Chapter Text
Like most things, it happens in the basement of Mike’s childhood home.
It starts off something like this:
There’s a lump lodged in the back of Mike’s throat—one that’s been there practically the entire day, since that conversation with El. It’s almost humiliating, just how much that conversation has been weighing on Mike’s heart and how often El’s words have echoed in the back of his mind ever since.
“This isn’t like one of your campaigns. You don’t get to write the ending.”
The words sting, but the thing is… the thing is, she isn’t wrong.
Fuck. El isn’t wrong, and as much as Mike would like to think otherwise, he knows that there’s truth to El’s words. All of this shit with the Upside Down is bigger than himself—bigger than any of them—and references to D&D are fun and helpful in drawing up schemes and ways to outsmart the military, but…
Mike doesn’t get to write this ending.
None of them do.
Maybe that’s the most terrifying part of it all. That even all their best laid plans could turn out to be for nothing; that they might never rescue Holly and Derek and the other kids; that Vecna might still win and make whatever horrible visions he has for the world come true; that Mike could lose every single person he’s ever loved and be powerless to stop it.
He feels like a little kid—small and vulnerable and so terribly insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
It’s even harder not to feel that way as Mike walks through the ruins of his childhood home. Most of the blood is gone—and thank God for that—but the destruction still remains. There are claw marks dug deep into the walls that Mike remembers doodling on when he was little. Shards of glass are scattered across the floor, causing a little CRUNCH as Mike makes his way inside. Guilt eats at his heart, tears sting his eyes, and Mike can’t help but think, I should’ve been here.
What would you have done? something else whispers in the back of his mind. You think you could’ve protected them?
Then, the same words from before echo, a vicious mantra in Mike’s head.
“This isn’t like one of your campaigns. You don’t get to write the ending.”
“You okay?”
Will’s voice pulls Mike out of the anxious ramblings of his own mind, and Mike glances up, meeting his best friend’s eyes.
Even in the dim glow of afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, the concern is clear on Will’s face. There’s a tenderness in his gaze, and he’s smiling at Mike—warm and familiar and comforting. Much like Mike, his clothes and hair are still covered in dirt and grime and blood built up over the last couple days, and he… he…
He looks beautiful.
Warmth rises to Mike’s cheeks. The lump in the back of his throat grows, and he pushes that thought away for what feels like the hundredth time.
“Y-yeah,” Mike manages to say. “I’m good. Thanks.”
He pauses here and takes a step towards Will, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Are you okay? I… I’ve been meaning to check you since last night, but I kinda feel like we haven’t gotten a moment to ourselves, you know?”
Will’s face falls. For a moment, he seems guarded. Distant, even. It’s as if there’s a chasm separating the two of them for the first time in eighteen months, and Mike’s heart aches because of it. He can’t imagine how Will must be feeling right now, with his connection to Vecna growing stronger and each hour bringing them closer to whatever endgame horrors that bastard has planned.
Everything inside Mike wants to reach out to Will and remind him that Mike is here—that Will isn’t alone and that Mike isn’t planning on leaving his side until this is all over with. It’s a promise he made to Will, months ago when they first arrived back in Hawkins, and it’s a promise that Mike damn well plans to keep, no matter the cost.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Will sighs. “I’m okay,” he reassures, but it’s not entirely convincing. “I just… I want this to be over.”
His voice breaks. Mike’s heart breaks with it. He takes a step towards Will, then another, until finally, there’s no room left between them.
“It will be,” Mike whispers. “I swear, Will… we’re going to stop this bastard. You are going to stop him, and then, you’ll finally be safe, and… and…”
He pauses. The words feel a bit like déjà vu, all too similar to what he’d said to El just a couple days ago and again at the cabin today, when he was trying (and apparently, failing) to comfort her.
That realization causes a lump to form in Mike’s throat.
“This isn’t like one of your campaigns. You don’t get to write the ending.”
Mike thinks, stubbornly, Maybe not.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.
“And then, we’ll all get to be happy,” Mike promises. Will’s gaze flickers up to meet his own, and Mike finds the strength to continue. “You and me and Lucas and Dustin… we’re going to make it out of this, and we’re going to graduate and get the hell out of Hawkins.”
A watery laugh escapes Will’s lips. “That doesn’t sound like a very happy ending,” he whispers. “The Party splitting up like at the end of one of your campaigns?”
“True.” Mike offers a sad smile. “I guess it is a little sad, but… I don’t know. Our Party has a pretty good knack for finding its way back to each other. We’ll be okay. We’re going to get through this—together—and we’re all going to get our happy endings. I know we are.”
Will smiles back at him. Though his eyes are still watery, there’s a lightheartedness to them that wasn’t there before. More than that though, there’s hope in Will’s gaze—shining as bright as the sunshine illuminating his face.
Relief blossoms in Mike’s heart, spreading through his entire body. It worked, he thinks. It actually worked.
Of course, it did, something inside him whispers. This is Will.
(Mike tries not to linger too long on that thought.)
“Thanks, Mike,” Will says softly, that smile still resting on his face. “You… you always know what to say.”
Warmth rises to Mike’s cheeks.
It’s funny. Despite everything that’s been going on this week, Will has been smiling more—smiling at Mike more, in a certain sort of way that makes Mike’s heart feel all fluttery. It’s almost like… like…
…
Almost like the way El used to smile at him, back when they first started dating.
That realization is enough to knock all the air out of Mike’s lungs, and it’s a damn good thing that Will says something first, because Mike’s brain is currently short-circuiting in its attempt to understand. He feels like he’s on a precipice of something here, grasping at puzzle pieces and trying to make sense of them, but he just can’t.
For a moment, neither one of them says anything. Something hangs in the air between them—suspended in the odd limbo that Mike’s been noticing more and more recently. He’d noticed it just the other day, too, out in the field by the Squawk, and probably a dozen other times in the past few months with Will. And while it’s never a bad feeling—never uncomfortable in the way that it used to be that year when the Mind Flayer returned—it’s still something else that Mike just can’t quite wrap his mind around.
Part of him wants to just come right out and ask Will about it—if only so they can finally clear the air and Mike can finally understand—but he can’t quite bring himself to.
Just talk to him, that voice in the back of Mike’s mind whispers. It can’t hurt anything.
Maybe I should, Mike thinks, but before he gets the chance to, Will clears his throat.
“I, um, I’m going to go get cleaned up and changed,” he says.
He’s looking at Mike again, though this time there’s something more restrained in his gaze—like he’s holding something back that he doesn’t want Mike to know about.
But what?
He could just ask Will. And maybe… maybe, if Mike were braver, he would.
Instead, Mike just nods. His mouth is suddenly dry, and his face is warm, to the point that Will definitely can see the flush on his cheeks. “That’s, um… that’s a good idea,” he mutters.
“You should go change too,” Will adds, playful in that quintessentially Will Byers sort of way that makes Mike’s heart flutter. Funny. It’s been doing that more recently. “I mean, after that incident with the pipes…”
Mike gives him an indignant look. “Is this your way of saying I should go shower?”
Will just laughs. “Well, I didn’t say it.”
Mike rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile back. “You didn’t have to.”
The funny thing is that Mike really should have seen this coming.
“Jesus,” Mike mutters as he stares at his room.
Or — rather, what’s left of his room. The Demo’s attack left practically the entire upper level of the home a disaster, with most of the damage in his parents’ room. But in Mike’s room, there’s still a giant, gaping hole in the wall where his closet has collapsed on itself, and his bed is a broken, rumpled mess dotted with blood that matches the stains on the carpet.
Mike tries not to think too hard about what happened that night. It’s best not to dwell on that—on the pit of guilt settled into his stomach and the terror still nestled deep into his heart whenever he thinks of his family. They’re going to get Holly back. His parents are going to make a full recovery.
They have to.
Numbly, Mike takes a step into his room, then another, and another. One foot in front of the other. Carefully dodging the debris on the ground. Doing whatever he can to avoid looking at the blood stains in the carpet. His hands are shaking as he begins to search for an extra change of clothes. The action feels robotic, and as Mike searches through the rubble, his mind can’t help but wander.
And to no surprise, it wanders back to the one conversation that Mike can’t seem to escape.
“This isn’t like one of your campaigns,” El’s voice whispers. “You don’t get to write the ending.”
There’s a sadness in her eyes that Mike can’t shake—a look of defeat that he’s all too familiar with. He’s seen that look on her before over the years of their relationship, but it feels different this time.
Final.
And maybe Mike should be sadder about this—about the quiet, unspoken death of his relationship with El, but if he’s being completely honest here, he’s more confused than upset. Deep down, there’s a part of him that has always known that they just don’t work together, not the way that Nancy and Jonathan, or Lucas and Max, or even Mrs. Byers and Hopper work together.
It’s like, for as long as they’ve been together, he and El have been moving away from each other instead of towards each other. Whether it’s because of the external factors keeping them apart—like the government and the Upside Down and hell, even Hopper—or the internal factors—like El’s inability to communicate with him or Mike’s inability to give her what she actually wants, they can’t ever get on the same page. And in the rare instances when they can, it ends up hurting other people that Mike knows they both care about.
He and El, they just… they don’t work together, and Mike has known that for longer than he’d like to admit.
There’s just one thing that he can’t quite figure out.
And it has to be here in Mike’s closet somewhere.
“Come on,” Mike mutters. “Come on, where are you?”
He moves away a chunk of drywall, grimacing as the fine powder sticks to his hands and gets all over his clothes. Okay, so maybe Will’s right, and a shower is a good idea for later.
But right now, Mike has to find it.
It takes another couple minutes of Mike searching through the rubble, but finally, he finds it.
The painting.
El’s painting.
As carefully as he can, Mike manages to free the painting from the rubble. The painting seems fine at first glance, but as Mike unrolls it, he finds the beginning of a tear—almost right in the center of the canvas, between where Mike the Brave and Will the Wise are positioned in the scene. It’s not that big of a tear, but still, seeing the painting in this state makes Mike’s heart drop to his stomach.
Without thinking about it, he stands to his feet and hurries over to his desk, trying to find the roll of tape amidst the chaos. Fortunately, the tape is found relatively quickly, and Mike gets right to work in fixing the tear. And in no time at all, Mike the Brave is back with the rest of the Party, and the painting is restored to its original glory.
Once he finishes, Mike runs a careful hand over the canvas, admiring the work—admiring Will’s work.
Because as much as Mike knows this painting is from El, there’s always been a part of him that has seen this as Will’s painting.
It’s something that’s filled him with guilt since that day in the back of Argyle’s pizza van, but the truth is that when Mike first unraveled that painting, he assumed it was from Will—like actually from Will instead of just a commission. Sure, Will may have been the one to paint it, but the gift was never truly from him, and Mike feels like shit for thinking this, but…
But he wishes it were.
See, the thing is that Mike has known for a while now that he and El just don’t work. And the thing is that Mike was close—so goddamn close—to pulling the plug on this relationship back during that trip to California and letting El go once and for all, but then… then the painting happened.
Then, El showed her cards. She reached across the chasm that was dividing them, and she tried to show Mike that she was still invested in their relationship and that she needed him. She did all of those things, and Mike… obviously, Mike had to do something, too.
So, he did. And even though it felt like a lie, he said those words. And even though he knew, deep in his heart, that he wasn’t happy, he kept showing up as much as he could for her. And even though it never really seemed to work, he tried to support her, tried to give her the space she needed, and tried to show her that he needed her, too, even if… even if maybe he didn’t.
That day in the van, El tried to save their relationship, like the superhero she is.
But…
But it wasn’t actually El in the back of the van with Mike that day.
And El’s isn’t the only hero Mike knows. She’s certainly not the only person in Mike’s life who has a knack for saving people and fixing things that are broken.
There’s also…
A lump forms in the back of Mike’s throat, and he freezes, hand lingering the painting’s depiction of Will the Wise. His mind races at a hundred miles per hour, desperately trying to collect the pieces of this puzzle and hoping to finally understand.
Mike thinks back to this morning; hell, to all the times over these past eighteen months when he’d tried to reach out to El, tried to find common ground, tried to be what she needed in the only way that seemed to work.
Did his words ever stick with her? Or were all those moments just like this morning—nothing more than empty promises that did nothing to help her whatsoever?
His heart pounds inside his chest, a restless thump thump thump that cuts through the silence of room. And though it scares him to admit it, Mike thinks he knows the answer.
“This isn’t like one of your campaigns. You don’t get to write the ending.”
It wasn’t El in the van with him that day.
El never said those words to him—never reminded Mike of his ability to lead the Party, never told Mike how he gave her strength, never explained how Mike helped her not to feel like a mistake, never confessed how much she needed Mike. El’s never said anything even remotely close to those things to Mike.
She’s never shown interest in the things he cares about, and she’s never.. she’s never been able to understand Mike.
“This isn’t like one of your campaigns. You don’t get to write the ending.”
El’s words echo in his mind.
A puzzle piece slots into place, and for the first time, Mike thinks he might finally be able to see the puzzle’s picture for what it really is.
It wasn’t El, Mike thinks, and he takes a trembling breath. Which means…
…
It was Will.
And just like that, the entire world stops.
Mike stays there, frozen in place and unable to do anything but stare at the painting—at Will’s painting—in complete shock. That same realization repeats over and over again in his mind like a mantra.
It was Will.
It was Will.
It was Will.
The painting—it was never about Mike and El.
It was always about Mike and Will.
Hasn’t it always been about you and Will? something deep in Mike’s heart whispers, and… oh.
Oh.
Tears sting Mike’s eyes. He tries to remind himself how to breathe and tries to slow down the thoughts racing through his mind, but it’s damn near impossible. It’s as if a dam of emotions and thoughts and understanding has opened up, and now Mike is swept up in the flood of it all.
It was Will.
Of course, it was Will. And that’s it — the final puzzle piece falling into place. The piece that Mike has always had, kept hidden in the further parts of his heart and mind, because he was too goddamn scared of what it might mean. There’s no more hiding it now.
See, the thing is that Mike has known for a while that he and Will are… different. The relationship he has with Will has always been different from the friendships he has with Lucas or Dustin. He’s never been able to put it into words or ever fully understand it, and truthfully, he’s never let himself think too deeply about it. But there’s a reason why he and El could never quite work together, and there’s a reason why Mike felt that strange sense of disappointment when he first learned the painting wasn’t from Will.
This entire time, Mike has been teetering on the edge of something—too scared to take the leap and see what waits for him on the other side.
But now, Mike understands. He finally understands.
It’s Will. It’s always been Will.
Without wasting another second, Mike turns and runs to the basement.
“I need to talk to you,” Mike blurts out.
By some stroke of luck, Mike manages to catch Will right before he steps into the bathroom, presumably to take a shower like he’d been planning to. Will stops, hand on the bathroom doorknob, and he turns to look at Mike, brow knit together in confusion.
When Will’s gaze lands on the painting in Mike’s hands, his eyes go wide, and panic flashes across his features.
“Um, okay,” he says, his voice small. “Is… is everything alright?”
More than alright, Mike wants to shout, and it takes everything in him not to just tell Will—right here, right now—that he finally understands.
There’s a part of him that still can’t help but wonder if he’s got it all wrong. Maybe Mike is completely misreading this situation, and his theory is complete and utter bullshit.
Or maybe… maybe he’s right. Maybe his theory contains the answers he’s been looking for all this time.
Mike’s had some pretty crazy theories over the years.
But this one… it might just be his favorite.
“Everything’s fine,” Mike reassures. He jumps down the last couple steps to the basement and clutches the painting tight as he approaches Will. “I just… I wanted to talk to you about something. Something… pretty important.”
The way Will’s gaze can’t help but wander to the painting doesn’t go unnoticed. He swallows thickly but takes a few steps towards Mike, meeting him in the middle of the basement. Though he doesn’t say it aloud, Mike gets the feeling Will knows exactly where this conversation is going.
Might as well get it over with, then. Rip the bandaid off and all that.
“I know about the painting,” Mike says softly.
Immediately, Will turns white as a ghost. He stands there, frozen in place, and whispers, “Mike…”
“I know that El didn’t commission the painting,” Mike continues, “and I… I’m guessing she didn’t actually say those things you said she did, right?”
A broken look forms on Will’s face. He seems seconds away from crying, and God, Mike wants nothing more than to just reach out and to pull him close and to do what he’s been wanting to do for so long now. But he has to know. He has to know for certain that this is real—that Will feels the same way and that this isn’t going to ruin their friendship forever.
Because as much as Mike wants this—as much as he wants Will—he won’t lose Will. If it’s between losing Will and pushing these feelings down again for as long as he has to, then Mike knows his choice.
His choice is always Will.
“Mike, I…” Will struggles to find his voice. His eyes are glassy now, and his shoulders are hunched, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. He still won’t look Mike in the eye. “I was just — I was just trying to help.”
“You were trying to help,” Mike echoes. “So… so you lied to me? You just — you let me believe El gave me this and said all those things about me?”
“I didn’t want to lie to you,” Will insists. “It’s just… back then, you were so worried about her a-and about your relationship, and I thought… I thought…”
Will’s voice trails off, and he runs a hand over his face. Mike waits a few moments to see if he’ll say anything else, but when Will doesn’t, he takes a shaky breath and tries to find his own courage.
“And you thought, what?” Mike whispers. “That - that it wouldn’t mean as much to me if it came from you?”
Will flinches. He’s still turned away from Mike, and there’s a desperation in his voice when he whispers back, “Mike, please…”
His voice trails off again.
Then, as if resigned to his fate, Will’s shoulders slump even further, and he takes a shuddered breath, before going quiet again.
It should make Mike angry—and maybe, deep down, there is a part of him that’s at least a little frustrated by all of this. That part of him wants to grab Will by the shoulders and remind him that Mike spent eighteen months waiting in limbo and wondering if it was worth it to revive something long dead. He wants to remind Will that friends don’t lie and that he and Will sure as hell don’t lie to each other. He wants Will to know that it hurts that Will couldn’t just tell him the truth that day and that he never even planned to tell Mike the truth.
But for whatever anger there might be in Mike’s heart, it pales in comparison to the relief and the joy and the excitement and the love he feels right now.
With trembling hands, Mike unravels the painting again. He can’t help but think about that very first day, riding in the back of Argyle’s pizza van and not knowing what the hell would happen next. Back then, Mike… he felt so unsure of himself. Hell, back then, Mike wasn’t even sure of who he was anymore, and he was more lost than he’d ever been.
The first time he laid eyes on the painting—on Will’s painting—it took Mike’s breath away. The fact that Will had taken so much time and had given so much effort, all to make something for Mike meant more to him than Mike can really describe. Even after all of the distance and fighting and awkwardness of that year, Will still made the painting for him.
Before he even said any words, Will helped Mike feel more valued and cared for and loved than El ever did.
“I don’t think you get it, Will,” Mike whispers, and he looks up, surprised to find Will’s gaze on him. “That’s all I ever wanted it to be.”
A beat passes.
Will’s eyes go wide, and he stares at Mike, surprise written all over his face. “W-what?”
“I wanted this to be from you,” Mike confesses. “I mean… it didn’t even cross my mind that it could be from El until you said something. And I guess… I guess there was always a part of me that was disappointed that it wasn’t from you.”
Mike pauses here, and he glances back down at the depiction of himself in Will’s painting.
It’s like he told Holly just a few days ago.
Whenever Mike feels scared, he turns to D&D—to Mike the Brave and the way that he leads the Party. He’s been trying for his entire life to be as brave as this character that he made as a child, and Will is the one who helped Mike realize that this was possible.
“And it… it wasn’t just about the painting, either,” Mike adds, daring to look up at Will again. “I… I wanted what you said to be from you, not… not El. I… I still do. I want it to be you.”
For a moment that feels more like an eternity, there’s silence.
Mike’s heart pounds inside his chest—a restless thump thump thump that he’s certain Will must be able to hear. He wonders, just briefly, if he should look away first, but he can’t bring himself to. It’s like… like now that Mike can finally see everything—now that he can finally see Will—he doesn’t want to look at anything else.
So, he doesn’t look away.
And neither does Will.
It’s funny, Mike thinks — because the world is ending. There’s a monster hellbent on destroying everything good in this world, and he has Mike’s sister trapped somewhere in his mind prison. There are people dying left and right, fighting for their lives from injuries just like Mike’s own damn parents are right now. There is a girl, brave and kind, who’s waiting halfway across town, that Mike thought he loved, and…
And there’s a boy, standing right in front of him.
A boy that Mike has known for almost as long as he can even remember; a boy who has been there with him and for him in every season of Mike’s life. The boy in front of Mike is someone who knows him better than anyone else does—who has seen Mike’s flaws and his mistakes and has still chosen him regardless of all that. That boy is standing right here, and he is beautiful, glowing under the dim lights of a place filled with so many of Mike’s most precious memories.
There is a boy, standing right in front of Mike, and he is Mike’s best friend and so much more.
This is Will. It always has been, and for Mike, it will always come back to him.
And because it’s Will, Mike knows that he feels the same way.
Because Will smiles at him—that soft and shy and so very Will Byers smile—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Mike. Neither one of them says a word, but Mike knows they’re on the same page.
“Will,” Mike hears his own voice whisper, “can I… can I kiss you?”
Will’s eyes go wide. His face turns a bright shade of red, and he seems too shocked to speak for a moment.
But then, Will takes a step towards Mike, then another, and another, until only mere inches separate them. And he’s smiling—smiling at Mike—with his eyes bright and full of joy and welcoming Mike home.
“Yeah,” Will whispers back. He sounds as breathless as Mike feels. “Just kiss me already, Mike.”
Mike doesn’t have to be told twice.
The remaining space between them disappears as Mike reaches for Will, hands cradling Will’s face and the back of his neck as he kisses him. It’s slow at first—hesitant, even—and it occurs to Mike that this is Will’s first kiss.
He gets to be Will Byers’s first kiss.
The realization brings a smile to Mike’s face, and he closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss as Will begins to relax. Will places one hand on Mike’s chest, as if to steady himself, and with his other hand, he reaches up and cradles Mike’s head, fingers carding through Mike’s hair ever so gently.
It, admittedly, makes Mike feel weak in the knees.
There’s just always been something about Will Byers that has made Mike feel this way. Maybe he didn’t understand it fully until now, but ever since that very first day on the playground, Mike has known that Will was special. And there is something so very comforting about being right here, right now, with Will, about being held like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and about being kissed by the one person who knows him better than anyone else does.
There’s so much joy in Mike’s heart that he can hardly even comprehend it.
This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This feeling of being cherished and known and loved, not in spite of his flaws, but because of them and because of his strengths too. Here, with Will in his arms, it’s as if Mike has stepped into the light—like he’s shrouded in some beautiful, incandescent warmth and wrapped up in the embrace of a person who feels like home.
This is what this is supposed to feel like.
I love you, Mike thinks, and he kisses Will’s lips again, before slowly making his way across Will’s face and peppering small, soft kisses against his jaw and neck.
The action elicits a small gasp from Will, and Mike’s eyelids flutter open. He’s pleased to find Will staring back at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. A smile rests on his face, and God, Mike has never seen Will look this happy.
I love you, Will tells him, without even saying a word.
It’s crazy, when Mike really thinks about it. Will loves him, and Will actually kissed him back, and Will is so, so happy right now.
Mike made him that happy.
Mike did that, and God, he would do anything in the world if it meant that Will Byers could be as happy as he is in this moment.
He wishes… he wishes that the two of them could just stay here with each other—that the world would freeze on this moment, locking them in place and keeping them safe from everything else that waits for them outside the safety of Mike’s basement. If the Upside Down can freeze on the day of Will’s disappearance, then surely, the universe can freeze this moment and let them stay in it forever.
Spending the rest of his life here with Will seems like a pretty good idea to Mike.
Will makes a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat as Mike kisses the mole on his neck. “Mike,” he whispers, voice completely wrecked.
Mike can’t help but smile like a damn fool. “Hi,” he whispers.
A breathy laugh escapes Will’s lips, and God, Mike wants to kiss him again for it.
So, that’s exactly what he does. Mike can do that now—hold Will close and kiss him whenever he wants to and do everything in his power to make Will smile.
It’s amazing.
When they finally pull away, Will gives Mike another smile with his red and swollen lips. “Hi,” he whispers back. “That was, um…”
“Not what you were expecting?” Mike guesses with a nervous laugh.
“Everything I’ve ever wanted,” Will finishes softly.
Warmth rises to Mike’s cheeks. “Oh.”
The look on Will’s face softens, and he runs a hand gently through Mike’s hair, before standing on his tiptoes and kissing Mike again. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted, Mike,” he murmurs, and well—
Mike’s brain sort of, kind of, short-circuits.
The warmth has spread to his entire face now, so Mike ducks his head, flustered. There’s a fluttery sensation in his heart, unlike anything he’s really ever felt before, and all Mike can do is smile like a complete fool.
Everything about this just feels right, and Mike has never felt freer than he is right now.
All those years of questioning himself, of feeling like he would never be good enough for the person he was supposed to love, of wondering if there was something more—something better—out there for him, and of searching for a love that could make him feel the most like himself…
All of this time, Will was standing right in front of him, waiting patiently and pining quietly in the background. All this time, Mike could’ve been with someone who actually loves him and someone who he actually loves.
He feels like a bit of an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” Mike blurts out, pulling away and looking over at Will.
Will’s brow furrows. “For what?”
“For…” Mike struggles to find the words to say, and he shakes his head. “For not realizing sooner and for being an idiot who didn’t see what was right in front of me this entire time. I… you didn’t deserve that—all of the shit I’ve put you through. I should’ve realized sooner; I should’ve known, and I… I’m so sorry, Will.”
Mike’s voice cracks on those last few words, and his eyes burn with tears. He tries to look away, but Will catches him first, placing a hand on Mike’s face.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he says, voice full of an almost uncharacteristic intensity. “Don’t apologize, Mike. I…”
Will’s voice trails off, and he goes quiet, like he’s searching for the right words to say. There’s a furrow in his brow and a distant look in his eyes, so Mike reaches for his free hand and squeezes it.
I’m here, he says without saying it aloud.
Will squeezes his hand back. I know.
“I never thought you would want this too,” Will confesses, gaze flickering back up to Mike’s own. “I… I’ve known for so long that I… that I wanted to be with you, but I never thought you were… like me. And when El came along, I just… I eventually just came to terms with it, and I told myself that I could learn to be happy, as long as you were still in my life.
“That’s why I told you the painting was from El,” Will whispers. “I didn’t… I… I never wanted to lie to you, but I was scared, Mike, and I thought I knew what you wanted. Looking back at it now, it was really stupid of me.”
A quiet laugh escapes Mike’s lips, and he leans his head against Will’s, smiling at him. “Well, it was really stupid of me to believe you,” he reminds. “I mean… El doesn’t give a shit about D&D. It never made sense that the painting was from her. I should’ve known it was you all along, Will.
Mike pauses here, giving Will’s hand another squeeze. “All this time, I’ve been with El… it’s never really felt right,” he admits. “It’s like… it’s like part of me knew, deep down, that I wasn’t supposed to be with her. And I think part of me knew all this time, that it was you I should be with. I didn’t understand it until now, but… I understand now. I was searching for… for something, and I thought she had the answers. I thought… if I could make her love me, then I would feel okay about myself a-and that eventually, everything would turn out okay.
“But it’s never been her,” Mike whispers, and the words are so, so freeing to finally say aloud and accept as truth. “It was never about El. It was — it was about you, Will, and it was about me. Because you make me feel brave and like — like I can do anything. That I can be myself and enjoy all the nerdy things from when we were kids and that I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. You make me feel like… like I can lead people and guide them and… and…”
Will smiler, eyes shining with tears. “And be the heart?” he whispers.
Warmth rises to Mike’s cheeks, and all he can do is smile back at Will. “And be the heart,” he echoes softly. “You’ve always helped me be the best version of myself, because that’s who you are, and that’s who we are.”
“A team,” Will murmurs.
“Yeah. That’s what we are,” Mike says, and Will looks up at him, his gaze full of a familiar warmth. “A team.”
Will bites down on his bottom lip, a coy smile forming. “And… is that all we are?”
Warmth rushes to Mike’s face. Very eloquently, he thinks something like, Um, I — gah — huh?
Will must catch onto his internal panic, because he laughs and pulls Mike into another kiss. “I love that we’re a team,” he murmurs, “but I also really, really want you to be my boyfriend, Mike. If… if that’s okay.”
Once again, Mike’s internal monologue is the epitome of eloquence.
Fortunately, he somehow manages to regain his composure. Unfortunately, Will is clearly trying to stifle his laughter, if the shit-eating grin in his face is any indicator.
“You’re laughing at me,” Mike accuses, though there’s no real heat to it.
“Maybe a little,” Will teases. “But only because you look really cute when you’re flustered.”
Mike groans, and he drops his head, leaning against Will’s shoulder. His boyfriend—holy shit, his boyfriend—merely responds by hugging Mike tighter and kissing the top of his head.
“Is that a yes?” Will whispers, his voice still playful.
“Obviously.” Mike lifts his head, making a face, and Will just laughs, smiling brightly at him. “Of course, I want to be your boyfriend, and I want you to be my boyfriend. Did the whole kissing you and telling you how much you mean to me not make it obvious enough?”
Will hums. “For all I know, you could be saying the same thing to Lucas or Dustin. Or worse — kissing them.”
Mike groans. “Don’t even joke about that! Ugh, that’s so gross!”
The disgust rightfully earns him more peals of laughter from Will, and Mike shakes his head, before pulling Will into another sweet kiss. “You’re different from the rest of them,” he murmurs against Will’s lips. “You always have been.”
Will makes another soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Different, how?” he whispers coyly.
“Different, because I don’t want to do this—“ Mike kisses him again, first on the lips, then peppering little kisses on Will’s cheek and jaw with each word, “or this, or this with El or Lucas or Dustin or any of our friends, and I never have.”
Mike’s lips linger on the beauty mark on Will’s neck, and he kisses it, slower and with more intention, just to get a reaction out of Will.
Much to Mike’s delight, it works.
“Mike,” Will gasps, leaning his head back as Mike kisses him harder. His voice sounds completely wrecked, and his fists grasp the back of Mike’s shirt tightly. “Mike—“
Mike pulls away and offers a grin. “Hm?”
Will gives him a look, trying (and failing) to act like he’s actually mad at Mike. “The world is ending, and you’re trying to give me a hickey?” he hisses.
“Nobody’s going to notice,” Mike reassures. “We can just… tell them it’s a bruise.”
“A bruise,” Will echoes, skeptical.
“Yeah.” Mike shrugs. “We can tell them that we got attacked on our way here but managed to escape,and nobody will question it.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone is going to question where I got a hickey from! It’s not like a Demo’s going to give anyone a freaking hickey!” Will says incredulously, and he shoves Mike’s chest, shaking his head in disbelief as Mike just bursts into laughter. “You’re the worst.”
Mike smiles crookedly, and he takes Will’s hand, pulling him close again. “You love me.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the realization hits Mike, and his entire face turns hot. “I, um,” Mike stammers.
Before he can say anything else, Will stands on his tiptoes, stealing a brief kiss. He doesn’t say those words, but still, Mike gets the feeling he knows what Will is thinking regardless.
Of course, I do. I love you so much.
Mike smiles back at him, and he pulls Will back into another kiss, slow and sweet this time. Will’s arms slink around his neck, and as Mike closes his eyes, he wraps his arms around Will and pulls him in.
They fit well together, but really, that’s no surprise to Mike. They’ve always fit well together, and for as long as he can remember, it’s been MikeandWill against the world. For Will, it’s always been Mike, and though Mike took some detours on the way, it’s always been Will for him, too.
The two of them are a team, and Mike knows in his heart that this—the two of them together—is right.
I love you, Mike thinks.
For the first time, he truly means it.