this was all for you

by frrogy

Summary:

And if Will let his guard down, even for a second, he knew exactly what would happen.

He’d lose Mike.

And Will would be damned if he let anything happen to Mike just because he was foolish enough to believe he could have this freely. Because of course he couldn’t. Of course they couldn’t.

...

or: loverslakegate inspired by the author listening to a shit ton of ethel cain (specifically nettles on loop.)
set roughly a week after my previous churchgate fic. reading that one first is helpful, but this could probably stand alone

title from: Nettles - Ethel Cain

Chapter 1: lay me down where the trees bend low

Notes:

hiii! this is what happens when you listen to Nettles over 200 times (not an exaggeration, unfortunately). this fic is loosely inspired by tumblr user greenfiend’s loverslakegate theory, mixed with my own delusions.
here is what i listened to while writing!! (same as god loves you/my churchgate playlist <3)
enjoy! <3

 

Tell me all the time not to worry 

And think of all the time I'll, I'll have with you 

When I won't wake up on my own, wake up on my own 

Held close all the time, knowing I'm half of you

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

Ever since that day in the church, things had been different. 

 

Of course, there was the glaring, impossible change: Mike loved him. Mike had said it— meant it—and Will had heard it in his own ears, felt it in Mike’s hands when he dragged him from the edge of something terrible. Something not-him.

 

And yet, even with all that—Mike’s arms, Mike’s voice, Mike’s mouth on his, desperate and trembling—Will didn’t let himself hope. 

 

Because the danger hadn’t passed. Because the gates hadn’t closed. Because Henry—Vecna—One— whatever he was —was still out there. And if Will let his guard down, even for a second, he knew exactly what would happen. 

 

He’d lose Mike. 

 

Not just the way he feared in those quiet, secret nights in California—when distance and silence had stretched between them like a noose. But truly. Irrevocably. Fatally. 

 

So, yeah. Maybe things were different now. But not better. 

 

Not safe.

 

And Will would be damned if he let anything happen to Mike just because he was foolish enough to believe he could have this freely. Because of course he couldn’t. Of course they couldn’t.

 

Even though they knew—about the feelings, about the kiss, about the way Mike had looked at him like he was something worth choosing—no one else could. 

 

No one else could. 

 

Not in this town. Not in this world. Not when boys like them didn’t get to hold hands in daylight or fall asleep tangled up on the couch without risking something. A look. A word. 

 

Worse.

 

A lot worse.

 

And now—now wasn’t the time. There wasn’t room for it, not when everything still hung by a thread. They would just have to figure it out later.

 

After. 

 

After Henry was gone. After the gates were closed. After the world wasn’t teetering on the edge of something dark and hungry. 

 

After their town was safe. After Mike was safe. 

 

Then. Then they would. 

 

So they didn’t talk about it. Not around the others. Not even when they were alone, not really. There were moments—quiet ones, half-formed—but everything still hung in the air unspoken, suspended by fear. 

 

Brushed shoulders. Lingering touches. The way Mike would sit a little too close, or the way Will’s eyes followed him even when he pretended not to. 

 

Honestly… it wasn’t all that different from before. 

 

Will told himself it was enough. That the silence was safer. 

 

But safety, he’d learned, was a fragile thing. And silence never stayed quiet for long. 

 

And lately, there was something building. Something heavy and familiar pressing in at the edges of his chest, the way the air changed before a storm.

 

It wasn’t like before—not exactly. Not like the slipping, the blackouts, the static pressing in at the edges of his thoughts. He was clearer now. Stronger, maybe. Or just better at pretending he was. 

 

Still, he could feel it. A weight, always in the background. A shadow that never left, even in the light. 

 

Some days it was barely there—a faint echo in the back of his mind, a whisper he could ignore if he focused hard enough. But other times, like now, it pressed in heavier. Not loud. Not violent. Just there. 

 

Waiting. 

 

And that was the part that scared him the most. 

 

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t scream. It was patient. 

 

Will clenched his jaw, grounding himself in the worn cotton of the sleeves Mike had given him to borrow, in the muffled hum of the old box fan across the room. 

 

He was still here. Still himself. He knew that.

 

But knowing it didn’t make the feeling go away. 

 

It didn’t stop the way his thoughts moved too fast in the dark, or how his body felt just slightly out of sync with his skin—like something was shifting beneath the surface, waiting for a crack. 

 

Like the calm before a storm that never came.

 

It was late. Quiet in the way only suburbs could be—like the world had shut itself off for the night. 

 

Will lay awake in Mike’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Mike was beside him, breathing steady, one arm slung loosely across Will’s waist. It should’ve been comforting. And in a way, it was. 

 

But Will’s mind wouldn’t slow down. 

 

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the fear was there, buzzing beneath his skin like static. That this would be the last night like this. That the weight in his chest wasn’t just anxiety—it was warning. That maybe he didn’t get to keep this. 

 

Mike stirred beside him, shifting slightly. “You’re doing that thing again,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

 

Will blinked. “What thing?” 

 

“That thing where you go all still and weird and think I won’t notice that you’re spiraling.” 

 

Will let out a soft exhale, almost a laugh, but not quite. “Sorry.” 

 

Mike didn’t move his arm, didn’t pull away. Just rested his chin lightly on Will’s shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Will was quiet for a long moment. Then— “I’m just… overthinking. Worried.”

 

His gaze flicked away from Mike’s, down toward his neck—just for a second. But Mike noticed. Of course he did. 

 

Mike exhaled—something like a sigh, but softer. Tired. “Will…” 

 

“No, Mike,” Will cut in. Not harsh. Just quiet. Resigned. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

 

It was a familiar rhythm by now. A well-worn argument. Mike would insist it wasn’t Will’s fault. That it hadn’t really been him. That Mike was fine. That he wasn’t going anywhere. That Will would never hurt him again. 

 

But words couldn’t erase the memory. 

 

Didn’t erase the feeling of being trapped inside his own body, watching his hands move without his permission. Didn’t erase the image of Mike gasping beneath him, or the sound of Mike’s voice breaking when he said his name like a prayer. 

 

Will swallowed hard and shook his head, trying to push it away.

 

“It’s just… hard,” he said finally, his voice thin. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know what I’d do if I hurt you again.”

 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Mike. 

 

But Mike only shifted closer, pressing their foreheads together gently. “Well, I’m not worried about it.” 

 

“Mike—” 

 

“I’m not,” Mike said again, firmer this time. “And you don’t need to be either. We got through it once, didn’t we? We will again. Whatever happens.”

 

Will exhaled shakily, not quite convinced but too tired to argue. Mike could be stubborn when it came to hope. 

 

A long silence passed between them, but it wasn’t heavy. Just still. 

 

Then Mike spoke again, voice softer now, like he was threading it into the dark. “We’re gonna stop him, you know? We’re gonna kill him, and we’re gonna get through this.”

 

His thumb brushed absently along Will’s arm. 

 

“And after that?” he continued. “We’ll do stupid, normal things. Like graduate high school. And you’ll paint something just for fun again instead of as a warning. And I’ll finally take you to see a real beach, not just the California one you hated.” 

 

Will gave a quiet laugh, the first real sound from him in a while. 

 

“We’ll sleep in until noon. Drive around with the windows down. Eat gas station food and pretend we don’t hate it. I’ll teach you how to parallel park even though you’ll probably crash us into a mailbox.” 

 

Will blinked hard, his chest tight with something that almost, almost felt like peace. 

 

“And I’ll wake up next to you,” Mike said quietly. “Every day. Not just because I’m afraid to lose you. But because I want to. Because you’re it, Will.”

 

Will finally looked up at him, unable to blink away the tears that had started to form, clinging to his lashes.

 

“You’re it too, Mike,” he whispered, voice cracking around the words.

 

One tear slipped free. Mike reached up and brushed it away with the side of his thumb, gentle like he was afraid Will might break. 

 

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in. 

 

The kiss was soft—barely more than a brush of lips—but it held everything they hadn’t been able to say. Everything they’d tried not to need. 

 

When they parted, neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to. 

 

Mike shifted them gently, guiding Will to lay his head against his chest. Will went easily, eyes already heavy as he curled into the warmth of Mike’s arms. 

 

The steady rhythm of Mike’s heartbeat filled his ear, grounding him. 

 

And for the first time in days, Will let himself believe it might be okay. 

 

Even if just for tonight.

 

____________________

I can hear them singin’ (singin’)

"To love me is to suffer me,” and I believe that

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

The sun was already high when Will woke. 

 

Light filtered in through the blinds, soft and dappled, casting faint stripes across the walls of Mike’s room. The box fan still whirred lazily in the corner, rattling just enough to remind him the world was still turning. 

 

He blinked slowly, letting the moment settle. His head was still resting on Mike’s chest, their legs tangled beneath the blanket. Mike was out cold, mouth slightly parted, arms still loosely wrapped around him like he hadn’t let go all night. 

 

Will didn’t move. Didn’t want to.

 

They had plans for today. 

 

They were supposed to go to Lover’s Lake—ironically. 

 

After what happened in the church, both of them had been sidelined for a while. Will, because of his connection to Henry. Mike, under the pretense of recovery—but Will knew better. 

 

Mike had been cleared days ago, but he hadn’t pushed to rejoin the others. Hadn’t even argued when they were benched. Will suspected it wasn’t about rest—it was about him. 

 

About Mike not wanting to leave his side. He didn’t say it out loud, but Will could see it. Feel it in the way Mike hovered a little too close. 

 

Still, after a full week of nothing—no spikes, no dreams, no static—they’d finally been cleared to help again.

 

Hopper had asked them to check out the shoreline, see if any residual gate energy was lingering. Some of the sensors Owens’ team had left behind had picked up faint interference, and no one wanted to risk another full-scale breach. Not unless they were sure.

 

It was probably nothing. 

 

But Will knew better than to assume nothing meant safe. 

 

He had a horrible feeling about it. 

 

Still, he’d agreed to go. Had nodded yesterday when they talked it through, even though every part of him tensed at the thought. 

 

He’d made Mike promise, though. That if Will even felt something—some flicker of Henry’s presence, a pull, a shift, anything —he’d say something. And they’d leave. 

 

No questions. No hesitation. 

 

Will didn’t care about the mission. About what Owens or Hopper thought was important. 

 

If Henry was there—if he was reaching for Will again—then the only thing that mattered was getting out. 

 

Getting Mike out.

 

So, later that day, they stepped out of the Wheeler house, the autumn air crisp and sharp against their skin. Mike locked the front door behind them while Will stood by the car, arms crossed tightly over his chest like it might shield him from the weight pressing down on him.

 

They’d borrowed one of Hopper’s trucks—half-rusted, missing a hubcap, and creaking like hell when it started up. But it ran. That was all they needed.

 

Will climbed into the passenger seat while Mike adjusted the rearview mirror and tossed a walkie into the center console, just in case. They didn’t speak as they pulled out of the driveway, the tires crunching softly over the pavement. 

 

The streets were quiet, most of Hawkins still pretending the worst had passed. That the last two—almost three—years had been a string of gas leaks and freak accidents. Will knew better. 

 

He watched the trees pass by in a blur of green, orange, and red, bare branches clawing at the sky. The farther they drove, the quieter everything felt. Not peaceful—just muted. Like the world was holding its breath. 

 

“Hey,” Mike said after a while, glancing over. “You good?” 

 

Will didn’t answer right away. 

 

“I’m fine,” he said eventually, though it felt like a lie as soon as it left his mouth. 

 

Mike didn’t call him on it. Just nodded, knuckles tight on the steering wheel.

 

They reached the lake just past five. 

 

Or technically, they reached Reefer Rick’s house just past five.

 

Will felt sort of bad using this random man’s house like this, but apparently this is where Eddie had been hiding out while he was on the run, before…

 

Well… yeah. 

 

Still, everyone—Hopper, Nancy, even Dustin—had insisted it was fine. Rick had long since been gone, the house left behind like everything else in Hawkins. And with all the shit happening now, they had bigger things to worry about than squatting in an old drug dealer’s lakehouse.

 

So Will pushed the guilt down and got out of the truck. 

 

The air was colder now, the sky darkening with the first hints of dusk. Mike grabbed the gear from the backseat—just a backpack with a spare radio, one of the handheld sensors, and a few notebooks filled with scribbled readings. Will slung it over one shoulder while Mike locked up behind them. 

 

They circled around the side of the house, shoes crunching over dead leaves and damp pine needles. The lake shimmered through the trees just beyond the clearing, its surface catching the last of the light like brushed silver.

 

In any other context, it might’ve been beautiful. The sun hovered low, casting gold across the water, ripples bending the light like strokes of watercolor. The trees leaned in toward the shore, their reflections warped and broken across the glassy surface. It looked like something out of a dream. Or a painting.

 

Will’s eyes flicked to the side, to where Mike stood just ahead of him—his face soft in the fading light, jaw set, eyes scanning the tree line with quiet focus. 

 

Will’s heart stuttered, the familiar pull blooming in his chest before he could stop it. That aching, restless urge to capture this. Not just the lake, but him. The way Mike looked right now—solid and real and impossibly his.

 

He wanted to paint it. Freeze it in time. Keep it somewhere safe. 

 

But the feeling was quickly shaken off. 

 

Because when Will turned his head again, his gaze fell to the cracked earth just past the waterline. It was the place where the gate had split open once, swallowing the lake from the inside out.

 

The gate was still there. Dormant, maybe. But not gone. 

 

No monsters trying to claw their way out. No smoke curling into the sky. No unnatural hum vibrating through the air. Just silence. 

 

Stillness. 

 

But Will knew better than to trust stillness. 

 

The ground was fractured, thin fissures spidering out from the original split like veins beneath bruised skin. And though they weren’t moving, they hadn’t healed either.

 

Will stared at them for a long time, the air around him too quiet—like the wind itself was holding its breath. 

 

Mike’s footsteps crunched softly behind him, breaking the silence. 

 

“Scanner’s picking up some weird readings,” he said, holding up the small device. “Fluctuations, but no real spikes. Not yet, anyway.” 

 

Will gave a slight nod, but didn’t take his eyes off the broken earth. 

 

“Are you…” Mike hesitated. “Do you feel anything?” 

 

Will didn’t have to look to know Mike was watching him closely, searching for any sign—any crack in his voice, in his posture. 

 

He took a slow breath, trying to sense something without actively reaching out. Testing the air, the pull, the hum beneath his skin. But all he felt was… 

 

“Nothing,” he said honestly, shaking his head. “Not him.” 

 

It felt strange, though. Off. The way the light bent here. The way sound didn’t quite carry right. 

 

Will knew Mike could feel it too, even without the same connection to the Upside Down. There was something wrong with this place. 

 

Part of Will wanted to leave. But another part—stubborn and scared—needed to know. 

 

He stepped closer to the edge.

 

The sensor in Mike’s hand let out a sharp chirp, then steadied into a low, pulsing hum. 

 

Will barely heard it. 

 

Something felt different. 

 

The air felt heavier—denser, like walking underwater. The trees around them seemed quieter now, their branches stilling, the rustle of leaves falling away. Even the sound of Mike adjusting the scanner behind him became muffled, like it was coming from farther off. 

 

Will blinked. 

 

And when he opened his eyes again, Mike was gone. 

 

The lake had changed. The sky above it darkened, a slow bleed of gray overtaking the horizon. The surface of the water rippled—not with wind, but with movement. 

 

Something was in it. 

 

Will turned, heart suddenly pounding, expecting to see Mike behind him. But the clearing was empty. Then he heard it—distant and ragged. 

 

“Will—!” 

 

It was Mike’s voice. 

 

“Will, help—” 

 

Will whipped back toward the lake. 

 

And there—near the center of the water—he saw him. 

 

Mike, thrashing. Sinking. One arm reaching above the surface before it was dragged down. 

 

“No,” Will whispered. “No, no, no—” 

 

He took a step forward, breath shallow, chest tightening. 

 

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Mike had just been there. He had just— 

 

But the image was so vivid. Mike breaking the surface for one desperate gasp of air—eyes wide with panic, mouth moving like he was screaming Will’s name—

 

And then gone. Dragged under by some force Will couldn’t see.

 

Will’s knees buckled, but he caught himself. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. 

 

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. 

 

But what if it was?

 

Steve had been dragged under once, or so Will was told. The vines had taken him. What if— What if the gate hadn’t gone dormant at all? What if Mike had wandered too close— What if the vines had found him? Took him? What if—

 

The water looked calm again, like nothing had ever happened. 

 

Will stared at the spot where Mike had disappeared. 

 

And in the back of his mind, something whispered—low and familiar and cruel: 

 

“It’s your fault. You didn’t stop it. But you can now.” 

 

Will clenched his jaw, eyes burning. No.

 

“Go in. Give me what I want. He lives.” 

 

Will’s hand trembled. No. This isn’t real.

 

“You don’t think I can do it?” the voice sneered. “How long do you think this fantasy will last, Will? I’m offering you freedom.”

 

This is not freedom, Will argued.

 

“But it is. No more guilt. No more fear. No more hurting the people you love. It all ends, if you just—”

 

“Will?”

 

He blinked. 

 

Mike was standing a few yards behind him, real and solid, looking concerned. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Will turned toward him, panic still hot in his chest, threatening to spill over. 

 

He forced a breath in. Then another. Tried to steady the tremble in his hands. 

 

Mike took a few steps closer, eyebrows pinched. “You don’t look okay.” 

 

“I’m fine,” Will said quickly—too quickly. 

 

Mike didn’t buy it. “Did you feel something?” 

 

Will hesitated. That was the problem. He hadn’t felt Henry—not directly. But something had gotten in. Something had shown him that—that vision. And if it could do that without a signal, without a warning— 

 

“I just got dizzy for a second,” Will said finally. “It passed.” 

 

Mike didn’t move. “Dizzy how?” 

 

Will forced a thin smile. “Just like… dehydration or something. I don’t know. I’m okay now.” 

 

Mike’s eyes searched his face, the way they always did when he knew Will was lying. 

 

But Will didn’t flinch. Didn’t crack. 

 

Because if Mike knew what he saw—if he knew how close Will had come to believing it— He’d never leave his side again. 

 

And Will needed him to leave. Just for a minute. 

 

“I think the scanner’s off,” Will said, shifting the topic before Mike could dig deeper. “Can you grab the other one from the truck? I want to compare readings.” 

 

Mike blinked. “We only brought one.” 

 

“No, I packed the backup. It’s in the glovebox. Just want to be sure.” 

 

Mike hesitated. “Are you sure you’re—” 

 

“I’m fine, Mike.” Will didn’t raise his voice. But he didn’t look away, either. 

 

And eventually, Mike nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” 

 

He turned, jogging up the trail toward the house. And as soon as the sound of his footsteps faded into the trees— 

 

Will turned back to the water. 

 

The ripples were gone. The surface smooth again. 

 

Still waiting.

 

Will took a breath, steadying himself. 

 

It was a trick. Of course it was. 

 

But that didn’t mean the threat wasn’t real. Didn’t mean Henry hadn’t meant what he said. 

 

Just because the vision was false didn’t mean the danger was. If there was even a chance Mike was in danger—if there was anything Will could do to stop it—he had to try. 

 

And maybe that was why he had seen it. Maybe it had to be him. 

 

No one else would know what to look for. No one else would be ready. 

 

But Will was. Or at least, he could be. 

 

He hated the connection he still had to Henry—hated that it had ever existed—but maybe, this once, he could use it. Really use it.

 

He could walk in with his eyes open. He would be careful. He would be smart. 

 

He would probably be okay. 

 

Probably. 

 

Will stood at the edge for a long moment, staring at the water.

 

It looked harmless. Quiet. 

 

He could still hear the breeze through the trees, the distant hum of a car on the main road, even the faint crunch of Mike’s footsteps growing fainter up the trail. 

 

Everything about the lake looked ordinary. 

 

Still, his body moved like it already knew what was coming. 

 

He stepped forward. The water was cold around his ankles—sharp, but not unbearable. It soaked through his shoes and socks, numbing his feet instantly. But that was all. 

 

Nothing surged. Nothing screamed. 

 

Will took another step. Then another. Waist-deep now, the lake still just felt like water. Icy and quiet. A little too still. But not unnatural. 

 

He told himself that meant he could still go back. That he hadn’t gone too far.

 

And then—

 

Something curled around his ankle. 

 

He barely had time to register it before it yanked—fast, silent, and absolute. 

 

Will gasped—too late to fill his lungs—before the surface swallowed him whole. 

 

The cold became everything. 

 

Not sharp anymore, but total. Heavy. Thick. 

 

There was no up or down, no sense of where his body was in space. Just water in his ears, in his eyes, in his mouth. 

 

No voice. No vision. No Henry. 

 

Only silence. And pressure. 

 

And the instinct to fight. 

 

He kicked, thrashed, clawed at the weight around him. His chest burned, lungs screaming for air that wasn’t there. He couldn’t tell if he was rising or sinking—just that the lake wouldn’t let him go. Wouldn’t let him move. 

 

Wouldn’t let him live. 

 

Why? 

 

Why was this happening? 

 

Was this his punishment? For… For what? 

 

He’d only ever wanted to help. To protect his town. His family. His friends. His— Mike. 

 

He just wanted to live a normal life. He just wanted— 

 

“And after that? We’ll do stupid, normal things.” 

 

He should’ve known better. 

 

“And I’ll wake up next to you. Every day. Not just because I’m afraid to lose you. But because I want to. Because you’re it, Will.” 

 

His chest tightened—not from the lack of air, but from something worse. 

 

Because that wasn’t going to happen. 

 

Will Byers didn’t get a normal life.

 

At least—hopefully—his death could mean something. Maybe, somehow, this would hurt Henry. Maybe it would sever his connection to their world once and for all. At the very least, he wouldn’t be a liability anymore. 

 

At least Henry would lose his spy. At least Will couldn’t hurt anyone else again. 

 

Maybe this had been a long time coming. 

 

Part of him had always felt like he died back then—in the Upside Down, all those years ago. 

 

And then, only a year later, he’d been ready to die again if it meant sealing the gate for good. Maybe if they hadn’t gotten the Mind Flayer out in time, before El shut the gate, none of this would’ve happened. 

 

Maybe if he’d told someone earlier when he was back that summer. If he’d pushed harder. If he hadn’t kept it all inside. 

 

Maybe if Mike had promised him to... If he’d followed through in the church. 

 

But if that had happened— 

 

Then Will would’ve never gotten to kiss him. 

 

At least he got that. 

 

At least he had that. 

 

Maybe if he’d been stronger. Louder. Braver. 

 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

 

And maybe that’s why he stopped fighting.

 

His strength started to fade. Limbs growing heavier. Thoughts slower. 

 

He kept fighting. 

 

Until he didn’t. 

 

Until it all just… slipped. 

 

And he let go.

 

____________________

 

You'll go fight a war, I'll go missing 

I warned you, for me, it's not that hard

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

The second Mike reached the truck, something felt wrong.

 

He opened the glove box anyway, rifled through it even though he knew there was no second scanner. 

 

Will had lied. 

 

But why? 

 

That sick feeling that had been gnawing at him all day suddenly snapped into something sharper. Mike slammed the glove box shut and sprinted. 

 

Branches tore at his sleeves as he tore back down the trail, lungs burning, gravel sliding under his shoes. The lake came into view through the thinning trees— 

 

And Will was gone. 

 

“Will?” 

 

He skidded to a stop, eyes scanning the shore, the treeline, the rocks—anywhere. 

 

Nothing. No sign of him. 

 

Just the steady ripple of water and the bag sitting exactly where Will had dropped it. 

 

No footprints leading away. No splash. No ripples fading.  

 

Just… gone. 

 

Mike’s heart shot into his throat. 

 

“Will!” 

 

He didn’t wait. 

 

He ran to the edge and barely had time to kick off his shoes before plunging in. 

 

The cold hit him like a slap, stealing the air from his lungs. He dove under, eyes burning, limbs straining against the weight of the lake as he reached down—blindly, desperately—grasping for anything. 

 

Nothing. 

 

He surfaced, gasped, dove again. 

 

Will. Will. Will. 

 

The name was all he could think. All he could feel. 

 

Please.

 

Not him. Not now. Not ever.

 

Then—his hand brushed something. 

 

A sleeve. An arm. 

 

Mike latched on and yanked, kicking hard, dragging Will’s limp body toward the surface. 

 

They broke through with a splash and a gasp—Mike for air, Will still terrifyingly silent. 

 

“Nonononono—” 

 

He hauled them to the shallows, stumbling onto the shore and collapsing onto the dirt. He rolled Will over. Water spilled from his mouth. 

 

But he wasn’t breathing.

 

And suddenly Mike was twelve again, standing at the edge of the quarry. Watching his best friend’s body being pulled from the water. Cold. Blue. Still.

 

He had thought he lost him then. 

 

He was not going to lose him now.

 

Mike pressed his hands to his chest, voice cracking. “C’mon. Come on, Will—” 

 

He started compressions, then leaned down and breathed into him. Again. Again. 

 

“Don’t do this,” Mike choked. “Please—don’t you dare—” 

 

Will didn’t move. 

 

Mike’s hands were shaking. 

 

No—his whole body was shaking. 

 

Sobs tore through him, loud and awful, louder than he even knew he could cry. He hadn’t realized how much noise terror could make until now. 

 

He was sure he was doing this right. 

 

He had to be. 

 

Will should be breathing. 

 

Why wasn’t he breathing??

 

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” Mike gasped. “You said—”

 

Will choked. 

 

A sudden, sharp sound—wet and guttural—followed by a sputter of water from his throat. 

 

Then another cough, violent and desperate. 

 

Mike nearly collapsed with him, hands flying to Will’s shoulders, turning him gently onto his side as more lakewater poured from his mouth. 

 

“Oh my God,” Mike breathed, voice ragged. “Will. Will, you’re okay. You’re okay—” 

 

Will kept coughing, chest heaving, body shuddering in Mike’s arms. He looked dazed. Pale. His lips tinged blue. But alive. 

 

Mike held him tight, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head like Will might slip away again if he let go. 

 

“You’re okay,” Mike kept saying, over and over, like saying it could make it true. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

 

Will clung to him, barely strong enough to hold on, but his fingers fisted in Mike’s shirt like he needed the contact to stay anchored. 

 

His voice was hoarse, nearly inaudible. “I’m sorry…” 

 

Mike shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t say that. Just—don’t.”

 

Will’s breathing was shallow and rattling, but steadying. 

 

Mike exhaled hard, forehead pressing to Will’s. He was still shaking. 

 

“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispered, not angry—just wrecked. “You can’t do that. You can’t leave me.”

 

Will shook his head, barely—but it was enough. His eyes still looked dazed, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. His voice came out broken and small. “I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t mean to—”

 

“Shh,” Mike said quickly, voice catching. “I—I know. I know.” 

 

His hand found the side of Will’s face, thumb brushing lightly across his damp cheek. “Just breathe, okay? Just… breathe.” 

 

Will nodded again, chest still hitching with every breath, but slower now. 

 

Mike held him closer, like he could keep him here by sheer will alone.

 

Maybe he could. It couldn’t hurt to try.

 

Fuck —he really thought he’d lost him.

 

Just like that. One second Will was by his side, and the next—

 

Mike hadn’t realized he was still shaking until his throat clenched and fresh tears slipped down his cheeks, soaking into Will’s already-wet shirt.

 

He hadn’t even noticed. Not really. 

 

But Will did. 

 

He blinked, sluggish and glassy-eyed, and looked up at Mike. 

 

“Are… are you okay?” he asked, barely more than a whisper.

 

Mike let out a rough, broken sound—half gasp, half sob—and dropped his forehead gently to Will’s. His eyes squeezed shut like he could force everything back into place if he just held on hard enough.

 

Will stirred weakly in his arms, one hand finding Mike’s sleeve with trembling fingers. 

 

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse and frayed at the edges. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m—” He coughed, breath catching. “I’m okay. I’m here.” 

 

Mike didn’t respond right away. He just nodded against him, arms tightening slightly like he still didn’t believe it. 

 

Because God, he wasn’t sure he could survive losing him. 

 

Not again.

 

Mike didn’t speak for a while. He just held him there, forehead pressed to Will’s, their breaths slowly finding a rhythm again. 

 

But eventually, his voice broke the silence—quiet, careful, like he was afraid of the answer. 

 

“Why did you do it?” 

 

Will tensed slightly in his arms. 

 

“I need you to tell me, Will. What happened? Why did you go in?” 

 

Will closed his eyes. He hesitated—like he didn’t have a good answer. Or one that wouldn’t make Mike worry more. 

 

“I thought…” he started, then stopped, voice brittle. “I thought maybe I could stop something before it started.” 

 

Mike pulled back just enough to look at him. “What does that mean?” 

 

Will looked away. “There was a vision. Or maybe a hallucination—I don’t know. It felt real.” 

 

His throat tightened. “It was you. In the lake. Drowning.” 

 

Mike’s face fell. 

 

“I thought—maybe it was a warning. Maybe if I got close to the gate, if I gave it what it wanted, or– or I could… that it wouldn’t take you.” 

 

“Will,” Mike said, barely holding it together. “You thought dying would fix it?” 

 

“I wasn’t trying to— I thought I could keep you safe.” 

 

Mike shook his head, blinking hard. “You didn’t even give me the chance to stop you.” 

 

“I didn’t want you to stop me,” Will whispered. “If it was you or me—of course it was going to be me.” 

 

Mike let out a sound like he’d been punched. 

 

“That’s not a choice I ever wanted you to make,” he said. “You don’t get to decide that for me.” 

 

Will looked back at him then, and there was something hollow in his eyes.

 

“I’ve been deciding that since I was twelve.”

 

Mike’s breath caught, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at Will like he was seeing something that had always been there—but had never wanted to admit was real. 

 

Something shattered quietly in his expression. 

 

Not rage. Not even shock. Just… hurt. 

 

And a low, trembling anger—one that came from love. 

 

“Jesus, Will,” he said, voice rough. “You’ve really been carrying this that long?” 

 

Will didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. 

 

Mike exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his face like he was trying to push it all back—years of memories reframing themselves in an instant. 

 

Every time Will had flinched. Backed down. Put himself second. 

 

Every time he had smiled through something that clearly hurt. Every time he had made himself small so someone else could be okay. 

 

Mike let his hand drop. He looked back at Will, eyes red, voice low. 

 

“No,” he said. Shook his head once, firm. “Not anymore.” 

 

Will blinked, caught off guard. 

 

“You don’t get to keep choosing to disappear. Not for me. Not for anyone. That’s over. Do you hear me?” 

 

Will swallowed, throat tight. “But—” 

 

“No.” Mike leaned in closer, forehead nearly touching his again. “You’re not a sacrifice. You’re not some—some pawn in all of this. You’re you. You’re Will.” 

 

He cupped Will’s cheek gently, thumb brushing beneath his eye. 

 

“And I’m not losing you again. Not like that.” 

 

Will’s breath hitched. He didn’t say anything. 

 

But he didn’t look away either.

 

Mike held his gaze, something raw and desperate flickering in his eyes. Like he was still trying to anchor Will there. Like he needed him to feel it, to believe it.

 

“Okay?” he asked, barely more than a whisper, hand still warm against Will’s face.

 

Will went still, eyes searching his like he was trying to read a language he hadn’t seen in years. 

 

Then— 

 

“Okay,” he breathed. 

 

And that was all it took. 

 

Mike leaned in before he could think twice, before fear or hesitation could creep in. 

 

And Will met him halfway. 

 

The kiss was soft—trembling around the edges—but sure. Not frantic, not rushed. Just real. 

 

Like a promise. 

 

Mike’s hand slipped to the back of Will’s neck, holding him close, grounding him, and Will leaned into it like he’d been waiting years to do exactly this. 

 

The lake, the fear, the guilt—they all melted for a moment. 

 

All that existed was this: breath shared, hands tangled, lips pressed together like they were finally allowed to want.

 

To have.

 

The kiss deepened without either of them meaning to—without either of them needing to mean to. It just happened. 

 

Will’s hand found the back of Mike’s sweater, gripping it tightly like he was afraid the world might shift again and take this away. Mike shifted closer, their bodies pressed together on the dirt shore, cold and damp and completely forgotten. The greenery surrounding them completely shielding them from the outside world.

 

Mike kissed him like he needed to memorize him—like he was making up for all the time they hadn’t had, all the fear and silence and almosts. 

 

Will responded in kind, tilting his head, lips parting under Mike’s as if he had been waiting for this—for him. 

 

And he had. 

 

Mike’s hand slipped from his cheek to Will’s jaw, then lower, curling against the curve of his neck, thumb brushing his pulse point. Will’s breath hitched again, this time for an entirely different reason. 

 

He could feel Mike’s heartbeat, too—wild and fast against his own. 

 

The world was still spinning around them, wet clothes clinging to their skin, breath mixing in the chilled autumn air.

 

Mike’s hand dipped beneath the hem of Will’s shirt, just enough to press against the skin of his waist—seeking proof that he was here, alive, solid beneath his fingers. 

 

Will shivered under his touch, not from the cold. 

 

He kissed Mike harder. It wasn’t rushed—it wasn’t about forgetting what had happened. It was about surviving it. 

 

About needing to feel something good after so much pain. 

 

And in that moment, Mike was the only thing in the world that felt real. 

 

But then— 

 

Mike pulled back, just a little. Just enough to rest his forehead against Will’s again, both of them panting, lips still inches apart. 

 

His hand stayed at Will’s waist, thumb still stroking lightly over skin, reluctant to let go. 

 

“We should probably get inside,” he whispered, voice breathless and shaky. 

 

Will blinked up at him, dazed, lips kiss-bitten and red. 

 

Mike wanted to remember that look forever.

 

“Yeah,” Will said, though it came out more like an exhale than a word. 

 

Neither of them moved right away. Mike brushed his nose against Will’s. “Not because I don’t want to keep kissing you.”

 

Will huffed out a quiet laugh, and that—finally—broke the tension just enough. 

 

Mike helped him sit up, wrapping an arm around his back as they rose together, soaked and shivering and still not entirely steady. 

 

But alive. 

 

And together.

 

____________________

 

Maybe you’re right and we should stop watching the news

‘Cause baby, I’ve never seen brown eyes look so blue

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

Notes:

yasss part 1!! part 2 will take place inside rick’s house and should be out in the next few days (a week at most, i promise). but pls lmk what you thought so far!!
also come say hi to me on tumblr! @mayahawkeswife
<3

Chapter 2

Summary:

the aftermath + recovery.

Notes:

told myself i would wait until wednesday to upload, so im posting this at 12:30 am! yay! (i am impatient and like to upload as soon as i finish the chapter.)
anyways heres the second half! same playlist, but i especially listened to sailor song by gigi perez on loop. ( specifically this live version from ttssjf )
enjoy! <3

 

Think of us inside, after the wedding

Sufferin' the while to lie a time or two 

When we won't wake up on our own, wake up on our own

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

 

The door creaked open with a groan, the stale air of Rick’s old lake house greeting them as they stepped inside. 

 

It was dim—just the weak light of sunset filtering through yellowed curtains—but it was dry and warm, and that was enough. 

 

Their clothes clung to them, heavy with lakewater, streaked with dirt and mud from the shore. Gravel stuck to their socks. Will’s elbow stung faintly—he must’ve scraped it on the lakebed when he was pulled under, though he hadn’t noticed until now.

 

They looked like they’d been dragged through hell. 

 

In a way, they had. 

 

Mike shut the door behind them and leaned against it for a second, just breathing. 

 

Then: “We should probably shower.” 

 

Will blinked, still standing near the center of the room like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to touch anything. 

 

Mike pushed off the door. “I mean, we’re soaked. And freezing. And probably covered in pond scum and bacteria or whatever.” 

 

Will let out the faintest huff of a laugh. “Yeah. And I think there’s mud in my socks.” 

 

“There’s definitely mud everywhere,” Mike muttered, glancing down at his own clothes. He had mud all over his face, too, but Will supposed he couldn’t see that. 

 

He looked back at Will, more serious now. “You okay? Like… physically?” 

 

Will nodded. “Yeah, I think. Just a little tired. And gross.” 

 

Mike gave him a crooked smile. “Let’s fix the gross part first.”

 

They found the bathroom at the end of the narrow hallway—a cramped, outdated thing with peeling wallpaper and a faint smell of mildew, but it had a working shower and clean towels stacked under the sink. That was more than enough. 

 

Mike turned on the water, letting it run until it wasn’t freezing, then stepped back and looked at Will. “You want to go first?” he asked. 

 

Will hesitated, glancing at the steam beginning to rise from the rust-stained tub. 

 

Then he shook his head. “You can. I’m fine.” 

 

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You’re not fine.” 

 

Will gave a tired smile, soft and a little crooked. “I’m not dying.” 

 

Mike didn’t smile back. Not really. “Yeah, well… I still think you should go first. And I’d rather not leave you alone right now.” 

 

Will blinked, surprised. 

 

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, awkward now. “Not– like– in the shower. Just… like. In here. I’ll sit on the floor or something.” 

 

Will’s first instinct was to brush it off. Say he didn’t need that. That he could be on his own for a few minutes. That he wasn’t going to just disappear again. 

 

Again. 

 

Shit. 

 

But the real truth—beneath all his practiced calm—was that he didn’t want to be alone. Not yet.

 

“Okay,” he said softly. “Yeah. That’s okay.” 

 

Mike exhaled, relieved. “Cool.” 

 

He sank down onto the cold tile floor, legs crossed, back against the wall, clothes still clinging to him. He was damp and shivering, but stayed exactly where he was—his eyes flicking to Will, then politely away again. 

 

Will hesitated, then tugged his shirt over his head, fingers stiff from the cold. He glanced at Mike—who was resolutely looking at the opposite wall—and offered a faint, appreciative smile. 

 

Then he finished undressing and stepped into the shower. The curtain swished closed behind him. 

 

The blast of warmth was almost too much at first. The water hit his skin and stung, sharp with heat against his cold-numbed body. But then it evened out—slowly soaking into his hair, sliding down his spine, rinsing away the grit and lakewater and fear still clinging to his skin. 

 

He braced his hands against the tile, head bowed under the stream. It felt good. Better than he wanted to admit. But the heat couldn’t melt the thoughts circling his brain. 

 

Mike had dragged him from the water. Had saved his life. Again. 

 

And then kissed him like it meant something. Like he meant something. 

 

Will squeezed his eyes shut, letting the water beat down harder. 

 

He didn’t know how to hold all of it. The guilt. The want. The ache. 

 

Mike was sitting just a few feet away. On the other side of a thin curtain, on a bathroom floor, waiting. Not out of obligation. Out of care. 

 

Will pressed his forehead to the wall and breathed in steam.

 

He could’ve died. He almost died. 

 

He really thought it would be the last time—no more cheating death and somehow crawling back from it.

 

And all he could think about now— God, it was stupid —was Mike’s hands on him, Mike’s breath still lingering on his lips, the weight of that kiss still burning on his skin like it had branded him. 

 

He wanted more. 

 

He wanted Mike to touch him again, to kiss him again—deeper this time, slower. He wanted to feel Mike’s hands under his shirt, not from panic, not from fear, but from want. 

 

He wanted to be held, and seen , and chosen. 

 

And he wanted it so badly it scared him. 

 

Not like he hadn’t had thoughts like this before. Of course he had. But now… now he was allowed to.

 

Will squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the thoughts down before they could take root, before they made his hands shake again. 

 

Not now. 

 

He ran his fingers through his hair, quickly rinsing the last of the lake water and soap from his skin, and shut off the tap. The silence left behind felt almost as heavy as the water had. 

 

In the steam-filled bathroom, he toweled off quickly, still shivering a little even in the heat. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower, damp curls dripping onto his collarbone.

 

Mike stood immediately when he saw him, eyes scanning him like he was still checking for injuries.

 

Will handed him a towel from the rack. “Your turn.” 

 

Mike gave a quiet nod and stepped past him, their hands brushing briefly. 

 

It was a light touch. Barely anything.

 

But it still made Will’s heart stutter.

 

He looked away as Mike stripped off his wet clothes, trying not to think too hard about the sound of fabric hitting tile, the soft splash of feet stepping into the tub. 

 

The water started again, and only then did Will look back toward the room. 

 

His gaze landed on the pile of clothes on the floor—sodden, streaked with dirt and lake-muck.

 

“Um…” Will said, hesitant. “We didn’t bring any extra clothes.”

 

There was a pause, then Mike’s quiet curse from behind the curtain. 

 

“Right. Shit. Yeah.” The curtain shifted, Mike cracking it just enough to peek through, water still running down his back. “They’re all soaked, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Will said. “I’m gonna check the bedroom. Maybe Rick left something behind.” 

 

Mike tensed. Even without seeing him, Will could feel it. 

 

“Do you have to?”

 

Will hesitated. “Unless you want us both catching pneumonia…” 

 

Mike let out a soft, conflicted groan. “Okay. Just—don’t go far. Like—bedroom only.” 

 

Will gave a short, dry laugh. “I’m not going to disappear again, Mike.” 

 

There was a beat of silence. 

 

Then, quietly: “I know. I just—yeah. Okay.” 

 

The curtain rustled shut again. 

 

Will lingered for a moment longer, then stepped out of the bathroom. Thankfully, the bedroom was only one door down. 

 

The room smelled like dust and old wood, with something stale clinging beneath it—cigarettes, probably. Weed, definitely. 

 

The sun had fully set now, and the only light came from a single lamp that flickered on with the flip of a switch. The bed was unmade, yellow sheets twisted and half-hanging like someone had left in a hurry and never came back. 

 

Will hesitated at the threshold, towel still clutched at his waist. 

 

Then he stepped inside. 

 

A dresser stood along the far wall, its surface cluttered with old receipts, a cracked ashtray, and a couple of forgotten matchbooks. 

 

He tugged open the top drawer, and was surprised when it didn’t stick. 

 

Inside: T-shirts and long sleeves. Worn, threadbare, soft at the edges. He reached in and pulled a green long sleeved one out—it smelled vaguely like woodsmoke, but otherwise clean. 

 

The next drawer held flannel. A couple pairs of jeans. A pair of sweats. Will took those too.

 

They were all definitely a little too big for him, but he didn’t mind all that much. It was at least something. 

 

Will sat on the edge of the bed and let the towel fall, tugging the borrowed clothes on piece by piece. The shirt hung loose on his frame, the sweats cinched awkwardly at the waist—but somehow, it felt… comforting. 

 

Soft. Safe. 

 

Through the wall, he could still hear the water running in the bathroom. 

 

He glanced down at the drawers, then stood again, pulling out another shirt and pair of sweats—bigger ones. Mike would need something too.

 

Clothes in hand, Will padded back down the hallway, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. The bundle was warm against his chest—Mike’s shirt, Mike’s sweats. Or Rick’s, technically, but it didn’t matter. 

 

Will lifted a hand to knock— 

 

And the door swung open. 

 

They both jumped. Mike, towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping and eyes wide. Will, one hand frozen mid-air, clutching the bundle like a peace offering. 

 

“Oh—shit, sorry,” Mike blurted. 

 

“I was just—” Will said at the same time, eyes flicking down, then very quickly back up. “—bringing you clothes.” 

 

They stared at each other for a second, steam billowing out into the hallway between them, both of them slightly pink in the face—though Will suspected for different reasons. 

 

Mike’s lips twitched. “Thanks.”

 

Will gave a quiet, barely-there mhmm as he handed the clothes over. 

 

They stood there awkwardly for another beat, neither quite sure how to move forward. 

 

“I should probably—” Mike began. 

 

“I’ll leave you to—” Will said at the exact same moment. 

 

They both cut off, blinking at each other—then laughed. A small thing, but real. 

 

Will stepped back, thumb hooked at the waistband of the borrowed sweats. “I’ll leave you to change. I’ll just… be in the bedroom.” 

 

“Okay,” Mike said, his voice softer now. “I’ll be in in a minute.” 

 

He stepped back into the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him. 

 

Will lingered for just a second longer, then turned and padded down the hall, back to the bedroom. 

 

It was quiet when Will stepped back in, the hallway light from the open door casting a faint glow across the wooden floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers twisting in the hem of the oversized shirt. His skin was still warm from the shower, but something beneath that heat pulsed hotter—something that had nothing to do with water or steam. 

 

His mind, uninvited, replayed it. 

 

The moment after. The kiss. The way Mike had dragged him from the lake, water still clinging to his clothes, hair dripping into his eyes, and then— 

 

The way he had looked at Will like he was the only thing that mattered. Like he’d lost him and gotten him back in the same breath. Which, in a way, he supposed he did.

 

The way their mouths had found each other in the dirt, in the grass, hands trembling, breaths ragged, clinging to each other like gravity itself had shifted. 

 

Will let out a low, muffled groan and flopped back onto the mattress, arms thrown over his face. 

 

“God, stop,” he muttered into the sleeve of his borrowed shirt, cheeks burning. 

 

It was stupid. He was still soaked in the aftershock of almost dying and this was where his brain decided to go? 

 

But still—he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The feel of Mike’s hands on his face. The way their foreheads had rested together like they were both afraid to let go. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

He was so far gone.

 

Will was still sprawled on the bed, arm over his eyes, trying very hard not to think about Mike’s mouth or hands or anything, when the floorboards creaked just outside the door. 

 

He didn’t move.

 

“Are you doing okay over there?” Mike’s voice called out. Curious, not panicked—softer now. Less of that frantic edge from earlier, but still… watchful.

 

Will peeked out from under his arm. 

 

Mike stood in the doorway, hair damp and curling at the ends, dressed in another borrowed outfit—sweats and an old Hawkins High hoodie that had probably seen better days.

 

He looked cute.

 

Too cute.

 

“Mhm, just thinking,” Will said, letting his arms fall to rest over his head.

 

More like trying not to think, but Mike didn’t need to know that part.

 

Mike stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. He crossed to the bed and sat down gently beside Will, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, old springs creaking in protest.

 

“About?” Mike asked, his voice low, curious but careful. 

 

You, Will almost said. It sat on the tip of his tongue, hot and stupid. 

 

Instead, he just hummed in response, vague and noncommittal. 

 

Mike didn’t press. But he didn’t move away either.

 

They sat there in the quiet, the room dim and warm with the leftover heat of the day, the buzz of the lamp filling the silence. 

 

Will could feel Mike beside him—close but not crowding. Just there. 

 

But it wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence. Not entirely. There was still something waiting. Hovering. 

 

And sure enough— 

 

“Back at the lake…” Mike started, voice careful. Measured. “What you said. About the vision. About me.” 

 

Will tensed, just barely. Mike noticed. 

 

“I just—” He shifted slightly on the mattress, eyes on his hands. “I can’t stop thinking about it. What did you see, exactly?” 

 

Will stared at the ceiling, throat tight. 

 

“It was you,” he said quietly. “In the water. Drowning. I saw you go under and… I couldn’t get to you.” 

 

Mike was silent, waiting. 

 

“And then I heard him. Henry. In my head. Telling me it was my fault. That it would happen. That it was happening.”

 

His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “He said if I gave him what he wanted, you’d live. That I could stop it if I just—” 

 

“Went under instead,” Mike finished softly. 

 

Will nodded. 

 

Mike swallowed hard. “But it wasn’t real.” 

 

“I know that,” Will said, almost too fast. “I do. I know now. But in the moment, it felt—God, Mike, it felt real.”  

 

Mike turned to look at him. Will could feel his eyes on him, but he didn’t look back. Not yet. 

 

“I wasn’t… trying to die,” Will said after a pause. “I just… I couldn’t risk it. Not if there was even a chance it could be true. Not if it meant losing you.” 

 

The room went still again. 

 

Then Mike’s voice, low and raw: “You almost did anyway.” 

 

That made Will look at him. Mike’s expression was tight—not angry, just wounded. His hands were clenched in the fabric of his sweatpants. 

 

“I watched you not breathe, Will.” He shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe it. “And I didn’t know if you were coming back.” 

 

Will’s breath caught in his chest. “I did,” he said. “I came back.” 

 

Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah. You did.” 

 

But the way he looked at Will… his brown eyes were still wide, glassy. Like he was holding something back. Like he was still trying to convince himself that Will was really there, alive and whole. 

 

That look made something twist in Will’s chest. 

 

And before he could overthink it, he pushed himself up slowly, sitting beside Mike. The mattress shifted beneath him. 

 

Then, gently, he reached out and took Mike’s hand. 

 

It was still trembling. Warm, but unsteady—like he hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d pulled Will out of the lake. 

 

Will’s fingers curled around his. That small, certain touch. 

 

Mike blinked down at their hands, lips parting slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t pull away. 

 

Will’s voice was quiet. “You’re allowed to be scared.” 

 

Mike let out a breath—half a laugh, half something else. “Yeah, well. I was.” 

 

His thumb twitched beneath Will’s, like it wanted to move, to hold tighter. 

 

“I still kind of am,” he admitted. 

 

Will gave the faintest nod. “Me too.”

 

Then he shifted their joined hands, turning them so their fingers actually laced together—solid, certain. 

 

Mike grasped on immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission. 

 

Will looked at him, steady now. “But I’m here,” he said softly. “I’m here, and I promise you… I’m not going anywhere this time.” 

 

Mike’s breath caught, like the words hit somewhere he hadn’t braced for. 

 

Another beat. Another quiet moment between heartbeats. 

 

And then— 

 

Will leaned in. Slowly, deliberately. 

 

Something he rarely did. Something he rarely let himself do. 

 

But he did it now. 

 

And Mike met him there halfway, like he always would.

 

Their lips met, gentle and slow. No urgency. No fear. Just warmth. 

 

Mike’s hand tightened in Will’s, the other lifting to rest lightly against his jaw. Will leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut, letting himself feel—the weight of Mike’s touch, the softness of his mouth, the quiet steady beat of being wanted. 

 

Their breaths mingled in the space between kisses, noses brushing, the kind of closeness that made the world narrow down to just them. 

 

Will pulled back slightly, just enough to see Mike’s face. His eyes were half-lidded, soft and wide, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. 

 

Neither could Will, honestly. 

 

But it was. 

 

He could feel it in every point of contact—Mike’s hand still in his, his thumb brushing across his knuckles like a whisper. 

 

“I love you.”

 

The words slipped out before Will could stop them. 

 

Not like a confession. Not like a secret being dragged into the light. 

 

Like a truth. Plain. Simple. Steady.

 

He hadn’t said it before. Not even after Mike had, back in the church. 

 

He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been scared that saying it would somehow ruin it, like he would somehow lose Mike. Maybe he thought Mike already knew—because he had to know. 

 

But right now, Will needed to say it. 

 

Mike blinked, startled. Eyes wide, like time had stilled for him. 

 

Will’s heart kicked hard in his chest. 

 

“I do,” he said again, voice stronger this time. “I love you. And I think I have for a really, really long time.” 

 

He paused, breath catching, but he didn’t look away. 

 

“No,” he corrected softly. “I know I have.” 

 

Will swallowed. “And I want this—I want us —to be real. Not just… a moment. Not something we can’t even talk about when it’s just the two of us. I want… I want to be your boyfriend.”

 

The word felt awkward in his mouth, too small for what he meant—but it was right.

 

“I want us to be something. For real. Not whatever this half-thing has been. I don’t want to pretend anymore.” 

 

His voice got quieter at the end. Vulnerable. A little scared. 

 

But his eyes stayed on Mike’s. 

 

Waiting.

 

For a moment, Mike didn’t move. 

 

But his expression shifted—eyes going wide, then soft, like something in him finally settled. 

 

And then—he surged forward. 

 

His hands cupped either side of Will’s face as he kissed him, firm and sure, like the answer had been on the tip of his tongue for years. When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his forehead stayed pressed to Will’s. 

 

“Of course,” Mike whispered, voice cracking. “Of course, Will. I—God, I love you so much. And yeah. Yeah, I want to be your boyfriend.” 

 

His thumbs brushed over Will’s cheeks, slow and gentle, like he couldn’t stop touching him. 

 

Will let out a soft, shaky laugh. “Okay… okay. Good. Cool.” 

 

Mike smiled—wide and a little stunned, something bright and alive spreading across his face. “Cool.” 

 

And then Will kissed him again. 

 

There was no hesitation this time. No waiting. 

 

He tugged Mike in by the collar of his hoodie, hands fisting in the fabric like he couldn’t stand the space between them anymore. 

 

Mike went willingly—eagerly—hands sliding from Will’s face to his shoulders, down his sides, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between them but heat and breath and want. 

 

The kiss deepened quickly, messy and real. 

 

Will made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, like relief, like surrender. 

 

And Mike kissed him like he’d been waiting to live again. 

 

Like everything he needed was right there in Will’s mouth, in the way his hands shook slightly against his back, in the way he breathed his name like a vow.

 

Will’s fingers curled tighter in Mike’s hoodie, tugging him impossibly closer, mouths parting and meeting again in quicker succession—hungrier now. The tension between them coiled, sharp and electric, like everything they'd been holding back had finally been set loose. 

 

They shifted, and somewhere in the movement, Will fell back onto the bed with a soft thump, Mike following without hesitation, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovered above.

 

They barely broke contact—just enough to look at each other. Will’s cheeks were flushed, eyes wide and shining, breath shallow. Mike looked at him like he couldn’t believe he got to be here. Like he didn’t want to waste another second. 

 

Then he dipped back down, catching Will’s lips again, slower this time but no less intense. 

 

One of Mike’s hands slid down, trailing the curve of Will’s side before slipping beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt. Fingers against skin. 

 

Warm. Careful. Real. 

 

Will inhaled sharply against his mouth, and Mike stilled. 

 

“Is this okay?” he murmured, breath ghosting over Will’s lips. 

 

Will nodded, eyes searching his. “Yeah. Just—keep going.” 

 

That was all Mike needed. 

 

His hand spread across Will’s stomach, slow and reverent, fingertips tracing each rise and fall of breath like he was learning a new language—one only Will could speak. 

 

Will arched into the touch, head tipping back against the pillow with a soft, open-mouthed gasp. 

 

Mike’s hand drifted higher, curling gently at the hem of Will’s borrowed shirt. He paused, thumb brushing just beneath the fabric. 

 

“Can I?” he asked quietly. 

 

Will didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to. 

 

Instead, he lifted his torso slightly, arms moving up to help—offering himself wordlessly, eyes full of trust. 

 

Mike exhaled, slow and shaky, and pulled the shirt over his head, careful with every motion like it meant something sacred. 

 

And maybe it did. 

 

The shirt hit the floor somewhere beside the bed, forgotten. 

 

Mike looked down at him then—at the soft skin, the faint scars, the flushed pink of his chest rising and falling with each breath—and Will didn’t look away. Didn’t hide. 

 

He didn’t want to. 

 

Not with Mike.

 

Mike’s hands moved slowly, reverently, gliding over Will’s sides like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. 

 

Then he paused. 

 

His thumb brushed over something rougher—raised skin, a burn scar nestled along Will’s right side. Mike stilled, fingers curling slightly around it. 

 

Will’s breath hitched. 

 

He knew what Mike had found. He’d almost forgotten it was there—forgotten until moments like this brought it roaring back. 

 

Mike looked down, eyes flicking to the mark, then back up at Will’s face. 

 

“What’s this?” he asked, quiet. Not prying, not demanding—just… curious. 

 

Will hesitated, then answered just as softly, “From when the Mind Flayer was still in me. Nancy had to burn it out—with a fire poker.” 

 

Mike’s eyes widened, horrified. “Jesus.” 

 

Will shrugged, trying to be casual, but his voice was thin. “It worked.” 

 

“I wasn’t there,” Mike said, almost like he was confessing something. “You were going through that and I wasn’t even—” 

 

“You couldn’t have been,” Will cut in gently. “Honestly, I’m glad you weren’t. It was… it was scary. I don’t blame you.” 

 

Mike’s brow furrowed. His thumb traced the edge of the scar again, softer now. “Still.” 

 

Then—without another word—he leaned down and kissed it. 

 

Just once. Barely a brush of lips. 

 

But it made Will’s eyes flutter shut, breath catching in his throat. When he opened them again, Mike was already kissing his way back up his chest, his neck, his jaw—until their mouths met again. 

 

This kiss was different. 

 

Deeper.

 

Hotter. 

 

Not because they were trying to forget. 

 

But because they were finally letting themselves feel. 

 

Feel without any sort of lingering fear.

 

Mike’s hand slid back up Will’s chest, splaying wide over his heart. 

 

And Will let it all happen—every brush of lips, every press of palm—like it was something holy.

 

His fingers curled into the back of Mike’s hoodie, anchoring himself as their mouths moved together—slower now, but with a heat that hadn’t been there before. 

 

Mike kissed him like he meant it. Like every second he got to touch Will was something he never thought he’d have. 

 

Will arched up into him, breath hitching again when Mike’s hand smoothed over his chest, fingertips grazing over his ribs, the center of his sternum, then up—gentle, careful, present. 

 

He felt like he was burning, but not in a way that hurt. Not like before. 

 

This fire was grounding. Welcomed. 

 

Mike pulled back just enough to look at him again, lips parted, eyes dark and searching. 

 

“You’re really here,” he said, like he still couldn’t believe it. 

 

Will nodded, voice low. “I’m here.” 

 

Their foreheads touched, breath mingling in the narrow space between. 

 

Then Will tugged gently at Mike’s hoodie. “Off,” he whispered. 

 

Mike’s lips quirked, but he didn’t tease. He sat up just enough to tug the hoodie over his head and toss it aside. 

 

And when he leaned back down, bare skin brushing bare skin, Will didn’t flinch. 

 

He only pulled him closer.

 

Mike’s bare chest pressed to his, warm and solid, and Will felt the breath catch in his throat again. 

 

It wasn’t nerves, not exactly. It was the weight of everything—of choosing this, of letting himself have this. 

 

Mike’s hand cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone as their eyes met. Will leaned up and kissed him again—slow, unhurried, but certain. 

 

He could feel Mike breathe into it. Could feel the shift in his body when Will’s fingers traced along his spine, down to the small of his back. 

 

It wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate. 

 

A quiet, aching kind of want. 

 

When Mike's mouth moved to his neck, Will's eyes fluttered shut. His hands found Mike’s hips, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between them but warmth and breath and everything they hadn’t said—finally spoken in touch. 

 

“I want this,” Will whispered, voice low. 

 

Mike pulled back just enough to look at him. 

 

“Yeah?” he asked, and God, he sounded wrecked. 

 

Will nodded, flushed and trembling and sure. “Yeah. Do you?”

 

Mike opened his mouth—tried to speak—but the sound that came out caught in his throat. It was halfway between a yeah and an mhm , rough and unsteady. 

 

But it was enough. 

 

Will kissed him again before either of them could say anything else. 

 

Deeper this time.

 

And the world narrowed to nothing but the slow press of mouths, the shiver of fingertips tracing bare skin, the soft rustle of fabric being pulled away.

 

The hallway light bled in through the cracked door, painting dim, broken stripes across the wall.

 

And then— 

 

Everything else simply fell away.

 

____________________

 

Held close all the time, knowin’

This was all for you 

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

The world returned slowly. 

 

Like light easing through fog. Like breath after a long hold. 

 

Will wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes, maybe. Hours. A lifetime. All he knew was this: the warmth of Mike pressed against his side, the quiet thud of his heartbeat under Will’s ear, the way their legs were tangled under the too-thin, blue blanket like neither of them had the strength—or the desire—to pull away. 

 

The room was still dim. Still hushed. But the silence felt different now. 

 

Not tense. Not hollow. 

 

Full. 

 

Full of what they’d said and what they hadn’t needed to. Full of breath and skin and everything that had nearly been lost. 

 

Mike shifted slightly, just enough to wrap an arm tighter around Will’s waist. His fingers moved in slow, thoughtless patterns against Will’s back—absentminded, grounding. 

 

Will exhaled against his chest, the sound small but content. 

 

“You still here?” Mike asked, voice soft, nearly sleep-slurred. 

 

Will hummed. “Mhm.”

 

Mike shifted just enough to press a soft kiss to Will’s hairline, his lips barely brushing skin. “Good,” he whispered. “Just making sure.” 

 

Will smiled into his chest, tired and warm and a little overwhelmed by how much he wanted to stay right here forever. The world outside still existed—the gates, the fear, the weight of everything waiting for them—but here, in this sliver of quiet, it didn’t feel quite so heavy. 

 

They were still breathing. Still together.

 

The steady rhythm of Mike’s heartbeat was starting to lull him. 

 

“We should probably get back soon,” Will murmured, though his voice was barely there and his eyelids were already heavy. 

 

Mike hummed, and Will liked the way he could feel it in his chest. “I think we’ve earned a nap.” 

 

Will smiled, barely. “Yeah. I think so too.” 

 

They stayed like that—skin to skin, breath to breath, arms wrapped around each other like the only thing holding them in place was touch.

 

Outside, the wind rustled softly through the trees, and the lake lapped at the shore like it hadn’t tried to take anything from them at all. 

 

Eventually, Mike’s hand stilled. His breathing deepened.

 

And Will, safe in his arms, let his eyes slip shut. 

 

This time, when sleep came, it didn’t drag him under. 

 

It held him.

____________________

 

Think of us inside

Gardenias on the tile, where it makes no difference who held back from who

- Nettles, Ethel Cain

 

 

Notes:

yayyy! this was my first time writing anything like this really, so please lmk what you thought!! i love them sm i cant :((
also come say hi to me on tumblr! @mayahawkeswife
<3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of s5 byler x ethel cain