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In Mike’s defense, Will should know by now not to leave him alone for an extended period of time.
Yeah, maybe Mike is snooping around his room a little bit. But he’s bored, okay? Will left to tell his mom something or another ten minutes ago. And it’s not like Mike is digging through his best friend’s drawers or anything— he’s only using resources available to the naked eye. Is that really snooping? He doesn’t think so.
He hasn’t really had the chance to look at Will’s new room since he moved back to town. It’s kind of sad— Mike could chart out every square inch of his old one if asked. Now he doesn’t even know what photos Will has hanging up. He guesses he should start there.
He’s got quite a few pinned up on a bulletin board— Jonathan’s work, presumably. Most of them Mike recognizes from years ago, but a couple are of Will and El in California. The majority are with— more or less— the entire Party, but some, Mike realizes proudly, are just of him and Will. They have the most solo pictures out of anyone else. His favorite is the one his mom took after their first day of kindergarten; they’re standing outside the gate by the pick-up line, arms linked.
There’s noticeably no pictures of Will with other girls, so that’s good. No secret Californian girlfriend.
The posters on the walls are mostly the same— and those that aren’t, Mike has already memorized by this point. There’s no drawings-in-progress laid out on his desk, and nothing on his easel; there’s nothing in general. He’s bored. He’s so bored that he’s considering reading through Will’s school books. Chemistry… how fun.
Fuck it. He’ll relearn some algebra while he’s sitting here. Might as well, right? A refresher never hurt anyone. Mike picks up a green notebook titled Algebra I, which is just all sorts of wrong. Math is either red or blue, depending on which side of the war you’re on. Will can’t just throw green into the mix.
This must be an old notebook, because Will took algebra last year. Maybe this could actually be fun— Mike can make fun of his pristine note-taking skills, and look at all the little doodles that Will always makes in the margins. He’s so cute and talented.
Predictable— the first page has been reserved as the title, because Will insists on needing one every time, even if the subject is labeled on the front cover. Across the paper, there’s a massive dragon blowing flames behind blocky letters, spelling ALGEBRA. It’s definitely an old drawing— over a year ago, he estimates, since Will’s skills have vastly improved by now. It looks incredible though.
The next page is boring— just exponents and scientific notation. There’s a doodle of what Mike assumes to be Will’s teacher in the corner, which is kind of funny. It’s definitely not the most flattering; Will must have hated her. That’s understandable— he’s never liked math.
The third page is more of the same, as well as the one after that. The fifth one, however, catches Mike’s attention. It’s a full-page sketch of the original Party’s DnD characters on horseback— Dustin with his Viking helmet, Lucas’s bow, Mike’s sword and shield, and Will’s robes. Although, to Mike’s surprise, Will isn’t wearing his wizard’s hat. Instead, on his head sits a crown. He’s a king; or, a prince, more likely, given his age. Mike wonders what the reason for that is. He’s never depicted himself like that before— at least, to Mike’s knowledge. Maybe there’s dozens of these little sketches littered throughout his notebooks. That, in Mike’s opinion, would be a crime. The thought that Will could have drawings that he might never get to see? Agony. Pure agony.
The drawing is clearly rushed and rough, like Will was sneakily adding to it as the teacher was turned away. Typical. It’s still the most beautiful thing Mike has ever seen, and he might spend a moment (or ten) too long on it, tracing the lines with his finger.
The page after is more algebra, which is a total disappointment; Will’s art is infinitely more entertaining than math. It seems, however, that the gods are on his side for once, because as Mike flips the paper, he’s met with a graphite rendition of him and Will mid-battle, back-to-back fighting poses— Mike’s sword drawn and Will the Wise conjuring up a spell. Just the two of them; because Will likes him the best. This one seems to have been worked on more thoroughly, lines precise and shaded. He must have been working on this instead of doing homework.
To Mike’s delight, the next page is also void of any equations. The drawings seem to be following a linear plot, as this one shows the two of them in almost the same stances, though Will is bent over at the waist, clutching his stomach in pain, with Mike glancing worriedly over his shoulder. The next picture has Mike diving in front of Will’s collapsed form, blocking an attack with his shield.
Mike is protecting him.
He knows that this is probably just some silly drawing; a story that Will made up for fun. But the fact that Will could want this, that he likes the idea of Mike protecting him as much as he likes protecting Will… he could die on the spot. Does Will think about it as much as he does? Was this drawn purely for plot purposes, or something deeper? Even though he wouldn’t mean it in the way Mike does, it’d still be enough to be wanted. To be needed.
Reluctantly, he turns the page on his ideal fantasy. It seems that Will has given up with math entirely at this point, and has turned this journal into his own sketchbook. Drawing-Mike is leaning down over Will’s body, faces close (not close enough, for his liking) with a hand on Will’s chest, in what Mike assumes is an act to check his breathing and heart rate.
The next, Mike is embarrassed to admit, makes his heart flutter. They’re sitting on the back of his horse, Mike steering, with Will’s arms wrapped around his waist. His eyes are closed and his head is resting between Mike’s shoulder blades, Lucas and Dustin sketched haphazardly in the background.
It’s nothing, really. It doesn’t mean anything, objectively. But in his fucked up little mind, it’s everything. Mike would kill for this. He would kill to have Will hug him like that, passed out from an evil magic spell or not. Is that what Will wants? Is that how he sees Mike? A knight in shining armor? He hopes so. It’s wishful thinking, but god he hopes so. He’s always stood up for his friends when they got bullied; it would make sense, right? That would be a natural conclusion for Will to make. Mike could fulfill that role. He’d be happy to.
The next drawing shows Mike sitting on a hospital bed— or, whatever the medieval equivalent would be— next to Will’s sleeping body, staring worriedly at their joined hands. They’re holding hands. More specifically, Mike is holding Will’s hand between both of his own. It doesn’t mean anything. He needs his brain to shut up.
The drawing after is very similar, except Will’s eyes are wide open. He’s smiling at Mike, who looks surprised that he’s awake.
Mike quickly turns the page— he’s entranced by the storyline now, there’s no time to admire each drawing carefully. He slams the book shut just as fast.
They kissed. They were kissing. Were they? Maybe he should get another peek—
No. No, this was wrong. It was a private journal. Very private. He shouldn’t have done this. He should put it back where he found it, and pretend he never saw it— outwardly. Inwardly, he’s going to be freaking the fuck out.
Before he gets the chance to do the right thing, he hears footsteps coming down the hallway. Without second thought, Mike stuffs the notebook into his backpack, and relaxes into the most casual position he can manage.
It’s for… research. That’s all. Purely scientific.
“Hi,” Will sighs as he steps into his room, closing the door behind him— something that Mike should have done before snooping. “Sorry, my mom decided that now was a good time to interrogate me about how I’m ‘getting along at the new school’,” he mocks with finger quotes. “As if I haven’t been attending for months already.”
School. Algebra. Math notebook hiding wrongfully in Mike’s backpack.
“It’s cool,” he waves his hand dismissively, one leg bent on the swivel chair he’s on. He’s really relaxed. Totally normal.
“Are you alright?” Will laughs, looking him up and down. Okay, so maybe not normal.
“I’m cool,” he repeats, subtly glancing over to his backpack, as if the notebook would suddenly grow legs and wiggle out of it, exposing his crimes.
“Okay,” Will responds, clearly not believing him, but not knowing what to make of it. “So, what do you want to do?”
“Actually, I should go,” Mike stands up abruptly, cutting their hang-out short by an hour. He doesn’t want to, but the guilt and nerves are eating him alive. He feels like he might pass out on the spot if he doesn’t get out of here this instant. “My mom is making an early dinner,” he lies.
“Oh,” he says, disappointed but trying not to show it. Mike feels so fucking guilty. “Okay, yeah. See you tomorrow?”
“Of course. See you,” Mike reaches over, giving him a big hug. An apology of sorts. Also, he just really wants to hug him right now. He always wants to hug him, but most of the time he gets too scared. He doesn’t need to be scared anymore, he thinks. Not when Will drew them kissing. That’s far more intimate than a hug. If he can visualize them doing that, Mike is sure he’ll be fine with a hug.
He wishes they could stay like this forever, but alas, he has to get going. He has much work to do.
⋆｡°✩₊⚔️₊✩°｡⋆
Two weeks pass by with no incidents.
Two amazing, wonderful weeks, before Will walkies in to ask if he can come over. Mike agrees, because why wouldn’t he? They hang out all the time.
But now, Mike is leading a very anxious-looking Will down the stairs of his basement, and that can only mean one of two things: either the Upside Down is back, or he knows that Mike took his journal. Seeing as Will isn’t pressing a hand to his neck, he’s going to go with option two.
It couldn’t have been that hard for him to figure out— Mike was in his room, where the journal was when Will last saw it. Not to mention, Mike totally freaked out on him in there, and was acting very suspicious. Will’s not stupid— he can put two and two together.
Is Mike proud of stealing from Will? No, of course not. Does he regret it? Not at all. Typically, when your best friend draws you two kissing, that means he likes you. Right? Mike certainly wouldn’t imagine kissing any of his other friends. Besides El, who he has kissed, but he wouldn’t imagine it now. If anything, that’s further evidence; imagining kisses leads to dating.
So why wait two weeks to make a move? Because Mike is a romantic, that’s why. He meant it when he said that he took the journal for research purposes. It wasn’t the main reason, or even a reason at all, at the time of the event, but still. He has a plan. A plan that’s not quite done yet, so if Will could have waited another week before noticing his book was gone, he would have appreciated it. But it’s fine. He can work with this.
“So, um…” Will starts, fiddling with his hands as they settle down on the couch. “I know this is going to sound kind of random, but have you seen my algebra notebook anywhere?”
Mike inwardly cringes, holding out his hands placatingingly. Caught. “Okay, don’t freak out.”
In an instant, Will’s eyes bug out of his head, and he turns ghostly pale, definitely freaking out. “I’m so sorry,” he says, almost hyperventilating. “Oh my— I am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and I definitely shouldn’t have left it out. That was so stupid, I’m so—“
”Will,” Mike places a hand on his shoulder, and Will takes a sharp breath in, pausing his rambling. “Breathe. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?” he squeaks, frozen like a deer in headlights— he’s so scared. Mike figures he would be too, but he’s not going to kill the guy. That’s his best friend.
“No,” Mike shakes his head, speaking softly. “The drawings were really good. I’m sorry I looked at them— I shouldn’t have been snooping. But— wait there,” he directs, walking to the other side of the room, and rifles through the mess on the table to find a notebook and a binder. He makes his way back over to Will, sitting down next to him and holding out the familiar notebook. “You can have it back, if you want. It is yours after all. But I was kind of hoping you’d let me keep it for a little longer. I was using it for reference.”
“Reference?” Will repeats in a daze, placing the notebook on his lap, his breathing slowing down substantially.
“Yeah,” Mike nods, handing him the binder. Will takes it slowly, opening it out of curiosity. “I kind of wrote a story based on it. I hope you don’t mind me stealing your ideas, but I seriously did like it. I loved it.”
“You— you saw the whole thing?” Will asks, like he doesn’t believe it; like he doesn’t think that Mike would be okay with it if he did.
“Yeah, I did,” he assures. “And it was great.”
“Why?” he questions, looking a bit like a kicked puppy.
“Why what?” Mike inquires. Why does he like it? Because it’s amazing. Not just the kissing part— all of it. The drawings, and the storyline, and the everything.
“Why don’t you hate me?” Will’s voice breaks a bit with the tears welling up in his eyes, and if that isn’t just the most heartbreaking sight. He thinks Mike would hate him for this. He truly believes that. He believes that Mike should.
“Will,” he says, grabbing his hands. “I could never hate you. Never. Even if I didn’t like you like that, I wouldn’t be mad.”
“You… what?” he falters.
“I like you. Come on, I literally wrote a whole love story about us,” Mike nudges his arm playfully. “You think I didn’t?”
“You like me?” Will checks once again. Mike doesn't mind— he gets it. He didn’t believe what he was seeing either, at first. He’ll give Will all the reassurance he needs.
“I do. I really do. Unless this,” he gestures to the notebook, “was a joke. In which case, I never said that.”
Will laughs, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes. “No, it wasn’t a joke. God, why would I joke about that. I love you.”
He loves him. Like, in the way Mike loves him. Entirely and wholeheartedly.
Mike smiles, grabbing him by the back of the neck to pull him in for a kiss. Will’s eyes widen in surprise, and Mike pauses an inch from his lips, giving him time to pull away if he wants. Instead, Will nudges his head forward ever-so-slightly, looking directly at his mouth, and Mike takes that as his queue to close the distance.
This kiss is better than staring at a drawing for thirty minutes on end. This one is real. He can feel Will, and taste Will, and touch Will, by wrapping his spare arm around his waist and pulling him closer. Will responds by sinking his hands into Mike’s hair, cradling his head gently, using them to tilt him farther to the side, deepening the kiss. Mike happily obliges, letting Will move him around as he pleases.
Before Mike starts shoving his tongue down Will’s throat, he very bravely displays a bit of self-control, leaning back, though still sharing the same breath. “I love you, too,” he pants, resting their foreheads together.
“Is this real life?” Will whispers, almost as if he didn’t mean to. Instead of answering, Mike just leans in briefly once more, kissing him soft and sweet. Will breaks into the world’s largest, cutest smile, looking down bashfully. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees. That accuracy describes how he’s feeling right about now. “Holy shit.”
“You love me,” he breathes, disbelieving, as he leans his weight against Mike’s side.
“I do love you,” he reiterates, tugging Will closer and planting a kiss to the side of his head. “I love you so much.”
Will sighs unsteadily, shaking his head as if trying to wake himself up. He looks at Mike with a slightly strained smile— he’s trying not to cry. Mike wants to tell him that it’s okay, that he can let it go, but before he has the chance, Will changes the subject. “So, you wrote me a story?”
“Yeah,” he nods, deciding to go along with it, rather than call Will out on his deflection. “I was going to present it in this big, grand gesture, but this works too, I guess.”
“This works great,” Will assures, tracing a hand over the first page that’s still open in his lap, eyes awe-struck. Is this how Mike looks when Will shows him some of his art?
“Actually, I was kind of surprised by how you portrayed yourself in your drawings,” Mike says, and Will gives a hum of interest, still staring down at the page, though not quite reading. “The wizard part I understood, but a prince? I didn’t think you were the type to want that.”
Will ”I grew up poor and I’m proud of it“ Byers, making himself royalty? No way. Mike has a feeling that it’s not about the money or status at all. It’s for Mike.
Will’s face immediately turns redder then he’s ever seen it before. “You can’t make fun of me for what you saw in that journal. It was for my eyes only. You’re the one that snooped.”
Mike’s first instinct is to apologize, because he did totally invade Will’s privacy, but he doesn’t really seem all that mad about it. And besides, why apologize when snooping was mutually beneficial for the both of them? He can use this. Plus, he’ll give Will a free pass to dig around his room in return. So they’re even.
“I’m not making fun of you,” Mike promises, leaning in slowly; flirtatiously. “If you’d like to be treated like a prince, then that’s what I’ll do. Is that what you want, my prince?”
Will stares at him in shock, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Stunned into silence, is he? “I… I mean I suppose that’s alright,” he stammers, avoiding eye contact.
“You suppose,” he echoes, smirking triumphantly, and Will nods. He fucking loves it and they both know it. “I’ll definitely be taking advantage of that then.”
“Jesus Christ,” Will sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose; a look of instant regret. He should regret this. Mike doesn’t take loving Will lightly. He’s going to be relentless with it.
“I see why you failed algebra now,” Mike teases, poking him in the side.
Will turns to him offended. “Hey, I did not fail. I got a C-minus,” he quietly corrects. “But um… you know how Jonathan was helping me study?”
“Yeah?” Mike answers, already loving where this story is going. If it’s embarrassing for Will, he’s in.
“Once, he asked to see my notes. Like, before I started taking them in a separate notebook,” he says, head in his hands. “I panicked so hard, he definitely knew something was up.”
“Will,” he laughs. “That’s hilarious.”
“Shut up, I was so scared. I was originally just going to draw a short story with the Party, but then you kind of took over the entire thing. I don’t even know why I did it— it was such a stupid idea. I definitely wasn’t planning on us actually being together in it. I was just going to, like, hint at it, or something, but as I kept drawing, the temptation became stronger and stronger, and I couldn’t resist.”
“Hey,” Mike interjects, shaking Will by the shoulder a bit, because he’s definitely starting to freak out again. “You don’t need to explain. I understand; more than you’d think, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“I maybe-might-possibly write short romance stories and vaguely base the characters off of us,” Mike admits, only slightly embarrassed. “But if you tell anyone about that, I’ll never forgive you.” Alright, maybe a lot embarrassed.
“Do you actually?” he asks, astonished. “Can I read them?”
“Well, they’re not very good,” Mike warns him. He’s not a professional— it’s just a small hobby. A guilty pleasure, really. He would get bullied relentlessly if any of their friends find out that he writes romances. He loves it, though. He can make the characters do whatever he wants; it’s like everything is happening to him. He can pretend it is, at least.
“Bullshit,” Will immediately protests. “I’m sure they’re fantastic.”
Mike loves him. He’s the nicest person to ever exist. “Okay,” he relents, like he wasn’t already on board the entire time. It’s only fair— an embarrassing story for another. “But you tell no one.”
“Deal. Actually, let’s never bring either of these up to anyone else,” he suggests, holding up the notebook and the binder.
“Definitely.” He’s glad they’re on the same page. Their reputations could never recover from this.
“I can’t believe you wrote this for me,” Will marvels, playing with the edges of the binder.
“Of course I did. You draw me stuff all the time.”
“Yeah, but… I don’t know.” Will shrugs. That was an I don’t think I deserve this shrug. Is he kidding? He deserves the world. Seriously. Anything he wants, Mike won’t stop until he gets it. He’ll buy the moon if he has to.
Mikes grabs one of Will’s hands, forcing him to look up. “I’ll write you as many stories as you want, sweet prince,” he says, kissing the back of his knuckles, like drawing-Mike does on page fifteen.
“Oh my god,” Will blurts, turning approximately the shade of a tomato. He likes that name even more; Mike is going to enjoy this.
“What?” he asks innocently, his smile anything but.
“You can’t just… quote Shakespeare and expect me to be okay with it!” Will exclaims, tossing his free arm in the air.
He can and he will. Mike might be the only person in his class who doesn’t complain about reading Shakespeare— only the tragedies though. The comedies are boring as hell. But stories where the main character goes crazy and kills a bunch of people? Right up his alley.
“You like it,” Mike argues, getting all up in Will’s face. “You love it.”
“I never said I didn’t,” he mumbles, examining his fingers very carefully. Will’s in love with him.
“Well, I’m glad,” Mike declares. “Because I call you that about twenty times in here,” he taps a finger on the binder. That would have been awkward if Will hated it. Mike might have jumped off a bridge at that point. Just scrap the entire story.
“Can I read it now?” Will requests, ignoring his attempts at flirting. Smart move.
“Yeah, sure,” he allows. “I mean, it’s not finished yet, but go ahead.”
“It’s fine. Mine isn’t finished either, seeing as it was stolen,” he looks at Mike pointedly, who gives a guilty smile back. “But maybe now we can write the ending together,” he adds shyly.
“Yeah,” Mike nods, with a squeeze to Will’s hand. That sounds nice. “Together.”