juniperdove
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Summary
Mike loves almost everything about living with Will, except for Carlton. Will comes home late one night clearly upset, Mike asks about it. He tells Mike that sex with Carlton isn’t what he expected. Mike, being the good friend that he is, offers to show Will how good sex can be.
Or: Mike shows Will that he’s not broken, and that he deserves to be treated gently.
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At first, Mike was unsure how to approach him when he got like this. But they’ve been living together for months now, never further than five feet apart in their dorm beds, so Mike’s learned what works and what doesn’t.
It works when he wakes Will like this, with gentle hands and words, telling him he’s safe. It works when he climbs into Will’s warm bed, turning him on his side and curling up against his back, an arm over his waist and his cheek pressed against his shoulder. They lie together like that until Will’s hiccupping gasps soften into steady breaths, until Mike feels him go limp in his arms and he knows he’s fallen back asleep. It always works.
or: Will has nightmares and Mike is the only one who can console him. Not even Will's boyfriend can. Mike takes great pride in this fact.
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i don't want you like a best friend by andiwriteordie
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
11 Sep 2022
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“I… I’m in love with him, aren’t I?” Mike groans, looking up.
There’s a beat.
Then, Max reaches across the table, and she pats Mike’s shoulder reassuringly. “You most definitely are,” she says with a bit of a sympathetic smile. “Congrats on figuring it out. I’ve known since the first year I met you.”
Or:
Five times Mike Wheeler tells someone else about the feelings he has for his best friend, plus one time he actually tells his best friend.
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Mike thinks back to the painting Will gave him, rolled up and placed carefully in his dresser drawer, because for some reason it felt too wrong to hang it up on the walls with everything else. Too intimate. Like Will had made it for his eyes only. Or, apparently as everyone else thought, some mystery lover in California. And then he thinks about Will dozing off on his bed, and saying I think I’m in love with you all soft and slowed down from the inertia of sleep, and that’s right about when Mike starts to feel seriously lightheaded. He leans back against his bed and focuses very hard on taking deep, even breaths.
Mike contemplates his feelings for Will Byers, partakes in a concerning amount of swooning, and learns to drive. Sort of.
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“Just saying, if you’re taking another hit, you should share it with me,” Mike says, and Will slowly tilts his head, drinking in every word. “It just makes sense. Like, mathematically.”
Will’s reddened eyes narrow, bewildered. “Mathematically?”
“If there’s two hits left, we’d each only get one,” Mike explains. “But if we shotgunned, we’d both get two.” God, this is the best idea he’s had in ages. He should’ve stolen Will’s weed, like, months ago. “That’s like, bang for your buck. This is simple math, Will Byers. Keep up.”
In which it’s well past midnight in New York, Will can’t sleep, and Mike feels like they barely know each other anymore.
So, they get a little high. Mike is very normal about all of it.