Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Will had always known he didn’t like Mike the way he liked his other friends.  

It was hard to grasp as a kid, the concept of attraction. Will would look at girls and think they were pretty; he’d look at boys and think they were cute. But then he’d look at Mike and forget how to breathe.

Mike was his first friend and for a long time Will thought that alone would make him somehow more special, more important than everybody else. It would explain the way he felt most himself with Mike, or the way he liked it best when he had all his attention to himself.

His dad would make comments about his “weird obsession” with Mike, how Will would always find a way to bring him up at dinner even when it didn’t fit into the conversation.

But knowing what it meant back then felt impossible. “Gay” was a word his dad used to describe his flaws. It wasn’t just the way he talked about Mike – it was the way he didn’t enjoy baseball, or the colors he chose when making a painting, or the way his arms trembled when holding a gun for the first time.

It was just one of the many things Will knew he would have to grow out of eventually.

He’d always thought it was just a matter of time. One day he’d meet a girl, and everything would fall into place. Growing up would help him grow out of his old habits. But as long as they were kids, he allowed himself to look only at Mike.

Over the years, Lucas and Dustin joined their friend group. At first, it scared Will – because if what he and Mike had was classified as friendship, and they could have other friends, maybe their connection wasn’t as strong to begin with. Still, Mike always had a way of finding him in a crowded room. No matter who was with them, he’d always ask for Will’s opinion first. He’d stay behind with him when Will was being quiet. He always made him feel special.

Until he didn’t anymore.

Will was twelve years old when he realized he was in love with Mike.

It was the same year he realized Mike would never love him back.  

Up until then, he thought they were the same: not interested in girls, obsessed with the same things – and each other. But then there she was, this strange, fierce, impossible girl with superpowers who’d saved Will’s life, and suddenly she was all Mike could talk about.

Will felt them separating – Mike was growing in a direction Will couldn’t follow. Suddenly, he wasn’t like him anymore. He would never be like him.  

It was a feeling like loss. He mourned the future he’d imagined: He and Mike, spending the rest of their lives together, just the two of them in some apartment in the city, growing up together, growing old together.

But that was never going to happen now. Because Mike was normal. Mike liked girls.

Will spent years trying to accept that.

He conditioned himself to accept that.

When he was fourteen, he realized it might be time to fall out of love with Mike. It had become old and a little pathetic, and maybe he’d missed the memo. But there he was, still stuck in a feeling he never asked for to begin with.   

Now Will is sixteen, and everything he thought he knew has collapsed in on itself in just one single night.

When he wakes up, his eyes burn.

The morning light seeps across the covers, pale and washed-out. The rain has stopped, but the window is still stippled with beads, like traces of the night now stretched thin over the glass.

Will turns his head. The space on the bed beside him is empty. He stares at it for a solid minute.

Comic books are scattered around the nightstand. The painting he made is still on the desk. The candles, the lighter, everything’s there, like this is just another morning. 

Slowly, Will reaches out. His fingers brush the fabric where Mike had been. It’s cold, like he’s been gone for a while.

Will rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, vision blurred.

He might’ve slept three hours. The sun was already rising, when exhaustion finally knocked him out. And all the thoughts that kept him tossing in the dark – none of them make any more sense now.

The morning comes with no answers.

He lifts a hand, slowly placing his fingers over his mouth. His lips feel dry and a little swollen.

Like proof.

Of the impossible thing that happened last night.

He tries to picture it, but his mind feels foggy – like the memories aren’t even real. They’re stuffed with cotton, the edges blurred. It all seems like a daze now. Something straight out of a daydream. Something made up.

And it’s weird, because he doesn’t have any visual memories of it. It was dark in the room, except for when it wasn’t anymore – when it was Mike’s wide eyes, his wet mouth, illuminated by lightning.

And the noises he remembers – the sound of their mouths moving together. The gasps and heavy breathing.

Will’s lips tremble under his fingertips.

He kissed Mike.

But it’s impossible. It’s not them. It’s not what they do. Mike doesn’t kiss boys on the mouth. He doesn’t gasp when his hair is being pulled – or maybe he does, but that’s not something Will should have knowledge of. He shouldn’t have these memories at all. They are not his – they can’t be. It makes no sense.

Mike kissed him.

Will throws the thought around in his head, but it doesn’t come past the surface, like it’s stuck in a web, unable to register in his brain.

His brain that’s conditioned to expect rejection. That knows good things don’t happen to him. That’s been trained to doubt – to smother any blooming glimpse of hope for years and years and years.

But his body knows it happened. His skin remembers the tremor in Mike’s fingertips. His hands remember the texture of his curls, the heat of his scalp. His mouth remembers – 

Will exhales shakily, dropping his hand.

He gets out of bed and gathers his rain-stiff clothes from the floor and chair. Only when he stands with bare arms and knees, he realizes it’s unusually warm.

He glances toward the alarm clock and there they are: digital numbers blinking 00:00 in bright orange, like time itself is insistently asking to be reset.

The power’s back.

And Will feels – nothing.

He knows nothing.

Except that he doesn’t belong in this room anymore.

It’s time to move back to the basement.

He slips down the stairs quietly, pillow tucked to his chest.

Holly’s laughter drifts from the kitchen – bright and loud. Something sizzles in a pan, filling the house with the smell of fried eggs. With electricity restored, the hum of the house is back.

Will is not ready to face anyone just yet.

He switches on the light in the basement and turns the heaters up all the way. The pipes rattle awake, a sound that used to feel familiar but now it’s just wrong.

The light is too bright. The room feels hollow and empty. The mattress on the floor seems smaller than Will remembers, like it’s shrunk over the past few days.

He makes his bed – shaking out the pillow. Candles lie scattered across the floor where they left them just a couple of nights ago. He picks them up one by one, wax cold against his palms. Slowly, he puts them back in their box, like he’s packing away a dream.

Something aches deep inside him.

He’s still wearing Mike’s shirt.

When he gets up to put the candle box back on the table, he notices his sketchbook. A page is half-slid out – the drawing he made of Mike just a few nights ago.

Will hesitates. Then flips it open.

And there he is – with his warm eyes and dark curls. With his mouth soft in graphite shadow.

The mouth that Will – 

But it makes no sense. He stares at the sketch. Maybe, if he thinks hard enough about it, he will come up with an explanation. Maybe there are reasons why straight boys would kiss their friends, reasons Will just hasn’t thought of yet.

He needs to talk to him.

He’s never needed it more in his life.

He needs to know what any of this means – if it means anything at all.

He needs to know whether they’re still friends and if not, if there’s a chance they will be again, sometime in the future.

He needs to know why in the world Mike would do something so incredibly stupid and kiss him.

And if it helps at all, he needs to apologize for doing the unthinkable and kiss him back.

It’s never been this urgent. But it’s never been this scary either. 

Because if he talks to Mike, this will all become real – ten years of friendship could be lost in a single breath.

Will takes his first real shower in a week.

He turns the water up too hot, until it leaves his skin red, steam clouding the bathroom. His body loosens under the heat, the weeklong cold melting off him, but it doesn’t really matter because there’s a numbness sitting somewhere the water can’t reach.  

He dresses in clean clothes and stands at the base of the stairs, looking up at the door. He takes a long, deep breath.

Whatever’s waiting up there – he has to face it eventually.

The overhead lamp casts a clean, artificial light across the breakfast table. Eggs, bacon, pancakes – everything they couldn’t cook before now sits in heaps, as if they were expecting more guests.

Mrs. Wheeler’s hair is perfectly curled again. Mr. Wheeler is shaved again. Nancy and Jonathan look freshly showered, their hair clean and still a little damp. The coffee smells like it came straight out of the machine. Holly drowns her bacon in syrup. 

There’s a glow to their faces, like they’d been holding their breath for a week straight, now finally able to breathe again.

And Mike – 

Mike isn’t here.

Will’s stomach drops at the sight of his empty chair. He feels cold, suddenly, like the heaters aren’t working after all. If Mike isn’t here and he isn’t in his room either, then he’s somewhere else entirely.

“Hey, Will. You’re up!” Jonathan looks up from his plate.

But Will’s not in a state for conversation or breakfast or good mood. He’s in a state of numbness – where nothing matters. Not even what Mr. Wheeler thinks of him. “Where’s Mike?” he asks straight out, his voice coming out rough.

“Mike? Um … no idea.”

“He was up early today,” Mrs. Wheeler says, catching a drip of syrup before it slides off Holly’s plate. “He left a while ago. Did you need something from him?”

Will, still standing in the doorway, stares at her, unmoving. Maybe he looks a little crazy right now, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Did he say where he went?”

“No, just that he wanted to go for a walk,” Mrs. Wheeler says, the last words emphasized like she’s confused, too. “Don’t you wanna sit?”

Will forces himself forward and drops into the seat beside his brother. He can feel Jonathan’s questioning gaze, but he ignores him.

“Teenagers,” Mr. Wheeler mutters. “Didn’t know they even took walks.” 

Mrs. Wheeler sips her coffee. “Well, it’s been a long week. He probably just wanted to get out of the house.”

Will’s gaze fixes on the orange juice bottle in front of him. His stomach twists.

Mike doesn’t just go for walks.

Maybe he didn’t want to see anyone. Maybe he didn’t want to see him. Maybe he needs space and time to think. Maybe he’s confused.

Confused about – 

Will digs his nails into his thigh beneath the table. He can’t even think about it.

“Yeah well, I don’t blame him,” Nancy says. “We’ve been trapped in here forever.”

“You’ve barely been home,” her mother remarks with raised eyebrows and attention shifts.

It’s the first warm breakfast in a week, but Will has no appetite, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate.

He can feel Jonathan’s gaze burning at the edge of his vision, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the juice bottle.

He can’t talk. He can’t eat. He can’t think. All he can do is sit and hope that at some point, the mess inside his head will sort itself into something he can understand.

After breakfast, Will quickly gets up and immediately heads for the basement. Even before he hears him, he already knows Jonathan is following.

“Will!” he calls.  

Will stops in the hallway, turning. “I’m fine,” he mutters before Jonathan even has a chance to ask. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“You’re a really bad liar.” Jonathan nudges him down the stairs and shuts the basement door behind them. “You’re creeping me out. Talk to me.”

Will opens his mouth, but it’s just air coming out. He drags his hands over his face. “I can’t.”

“Did something happen? With Mike?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to deal with these things alone, you know?”

“No, but I do!” This time, the words come out louder than he intended. But this frustration has been building up for years and years and he’s sick of pretending he has the same options as everyone else.

He can’t just talk about these things – not about his feelings for Mike, and definitely not about what happened last night. Not without exposing Mike, too.

Love is the most isolating thing in the world for boys like Will.

And Jonathan might’ve been an outsider his whole life, but at the end of the day he gets to hold his girlfriend’s hand in public, he gets Christmas dinners and movie nights, and it doesn’t matter what kind of music he listens to; he will conform to social norms in a way Will never could. 

Jonathan’s expression shifts, and the hurt flickering in his eyes softens Will immediately.

“Look,” he says, quieter. “I’m sorry, okay? But there are things that I just – can’t talk about.”

“But that’s the point, Will.” Jonathan’s mouth is a thin line. “I want you to tell me exactly those kinds of things, you know? The things you feel like you can’t tell anyone else.”

If Will wasn’t so exhausted, so confused, and sleep-deprived, maybe this wouldn’t feel so impossible.

“Maybe I will,” he says, softer now. “But right now I just – I need to talk to Mike.”

Concern flashes across Jonathan’s face. “Did you fight again?”

“No. I mean – I don’t know.” Will feels wrung out and hollow, and there’s no way to explain it. “Last night we – doesn’t matter. He wasn’t in his room this morning, and now he’s gone, and I don’t know if he’s avoiding me, or doesn’t want to talk, or … if we’re even friends anymore.”

The last words come out small and a little shaky.

“Hey.” Jonathan steps closer, his voice soft. His hand is warm on Will’s shoulder. “Whatever it is … he probably just needs time. When Nancy and I fight, it helps to get out of the house. You know, come back with a clearer head.”

Will doubts that anything Jonathan and Nancy fight about could compare to the existential, harrowing, deadly crisis he and Mike are in right now. He doesn’t say that though.

He just nods, eyes fixed on the wall, vision blurred.

Jonathan watches him for a moment, as if he’s still waiting for him to speak. When Will doesn’t say more, he sighs. “Mom called earlier. She got cake from the store – asked if we wanted to come over and celebrate.”

“Celebrate.” The word feels ridiculous. 

“That the power’s back. That we’re all okay – you know, that it wasn’t Vecna.”

But Will can’t think about any of that. Not today. “I don’t know.”

“It might be good to get out.” Jonathan squeezes his shoulder lightly. “Clear your head. Distract yourself.”

But Will doesn’t want to be distracted.

He wants to stay right here, frozen, until Mike comes home and they can look at the mess they’ve made.

And maybe that conversation will be the last they ever have, but at least Will would know.

But Mike isn’t home. Will’s been awake for an hour, and this already feels like the worst day of his life. Maybe it is good to get out.

He lets out a shaky breath and looks at his brother. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go.”

Every light in Hopper’s cabin is on, blazing like a celebration.

Inside, it smells of fresh laundry and hot showers, and there’s something bubbling on the stove. The whole place hums – warm, crowded, vibrating with the sound of people who are – above anything – relieved.

His mother hugs him the hardest. Her sweater smells like detergent and coffee. The cake from the store is a little dry, the heaters turned up too high, like they somehow need to prove they’re working.

They sip coffee that’s weak and too hot, as they talk about how useless their whole “investigation” was.

“I told you from the beginning it was just precautions,” Joyce says, brushing crumbs off the table.

“Yeah, it’s good to be sure,” Hop grumbles. “And at least El’s had some training.”  

Maybe Will would’ve gotten away with it, if it wasn’t for his siblings. El notices instantly. All through coffee, she stares at him, gaze digging into the side of his head, sharp and unblinking like she’s trying to make him speak with her mind.

If he was stronger, maybe Will would’ve put more effort into putting on a normal face. But the numbness sits like fog between him and everyone else – it’s all muted and weightless.

When his mom and Hopper start clattering dishes in the sink, El hooks her fingers around his wrist and drags him toward her room. Jonathan follows, closing the door behind them.

“Will,” she says, taking his hand between both of hers. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t even bother,” Jonathan mutters, but his eyes are gentle. “I tried already.”

El shoots him a look. “Well, have you considered that he’ll talk to me?”

“You know I’m right here, right?” Will sighs. He drops onto El’s unmade bed, sinking into the pile of blankets. “I’m sorry. Can we not do this? I’m not talking to any of you.”

He curls up on El’s bed, dragging the blanket over his head like he’s retreating into a cave.

El lets out a small, frustrated breath.

He can’t see them, but he feels the mattress dip on either side as they climb in. Their weight shifts, careful, their movements soft. He listens to the silence, the low clatter of dishes drifting down the hall from the kitchen.

“Did Mike say something bad to you?” El asks after a pause.

“No.”                                        

“He can be mean.”

“He can be an asshole,” Jonathan agrees.

“Right? Sometimes I look at him and wonder what’s going on in his head – and then I realize it’s not as much as I always thought.”

“You know, he was like this when he and Will were kids too, sometimes it’s like he has no filter at all, and–“

“Guys!” Will groans, pulling the blanket off his face. “Mike didn’t do anything.”

“Are you sure?” El brushes her fingers over his arm. “Because I could talk to him for you.”

“You know, we should.” Jonathan looks at El, then Will. “We could pin him down for you until he apologizes.”

“Yeah,” El says dryly. “I could torture him with my mind.”

Will stares at them – his strange siblings, trying to look intimidating and failing spectacularly. And then he can’t help it, he lets out a scratchy, reluctant laugh and rubs his face. “You two are so stupid.”

El beams as if her plan worked and cups his cheek, her thumb warm. “It’s good to see you smile.”

“Shut up,” Will groans.

“We don’t have to talk about stupid Mike,” she says, scooting closer. “Come on, Will. Share the blanket.”

It’s a one-person bed, but they’ve always been good at fitting themselves into spaces. Under the covers, their feet tangle, elbows bumping into ribs.

El makes it easy for him. She starts rambling – about the gossip she caught while spying on the workers and businessmen, every sentence threaded with her strange, sweet eagerness. As she talks, her fingers sift through Will’s hair, slow and absent. The smell of her shampoo sticks to the blanket and it’s comforting. Will relaxes into the mattress, eyelids heavy, following the rhythm of her voice. She emphasizes some words just like their mother does.

Jonathan throws in a question here and there, keeping her talking so Will doesn’t have to. He just listens to their voices weaving around him. And he realizes how much he’d missed this – just them, a strange trio of siblings, joking and breathing the same air, knees bumping.

It’s good. To remember who he is, outside of the Wheeler house.

When the sun sets behind the trees, the cabin grows dim. Joyce calls down the hall. At some point, Will must’ve drifted off, because El nudges him awake, her hand warm on his shoulder. “Time to go, Will. Come back soon, yeah?”

On the porch, she hugs him tight, her hair brushing his cheek. He wraps his arms around her. “I love you, El.”

The grin is audible in her voice. “I love you, too.” 

Jonathan wraps Will in a half hug before nudging him toward the bikes. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The Wheeler house glows in the dark like it used to. The porch light snaps on as they roll into the driveway, flooding the yard in a soft yellow. They step inside; the warmth immediately seeping straight into Will’s bones.

“I’m gonna go change before dinner,” Jonathan says, squeezing his shoulder before heading upstairs.

Will hangs his scarf and kicks his shoes onto the mat. He hears voices from the living room, the familiar sound of the TV blasting. Mr. Wheeler has probably been glued to the screen since morning as if making up for lost time.

“Will?” Mrs. Wheeler calls. “Is that you?”

He steps into the bright kitchen. Steam clouds above the stove, scented with garlic and something sweet. Mrs. Wheeler stands by the stove, stirring the sauce.

“Thank god.” She throws him a smile but it’s a little rushed. “Everybody else in this family is useless – can you help me set the table?”

“Sure.”

He pushes up his sleeves and reaches for the plates. The 6 PM news blasts from the living room. Holly sits cross-legged on the carpet, threading beads for a bracelet, completely zoned in. The scene looks peaceful, like this is just another day. 

“Um,” Will says as he sets the plates down. “Is Mike –“

“Oh, he came home earlier.” Mrs. Wheeler doesn’t turn, just keeps stirring. “I think he’s up in his room.”

“Oh.” His stomach tightens, crawling with nerves. “Okay.”

He places the silverware, but his hands feel shaky. His throat is suddenly tight, his mouth dry.

He wipes his damp palms on his jeans. “Can I help with anything else?”

“Well, if you’re asking, most of the food is still out on the porch. You can bring it inside, if you like.”

“I’ll do it,” he says quickly. Anything to keep himself occupied.  

He slips back into his shoes and out of the house. Outside, the cold tugs at his sleeves. Boxes of refrigerated food sit under a tarp along the house. He brings them in one at a time, sorting things back into the fridge, trying to remember where everything was.

When he goes back out to grab the last box, he notices the bottom is damp – drenched from sitting on the rain-soaked floor. When he lifts it, the whole thing sags, bottles clinking dangerously.

“Shit,” he mutters, lowering it back onto the concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barks.

He kneels on the wet ground, checking each jar and bottle for cracks, fingers going numb. The cold seeps through his knees. The box is useless now, so he tucks two bottles and some jars under his arms, grabs another in each hand, and heads back toward the kitchen.

He’s halfway through the door when he hears his voice.

“How is it?”

“I haven’t even tried it, Mom.” 

Will freezes in the doorway.

There he is, standing by the stove under the warm ceiling light, fishing pasta from the pot.

His face is relaxed – normal, and for a moment, Will clings to the stupid, desperate thought that maybe he imagined the whole thing – made it all up. That maybe this isn’t happening at all, he’s just gone crazy. 

But then Mike looks up.

Their eyes meet.

Every trace of expression drops from Mike’s face.

And just like that, the numbness is gone. Every nerve inside Will on fire. Burning at the sight of him.

The jars in his arms suddenly feel too heavy. He can’t breathe. 

This is the boy he kissed last night. Mike – with his familiar face that Will has watched grow into shape. With his messy hair that looks like he’s spent the past few hours in bed. Mike, who used to make up stories for him to drown out the sound of Will’s dad yelling. The same boy who came up to him on the swings, asking him to be his friend.

It takes Will everything not to drop the food.

“Mike, I asked you to try the pasta,” Mrs. Wheeler reminds him, impatience in her voice as she stirs the sauce rapidly, keeping it from overcooking.

“Yeah –” Mike blinks heavily, jerking back toward the pot. “Sorry. I think it needs … um, two minutes.”

“Good, can you call Nancy and Jonathan for dinner?”

“Sure.”

He moves fast, like he’s relieved to leave. He doesn’t look up as he passes Will. Their shoulders brush – just lightly – but it's enough to make his heart stutter. 

He stands there, frozen.

Behind him, Mike calls for their siblings.

Will is not going to survive dinner.   

Will sits at the table and stares at the grain of the wood. Holly chatters beside him, but her voice is muffled and warped, like he’s underwater.

Chairs scrape. Slowly, the table fills. Jonathan and Nancy, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, sit down in their seats. Silverware clinks.

He recognizes Mike’s footsteps, slow and hesitant in the hallway.

The chair next to him drags back. Will doesn’t look, but he can feel him at the edge of his vision. Too close and too far away, all at once.

Will’s stomach twists into a thousand knots.

People talk around him, voices blurring into one long, dull note. He pushes food onto his plate just to move his hands.

He feels Jonathan’s and Mrs. Wheeler’s eyes on him. He knows he’s acting strange, and even though he’s always been good at pretending, he can’t do it now. Because it doesn’t even matter anymore.

Nothing matters.

“Is it that bad?” he hears Mrs. Wheeler’s voice through the buzz.

Will jerks his head up to reply, but she isn’t looking at him.

Mike’s plate sits untouched on the table.

“Uh, no,” Mike murmurs. His leg bounces under the table, his fingers twisting in the string of his sweatpants.

“Is something wrong?”

Will’s face burns.

“No, mom.” His voice is rough, scraped raw. “I just – don’t have an appetite.”

“Are you getting sick? You boys were out in that storm last night, right? I saw your shoes by the fireplace.”

Will wants to shrink into himself. He feels too hot. His hand trembles where he grips the fork.

He and Mike, in the storm. Undressing by the candlelight. The smell of rain in Mike’s wet hair. His damp skin under Will’s hands. The heat of his mouth –

“Um, yeah,” Mike says, voice thin. “We were.”

Will digs his nails into his palm until it burns.

The silence is too loud.

Jonathan clears his throat. “I think the food is really good, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you to say!”

Attention shifts and Will forces himself to breathe, inhaling slowly through his nose. Still, his chest feels tight, like he can’t get enough air, like something heavy is pressing down on him.

He tries to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Mike’s nervous fidgeting under the table.

Like he wants to leave. Like it’s torture for him, sitting next to Will.

And in a way, this is familiar. The avoiding each other, the silence between them, like they don’t even know each other. That’s how it’s been this whole past year.

It’s like this last week didn’t even happen, and now they’re right back where they started.

Except this time, it’s something they can’t come back from.

When dinner is over, Mike is the first to stand. He gets up fast, grabbing his barely touched plate.

“I’ll eat this later. I’m gonna go back to bed. I don’t feel so good.”

And just like that, he slips out of the room, giving Will not even a glance – nothing.

Will is usually the first to help Mrs. Wheeler clear the table. But now he just sits there, frozen, and stares at the door where Mike’s just disappeared through. Plates clatter around him and Holly rambles something about a book she’s been reading. Jonathan’s hand brushes his shoulder, and he quietly says something that sounds like ‘It’s gonna be okay.’

But nothing can make this okay.

Slowly, Will rises from his chair and slips out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He stands with his face against the door. The quiet settles around him.

He takes a long, deep breath. He doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want his mind to get the chance to work this out alone – nothing good would come of it.

But he can’t go back in there either. He can’t be in the same room with all these people and pretend everything’s fine.

He turns –

And takes a sharp breath.  

Mike sits at the bottom of the stairs, legs pulled close to his chest, fingers fidgeting with the denim of his jeans.

His eyes are fixed on Will, like he’s been waiting.

Will’s entire body goes still.

For a few seconds, they just stare at each other. Then Mike stands, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I – didn’t wanna startle you.”

Will opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His throat feels dry and tight.

“Um.” Mike wipes his palms on his jeans. His eyes flick away, then back at Will. “Do you wanna – can we ... talk?“ 

He makes a vague gesture toward the basement door.  

Will's waited all day for this. For Mike to talk to him. But now that he's right in front of him, he doesn't feel ready.

“Uh,” he croaks, voice cracking. His pulse pounds in his ears. “Yeah.“ 

“We don’t have to – if you need more time.”

“No. No, it’s okay.”

Mike hesitates, then nods. He opens the basement door and looks back over his shoulder, as if to make sure Will is following him.

Will’s legs feel unsteady, as he softly closes the door behind them.

And then it's the sound of their feet on the stairs. A little click, as Mike reaches for the light switch.

The ceiling light flickers before coming on. It feels too bright, too sharp, casting artificial shadows across the room and making everything look hollow.

Will doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous in his life.

His heart is pounding in his chest as he watches Mike hover near the shelves, looking like he’s unsure what to do with his hands. He hooks his thumbs into a belt loop, then lets his hand fall to his side, then brushes his hair out of his face.

The pipes rattle, heating the room insistently. Will wishes they weren’t. He wishes the room was cold and that the ceiling light wasn’t so bright.

Maybe in the dark this would be easier.

The silence presses against his throat, as if trying to coax the words out of him. One of them has to say something.

“Um.” Mike throws him a quick glance before looking away again. “Sorry. If you don’t want me to –“ He pauses. “I can leave.”

“No,” Will blurts out, a little too fast. He’s made it this far, he can’t back out now. “Stay. Please.”

Mike gives him a nervous nod. He makes an attempt at a smile, but it looks wrong, like he’s trying to convince himself. “Okay.”

More silence.

Will wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. His breathing is shallow and he feels a little dizzy.

Nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for this. Not in a million years would he have imagined himself in this situation.

Mike’s mouth twists – like he’s sifting through a million words and can’t pick a single one.

“So,” he says finally, flicking his eyes at Will for a fraction of a second. “What – uh. What have you been up to today?”

It's a question so innocent, so normal, and so painfully irrelevant, Will almost wants to laugh. But maybe this is good – to start safe. 

“Um,” he says, barely recognizing his own voice. “I went to see mom and El.”

“Cool,” Mike says.

Another silence. There’s an ongoing loop inside Will’s head ever since their mouths broke apart last night – the question he needs and fears the answer to so badly. It takes every bit of control not to blurt it out.

Why did you kiss me?

“And you?” he asks instead.

“Oh, I was –” Mike stares at something behind Will’s head. “Just out walking. I needed some time to – clear my head.”

Will nods, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

The silence is unbearable.

“So, did it work?”

“What?”

“Does your head feel … clearer?”

“I –“ Mike hesitates. He glances at him again, just for a second, and then, as if he can’t bear it any longer, he starts pacing: to the shelf, to the desk, to the couch, and back again. “I don’t know,” he says finally, frustration audible in his voice.

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah.”

A long silence.

Will wants him to just say it – to spit it out and stop making this so difficult. But asking questions feels like stepping right back into a storm, because Will isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer.

“Um,” he starts anyway. “What exactly … don’t you know?”

Mike stops pacing. He stands, mouth opening and closing like the words are stuck. “I don’t know … anything,” he says, the last word almost a whisper.

Will needs him to be a little more specific.

“Like what?”

Mike struggles – it’s obvious. It’s like he doesn’t have any words. None at all. It takes several attempts before he exhales deeply, rubbing his hand over his face. “I – most of all, I don’t know how to talk about this, Will.”

He collapses onto the couch, pulling his knees to his chest, hands wrapped around his shins. He tilts his head back against the cushion and lets out a long sigh.

“Look, I –” he tries again. “All day I tried to find ways to explain it to you. I’m gonna try, but – I don’t know if it’ll make any sense, okay?”

Will stands, staring at his best friend as if his life depends on it. It feels like everything has been leading up to this moment – every glance, every touch of the past week – silently begging for an explanation.

Except Will didn’t see it coming at all.

“Okay,” he whispers.  

“Okay.” Mike nods to himself. He takes a deep breath. “So, this past week has been … confusing.”

Will blinks, slowly nodding. The past week has easily been the most confusing week of his life. He just didn’t think it was confusing for Mike.

“I was happy we were hanging out again.”

“Me too,” Will says quietly, voice coming out rough.

“I really wanna be your friend, Will – I love being your friend.”

Will’s stomach drops. Maybe. Maybe they can be friends. “I do too,” he says even quieter.

“But then last night –“ Mike’s voice cracks. His eyes flick to Will’s, holding his gaze for a couple of seconds.

Last night.

Mike’s shaky breath on his cheek. Their lips brushing like an accident. Will’s fingers in Mike’s shirt. Mike gasping into his mouth. And then – a flash of lightning.

Heat crawls up Will’s neck as he watches Mike’s face flush before him.

They stare at each other, wide-eyed, like they can’t believe what they did to each other.

“Shit,” Mike mutters, running his hand over his forehead. “I can’t talk about it.”

He curls in tighter around himself, and somehow, despite his lanky legs and long limbs, he looks small, arms wrapped around his shins.

“This morning,” he says after a moment. “I felt like I needed to talk to someone. But then I kept walking and I couldn’t think of a single person to go to. It’s like – nobody would understand, you know?”

“Yeah,” Will says. All day, he’s felt just like that. But he’s still confused about what Mike is confused about.  

“And it’s like – in this whole town there’s not a single person who’s –“ He gestures vaguely. “Who would get this. And I don’t even mean they would be shitty about it, they just – wouldn’t understand.”

Will wishes Mike would just say what he means, use the real words instead of vague descriptions, so Will could stop searching for possible interpretations.

But Mike looks so lost, so helpless, like he’s unraveling right in front of him, and it stirs something else in Will – because above everything, Will wants to be his friend. Mike is clearly struggling, and Will’s instinct is to help, to steady him. The feeling is stronger than his own desperation.

“I would understand,” he hears himself say. “You can talk to me about it.”

Mike’s eyes soften. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s about you.”

Heat creeps under Will’s skin, and he fights the urge to duck his head. “Oh, okay. Um – but.”

He needs to focus. Focus on Mike, who’s struggling in a way Will has never seen before. Sure, he’s had some crises before, but it’s never been like this. He’s never looked so lost.

Will takes a deep breath. “Um, are we – ” His eyes move cautiously over Mike’s face, searching. “We’re still friends, right?”

Mike frowns. “Of course we are.”

Relief washes over Will, and his next exhale comes out a little shaky. This is good. This is the only thing that matters. This is what he needs to focus on: being Mike’s friend.

“So, as your friend,” he says with newfound courage. He doesn’t know exactly where this is going, but it’s what he’s good at, it’s where he feels safe. “You can talk to me. Because maybe I’ll get it and I – I wanna be your friend first. Before anything else.”      

Mike’s mouth twitches in something like a smile. “I want to, Will,” he says sadly. “But I don’t know how.”

“Me neither,” Will says, because it’s true. He has no idea how to have this conversation – mainly because he doesn’t allow his mind to fully grasp what it’s even about. “But maybe we could try? Together?”

Mike looks at him, his dark eyes now steady on Will’s face. He seems to be contemplating for a while. Then he makes a little half-shrug and leans back against the cushion. “Where would we even start?”

Will realizes he’s still standing, so he sits on the opposite end of the couch, making sure to leave enough space between them.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he says, clearing his throat. “You said this week has been … confusing?”

“Yeah.” Mike exhales. “But it’s been confusing before.”

“What’s been confusing?”

“You.”

Oh.

Will’s heart stutters. He stares, wide-eyed.

He needs Mike to be clearer with his words, because he doesn’t know how long he can keep convincing himself that they’re talking about something else entirely.

“Um,” he says carefully. “How long have I been … confusing?”

“I don’t know.” Mike’s eyes are fixed on the floor now, like he can’t do this while looking at Will. “I guess like – two years?”

Two years.

Will’s thoughts spiral.

Is this –

How –?

And what are they even talking about?

Because rationally, he has a pretty good guess, but every single cell of his body is protesting, refusing to let the thought into his mind. There’s no way. No way at all this is happening.

Because these past two years, Will hasn’t been confused at all. He’s been sure – perfectly positive – that Mike does not like him back. He’s been so certain that it didn’t leave room for any other possibility.

So – how?

“You know,” Mike continues, his chin resting on his knees. “I’m really good at just – ignoring things. Pushing them down. I mean, I knew I was confused about something but it’s like – my mind refuses to make sense of it, you know? So I never really come to a conclusion, I’m just left feeling – whatever.” He groans, leaning his face down and burying his nose between his knees. “God, I’m really bad at this.”

Will is very still. He’s barely breathing.

He stares at Mike, and it takes everything he has to keep it together, to not make this into something it’s not.

“Look.” Mike takes a long, deep breath. He looks up, straight into Will’s eyes. “I’m good at convincing myself of one thing and then realizing it was something else, and then it’s too late and I hurt you, or I hurt El, and then – I don’t even know what’s happening anymore. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

Will soaks in every single word without actually registering it. He’s past the point of asking questions, but he doesn’t need to anymore. Something has changed in Mike, like he’s pushed past the filter in his mind that was keeping him from speaking.

“When you moved away, I couldn’t stop thinking about how different that summer could’ve been if I wasn’t – you know. And every time I thought too hard about it, I wrote El a letter. And I know this isn’t fair on her or you, but I thought it would make it – I don’t know. Somehow less real. Less scary, you know?”

Will doesn’t know. He’s listening, but he’s not comprehending. He slowly nods along anyway.

“And then El told me you liked some girl and I just felt … I don’t know. And when I saw you at the airport, I guess I was – ashamed.”

“Ashamed,” Will echoes, unable to catch up. “Ashamed of what?”

“Ashamed – just.” Mike hesitates. “Of assuming that maybe you’d like me, I guess.”

Will blinks.

“I know it was stupid, and arrogant, but when El said you liked someone else, I guess I felt … betrayed?”

The conversation has reached a point where Will doesn’t understand anything anymore. So this is what it’s about – Will liking Mike? That’s what he’s been confused about? Is this what they’ve been talking about all along?

Will needs time to think, but Mike is already saying more words, and it looks like he’s not going to stop anytime soon.

“So, in Lenora I figured that you didn’t. Like me, I mean. But then you were sending me so many mixed signals.”

“What?” Will hears himself say. “I was – what?”

“You were! First you gave me the painting – and I thought oh, okay, maybe I’m just stupid and you do like me. And then you told me El commissioned it, so I thought okay, I’m really fucking stupid. And then you spent the rest of the day basically telling me how perfect El and I are together – and I thought, you wanted me to be with her. And then next thing I know is El tells me you were lying about it, practically making up the whole thing, and I was – god, I was so confused.”

Will’s ears ring.

Slowly, he realizes they haven’t actually talked at all this past week. From the beginning, Will wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. Mike was only telling half of the story.

“And when we fought, I guess in a way I thought it was … I don’t know. Easier. Safer. To just not talk about it. It’s stupid, but I wasn’t sure about anything. For all I knew, you could’ve made a different painting for some girl – or El could’ve been wrong about you liking someone.”

It’s strange, hearing it all from Mike’s perspective. Realizing he didn’t know what Mike was thinking at all. And it feels impossible, to put it together now.

Mike exhales deeply. His eyes flicker back to the wall, like he can’t hold his gaze any longer.

“This past year I kept going over it in my head. And I thought, maybe you tried to tell me something in that van. That maybe at some point you did like me. But we were already so distant, and I figured you probably didn’t anymore – I mean if you ever liked me.”

If you ever liked me. Will almost wants to laugh.

“And then this week.” His eyes slowly glance at Will, then back again. “Just – being close to you again. I realized what we’d lost, you know? I mean, how could we lose – this?” He gestures between them. “How could we lose us?”

“Yeah,” Will says, voice quiet like a whisper. They hold their gazes for a few seconds.

Then Mike sighs, running his hand over his eyes. “But then – these past few nights, I barely slept, I just –“ He struggles with the words, making several attempts to finish the sentence. “I guess, I kept thinking about different versions of us. It was easy at night, to imagine what we could be if it wasn’t so – complicated.”

What we could be.

They look at each other.

It’s quiet.

Mike looks drained and empty, his breathing is a little unsteady. And Will can’t maintain this much longer – he knows he will crumble, all the walls he’s built around himself for so many years, always shutting out the possibilities.

Of what they could be.

This is really happening – right?

Will blinks, realizing he still hasn’t said anything.

“Um,” he starts. “I’m sorry. I’m – I’m a little slow right now. I’m confused.”

Mike huffs. “That makes two of us.”

Mike fidgets with his jeans. Will stares at his hands. He needs to say something, but his mind is fighting a war and it’s hard to concentrate on words.

“So, um … what you’re saying,” he says finally. He stares at Mike, trying to read it in his face, to see what this is really and truly about, but he’s scared, so so scared to read this wrong. “Sorry, can you make this – a little clearer?”

Mike stares, mouth open. “What – I told you, I don’t know how to talk about it!”

“Okay, but. I’m afraid that I’m – reading this wrong, or something.”

“You’re not.”

“But when you say that I’m not – what do you mean –“ 

“I mean just what you think I mean.”

“But what –“ 

“Is it really that hard to believe?”

“Yeah!” Will huffs, frustrated. “It is. It’s – it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, it doesn’t make any sense to me either.” Mike looks frustrated. “I know this sucks. I know I should be more confident about this, and I get it if you wish it was different. You don’t have to give me an answer right now if you need more time, that’s fine.”

Will looks up, frowning. What –

And only then, he sees it: the sheer nervousness, the red tint in his cheeks, the tremor in his hands – the mess Mike is right now, like this is the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his life.

This is ridiculous.

“Mike.” Will stares at him, wide-eyed. “You know that I like you, right?”

Mike stills his fidgeting. His eyes widen, lips slightly parted. “Oh.” His gaze nervously flickers over Will’s face. “Um – I mean. I guess I figured. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

Will shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand.”

“What?”

“I’ve –“

Will struggles. There’s no way he’ll find words for this – it’s impossible to make it clear. The weight of it. The years of it.

But the words have been waiting.

Patiently sitting at the back of his throat for all these years. And that’s where they should’ve stayed, tucked away under his tongue until the day they’d lose their meaning.

“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Mike stares at him.

Will stares back.

An age-old confession sitting between them and Will can’t take it back.

“Oh,” Mike says, slowly blinking. “You –“

He doesn’t finish. Just stares at Will, wide-eyed.

And suddenly, Will feels like he’s said too much. Because it is too much – always has been. It’s not a crush, it’s not something he just realized. Why did he have to say love instead of like? Love, like it’s big and it’s old and it’s out there, and Will doesn’t know how to breathe.

“I –“ he stutters. “I mean, I’m. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t wanna make it weird. I just – I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I did. But it’s –” He trails off. Nothing he can say can make this any better.

Mike opens and closes his mouth. His eyes flicker between Will’s, like he’s struggling to understand. “How –” There’s a small frown between his brows and Will stares at it, so he doesn’t have to look into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Will almost laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” He feels the heat rising under his skin. “Maybe since we were twelve or – thirteen?”

Mike stares. Like all the years they’ve known each other, all the things they’ve said to each other, need to be reevaluated with this new piece of information.  

“How –” The frown between his brows deepens. “How did you – do it? I mean. All this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just –” Mike searches his face. It’s like he’s seeing him for the first time. He looks straight through him – straight into the truth of him – but his eyes are soft and warm. “That must’ve been hard.”

Will’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Mike says.

“Sorry – for what?”

“For not noticing.”

Will blinks and quickly looks down at his hands. “Well, I didn’t want you to notice.”

“Yeah, but – you were so young, and your dad – you were alone with this for so long.”

Will meets his eyes. Out of all the things he’d expected from Mike, it wasn’t this. For Mike to really see him, to know him with all the pain of loving him. He didn’t know how badly he needed to hear it.

Because it’s not just about loving Mike. It’s about the isolation and the secrets and the hiding, too.  

“Um,” Will croaks, his voice a little shaky. “I guess so.”

He wants to make it sound casual, like it wasn’t that bad after all. But the truth is, it was. Loving Mike was a constant reminder of how wrong he was, of all the things he could never have.

He doesn’t see it coming – only feels it – when Mike’s fingers brush his arm, and he can barely look up before Mike is already moving closer, sliding his hands around him in a slow, careful pull.

Mike hugs him. Tight.

Will doesn’t want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Mike murmurs into Will’s hair. And he repeats it, over and over again, until Will melts against him, shaking, his fingers gripping into Mike’s shirt.

And for a moment it doesn’t even matter – all the confusion and the spiraling.

Because for the first time in his life, he’s seen.

And that almost feels more important.

When they pull apart just a minute later, Will’s vision is a little blurry. Mike stays close, their thighs and shoulders touching.

Will stares at their laps, trying to steady his breathing.

“You know,” Mike says quietly. “You should’ve picked someone who’s – more confident with this stuff. I mean – I’m so bad at this.”

Will laughs but it comes out shaky. “It’s not like I got to choose, Mike. Believe me, you wouldn’t have been my first pick.”

“Ouch.” Mike raises his eyebrows indignantly, but he’s smiling.

For a moment it feels easy.

But nothing – absolutely nothing about this is easy.

“So.” Will’s throat feels tight. Because despite everything, he’s still not quite there yet. And he’s scared, but this conversation has been going on for too long and he needs an answer.

“When you say that you’re – not confident or … that you’re confused. Um. Does that mean you’re not sure if you –” He gestures vaguely. “You’re not sure how you … feel about me?”

It’s a deadly question. And that’s exactly why he needs to ask.

“What?” Mike says. “No. I’m sure about that.”

Will blinks at him. “Oh.”

“I –“ Mike sighs. “I mean, I wasn’t sure for a long time, but this past year I had a lot of time to think. At some point, I thought that maybe it’s all just in my head, but after this week, after last night, I guess – that’s why I … kissed you, I wanted to know how it would feel, and now I do, and – I really have no doubt about it.“

About –

“About –“ Will starts, saying it like a question.

“Oh my god, Will.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Yes, about that. How clear do I have to be?”

“Just saying it would help.”

“I –“ Mike huffs in frustration.

Will watches him search for words. But it’s obvious now how hard this really is for Mike. With the way he’s been raised, with the things he believes, with his dad – sure, Will’s dad is a nightmare, but at least Will has had years of coming to terms with it. This is still fairly new to Mike.

Maybe Will can be brave for them both.

“What you’re saying is that–“ he starts, quietly. He takes a deep breath. He can’t believe he’s doing this. “Um, that you –like me?”

Mike looks at him, surprised. But then he closes his mouth, and something soft flickers across his face. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Will stares. And it should have been clear a while ago – maybe it should’ve been clear last night. But it still catches up to him, and Will thinks he might need a few days to really let it sink in.

“Oh,” is all he can say.

Mike frowns, slowly shaking his head like he can’t believe Will is still questioning it. “Why do you think I kissed you?”

Heat rises under Will’s cheeks. “Uh, I don’t know, Mike. I wasn’t exactly expecting it, you know?“ 

“Well, I didn’t plan it.”

They look at each other.

For a moment, it's quiet – but the truth is out there, and they can't take it back.  

Mike’s eyes roam over his face in a way that makes Will’s heart stutter. He's still waiting for the moment he wakes up from this dream.

“Um,” he says. “I’m glad you did it. Kissed me, I mean.”

Mike’s hand brushes his thigh. Will looks down to watch him reach for his hand, threading their fingers together. Just like he had at Dustin’s, only now they’re out in plain sight.  

“Yeah?”

Mike’s fingertips brush over the back of his hand, and the touch is light, innocent – but it’s all different now. It has nothing to do with warming up. It’s not accidental. It’s a touch just to touch.

They stare at each other’s hands. It’s quiet. Will hears the blood rush in his ears.

“So …” He swallows and there’s a light tremble in his voice. “If you’re not confused about – uh. Liking me.” He says it just to hear the words again. They ring in his ears. “What is it that you’re so confused about?”

Mike’s thumb brushes his skin. He takes his time to reply and when he does, his voice is more serious. “I’m confused about how to handle it. Like – what to do with it.”

Will looks at him, eyes moving over the faint freckles. “Like – what happens next?”

“Yeah.” Mike’s shoulder is warm even through the sweater, as he presses slightly against Will.

“I kept going over it in my head this week. Thinking about – what it would look like. And it’s not even about what I want, or what you want, it just feels – impossible.”

“Yeah,” Will says, voice thin. “I get it.”

He’s gone over this in his head so many times. The sheer impossibility of a future – not just with Mike, but with any boy. There’s no blueprint, no pattern they could follow. Not their friends, not their parents, not their parents’ parents – none of them could show them how.

“I know that it’s different in some parts of the world, but this is Hawkins,” Mike says. “And it’s stupid, because there’s like – a million worse things going on, but. It doesn’t make it go away, you know?”

Committing to a life like this would mean isolation: living with a constant secret, unable to open up to anyone about it. Maybe they could tell their closest friends, but even they would probably need time to adjust – let alone Mike’s parents.

“It’s scary,” Will says.

“Yeah.”

All of this – all of what Mike is saying, it’s true. He’s building a case against them, and the worst part is that Will agrees. He too does not see a future where this could be possible. He’s never even seen a future where Mike likes him back.

The silence between them is loud, weighted with everything that’s wrong with the world. But it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did when Will was a young boy, alone with his thoughts in the middle of the night, feeling sick, and twisted, and wrong. Because now, Mike is being all these things with him.

“So …” Mike says after a while, fingers continuing to brush Will’s hand. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know.”

Maybe they shouldn’t do it.

Maybe they should stay friends, as long as they still can.

Go back to their separate rooms. Hope that sleep helps them forget. Share a smile over the breakfast table, remembering what could’ve been, but knowing this is for the better.

And in a few years maybe, if they survive, they’ll leave this town and move on. Maybe they’ll see each other on Thanksgiving or Christmas, treasuring the secret they’ll keep for the rest of their lives.

But at least then Will would know that there was a time when Mike liked him.

“I know it’s stupid,” Mike says quietly. “But I don’t really wanna be alone tonight.”

Will swallows. “Me neither.”

Their joined hands rest warm against Will’s thigh.

It’s quiet around them. Quiet and too bright.

And Will wishes it was cold, so they’d have a reason to slip into bed, to touch. He wishes it was dark, so they could pretend none of this matters in the morning.

The dark has been keeping secrets for them.

The light is not as forgiving.

If they want to be close, they have to make a decision.  

“Um …“ Will’s gaze flickers over Mike’s face. “Do you wanna – sleep here tonight?”

They’d slept in the same bed for these past nights, so it shouldn’t even feel so different. But it does. Something spreads across Mike’s face, a deep flush, a glow in his eyes. He nods.

Mike pulls him up by the wrist to the bathroom. They brush their teeth in silence, changing for the night. Mike slips into one of Will’s shirts. It’s a familiar ritual.

Except nothing about this is familiar.

The space where their shoulders brush burns.

Mike’s gaze through the mirror makes it hard for Will to breathe.

They don’t say a word. All Will can hear is his pulse rushing in his ears.

They shut the lights. Will turns the heater off. Mike lights a candle by the bed. And it’s just like it was when the power was out, only now there are no excuses left. There’s no reason to sleep in the same bed – except for the fact that they want to.

Will climbs onto the mattress, settling by the heater. They’d slept here together just a couple of nights ago, in the cold dark. Touch had still felt like something incriminating then. Now it feels like something Will doesn’t think he can hold back much longer.

Mike settles in beside him, pulling the blanket over their bodies. On the narrow mattress, their shoulders press together.

They stare at the ceiling.

None of them says a word.

It’s too quiet.

“Mike.” The word comes out like a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I need to know what happens now.”

A pause.

“What do you want to happen?”

When Will looks at him, Mike is already looking back. His eyes are warm and soft, like it’s all okay. Like whatever Will says next, it’s going to be fine.

But he’s never been asked what he wants before. And maybe that’s good, because he wants too much – he’s always wanted too much. But what he wants and what’s the right choice are two completely different things.

“I wanna be your friend,” he whispers.  

“You are my friend.”

“Yeah, but I wanna keep being your friend. Your best friend.”

Mike smiles. “You’ll always be my best friend.”

His eyes are dark and steady. But there’s something glowing in them, the same hopefulness Will never allowed himself to feel.

“What else do you want?”

Mike is washed in warm orange light, familiar shadows curling over his features. His face is so familiar it aches. 

“You know what I want,” Will whispers.

Mike’s eyes roam over his face. Slowly, he reaches for Will’s hand again, nudging his fingers and intertwining them. “Do you think it would be … stupid?”

“Yeah.”

“Risky?”

“Definitely.”

Mike slowly turns to his side, facing him. His feet nudge Will’s under the blanket, their bare shins brushing. Will’s heart stutters. All this talking was one thing, but now that they’re this close, he realizes what it means. What it could mean. 

The air between them is filled with everything that could happen now – a million possibilities Will didn’t even dare to dream. And it’s all wrong, but it’s right, too. And most of all, it’s unfamiliar – for Will to get something that he wants so badly.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

Mike is inching closer. The candle behind him casts his shadow over Will’s face. He’s not looking at Will’s eyes but somewhere lower. “No,” he whispers. “I’m not sure about anything. I told you, I’m really good at making bad decisions.”

Will breathes out a laugh, but it catches in his throat when he feels Mike’s breath on his face.  

He’s too close.

Will watches Mike look at his mouth for several seconds. It makes it hard to breathe, knowing Mike wants this. That he’s wanted it for a while – that Will is the reason Mike was struggling for so long.

Will leans forward to close the gap between them.  

“Wait.” Mike pulls back.

Will stares at him. “What?”

“Sorry. I just –“ He falls back onto his back.

“You – don’t want to?”

“No, I do. I just –” He grabs Will’s arm and pulls. Then he’s rolling them over, switching places, and Will doesn’t even have time to register what’s happening – because Mike is already hovering above him, suddenly very close. Will looks up at him, heart stuttering.

Mike places both hands on Will’s jaw and gently tilts his head, so the candlelight catches Will’s face. He feels the warmth of the flame on his skin. Mike’s eyes move over his face, slowly, deliberately.

“I wanna look at you this time,” Mike whispers.  

Will’s breath catches.

He stays still, as Mike studies him carefully. Like he’s really seeing him. Every part of him. Like he isn’t afraid of what he might find. And if he’s not afraid – then maybe Will doesn’t have to be either.

Slowly, Will slides his hand to the back of Mike’s neck, just where his hair starts. His skin is warm and soft.

Mike’s breathing is shallow, a little shaky. His fingers brush over Will’s jaw, tracing his face like he did last night – only this time, his eyes follow.

“Are you gonna do it?” Mike asks, voice low.

Will can’t breathe, astonished by how close they are. “Do what?”

“Take what you want.”

What he wants.

What he wants is to kiss Mike breathless. To bring their bodies together until he’s hot, dazed, and gasping. He wants to kiss him for as long as it takes for him to understand that he can. And then, in the morning, he wants to talk and talk and talk until they find a way to make this work.

Will pulls him in by the neck. Mike meets him halfway. Their lips brush, just slightly, and Will’s eyes flutter shut, but then Mike is already pulling back again.

He looks at him, tracing his thumb over Will’s cheek, as if to really see that it’s him he’s kissing. Slowly, Mike leans in, placing soft kisses across Will’s face – his cheek, nose, forehead, jaw, the corner of his mouth – always coming back to look at him, as if he’s slowly learning that this is really them.

Until Will can’t take it anymore. He grabs the front of Mike’s shirt and pulls him close, tilting his head to meet Mike’s mouth in a real kiss. 

Mike’s breath hitches in surprise, but he leans into him as Will opens his mouth and brings their lips together.

In a matter of seconds, everything loses its weight. Because this is so easy, and so good, and they should’ve done this years ago.

Mike settles above him, their bodies flush. Will feels his heartbeat against his chest. His hand slides through Mike’s curls, holding him close.

Their lips move slowly together, deliberately, finding a soft rhythm as they adjust to each other. The sound of their mouths fills the room. The hitch of their breaths. 

Will wants to take it all in, to be fully present so his mind can catch up with everything that has happened today. But his heart is beating too fast, and the way Mike takes his lower lip between his, slowly tugging with his teeth, makes his brain shut down.

He realizes he might be a little too eager.

But it doesn’t matter, because so is Mike.

Suddenly, they’re not cautious anymore. Mike pushes the covers off them without breaking the kiss. His breath is shaky and it’s like he’s seeking Will, pressing closer, his hands a little clumsy and desperate as he grabs Will by the waist.

It’s nothing like the way he touched him yesterday or the night before, and Will realizes just how much Mike must’ve been holding back. There's the same neediness in his touch that’s inside him, too. Their teeth bump, making Will laugh, but a muffled sound comes from Mike’s throat, like laughing is the last thing on his mind right now.

It’s electrifying – the way he presses forward like he can’t be close enough. He pushes his knee between Will's and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Nothing Mike could’ve said to him would’ve made it as clear as this. It's like it wasn’t even a choice at all. Like there’s no way they could’ve just moved on from this.

For the first time in his life, Will feels wanted. Wanted by Mike’s hands, sliding over his stomach, making everything burn and tingle. Wanted by Mike’s mouth, opening above his in a way that makes every cell in his body buzz.

He shudders when he feels Mike’s tongue brush over his lower lip, and his mouth immediately falls open.

Suddenly, it’s something completely different – it's hot, and it's wet, and it's driving him insane. They gasp into each other's mouths. Mike's fingers dig into Will's waist. Will tugs at his hair. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing – not until it's all too hot, and all too much. 

They break the kiss.

“Shit,” Mike gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “How are you so good at this?”

Will catches his breath, staring at the wet glow of Mike's lips. He smiles lazily. “Don't know – I guess I'm ... usually good at things.”

Mike lets out a breathless laugh. Will's thumb traces over his cheek.

They look at each other, like they’re recognizing each other – in all the ways they want each other.

The sound of their breaths is loud in the room. Will closes his eyes, trying to calm down, as Mike puts their foreheads together. He can feel his heart thumping against his chest.

After a minute he opens his eyes, looking at the sight of Mike: His messy black curls, his red mouth, flushed cheeks, the glow in his eyes. Will can’t believe how lucky he is.

Mike meets his gaze. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers, still a little breathless.

Will can’t count the number of times he pictured kissing Mike. He was a haunted boy, afraid of the dark, lost in a sweet daydream about his best friend. It was meant to distract him, a silly fantasy – not to become real. “Yeah,” he whispers and he smiles. 

Mike kisses him again, lingering, their lips brushing. Then he looks at him some more. And something crosses his face, his eyes soft, but a frown between his brows. “Will?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re – um.“ 

He stops, eyes flicking back up to Will’s.

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, say it.”

Mike’s face flushes. He stares somewhere at Will’s cheek. “Um. I just – it’s stupid. But I wanted to say –” His eyes flicker back up. “You’re ... really pretty like this.”

Will’s breath hitches. “Oh.”

For a moment, Mike looks mortified, and then he groans. He buries his face in Will’s neck. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Will laughs, as Mike starts pressing little kisses to the skin of his neck.

“Yeah, but you thought it.”

And then Will can’t laugh anymore, because Mike’s mouth moves differently, lips sucking on the soft skin. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how sensitive his neck was.

His breath catches, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand drops to the back of Mike’s head, fingers burying into his hair, as Mike pulls at his skin, gently grazing his teeth in a way Will is sure is going to leave a mark.

When he pulls back a minute later, Will is flushed and breathless. Mike slowly runs his fingers over the sore skin on Will’s neck, like he’s inspecting his work. “You’re gonna have to hide that.”

His nose nudges against Will’s jaw before drifting back up, his lips ghosting over his mouth. Will leans up to kiss him – just because he can.

“We’re gonna have to hide more than that,” he whispers. He searches Mike’s face for any sign of regret or doubt – any indication that he thinks this is a bad idea after all, that it’s not worth it.

But Mike just smiles and nods, and kisses him again.

And Will still can’t process everything that happened today – but maybe, if he kisses Mike long enough, he’ll understand.

Maybe they’ll find a possible future somewhere in all the places their mouths and bodies meet. A reason why this is worth it, for every reason that it’s not.

And at some point, Will might look inside himself for the familiar guilt, the shame of what they are and what they’re doing.

But Mike is doing it, too – Mike’s kissing him, too, and for the first time in his life, Will shares the guilt. He shares the shame.

And in sharing, it turns into something entirely different.