him, just the tangle of their fingers between them, his stomach turning violently. Nice to meet you, he’d said, even as blind hatred and turbulent jealousy roiled through him, harsh as a storm.

Ah, Mike thought, cringing a bit. Of course. He may have imagined that scenario for him at one time, the happy ending he deserved after everything, but it seemed the reality of it had come around to bite him in the ass. His blood pressure was rising just remembering it. He’d only thought that up to make Will smile, not because he’d actually wanted it to happen.

Or maybe he did, just not with some nameless loser.

He scrubbed at his face, still thick with sleep, then left the ring box on the table as he showered. It wasn’t even in the room, and he couldn’t stop seeing it. Proposing to Will with a D&D figurine. 1999 Mike was such a freaking cornball. Will was totally going to cry, though. The thought filled him with something like teenage giddiness, like he’d just talked to his crush for the first time–which, technically, he supposed he had. 

1999 Will was just so much. Beautiful, confident, sexy. Maybe even a little bit of a brat, like he always got his way where Mike was concerned.

He went back to his desk after he’d showered, flipping through notebooks and binders. He’d spied some of his work earlier, but he’d been focused on the bits that might tell him more about Will. He read his own writing all the time, so it hadn’t seemed that important, but 1999 Mike was obviously successful. Their downtown loft apartment spoke for itself. He finally found what seemed to be the first draft of a novel, dated for a few months before, and sat on the couch to flip through it. 

It was a reimagining of what they’d gone through back in Hawkins all those years ago, but in the style of medieval horror. There was a character clearly inspired by Will, sweet and kind, boyishly handsome. 1999 Mike had flipped the script, the knight character he assumed was meant to resemble himself agonizingly in love with him from page one. It was good, maybe a little longwinded, but good.

When he was finished, he slid a hand down the cover of the binder, drumming his fingers against it. He was writing a book about the party’s past, his story with Will featured prominently throughout. 1999 Mike wasn’t worried about public perception; he didn’t care if someone heard him say he loved Will. 1999 Mike was cool about it.

He could be cool. He could… He could tell Will he loved him. 1999 Mike must do it all the time, more than once a day even.

All of this had seemed impossible an hour ago, but now it seemed just as it should be.

Mike set the binder down and picked up the ring box just as Will’s key turned in the lock, the door opening. Mike fumbled with the box, stuffing it into the front pocket of his hoodie just as Will bent over the back of the couch, kissing his cheek.

“Hi,” he greeted warmly, arms winding around him from behind as he snuggled into his neck and kissed him there too. “Did you get anything done today?”

“Huh?” Mike murmured stupidly, eyes closed as Will’s mouth moved up to his ear. He jolted when Will bit him lightly, tongue swirling over the shell of it. “N-no, I just took it easy like you said. I had a bit of a headache.”

Will made a sympathetic noise, fingers beneath Mike’s chin as he turned his head and kissed him deeply. It was clear what Will wanted, and 1999 Mike probably would have fallen all over himself to make it happen. Was he 1999 Mike now? There was no possible way he could satisfy Will like his older self, his experience painfully minimal. This Will seemed like the demanding sort in bed, a total pillow princess.

He nervously pulled back, and Will’s eyes opened, perplexed. He thought of his Will, who would be a blushing mess, who he could only hope would someday be just as eager as this Will. 1999 Will was everything he could’ve wanted, but his Will wasn’t quite there yet. He was still shy, still unsure of himself. In hindsight, knowing what he did now about their future, Mike could have kicked himself for being such an idiot. Will’s feelings were blatantly obvious. 

Mike realized then just how much he missed him. What would he think of all this? Would he be… happy? Would he love 1999 Mike, too?

Will’s arms slid from around him. “Mike, you’re not acting like yourself. Are you–are you mad at me?” His voice was painfully small.

“What? Of course not,” Mike said quickly, panicking slightly as Will crossed arms over his chest. 

“You’re not treating me as you usually do. You–you haven’t said you loved me all day, you haven’t called me any pet names, and you’re so–I don’t know–jumpy every time I touch you.”

Mike’s mouth went dry. He swallowed roughly. “How do I… usually treat you?” What’s 1999 Mike doing that’s got you so hooked on him? He needed to know everything if he wanted to put the same moves on his will.

“Well, for one, you kiss me back,” Will said, flinging an arm out like duh.

“You said I use pet names? What do I call you?” 

1999 Will stared at him like he was out of his mind and completely missing the point. “What does that matter? Why are you acting like you’ve forgotten everything?” 

Another flash of memory that wasn’t really his: Mike deep inside Will, the dark of their bedroom pressing in. Mike’s hands were on his waist, keeping him steady as he pounded into him, Will’s head tossed back on the pillow, each ragged moan punched out with a snap of Mike’s hips. You feel so good, baby, taking me like you were made for it. Spread your legs, sweetheart. That’s it, let me in.

He was back in the living room just as suddenly as he was in the memory. Will’s voice rose an octave, clearly pissed off at the faraway look on Mike’s face. “Whatever game you’re playing isn’t funny, Michael. You’re upsetting me, so just stop.” He huffed, a little teary as he shrugged back into his coat. “I’m going back to work. Call me when you’re ready to grovel.”

Mike practically flew off the couch after him, pulling Will into his arms. The sudden urgency he felt didn’t seem like his own, more the body he was in reacting. “Hey, don’t go. It’s okay, baby. Of course I love you. I’m… I’m just nervous.” 

“Why would you be nervous?” Will asked, brows knitting together in confusion, hands coming up to cup Mike’s face. “Maybe we should take you to see the doctor. You’re not making any sense.”

Great. Will thought he was crazy. 

If this was all a dream, a beautiful, impossible dream, then it didn’t matter if he revealed 1999 Mike’s secret. He pulled the ring box from his pocket, pressed it into Will’s hand. He said nothing, just watched his face as he opened the box. He knew 1999 Mike probably had some grand plan, but he wasn’t about to let Will leave looking as distraught as he did.

His eyes were swimming when he looked up at him after a long moment of stunned silence. “I thought we agreed we didn’t need rings,” he whispered, voice thick.

“I changed my mind,” Mike said, and then rushed out with, “I want everyone to know what we are to each other. I want–I want everyone to know you’re mine.” They didn’t feel like his words. 1999 Mike was still in there somewhere, must be with the way his heart raced, nearly breaking out in a cold sweat as he waited for Will’s answer. 

Will was still staring down into the box, awed. It took a moment for him to gather himself, sniffling and wiping away a few stray tears. Then he glanced up, giving Mike a small but delighted smile.

Once the ring was on, a perfect fit, Will pounced on him. Mike let out a noise of surprise as they fell back against the couch.

“You had me worried all day. I thought you were going to break up with me,” Will mumbled against his mouth.

Mike’s brows shot up. “Do I look like an idiot to you? Wait–don’t answer that.”

Will just laughed, hastily unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall off his shoulders, Mike’s hands molding to his hips. “Get me ready?” he asked sweetly, lashes fluttering. “I want you. I want you to fuck me like–”

Mike woke with a start, the tape in his Walkman clicking. He lifted his head off the cold train window, pulling his earphones out and untangling the cord from around his bag strap. His heart raced as he tried to place himself, still feeling like he was outside of time.

Right. He was on the train to visit Will. He’d left his dorm early that morning after cramming in all the studying he needed to do over the weekend the night before instead, hopping on the train after an hour or two of sleep. They’d had plans for about two weeks. Over the phone, Will had said there was someone he wanted Mike to meet. He’d sounded nervous, but happy.

Mike let his head fall back onto the window with a thunk.

Fuck me, he thought. I’m about to meet Will’s boyfriend.

His head shot right back up. It was winter, and he was about to meet Will’s boyfriend, which meant it was almost 1991. He and Will had gotten together that year, or they’d at least started seeing each other. He thought back to the polaroid on the fridge. Us, 1991, the two of them kissing in Central Park.

He was already ahead of the curve, knowing what he did about their future. There was no time to waste panicking about liking Will, to think about sexuality or what society would think. None of it mattered when he thought of that high-rise apartment, the bed he shared with Will. He’d never learned how he got Will and his boyfriend to break up, but he was pliant enough if you knew what to do. Will could be convinced of anything, really, when Mike turned on his puppy eyes.

And obviously, Will liked him too. He’d said yes, after all. Or at least, he’d kissed him stupid and then begged him to fuck him. That was as good as a yes in Mike’s book. 

The train rolled to a stop about ten minutes later, Will waiting on the platform when Mike hopped off. He looked good, and Mike knew he would only get better and better. Will barely managed to get out a hey! before Mike threw arms around him, squeezing him tight and nearly lifting him off his feet.

“I missed you,” he said into his hair, nuzzling it. I can’t wait for our future together.

Will’s lashes fluttered in surprise when they pulled apart, caught off guard. He was blushing, ducking his head. “I missed you, too, Mike. I’m really glad you came.”

Mike was practically bouncing on his feet. “I’m gonna visit more often, I promise. You’re going to be sick of me.”

Will’s brow furrowed, lips twitching into a smile. “What’s gotten into you? You’re so… excited. It’s just me, same old Will.”

Yeah. Same old soft, wonderful Will who would grow into the sensual artistic Will who could hardly keep his hands off him in 1999.

Mike tossed an arm around his shoulder as they made their way from the station to the sidewalk. Will was looking up at him, maybe a little weirded out, but pleased all the same. His arm loosely came behind Mike’s back, like he wasn’t sure if he could do that or not. Mike beamed at him, curling him closer.

He had the sudden urge to kiss him, and then a bolt of disappointment shot through him when he realized they’d already had their first kiss, at least he and 1999 Will had, and he wasn’t even aware enough to enjoy it. He’d woken up in 1999 Mike’s body, where kissing Will was the norm. If he kissed Will now, he’d probably have a meltdown between his boyfriend and Mike’s sudden flip in sexuality.

Gotta take it slow, he thought. Go at Will’s pace. It doesn’t matter what happened with 1999 Will. We’ll get there eventually.

It shouldn’t take too long, anyway. Will didn’t look too different than how he did now in those explicit polaroids from the side drawer. Now that Mike thought about it, from what he remembered of Will’s dorm from his last visit, the carpet Will had dropped to his knees on was pretty similar.

“Mike? Are you listening to me?” 

“Sorry, baby,” he said absently, squeezing Will. “What were you saying?”

He realized his mistake too late, Will’s brows shooting to his hairline, lips parting in surprise. 

“Um,” he tried, letting out a flustered, disbelieving laugh. “I–I was just saying–that–um.” He couldn’t look at him, palms pressed to his warm cheeks.

Mike watched him struggle with a slight grin. So cute, he thought. 1999 Will was pissed I hadn’t called him that all day, and my Will is practically hyperventilating over it.

Mike tilted his head, lowering himself to catch Will’s eye. “You just…?” he trailed off, smug.

“Mike,” Will hissed, still red in the face. He elbowed him sharply. “What’s gotten into you? You can’t act like this around–”

“Why not?” Mike asked with a roll of his eyes. “I was here first. If anything, he’s the one intruding.” He wanted to skip past all of this angsty stuff and get right to proposing, but Will was staring up at him like he’d grown another head.

“Mike,” he said slowly, as if he were talking to a child, “you’re my best friend, but he’s my boyfriend. It’s different.”

“Not for us,” Mike said flippantly. “Come on, let’s go meet him and get this over with.” His fingers threaded with Will’s, dragging him along. Will didn’t pull away, though he did seem a little dazed by the turn of events.

The sooner you break up with that guy, the better, Mike thought. He brushed his thumb across the back of Will’s hand, then squeezed it comfortingly. Three times like a spike in a pulse.

The way Will looked at him, Mike knew that if he played his cards right, he could get him to dump his lame boyfriend before the weekend was up.

1991 was shaping up to be the best year of his life.

Chapter Text

Will stirred as hands pulled his legs apart. 

He was suspended in that place between sleep and wakefulness, his body not quite his own. Everything had taken on a hazy, dream-like quality, leaving him sticky and lethargic. The hands slowly pushed his shirt up his abdomen, leaving it bunched up across his torso before smoothing back down. Fingers splayed low on his belly, pressing lightly. 

It sent an illicit flutter through him, his thighs tensing. 

Will’s brow furrowed, and he let out an unintelligible noise. His nerve endings were stripped raw, skin prickling with every slow caress. He’d never experienced such intimacy, but he was dreaming it so vividly. Anticipation rose inside of him, but it didn’t feel like his own. He should’ve been a nervous wreck, fighting to open his eyes, to see who had him pinned, but he wasn’t. Not at all. 

He just wanted those hands to hurry the fuck up and move already.

Will knocked a knee into the body laying over him, and the hand drifted to his side, pinching him in retribution. He jumped, gasping as a soft and sure mouth descended down his body, lips at his navel, over to his hip, dragging across his inner thigh. He wanted to open his eyes, to see everything, but it was like he instinctively knew this was so much better in the dark, like the drop of a rollercoaster or the comedown on a swingset. His stomach twisted pleasantly as the mouth ghosted a breath across his wet skin.

His hands sank into the bedding beneath him, soft and cool between his fingers, unlike the scratchy flannel sheets he remembered laying down on in his dorm. His leg was lifted and hooked over a shoulder, the kisses to his inner thigh turning into love bites, marks tender as bruises left behind. Will reached down with shaking fingers, pressing on one as his… his partner moved to his other leg, giving it the same treatment. He felt sore already, sore and loose, in a way. Like he was being melted down, put into a state of absolute bliss. 

It didn’t matter what the hands did to Will, as long as they didn’t stop.

Will realized he was panting, hips hitching and searching for friction, for some kind of relief. What was taking so long? Why wouldn’t he just–

The hand smoothed down his side, comforting, familiar. He bit his lip, swallowing his complaints. Clearly, this person knew what he was doing. Knew Will. Fingers eased beneath the band of his briefs, hooking the elastic and dragging them down his legs. 

What happened next was a flurry of sensation, too many for him to follow in any coherent way. A hand closed around him, stroking, teasing, squeezing him in amusement when he shuddered. He was kissed all over, but never on his lips, almost purposefully, torturously. Lips wrapped around him, sucking, swallowing, goading him with dragging licks and huffs of hot laughter. His finish tore through him, and he expected to wake up ashamed as he was after every wet dream, but he didn’t.

And his partner didn’t stop.

He was given no time to recover before he was flipped onto his stomach and dragged down the bed. Will let out a yelp, feeling tender and brand new, a thick pillow unceremoniously stuffed under his hips so his lower half was arched in the air. Any embarrassment he might have felt at being so exposed was nonexistent here. Somehow, he knew he wasn’t being watched with anything other than honest desire and returned affection. He loved this person. He knew he did.

This dream was… wonderful.

Lips brushed down his spine, something wet and cold on the fingers that pushed into him. He clutched at the bedding, sucking in a ragged breath. Everything seemed to move in stilted slow motion, nothing then all at once. He felt wrung out, like they’d been there for hours though it must have only been minutes. The fuzzy edges of the dream drew all his focus to each point of contact, all the more intense for how he lingered on each curl and flex of the fingers. His stomach muscles tensed, and his head pitched forward, moaning breathlessly.

His mind went blank, wiped completely clean. When his partner drifted away, the warmth receding, Will panicked. He made a noise of discontent, arm lashing out. An amused Shhh was pressed to his ear along with a soft kiss, and he melted beneath it as thighs bracketed his, a warm hand smoothing down his back, pressing lightly to deepen his arch. His legs were nudged further apart, and then he was full. 

The stretch was painful, but only for a moment. There was a sharp hiss of breath at his ear, a head dropping onto his shoulder. He had no idea he could make someone feel like that with just his body. It was kind of… empowering. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t, not when he was being fucked so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Heat pulsed through him, his toes curling, and he gave himself over to it.

Will had no frame of reference, but despite the rough nature it didn’t feel like just sex. His body was being worshipped, treated with reverence. He knew, if he wanted, he could ask for it to be slow and sticky. He could ask for anything, and it would be freely given. He ached with another finish, completely untouched, and it struck him that what he liked most was how much he felt loved. 

How pathetic. Dreaming of being loved.

An arm wound around his waist, lifting him off the pillow onto all fours. His face was pressed to the bedding, a hand on the back of his head.

Will hadn’t realized how loud he was until there was sudden silence, all the air sucked out of the room. His partner shuddered deeply, pulsing his release inside of him. There wasn’t a second to react before he was being rolled onto his back and kissed hard.

Will made a helpless noise and kissed him back, touching his face, tracing the sharp angles of it, thumbs running beneath soft and fluttering lashes. Please, let him be handsome, he thought. Let him be everything I could’ve wanted. 

He opened his eyes–

Mike gazed down at him, dark hair mussed from sleep and sex, the curls fluffy and wonky. Will’s heart nearly stopped.

It was Mike. Mike but not. Mike but… older?

Mike’s mouth flickered with a satisfied smile before he leaned in to kiss him again, wet and greedy. His tongue swiped along Will’s lower lip, into his mouth, and his hand moved leisurely over his naked body.

When he’d had his fill, he rolled off of Will and fell back onto the bed, stretching arms above his head. “We should start every day like that,” he said with a long sigh, nudging him. 

Will spoke without thinking, like the words didn’t really belong to him. He sounded exasperated, but indulgent. “We do start every day like that.”

Mike’s chest hitched with a laugh, and he latched onto Will’s knee, dragging him across the mattress into his side. His lips touched Will’s cheek before drifting to nuzzle at his hair and ear. 

“Such a dog,” Will grumbled, only half annoyed as he palmed Mike’s face.

Mike licked his hand, and said, “Woof.”

Will kicked him off the bed, and he landed in a tangled heap of long limbs. On his way, he snatched Will's ankle, taking him down with him. He sprawled on top of him, aching pleasantly all over his body as Mike grinned up at him.

If this is a dream, Will thought, then I might as well make the most of it. 

That was how he wound up completely naked in the shower, Mike crowding him against the tile wall, kissing him lazy and deep. The steam combined with all the new sensations he was discovering made it hard to focus. This Mike was so different, still pushy and loudmouthed, but there was a certain charm about him now. The Mike he knew was lanky and skinny as a pole, and this Mike was… not exactly a meathead, but tall and leanly muscled in a way that had Will’s stomach fluttering when he ran hands down his chest and arms.

When his head was more fog than thought, he pushed at Mike. He had no idea how long this dream would last, and he didn’t want to spend all of it kissing.

Though… It was tempting, especially when Mike, with a knowing look, ran a hand through his wet hair, his lips kissed red, turning to the showerhead as Will climbed out to dry off. His back was long and freckled, shoulder blades flexing beneath his skin as he finished washing up. 

Will didn’t let himself get distracted, taking a breath and whipping the shower curtain closed. He wanted to see more of the apartment he’d only been able to glance at as Mike excitedly wrangled him into the shower. All of it seemed so real. There were details around the room he was sure a dream would gloss over.

Will wiped moisture from the mirror out of habit before toweling off his hair. When he looked back up, he froze.

He was older, too. His features were much the same–square jaw, thick brows, strong nose, but he had filled out in other ways. Will touched his face with shaking fingers, confused, then his hand dropped to one of the red marks on his neck. There was no plausible explanation for any of this.

Mike slid the curtain aside, snapping him with another towel he’d swiped from the rack before drying himself off as Will stood there, stunned. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Mike asked, stepping up behind him. His arms came around him, and a kiss was pressed to his cheek.

Will watched it all happen in the mirror, like he was looking through a portal into another dimension, a portal into another Will’s life. 

“Babe?” Mike said again, concerned. 

Will started, realizing he was being spoken to. “I’m okay,” he said automatically, which Mike then took as an invitation to kiss him again. 

God, Will thought, is this all we do? The idea amused him to no end. It was completely absurd, and yet.

“Mike, stop,” he laughed, pushing at his chest. “We have to do something besides kiss each other all day."

Apparently, that something was breakfast. 

Mike announced he was starving, then sheepishly poked through the kitchen cupboards as Will looked on in annoyance after he admitted he forgot he’d been asked to pick some things up. Typical, he thought with an internal eye roll, and then started at the thought. 

Was this domestic scenario typical?

He’d learned several things in the last hour. He and Mike had been in a committed relationship for nearly ten years. They lived in a giant fucking loft in the city; Will was an artist, Mike was a novelist. They were happy, almost disgustingly so, evidence of it all around in the shape of polaroids and sticky notes and the way Mike couldn’t seem to help himself, bending him over the nearest surface and kissing him stupid whenever he was within grabbing distance.

It was kind of getting to him. The sex had been one thing, that was what wet dreams were for. Why was he dreaming about grocery shopping with Mike? Was he really so gone for him that such a simple thing seemed like the event of a lifetime?

In the real world, Will thought, Mike would one day do all of this with his wife. He’d accepted that Mike would never love him the same, that he would have to settle for the friendship they did have, just as important to him as anything else, but it still hurt.

Will clutched his hand a little tighter, Mike glancing over at him with a smile from where he leaned against the grab pole. His free hand was tucked into the strap above Will’s head, keeping them both steady. The subway was decently packed, but Mike knew how to take up just the right amount of space, long legs kicked open for Will to stand between. His affection was easy, casual, not shattering in the way Will had come to expect. 

There was no need to overanalyze the way Mike held him, searching for some hidden meaning. He did it because he wanted to, because Will was his boyfriend. Of course they’d hold hands on a crowded subway.

Will knew people were looking at them; he felt their eyes burning into him, but Mike didn’t even seem to notice–and if he did, he didn’t care. Will turned his head, casting a quick look around. Up the aisle, a group of guys stared at them, one leaning over to whisper, the others laughing.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he turned his face away. He shuffled closer to Mike, and his arm automatically came around his waist, pulling him back to rest against him. 

“Want me to say something to them?” Mike asked in his ear, tensing.

“No, don’t make a scene,” Will rushed out in a whisper. Everyone else was minding their own business, not even looking their way. “They’re just…”

“Assholes?” Mike supplied.

Will’s smile flickered slightly, a little sad as he nodded. Then he lowered his voice and asked, “Does it bother you? Them staring at us like that?”

“Nah, not anymore.” Will felt a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ve got you. All the other shit is just noise.”

“Oh,” Will murmured, flushing hot, pleased at that.

Mike snickered in his ear. “We could really piss them off and start making out right here if you want,” he offered.

“I don’t want to be called a slur on our morning commute,” Will laughed, elbowing him. “And I told you no more kissing.”

“No, what you said is we have to do something besides kissing. That doesn’t negate the kissing itself.”

Will laughed again, feeling a thousand times lighter as he let himself fall back against Mike, watching the yellow tunnel lights whip by as he started up about his latest novel, a medieval horror inspired by their time in Hawkins. The way he talked about it was so separate, as if it had happened so long ago he was removed from the pain. 

Yet, for Will, it was still fresh. It had just happened. Not even going off to college had cured him of it, but as he listened to Mike, he realized that one day… time and distance would. 

That was certainly something to dream about, even if the loft and Mike, this wonderful relationship with him, was all a figment of his imagination.

Then they went grocery shopping, like it was the most mundane thing in the world. They picked the least rickety cart and argued over chip brands. They cut through a garden park and treated themselves to a coffee as a balm for the pain and suffering of the checkout line.

It was a perfect day.

“What’s got you smiling so much?” Mike asked on their way back to the subway station, Will’s arm threaded through his.

“I’m just–really happy,” Will confessed. 

I don’t ever want to wake up.

After breakfast, they lounged on the couch. Mike sat with Will’s feet propped in his lap, reading over something in a thick notebook. He murmured to himself occasionally, crossing things out or writing notes in the margins, clicking his pen thoughtfully in the comfortable silence. 

Will flipped through another one of his published novels, shyly peeking up at him over the pages when he came across a particularly racy or loaded line. He wrote about Will constantly, gave his looks and mannerisms to characters or abstractly quoted him. Always, his protagonists confessed their love to him. Will’s insides twisted with want, the itch in his hands nearly unbearable.

Mike had ditched the wired glasses at some point in the past, switching over to a simple pair of black frames, just thick enough to accentuate his high cheekbones, resting above his smattering of freckles. He’d always been cute in a puppy sort of way, needy and fluffy-haired. Now he seemed to take ease in the quiet. Maybe it was the writer in him, but he seemed more contemplative, and far more patient. Every time he touched Will it was with intent, purpose. He was careful, but no less passionate. 

God, Will wanted to jump him. He thought of that morning, how Mike had fucked him.

He bit his lip and raised the book back up to hide his blush.

Will wondered how Mike knew so much about… that. He couldn’t help but feel jealous of the Will who belonged here. The polaroids he’d found told quite the story; the sugary sweet, corny romance tacked on the fridge for all to see, what happened after dark tucked away in the nightstand drawer. He’d fucked Mike, been on his knees for him, let him do anything he wanted to him–but not really. He remembered none of it, just the ghosting of sensation when he closed his eyes and tried to recall it.

“Will,” Mike said in amusement. “What are you so red in the face for?”

“I’m not,” Will lied.

Mike smirked as his hand smoothed up Will’s leg to rest on his thigh. “You’ve read that book a hundred times and it still gets to you,” he said with a laugh.

“I guess I’m just curious where you get your inspiration from,” Will said idly, snapping the book shut, hot from embarrassment and something else.

“You’re in my bed every night,” Mike said, low as he leaned in, eyes dark and purposeful on him. “Shouldn’t you know?”

Will’s heart stuttered with panic. The other Will, who was sexy and artsy and cool, might’ve flirted back, but he wasn’t like him. All he could do was clutch the book to his chest like a shield and avert his eyes, his palms clammy.

Mike watched him for a long moment, like he’d figured something out. Will’s nerves went haywire, thinking he’d been caught, that Mike would demand the return of the other Will. But he simply plucked the book from his grasp and flipped to where he’d marked his page. He read it over, mouth ticking up on one side. 

He lifted his glasses into his hair, and slyly said, “Since you’re so curious, how about I give you a demonstration?”

“A what?” Will squeaked as Mike carelessly tossed the book away and pounced on him.

Much, much later, Will dozed in and out, happily stretched out across the couch cushions. Mike had gone to his desk to work after giving Will several scenes worth of inspiration right there on the floor, leaving him to laze about and recover. 

His dreams were more like memories turned into movies. He saw the moments behind each polaroid; birthdays and life events, date nights and dreary afternoons. He saw the rest, too. The ups and downs and the terrible, hopeless fights. Mike’s mean streak hadn’t completely faded, and Will’s pride was just as easily wounded. 

Yet, for every bad memory there were a thousand good.

He especially enjoyed the makeup sex.

Will was so lost in it that he didn’t realize when it became a nightmare, not until the skin on the back of his neck was prickling, body seizing. He clutched at the cushions, hyperventilating as something slick coiled around his ankle, slithering up his leg like a snake or a vine–

“Will? Baby, you okay? Hey, look at me.” Quick footsteps, and Mike’s hands cupped his face. They dropped to his shoulders, shaking him.

There was a sudden pressure on his mouth, followed by the slightest sting of pain on his lip. Mike had kissed him roughly, with teeth. 

Will sucked in a long ragged breath, blinking rapidly as his vision steadily cleared. He touched a shaking finger to his lip, coming away with a smear of blood. Mike knelt in front of the couch, brow creased with worry. His eyes darted across Will’s face, lurching to hold his head up as it lolled, weak. 

Smoothing his hair back, moving a thumb down his cheek to catch a stray, silent tear, he softly said, “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Will’s mouth twisted painfully, heart clenching. Mike was still just as earnest and attentive. He fell forward, throwing arms around him.

“You haven’t had a nightmare in a while,” Mike murmured into his hair, concerned. His hand moved up and down Will’s back, Will shuddering when his fingers brushed too close to his neck. His stomach sank, and he pressed his face into Mike’s shoulder. 

In his world, nightmares were a regular occurrence, one he dealt with on his own.

The night passed in a blur from there, Will drifting somewhere between then and now, turning both lives over and over in his mind, chewing on his lip. Eventually, Mike coaxed him to bed, and Will lay against him as he flipped through channels, searching for something to lull them to sleep. 

“Mike?” Will said into the darkness, warm and content, pulling the arm around his waist tighter.

“Mm?”

“I wish this could be real.”

The dream lasted for days. 

Will fell asleep in Mike’s arms, woke up there. They did mundane couple-y things until he was tired. They kissed a lot, though they never fucked again. Mike seemed to be holding back, and by the third day Will realized he was being humored. That Mike knew he wasn’t quite right. He woke up distorted, never sure where or when he was. There were gaps in his memory and sexual experience. 

It was obvious he wasn’t meant to be there.

As dreams do, they changed while he was in them, time nonlinear. 

That morning, he woke up with a ring on his finger, no recollection of how it got there. Mike just shrugged when Will slapped him awake, acting like it had always been there before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Will had to admit to himself that he was stalling, that he had more control here than he pretended.

The truth was… He didn’t want to go back to the Mike Wheeler asleep beside him in his dorm, the closest he’d ever been, yet somehow the furthest away. He wanted to stay here, with a Mike who loved and wanted him without shame, a Mike whose actions never hurt or confused him.

1991 Mike had acted wounded all weekend. He was mean and overbearing. He hated Will’s boyfriend on sight. He didn’t even pretend, he talked over him and glared at him and forced Will to pick sides. 

Will had picked his boyfriend’s side, but he’d wanted to pick Mike’s, and that was the worst part. He was the asshole, the instigator, and still–Will wanted him. He’d sent his boyfriend back to his building with an apology, then practically dragged Mike across campus by his ear. They’d fought, Will crying frustrated and angry tears, Mike clamming up without an explanation. 

He didn’t know how their friendship was supposed to come back from that, or if Mike even wanted it to. They’d gone to bed angry, though it had lessened when Mike came crawling up to his tiny twin bed in the middle of the night. He’d said nothing, hadn’t even seemed to realize that Will was still awake, just slid alongside him underneath the blanket, close enough to touch. 

But he didn’t. He pressed his back to the wall, facing Will, and fell asleep.

Will tossed and turned for hours, always coming back to see how the faint moonlight slanted across his face. Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he’d tugged his sketchbook from under his pillow and tried to put all of his tumultuous feelings on paper, where he hoped they would stay forever. Where they couldn’t bother him again.

In 1999, Will sat on the floor beside the bed as Mike slept on, that same sketchbook in his lap. He’d found it on the bookshelf in their bedroom, tucked away in a memory box on the bottom row. It was worn, the edges frayed. He smoothed his hand down the pocked cover before flipping it open. 

He’d been in a ballpoint pen phase back then, long and dark squiggly lines, misshapen and layered until they began to take shape. He drew his dorm building, the cityscape, he drew his classmates. He drew Mike. Pages and pages of Michael fucking Wheeler.

Irritated, he tossed the sketchbook away.

Behind him, Mike slowly sat up. He leaned over the side of the bed and picked it up, turning a few pages. “I can’t believe you were attracted to me even when my hair was parted like that,” he said, making a face.

“Ugh,” Will groaned. “It was awful. I wanted to tell you so badly.”

Mike laughed at that. “You can tell me. I’ll probably pout about it, but I’m sure you’ll find some creative way to make it up to me.” He ran fingers down Will’s cheek, gazed at him intently as Will turned his face into his palm, still in denial.

“Will…” Mike said after a long moment, with finality, though his voice was gentle.

Their time was up.

“I know,” Will whispered, voice thick, “but I can’t leave you. I love you so much.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears. “You’re everything I wanted.”

Saying it out loud for the first time in his life cracked the seal. He broke, a flood of emotion spilling forth. He was pulled onto the bed and hugged tight as Mike made a sympathetic noise, smoothing his hair out of his face before taking it in his hands. His thumbs moved beneath his eyes, wiping them dry.

“I know he broke your heart,” he said, understanding, “but don’t count him out yet.”

Will shook his head, fingers twisting in frustration. “You don’t get it. He’s not you! He’s not–this!” He gestured frantically between them, chest aching.

Mike had the audacity to laugh. “Neither was I! Not until you gave me the chance to be.” Will sucked in a breath at that, going still. Mike gave him a look like he knew he’d snagged him. He continued, gentler this time, “We have so much to learn about ourselves, about each other. Stay here with me and you’ll miss all of it. My Will says…” 

Mike trailed off suddenly, looking pained, but burying it quickly. Guilt wracked Will. Of course Mike missed the other version of him. He couldn’t take his place. It would be empty on both ends because they didn’t really belong to each other.

Resigned, Will took Mike’s hands from his face and held them in his lap. 

Mike kept going, squeezing his fingers, “My Will says getting here was the fun part. When you’re back on the other side, just remember… Then and now, they aren’t so far apart.”

Will’s chest shuddered with a sob, his face crumpling, but he nodded.

“I’m not gone. I’ll be right there when you wake up.”

Will swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, heart breaking all over again. Leaving him, waking up to him. Not knowing where they stood. “What if he doesn’t…” Want me. Love me.

Mike’s eyes flicked to his hand and back up. He smiled a little as his finger brushed across the gold band. “He does, baby. We both do. It’s kind of funny, actually. That little shit beat me to it.”

Will blinked rapidly, lashes wet against his cheek. “What?”

Mike fixed him with a look, bemused. “You think you’re the only one around here with dreams?” 

“Oh,” Will breathed, all of his Mike’s strange behavior the past weekend in sudden stark relief. “I have to go,” he realized.

Mike’s mouth ticked up on one side, knowing. “Yeah.”

With no time to waste, Will threw arms around his neck. He kissed him hard, whispered a wet and tearful, “I’ll miss you,” and then woke up.

He opened his eyes to the dark of his dorm room. Thankfully, his roommate had gone home for the weekend to do laundry, because Mike had wound around him as they slept, making the most of the tiny bed. His breath was at Will’s ear, warm and constant. His hand had creeped across his middle, thumb moving slowly and absently along his hipbone. 

Will saw through him to the other side, then and now overlapping. He and the other Mike had the same soft look in their sleep. They gravitated to him the same. They would learn to kiss him, love him, and everything else just the same.

“Mike,” Will whispered, nudging him in the side.

He twitched slightly. “Mm.” 

“Mike,” he tried again.

Mike’s eyes cracked open. He smiled sleepily at him, stretching. He jolted when he realized he was practically on top of him. “Shit, sorry, Will.” He pressed himself back against the wall, eyes bugging out nervously. “I didn’t mean to–”

Will wasn’t really listening to anything he said, just watching the brush of his lips as he spoke. That seemed to frazzle Mike, and he stumbled over the rest of his words, “Um, about this weekend… I had this idea in my head, and–It was stupid. I’m sorry if I fucked things up for you with your boyfriend.”

Will let out a laugh. “No, you’re not.”

Mike blinked, not expecting that. He opened his mouth to try and defend himself, but it didn’t matter because Will was kissing him before he could really think about it. 

Mike made an eager sound, tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt. He didn’t kiss like it was 1999, slowly, with all the time in the world; he kissed desperately, shamelessly, like he wanted to pry him open. Will gasped, and let him in.

The other Mike made him hot, made his heart race, but he realized–as they kissed without restraint, clumsy and wet and perfect–that it was only because he loved him now. He’d loved him all along, before he’d even opened his eyes to what could be. The two of them were one and the same, just a short stretch of time apart.

When they separated, lingering, clutching each other, Mike’s eyes were full of wonder and excitement. He held onto Will like he was afraid he’d drift off. “I love you,” he burst out, frantic, Will’s eyes widening in shock. “I know this is shit timing and you have a boyfriend, but I love you! I saw something about us that I can’t explain, like a vision or–or a hope, but I’ll do anything to make it happen. To make you happy.”

Mike sucked in a long breath, winded, and Will stared at him in a daze, head spinning. 

Truthfully, Will had completely forgotten he had a boyfriend. Between that Mike and this Mike, there was no room for anyone else. Besides, Mike was so much more than a boyfriend, he was–he was–

Will blushed when he remembered the ring. His finger was bare now, but he still felt the weight of it like a promise.

“Mike,” he murmured, smiling a little as he leaned in, their noses brushing.

Mike chewed his lip, hopeful and nervous all at once. “Yeah?”

“I hate your haircut.”