Chapter Text
i had this– this crush on someone, even though i know– i know they're not like me.
*
There’s an opening, and he takes it.
Mike makes eye contact first, meeting Will’s eyes, before stepping just a little too close. A deliberate invasion, a claiming of space with intention. “Hey,” It’s quiet, so quiet. “Can I have a minute?” he asks.
Will blinks. They’re still in sight of the others, but far enough away that the words won’t carry. They’re minutes from heading out. Heading to the Upside Down, the Abyss, doom, some absolute hell beyond imagining. Heading to face Vecna. Will’s shoulders are tight, drawn up the closer Mike gets.
Mike refuses to lose his nerve in this moment. If he does, he won’t be able to– he won’t–
He thinks: I gotta do this. I gotta do this right.
There’s no answer, but Will hasn’t moved. Frozen like prey caught in a vise.
Mike’s going to take that for a yes.
“That was very brave,” Mike says. Soft, careful. Something neutral enough to land. Words for Will to react to.
Will’s mouth twitches, and then—there it is. The smallest smile Mike’s seen from him. It almost breaks his heart.
God, Will’s face is tear soaked, red and blotchy and a mess. He’s a mess, and yet there’s something deep rooted in Mike that feels so soft, feels so gentle about his friend. Wants to do anything but pick at a scab. Pour a little salt in an open wound. But need’s must.
Mike draws in a breath; deep, steady. He’s got to ask. “So it’s—” He stops, recalibrates. Almost chickening out at the very start. He tries again. “It’s me, right?” He keeps his face as neutral as he can manage, like that would soften the words.
He says: “I’m the crush. I’m your… Tammy. Or whatever you meant. What you said back there—that was me. That is me.” The words feel awful the second they leave his mouth. Part of him wishes to reach out and grab them, stuff them back inside of him, unspoken. He’s reached for something that was never offered. A presumptuous, terrible thing. But he has to– he has to know.
Will’s reaction is instant. He looks as if Mike slapped him across the face. Like he drove a fist into his gut and then, Jesus Christ, like he turned around and spat at Joyce. Mike clocks it immediately. He knows Will too well not to.
And, fuck, he keeps going. “Hey, hey, I’m not trying to be a dick here, I–”
“We don’t—” Will cuts in, sharp and brittle. “This isn’t the time.” It’s the coldest tone Mike’s ever heard since Will’s possession. But he’s shaking. Will’s shaking. His hands, his shoulders. His breath is all wrong.
He thinks: Oh god. I’ve fucked this up.
It’s instinct, despite everything, and Mike grabs Will’s arms, tight. An anchor in this quagmire. “Look at me, look at me,” he says, low and urgent. He hums without thinking, the way he used to when Will spiraled, soft, steady, right in his chest. A stupid instinct. A desperate one. “Will, it’s me. It’s Mike. You’re safe.”
Mike is way out of his depth, but he doesn’t let go. “Will,” he says again. “Look at me.”
Then, slow, slowly, Will lifts his eyes. He makes eye contact. He looks wild, a caged thing. He’s all fear and fury and hurt twisted together.
Mike forces himself to keep talking. He gets it out: “We can figure out what this means later,” he says. His voice isn’t shaking anymore, he’s in. This is it. “But you didn’t just tell, I don’t know, your mom, your mom and me. You told everyone.” He gestures vaguely, helplessly. “The Party. Mr. Clarke. Some random nurse who might be Robin’s friend. El’s weird sister.” He exhales, steadies himself. “You did that because you were trying to protect us. All of us.”
Will doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t blink.
“You meant it,” Mike continues. “About Vecna. You mean it that Vecna will use the fact that you’re–” He hesitates, unwilling to say the word. He’s coming up short, a hopeless, useless friend in this mess. “He’s going to use the fact that you–” he swallows, “that you don’t like girls.”
Something flickers in Will’s eyes. Sharp, bright. Is it anger, resolve? Is it both? He’s being brave, and Mike is being brave too.
“Yeah,” Will says, breathless. His eyes are so red from crying. But he doesn’t look away. “I do. I meant it.”
Mike braces himself. “And if I’m your Tammy, or whatever that means–” He breathes in. And he finally says it. “If Vecna knows that you have feelings for me, or had feelings for me, or whatever,” Each word is deliberate and Mike feels terrible about each one. This is so fucking hard, pressing on a bruise. “I need to know.” he finishes. “If that’s something he could use.”
Will is silent. Ashen. His words didn’t just land, it hit him. Straight and clean.
“Goddamnit, Will, I’m scared,” Mike says. It’s hideous, raw honesty. He doesn’t wait for permission. He can’t. “There’s two bullets in our gun against that monster. El and you.” He huffs, lets out a broken laugh. “And frankly I think you have the better chance at beating him, you’re more of the silver bullet.” He gestures helplessly, looking for language big enough, right enough for this moment. He rambles instead: “You’re– you’ll be able to– You can do things. You can get inside his head. You can twist his neck, shatter his bones. It’s amazing what you can do. You’re our ace.” There’s a crack in his voice. “You have the power to end this.”
Still nothing, but Will has stopped shaking. His breathing has evened out. His eyes are locked on Mike’s, a sharp focus. He’s listening.
“And that’s why,” Mike pushes on, heart a drum in his chest. “That’s why you told all of us. You weren’t just– you weren’t confessing, you were preparing the board.” He swallows before continuing, the wildness he’s feeling untamed. “I’m going in because I’d rather die than not. I want to be part of this. I want to be Mike the Brave. And I need to be brave by knowing as much as I can.”
“What do you mean?” Will says quietly.
His grip on Will is so tight. “There are two human weapons going in after Vecna. And both of them care about some very stupid, very non-powered, very much not a superhero boy.” He takes a breath. Forces himself to slow down. “That boy deserves to know.”
“Know what?” Will breathes.
“Vecna surely knows about me being your friend–”
Will interrupts. Curt, precise. “My best friend.”
Mike nods. “Your best friend. Does he know, he must know, it’s why you–” Mike feels frantic. “Does he know that you– that–” The question rises in his throat, begging to be spoken and he can’t. He can’t say it.
And then Will says it for him. Asks the question for him. “Does Vecna know that I am in love with you?” Am, not was.
The words are flat. Empty. Like a forest already burned down.
And Will answers the question. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.” His voice is hollow, cold as ice.
Mike’s hands fall away from Will’s arms. Not deliberately, he didn’t mean to. His grip just fails him. His body follows, a half-step back, like he’s the one been struck now.
They both inhale. A little shell shocked from it.
He thinks: This is what you wanted. This is what you needed to hear.
“Okay,” Mike says at last. Quiet. Carefully. “Okay. That’s… that’s what I needed to know.”
He pulls off his beanie and rakes a hand through his curls, flustered, unmoored. He’s lost his internal compass and can feel it spinning uselessly in his chest.
He doesn’t know it, but Will is suddenly, absurdly aware of him. Of the pink in his cheeks. The dark, earnest focus of his eyes. His hair a mess, his mouth still parted like he’s caught mid-thought. Beautiful in a way that makes Will ache.
“Okay,” he repeats, trying to stay sane. His earlier epiphany confirmed, the truth verbalized. “We will talk about this,” Mike says, firmer now, anchoring himself to the promise. “We will. I swear it.” His voice softens. “And I’m not leaving you. And I’m not– I’m never letting you push me away.”
Will’s breath catches. “I get it, that this changes–”
“I don’t care,” Mike adds, stubborn, unmistakably himself. “I mean– I care, I just. I don’t want you to feel–” He wishes he could say the right thing. “I’m okay. We’re okay. I promise.” The words are tangled. Incomplete. Promises made on the edge of something terrible and imminent. But he says it and means it all the same.
And he gives into impulse, grabs Will’s arm and pulls him in. Wraps his arms around him and holds him closer than he ever has before. It’s instinctive. Necessary. Will is rigid for a moment, long enough to give Mike a terrorized thought, and then Will exhales, a quiet, broken little sound, and melts against him like he’s been waiting for permission.
Mike’s head is spinning. He’s dizzy, unmoored. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or what it means, only that he can’t let go yet. His thoughts spiral, snagging on Will’s words. Feels them ripping into his chest in unexpected, uncomfortable ways.
They’re not like me.
He thinks: Am I? What is it that I’m like?
He’s breathing in at Will’s neck, and his eyes sting with tears he’s not able to understand.
He thinks: Will loves me, and I’m the biggest asshole in the history of the world.
“Mike,” Will says like a prayer in his ear, and something deep in Mike’s gut shifts, clicks, rearranges itself.
“Mike.”
Hopper’s voice cuts through it, rough and final. Mike looks up to find him watching, that familiar glare. A suspicion clear in his expression. “Time to move, Wheeler.” His eyes flit over to Will, soften a little. “Will,” he adds. “Let’s go.”
It’s like cold water thrown over them. The spell breaks. Mike releases his friend, hands retreating even as every part of him protests. The space Will leaves behind feels instantly, impossibly cold.
“Thank you,” Mike blurts, quiet. “Thank you for keeping me safe, Will.” He looks at Hopper, straightens. “Us safe.”
Will smiles, soft and familiar. “Let’s end this.”
“Let’s end this.” He echoes.
He thinks: we have to live, we have to win, because I’m not done with this conversation.