Chapter Text
January 1st, 1987
The new year is for resolutions and celebrations and snow. Mike, for one, couldn’t care less about things like that. He enjoys the long winter break and that’s about it. The snow he tracks into the house is annoying, along with the terrible sudden temperature change between freezing single digits and far too warm of his house.
Well, if there’s one good thing about winter, it’s the rosy cheeks and noses. The way the white looks enchanting and shared scarves and jackets becomes natural. Something friendly. Mike can secretly indulge in his Will wants and no one would question him because he’s simply just cold. It’s normal.
He’s tracing his finger over the painting hung above his desk, the one he knows Eleven didn’t commission. It came up months upon months ago during their break up. Mike had been angry at first, then sad, then confused. He knows Will would never lie to him without a good reason. The only lies being saying he’s okay when he’s really not but it’s not a good time to really talk about it. Like at the movie theater the summer of 85. Will couldn’t suddenly talk about the fluttering of cold against the nape of his neck just as a movie they’ve been anticipating to watch all week was about to start. Mike understood that. And he knows Will wasn’t lying about everything he said. Not when Will spoke with such passion, with glassy eyes and a smile so genuine Mike had a hard time looking away. Whatever it was, all of it, it brought hope into Mike’s heart. A hope he never knew he even craved until he grabbed ahold of it.
Eleven had been the one to tell him to go for it. That she could see it and thought they’d be perfect for each other.
It’s a bit embarrassing to be found out by your ex girlfriend who is now your friend and is also your best friend slash love of your life’s sister, but Mike knew she meant the best. She knew Will would always mean the best too. That’s precisely why Mike never confronted Will about the painting. Because, no matter his reasoning, he saw Mike as the heart. That much was true, and that was the only truth Mike really needs to believe in.
He turns to his closet, where a box of unset letters is hidden. He thinks about giving it to Will all the time. Thinks about just coming out (haha) and confessing, but then he remembers everything he did to Will before they realized Vecna was the big bad guy. How much of an asshole he was. And, yeah, the last seven months have been great, but it doesn’t feel like enough. He hasn’t done enough.
Mike sighs, turning back to the painting and pressing a gentle finger over Will the Wise. Maybe one day soon, he’ll be able to forgive himself the way Will did in a matter of seconds.
A shout from his little sister shakes the whole house. Holly’s grown up quite a bit, but she’s also grown to have a crush on Will. It’s just about as cute as it is annoying because he gets to see Will get along with her, but then Holly will stick her tongue out at Mike when Will chooses her before him.
“Breakfast!”
Mike steps away to look for a shirt to put on. It’s way too hot in the house for a knit sweater, but all his t-shirts are in the laundry basket, and he is not sitting next to Will smelling like shit.
The only thing reasonable left hanging in his closet is his hellfire shirt. He knows what his parents will say about it, his father more than his mother, and it’d be a little hypocritical to wear it when they’re always telling Dustin not to, but this was at home. Mike wasn’t going anywhere public. It was fine.
He throws it over his white tank and pulls his hair out from under the collar. His hair really has grown quite a bit. He’ll get a haircut eventually, but right now, he kind of likes the length. Especially during breezy winter.
As Mike makes his way downstairs, he immediately makes eye contact with Will, who is still sleepily coming out from the basement. Mike will never get used to seeing sleepy Will, eyes half open and sleep shirt loose over his chest. If only their mothers had let them room together. Mike could wake up to this sight every day, alone in his bedroom. In what would become their bedroom.
Something seems to snap Will out of it as his eyes widen and he’s walking head first into the wall. He groans, pressing a hand to his reddening forehead.
“You good?” Jonathan asks from behind with a yawn.
Will nods, eyes glued onto Mike. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He clears his throat, nodding good morning to Mike before practically running up the stairs to the bathroom.
He almost follows Will before realizing how weird that would be and heads straight to the dining room to sit and wait for everyone else to join.
First is, of course, his father, who is nose deep into a newspaper. He doesn’t even look up until his mother places a large plate of pancakes — she learned very early on that the Byers are big eaters despite being a family half the size of the Wheelers — and says something.
“Michael. Your shirt.”
Mike looks down, stretching his shirt out by tugging at the bottom with his hands. He shrugs, reaching for the coffee. “I’m not gonna go out.”
His mother sighs, reaching to ruffle Mike’s hair but he dodges her touch. Not because he doesn’t like her affection, but because no one touches his hair. His father goes on a tangent, but Mike tunes him out, letting the bitter black coffee shake his bones awake. Just what he needed.
Everyone joins one by one. Will scoots into the seat between his mother and Mike, exactly where he’s been sitting for the last seven months. Mike gives him a morning smile, something he’s been doing every day. And Will would usually smile back, sometimes they’d nudge each other with their feet and play a silent game of morse code morning talks. Today, something has changed because Will quickly whips his head straight ahead, practically begging his brother for the syrup before he uses the last of what’s left.
Mike is almost hurt, but it’s the morning and last night, they had a pretty late new years party.
He tries again, attempting to start tapping something out against Will’s ankle when he pulls that away too. Mike sends him a confused look but Will just sniffs and spends the entirety of breakfast with his eyes glued to his plate.
So something was definitely wrong. Maybe Will had a nightmare and was a little more jumpy than usual. Yeah, that must be it.
After helping clean up the table, Mike follows Will into the basement where they usually watch a movie or read comics together. Sometimes Will would draw as Mike would think about what to do for their next campaign. He’s been thinking about how to introduce Holly to the game. She’d definitely give an enthusiastic yes to joining if Will asked her.
“Hey, so for Holly, I was thinking about making her a cleric. She could be something like Holly the Heroic or…”
Will was cleaning up his and Jonathan’s bed, folding the blankets and placing them in their respective baskets. His back was facing Mike, but he knew he wasn’t really listening.
“Will? Are you okay?”
“Hm?” Will finally responds. “Yeah. I’m great.”
“Really?” Mike doesn’t believe it. It must be really bad if Will won’t even look at him. “Is it…Vecna? Did you have a bad dream or a feeling?”
“No!” Will turns around, his cheeks red. “That’s— That’s not it.”
“Oh my god, Will.” Mike nearly runs to Will, bringing a hand to his cheek. “You’re burning. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? How long have you been feeling this way?”
Will burns even hotter under Mike’s touch and his lip even quivers. Mike has never felt him this hot before.
“I’m going to go get some medicine and a cool wet cloth. Just sit and we can spend today resting down here.” Mike presses a reassuring rub against Will’s jaw. “Okay?”
Will’s eyes are caught somewhere below Mike’s head, but he nods, shaking.
Mike sets Will on the couch and runs upstairs. He knew something was wrong, but he never thought it’d be such a bad fever.
The entire day, they sit in the basement. Mike doesn’t play any movies or music, too afraid to give Will a headache with the noise. Instead, he talks on about the campaign and Will nods along, sketching in his notebook. His eyes never properly meet Mike’s, but he looks his way and that’s enough. He even sits on top of the washing machine as Mike does his load of laundry so he can have something to wear for tomorrow.
The next morning, Will is completely healed and things go back to normal. He’s still a little flushed, but at least he’s better now.
Mike smiles, and Will smiles back.
January 31st, 1987
It’s not until the very end of the month that Mike has nothing to wear again. Nothing but his beloved hellfire shirt he can’t wear out. Luckily, it’s a Saturday and his only plan for today is homework and sneaking glances at Will from across the basement.
He straightens the shirt before heading down where Will is already curled into the couch with his knees up and his sketchbook pressed against his thighs.
“Mornin’.”
Will smiles, erasing something on his page. “It’s almost one in the afternoon. You sure slept in—“ He stops once he looks up at Mike, who is making his way to the couch. His pencil slips from his hand and Mike is quick to pick it up before jumping into the empty space beside Will. “Uh— Oh. Hi.”
Mike smiles, leaning his shoulder into Will’s and holding out his pencil. “Hi.”
And, okay, so they often stare at each other. Like, a lot. Especially when it’s just the two of them. But this was…different. Will was frozen like a statue, lips pulled slightly ajar and breath hitched as his eyes zero in on the pencil in Mike’s hand. Mike wiggles it, waiting for him to move, but he doesn’t. Is he even breathing?
“Will?” He leans a little closer, and Will is turning pink. “Are you sick again?”
Will finally moves, swallowing thickly before shaking his head so gentle that Mike barely picks up on it. He slowly takes his pencil and taps it against his page, scratching the tiniest dot in the corner.
“That’s good.” Mike turns to his drawing. It’s Holly the Heroic. They had decided on a class and name for her. Mike suggested Will draw her so convincing her would be easier. “Woah. This is amazing. Holly will love it.”
Will is still frozen, like someone has hit pause on the remote and Will is a still screen on the TV. His eyes are blurred, staring at Mike but not really at all. It’s genuinely concerning and his face is getting red again and his breathing is heavy.
“Will?” Mike wraps an arm around his shoulder, squeezing just enough to get him to blink. “You’re having trouble breathing.”
Will slightly backs away, panting now as he looks at Mike for the first time in minutes. Minutes since Mike has gotten here and they’ve been doing what exactly?
He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a gasp as he struggles to breathe. Whatever triggered him, it doesn’t matter. Mike turns them until they’re facing each other on the couch, placing the sketchbook to the coffee table beside them and focuses on grounding Will. This has happened for years, starting back when Lonnie was still around. Again some times when Will was first returned to them. Some times since Will has moved in with the Wheelers. Mike knows exactly how to get Will to calm down. It might take minutes, might take hours of soft whispers and lengthy hugs, feather light hands pressing warm into his neck to remind him he’s safe.
This, it seems, will take much shorter.
Mike pushes their foreheads together, gently coaxing Will’s mouth closed with a thumb against his chin. He takes Will’s neck in his other hand, warming his nape with a tender yet firm pressure.
“Breathe with me. In.”
Mike sucks a harsh breath in with his nose, waiting for Will to follow along with him. Their eyes meet between the oxygen, greens and yellows and browns, lashes so long and eyes watery Mike thinks he could cry tears for him instead.
“Out.” He opens his mouth as he pulls Will’s down, their hot breaths meeting in the middle. Mike repeats this a good amount of times until Will’s chest is no longer pumping up and down at an unstable rate and he’s resting his eyes with pulled brows. Mike rakes his thumb over the bone of Will’s nape, bringing him to his shoulder. “It’s okay.” He whispers into his ear. “You’re okay.”
Will nods, slow but steady. “I’m okay.” He parrots in a cracked voice, hands clutching the sides of Mike’s shirt.
They spend a few more minutes just like that, breathing in tandem as Mike whispers words only sweet to Will, who nods along with him. Mike waits until Will pulls away first, hands shaky as he smooths out the wrinkles he just curled into Mike’s shirt.
“Sor—“ He cuts himself off, knowing how Mike feels about him apologizing whenever they do this. “Thank you, Mike.” He clears his throat, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. His cheeks are still pink with light tear streaks coating them.
Mike wipes them with his thumb. He feels a little guilty for taking advantage of Will’s vulnerable state to touch him so softly, like they’re more than just friends, but he also knows Will craves touch whenever things get like this. Knows he needs it to be grounded. And if that means Mike gets to indulge in himself a little, so be it. He’ll wrap himself around Will for hours if that means making sure he comes back to him whole.
“Always.” He smiles, holding Will’s face in his hands. It’s wrong how much he loves the intimate coming down of Will’s panic attacks. It’s so wrong, but so prideful because Will chooses Mike to be by his side for him like a law of the universe. “Always, Will.”
They finally move apart, barely even because they’re still side by side, almost every part of them touching, but they face forward instead of towards each other. Mike focuses on his homework like he told himself he would. Sneaks glances at Will like he knew he would. He notices how Will is drawing him, staring with his artist’s eyes, and Mike smiles and just lets him, trying his best not to move a single muscle.
February 8th, 1987
Mike may be a little slow on the uptake and sometimes oblivious, but he isn’t dumb. Three times is a pattern, and this is the third time in two months that Will has acted even a little strange.
The common denominator? His hellfire shirt.
And maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’s got an even bigger head than he thought, but the first time was a fever, the second time was a panic attack. To be honest, he’s a little scared to wear this shirt. Every time he does, something bad happens to Will. Maybe hellfire is cursed.
Regardless, he tests the waters to see if there really is a pattern. And if there’s even the slightest indication of Will feeling anything negative because of if, he’ll burn the shirt.
Sorry, Eddie, but Will comes first.
Will, the polite and perfect guy he is, knocks before popping a head in. “Mike?”
He’s in the middle of trying to figure out how to tie his hair back without getting it tangled. It’s a lot harder than it looks. “You can come in.”
Will gently shuts the door behind him, clutching the strap of his backpack as his eyes look Mike up and down. It sends a small shiver up Mike’s spine to think that Will is openly checking him out. And taking his time with it.
“Oh.” He gasps out before slapping a hand over his mouth. “I mean—“ His eyes finally lock with Mike’s and he breaks out into a grin. “What are you doing?”
Mike frowns. “Struggling. Please help me.”
Will laughs, setting his backpack onto the floor against Mike’s bed before coming towards him. Mike turns so they’re face to face as Will reaches his hands into Mike’s hair. “What were you doing? Seriously.”
“I was trying to…you know, tie it back or whatever.” He winces as his hair gets pulled a little too hard. Will whispers an apology. “I was waiting until winter was over to cut it. Hair actually serves as a great neck warmer.”
“Oh, yeah?” Will grins up at him, and Mike feels himself explode all over his insides. So it wasn’t his shirt. It really was just coincidence? Because Will is acting like Will and it’s so endearing. They’re so close and his hands are already in Mike’s hair. If he were crazy, he’d lean over and kiss him. He thinks he might already be halfway there. “Maybe I’ll try growing my hair out too.”
All their life, Will has had a bowl cut. Well, until recently where it’s starting to grow into something a little more messy in a dashing way, but Will with hair long enough to coat the back of his neck?
It makes Mike flush.
“Really?”
“Maybe.” Will emphasizes with wide eyes, meaning it’s probably a no. Mike will see it one day. He’ll convince him. “But it’s in your way?”
Mike almost nods before remembering, Will, hands in hair. “Yeah. Kind of gets annoying sometimes when I’m doing homework. Especially my bangs. I don’t know how girls do it.”
Will chuckles, eyes focused on Mike’s hair. How he wishes he’d look at him instead. “I can try and do it for you, if you’d like. El would have me do her hair sometimes when Mom was too busy to back in California.”
Speaking of Will’s hands in his hair. “Okay.” He says a little too fast and loud. Will finally looks up at him and Mike flushes. “I— I’d like that.”
Will nods and, wow, he’s taking a while. Must be a mess back there. Not that Mike minds. He’d have a bird’s nest for hair if it meant Will would spend hours with his hands in Mike’s hair.
Mike thinks too soon because Will grins and pulls his hands back, a hair tie curled between his fingers. “And now you’re free.”
“Thank Will.” Mike exclaims as he flops onto his bed.
“Thank— What?” Will asks in disbelief, sitting beside him.
“You know. Instead of thank god, it’s thank Will.” Mike turns until his cheek is smushed against his sheets, perfect to stare up at Will, who’s staring back and laughing.
“You’re so—“ Will sighs, a pretty sigh, finger twitching against the sheets, so close yet so far from Mike’s face. “You’ll let me do your hair?”
Mike knows this is a bad idea. Knows he’ll be red the whole time and stutter and give himself away, but this is Will. Will with his hands in his hair, so close Mike can stare all he wants. Fantasize about what a kiss might be like. Hidden away in the safety of what should’ve been their bedroom. Maybe he can use today to convince Will it can be.
“Only if you make me look good.”
Will stands with a sweet smile. “Easiest job in the world then.” And then he disappears into the hallway before Mike can even start to stumble in front of him.
What?
What does that mean?
Mike is sitting up when Will returns with his hands behind his back and a mischievous grin. “Am I gonna regret this?”
Will shuts the door with his foot and settles back into his spot on Mike’s bed. “Just trust me.”
So Mike trusts him. He closes his eyes when Will tells him to despite wanting to stare, waiting to be surprised, but it’s kind of nice. Really nice. Will’s hands rake through his hair, fingers brushing against his scalp in an almost scratch he wishes he’d just rub. He’s so close that Mike can feel his breath on his face, warm and full of that comforting Will smell. Mike lets his thoughts wander as Will starts to hum a familiar tune from today's Rockin’ Robin radio broadcast. He allows himself to think about if this were their everyday. Allows himself to come up with a conversation to persuade Will to sleep up here. Lets himself be carried left and right by Will’s touch as he replays the cheeky smile Will had on his face when Mike first suggested he do his hair. So free and grown and Will. Will, Will, Will. Just as he sings a tune of the radio, Mike’s mind plays the song of Will, constant and endless and gorgeous. A melody Mike knows he will never tire of. One that makes him want to grab his tucked away guitar and just sing, Will, Will, Will.
“Yes?”
Mike’s eyes startle open before closing once he’s met with a narrow glare from Will. “What?”
“You were humming my name.” There’s a sunny tone in Will’s voice. Like he’s smiling. Like he doesn’t mind. If only he’d let Mike open his eyes and see exactly what face he’s making right now. “Will, Will, Will.” He sings, the exact tune Mike thought he had kept in his head. “It was nice. A new song you found or something?”
Mike knows he’s blushing, but he pretends he isn’t. What he can’t see isn’t there. “No. Not a new song or anything.” He’s proud of how casual he sounds.
Will hums in response, and it carries into the tune Mike was singing in his name. He continues it into his own making. Mike memorizes it. He’ll put that to paper later. He’ll take his dusty guitar out from storage and write a song that sounds just like this and he’ll sing Will, Will, Will, just like he is right now.
“Will, Will, Will.” He softly, quietly like he’s afraid the walls will hear him and keep it, sings it. “Will I what?”
Mike grins. “Will you?”
“Will I?”
It’s a game they’re playing now. Seeing where the lyrics will go, seeing how far into their minds they can pry before the truth gets out.
“Will, you.” Mike hums, sings, just as quiet as Will has been. “Always, Will.”
Will laughs again, and Mike knows he’s misinterpreting the lyrics. Knows he isn’t getting what Mike is trying to say, and that’s exactly what Mike wants. Wants to say it without saying it. “I always will.”
Mike lets Will talk to himself in riddles as he continues to faintly sing, “Will, Will, Will.”
It’s a couple more minutes of Will. Of Will’s hands in his hair, of Will’s low humming voice, of Will’s breath on his lashes, until he pulls away and Mike has to clutch at his blankets to stop himself from snatching him back.
“All done. You can open your eyes now.”
Mike slowly lifts his lids, surprised to see his reflection staring back at him in what is definitely Holly’s pink and bedazzled handheld mirror.
He has no idea how Will did it, but his hair is curlier than usual. Instead of the way his bangs would stick together like a surf wave, they turn and stick in their own directions. It’s not messy though, no, it’s direct and intentional in the way it swipes across his forehead and back. The longer pieces by the sides of his face curl too, an almost proper O as they wind against his cheeks. The rest of his hair is tied back into a perfect low ponytail, letting air to pass behind his neck in a way Mike hasn’t felt in over a year. And, in proper teasing Will fashion, there’s a Holly staple glittery blue clipping back practically nothing on one side of his head, a button yellow star sticking out at the end. It’s not Mike at all, but, looking past the mirror, to Will’s waiting and expectant eyes, he realizes that today, he is Will’s art piece. Carefully handcrafted with thought and purpose and love.
Mike smiles, the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever given. “It’s perfect.”
Will lowers the mirror to reveal a relieved smile. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
“No, I really like it.” Mike reaches up to poke the clip. “Especially this. It’s like you’ve left your signature on me.”
Will’s cheeks grow a slight pink as he turns away, but his eyes are stuck on Mike’s collar. “Just thought you could use some color.” He points at the overwhelming black on Mike’s shirt.
He takes it back. Hellfire is a blessing.
February 9th, 1987
It’s not often that Will visits Max alone. He’s almost always with Lucas, sometimes Dustin or Mike in tow. Today, he’s made sure Lucas or anybody else wouldn’t be here. He needs to talk to her alone and uninterrupted.
It’s kind of messed up, he knows, to rant to a girl who can’t respond. He doesn’t know if Max can hear him or not, he’s hoping on the latter, but he needs to get this out somewhere to someone. He and Max may not have been the closest, but they’re still friends. And Max is from California. She’s ought to be more open minded than his friends from Hawkins and El who quite literally dated Mike for a couple years.
“He thought I was sick!” Will brings his hands to his face as he recalls how completely flustered he had been seeing Mike in that damned hellfire shirt for the first time. “I was so red, and I couldn’t even tell him I wasn’t sick because what was I supposed to say? That I was blushing because he looked good? That I could barely even breathe near him during breakfast because he was literally taking my breath away?”
When Will had gotten up the stairs that first morning in early January, he was still chasing off sleep. That is, until he saw Mike at the bottom of the stairs in a shirt he’s seen Dustin in, but never Mike. It somehow looks completely different on him. The way the sleeves cut off at his forearms, the perfect length to show off his black watch, the one they match, and his hands look impossibly bigger than usual. How it compliments his hair, long and curling on his shoulders. It made his lips look darker and cheekbones more prominent than they already are. Will has never seen him in so much black before, and it was doing really terrible things to him. Like, so bad his breathing got erratic enough for Mike to think he was having a panic attack.
“I definitely couldn’t correct him then. He was being a good friend and I was going insane because he was too hot for me to handle.”
And then he had shed actual tears because of how embarrassed he was. How he shivered every time Mike would whisper something in his ear and Will had to keep his head down until he was sure he could look at Mike without combusting. It was hard when all he could hear was the gentle voice of Mike repeating, it’s okay, you’re safe, I'm here, you’re strong and brave and the best friend I could ever ask for, you’re doing perfectly, Will.
He actually almost died right there and then.
At the very least, last night was okay. He’s been doing better at not having a freak out whenever Mike puts on that damned shirt. He messed up a little at first, literally gasping, but then Mike was being adorably foolish and letting Will touch his hair when he doesn’t let anybody touch his hair and, okay, maybe Will moved a lot slower than he should’ve to take advantage of the rare opportunity. Maybe he did Mike’s hair in a way he had kind of always fantasized about it looking (the sparkly clip just for fun). Maybe last night was entirely selfish as he made Mike close his eyes as he stared as much as he wanted.
“It’s so bad.” Will gets up to start pacing again. “I’m so terrible. I’m such a terrible friend.”
But then again, Mike didn’t seem against it. He seemed to actually like it. And what was that little song he started singing in the middle? It was sweet, but nothing that Will had ever heard before. He considered asking Jonathan about any songs like it before saving himself the embarrassment. It was bad enough as is having him know about his one sided feelings for Mike.
“I swear he’s doing it on purpose. We’ve been living together for eight months now and he only started wearing that shirt recently. He can’t even wear it out because we all know how that’s going for Dustin!”
It’s ridiculous! What other reason does Mike have for wearing that shirt? The first time, it was because of laundry. But he went seven months prior doing just fine without it. Is he messing with Will? Does he know?
Does he know?
Will freezes before shaking his head. “There’s no way. Mike is… He’s normal. And we’re just friends.” He nods, taking a seat. “Best friends.”
February 25th, 1987
Mike never planned on wearing the hellfire shirt out. Ever since he’s rediscovered it, he’s been wearing it more often, but only when he’s out of anything else to wear. And now that he’s sure it’s not some kind of curse that brings about bad things for Will, he’s feeling a little more confident. Plus, he’s just going to the WSQK, and it’s hidden underneath his zipped jacket, so no one will know.
It’s not on purpose. He swears.
When the signal came in on the bike ride home from school that there would be a crawl tonight, Will by his side to pick up Holly, they decided to split up. Mike would quickly drop Holly off at home and Will would head straight to the squawk so he didn’t miss anything in case Holly started a fit about Will’s absence. She’s really grown to like Will a little too much.
Holly was, in fact, upset. So upset that she wasn’t paying attention to the road and Mike veered their bikes into a freezing snow piled puddle to save her from an accident. Mike took a quick shower before realizing he was really late and had nothing to wear. He put on whatever was close by, hiding his hellfire shirt with a jacket because he knew if he took any longer, Hopper was gonna be up his ass about it and this wasn’t even his fault. Was he supposed to let his little sister become road kill?
It’s become routine for Lucas and Mike to be the watchtower for Hopper, hidden in camo outfits, but he’s never been this late before. Everyone knows Joyce would rather die than let Will go anywhere close to danger, so who knows who would take his place if he didn’t get there, like, yesterday.
Mike drops his bike next to Will's, basically sliding down the stairs. “I’m here! I’m here!”
The room fills half with groans, half with sighs. Thankfully, Will greets him first, taking notice of Mike’s obviously frozen curls and red nose. “You sure took your time.”
Mike smirks, raising his brows with a smug look. “Holly’s fault.”
Will doesn’t move as Mike takes his place leaning against the wall, fitted side by side as Will’s arm warms Mike’s. “She was mad?”
“You’ll have to spend all weekend making it up to her.”
Will opens his mouth to retort back when Hopper — there’s the stick up his ass — clears his throat. He’s been a weird mix of more tame and extra pissy ever since Mike and Eleven broke up. Like he’s glad he isn’t corrupting his daughter but mad he hurt her. It was a mutual break up, but whatever.
“You good to be on watch for tonight?” Hopper glares.
“I got it.” Mike looks to Will, nudging his side. “Will can fill me in while I change, right?”
“Yeah.” Will nods towards Lucas. “Let’s go.”
The three of them go into a locker room at the radio station where they store the usual camo outfits and spy supplies Lucas brought from his home. Their respective lockers are on opposite sides of the room, Lucas silently pulling his sweater over his head as he listens to Will relay the plan for tonight. Honestly, Mike is moving slower than usual. He knows he needs to move fast given he was already late, but Lucas is here, and he kind of wants to be with Will alone.
But then Will leans against the locker right next to Mike’s with his side, leg crossed over the other. He lets his head rest on the metal, a slight but serious look in his eyes as he talks.
“It’s about an hour and a half time for Hopper to search the upside down.” Mike nods along, eyes glancing slightly at Lucas who is already almost done. They make eye contact, and Mike must send a signal or something because Lucas takes the rest of his gear and leaves the locker room wordlessly. Mike doesn’t question it. “Same procedure as usual. You and Lucas will be on lookout at the tower. Steve and Dustin in the truck, tracking Hopper from up here. The rest of us waiting on coms at the squawk in case something happens.”
Mike finally sheds himself from his jacket, smiling at the secret photo of Will in California Eleven had sent him in one of her letters hidden in the darkest part where only he could see it, hanging it to cover the picture.
“Eleven on standby in case we run into Vecna. It’s honestly nothing different. I don’t know why Hopper was on your case toni… Uhm.” Will uncrosses his arms, fitting them over the sides of his jeans. “I thought you weren’t supposed to wear that out.”
Mike looks down at his shirt. “Oh. Well, you know how Holly was upset?”
“Mhm.” Will’s eyes laser in on the hellfire over Mike’s chest.
“Right, well, she nearly got ran over, so I turned us into a puddle, had to shower, had nothing else to wear and I was in a hurry. I figured it’d be okay since it’s just us here, you know? I mean–” Will still hasn’t looked away, hands now grasping at his pants. “It’s just you here.”
Will nods and– His eyes are still stuck onto Mike’s chest.
“Do you not like it?” Mike puts a hand over the logo. He likes the shirt, a lot, and Will never seemed to have any personal problems with it before. “I guess it’s not what I usually wear.”
“No!” Will finally tears his eyes away, pushing forward so close that their breaths are inches apart. “I like it. I really do. It’s just… Uhm.” His eyes drift further down, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, and then he’s back to holding Mike’s gaze with wide eyes. “Definitely do not show the others.”
Mike has never been more confused. Does Will like the shirt or not? Is it cursed or a blessing? But Will is telling him he likes it but not to show the others? Well, okay. Mike will only wear it for Will to see. Easy as that.
“Yeah?”
Will turns his body away, hiding his eyes behind a raised arm. “Just get dressed before Hopper revokes your position and gives it to my brother.”
“He can’t fire me.” Mike finally starts getting dressed, putting on his camo vest and sticking his bangs behind his ears.
“I think he can.”
Mike smiles, looking at Will who is staring at the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. “Wouldn’t be so bad.” That gets his attention. “I’d get to be with you.”
In a matter of seconds, they’re both red and whipping their eyes forward. Mike clears his throat, shutting his locker with closed eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He sighs, gently banging his head on his locker, not too hard or loud so he doesn’t scare Will. And Will, Mike can only see his shoes right now, but they turn to point back at him.
“You ever get cold up there?” Mike slightly turns his head to look at him, who’s looking at his hair. “In the watch tower.”
Sometimes, especially back in January when it was coldest. It’s still cold February, but spring is almost near and he’s pretty sure he’ll be playing back this entire interaction while he’s waiting for Hopper the whole night, so, cold? “I think I might get hot tonight.”
Will doesn’t hesitate to reach into his jacket sleeve, pulling out a…hair tie? He sends Mike a look, a little quip of his brow and a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he bites his bottom lip. “Just in case.”
Mike turns around, smiling in full as Will takes his hair into his hands and ties it back into a low ponytail. His fingers lightly scrape at his neck, at the skin behind his ears and his scalp, and Mike has to hold his breath to stop himself from letting out a satisfied sigh. Ever since that first night Will did his hair, he hasn’t touched him like this again. Mike’s spent weeks waiting for an opportunity to ask him to do it again. He’s tied his own hair back, hoping for him to ask about it, but it’s been cold and Will just stares instead of saying anything. And that was fine. Mike was the only one who thought it something special, and that was fine. But Will had a hair tie around his wrist, hidden under his jacket sleeves for how long? Because that had never been there before. It was always just their watch, and now, would it be their hair tie?
It’s not their house, not fully. Not yet their room – Mike is still coming up with a plan to convince Will to change that. But maybe this can be theirs.
“Perfect.” Will steps to Mike’s side with a small smile. “Now let’s go before you actually do get fired.”
Mike playfully rolls his eyes as they exit the locker room. “I’m blaming it on you this time.”
“What did I do?”
“You took, like, five years tying my hair back!” Mike laughs. “My hair isn’t that tangled.”
Will smiles back. He always smiles back. “And who exactly was it that asked for my help untangling his hair that night?”
Mike scrunches his nose, opting to lightly shove Will instead of answering. He smiles as he waves goodbye to the group, as he rides to the tower and gives coms. Grins as he plays back every moment of theirs as Lucas starts complaining about his calculus teacher. And if he’s been twirling the ends of his hair between his fingers the whole night until he eventually returns the hair tie to Will with shared looks and a laugh, then no one notices.
March 11th, 1987
Holly isn’t too troublesome. She’s at an okay age and is a pretty well behaved kid. Today, though, is not one of those days. The roads are blocked because of the military, so their mother sent Mike to act as guardian and check up on Holly at school. Apparently, she got into a fight. Not a physical one. Someone had stolen her book, and she’s very serious about her books. Besides, the school day was almost over anyway. Skipping last period was all it took for him to give the green and he was biking to the elementary.
Mike gives the blue and yellow swingset a fond smile before entering the school and having to act as a parent in a conference. To sum it up, Holly was just going to be sent home early for the day to reflect on her actions and that their mother should talk to her about regulating her emotions. Whatever the fuck that even means.
From the way Holly was describing it on their bike ride back to Hawkin’s High, it wasn’t even her fault. But he knew teachers did basically nothing when it came to bullies.
“Where’s Will?” Holly was on the lookout, fixing her pigtails to the front of her shoulders.
Mike checks his watch. “I’m pretty sure the last bell just rang. Give it a few more minutes.”
They wait and students finally start to shuffle out of the school doors, but there’s no Will in sight. Which, yeah, once classes end, the party usually meets up in the halls as they make their way to the exit, catching up on any plans, sometimes making pit stops to the bathroom on the way. On unlucky days, some bullies might even catch Dustin. Not so much Will these days. Ever since he came back from California looking like…that, people have stopped picking on him. Mike’s pretty sure he’s seen girls try to play footsie with him during classes, but he always rejects their advances.
Holly jumps up once Will comes into sight, joined by Lucas and Dustin. Will sends a little wave and Mike raises his hand to send one back when Holly jumps from the balls of her feet and waves both arms. Right, he was waving to Holly, not him.
Will splits from Lucas and Dustin, jogging to Holly. He kneels in front of her, bringing her into a brief but tight hug. “Hey, Holly. How was school today?”
Holly scrunches her face. “I’ll tell you about it on the way back. C’mon! I heard there’s a new coke commercial that runs once school is out!”
“Really?” Will humors Holly, taking his bike and swinging his leg over the seat. He tilts towards Mike with a smile. Yes, that’s the smile. The one reserved for Mike and Mike only. “Hi there, lucky guy.”
Mike knows he’s got a Will-only smile too. “Hi, you.”
The three of them bike back to the Wheeler’s, Holly fully detailing her day to Will starting from the very beginning. Will was there for breakfast, but he listens anyway and gives good reactions that egg Holly on. She moves onto school, how a bully teased her, how she got in trouble. But she’s fine now, because Will is here, Will smiles, and he looks genuinely happy to be something of a place of safety for Holly. Mike smiles too, because he can see so clearly how well Will takes care of Holly, and how he treats her like a proper little sister. And he treats Mike as more.
They sit around the TV, watching that dumb new coke commercial, drinking coke. It’s going fine and dandy until Holly gets a little too excited and her drink splashes right onto the middle of Mike’s shirt.
“Holly.”
“Sorry, Mike.” She frowns.
“It’s fine.” Mike understands Nancy a lot more these days. It’s hard to really be mad at a cute younger sibling. “I’ll just go change. Make sure this gremlin doesn’t take my drink for me, will you?”
Will chuckles as Mike ruffles Holly’s hair into a mess. She yells a hey! but Mike ignores her. “Will do.”
When it comes to the universe playing tricks on Mike, he doesn’t really believe in all that. Hard to when he’s faced monsters and is currently undergoing waiting for the end of the world to come. But, this is straight strange because the only shirt he has available that won’t have him sweating like it’s mid July is his hellfire shirt. At this point, it’s like the shirt has a mind of its own.
He shrugs, throwing it on. Will likes it, so he’ll wear it.
When he returns to the living room, Will is combing his hands through Holly’s hair, braiding it. Okay, so maybe it’s weird to get jealous over your younger sibling, but Holly literally has a crush on Will and Will humors her because he has no idea about the evils that lay behind a little sibling’s eyes.
Mike slides beside Will, closer than normal. “Doing her hair?”
Will doesn’t scoot away, just stares at Mike’s shirt with wide eyes. His hands stop for a moment, lips pursing before parting slightly. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, cause, you messed it up before you left. Uhm, nice…shirt?”
So maybe Mike did misunderstand at first because Will is blushing and having trouble speaking and breathing. Will likes this shirt a whole lot more than Mike thought.
“Thanks. Move aside. I can do Holly’s hair.”
Both Holly and Will lean away from Mike’s hands. “No way.”
“You don’t know how to do hair.”
“You can’t even do your own hair.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know today was gang up on Mike day.” He means to sound hurt, but his big smile is giving him away. “Fine. She’s all yours.”
Holly sighs in relief, turning back to focus on the TV and Will is back on Holly’s hair. It’s not a simple braid, not that Mike knows a lot about hair, but it looks different than the usual braids he’s seen Nancy or his mom do for Holly.
Mike feels something pool in his stomach and before he knows it, he’s leaning behind Will until his lips are a brush shy away from touching his ear. “But do my hair after, yeah?” He whispers.
Will’s hands freeze up, losing a strand, before nodding. He slightly turns to look back, not enough for Mike to be able to lean in to kiss, but so close that he can count the individual lashes over his eyes and watch as his pupils fill his eyes as they fall to Mike’s chest. So that’s what it’s been this whole time, huh? This damn hellfire shirt. If all of Hawkins wasn’t under the misunderstanding that Hellfire is a satanic cult, Mike would wear this shirt every damn day because he’s never seen Will so flustered before.
“Um.” His eyes flit to Mike’s wrist, which is adorned with their watch. Is it his watch now that’s getting him? “Y–yeah. I can do tha–” He hiccups.
He hiccups.
Will flips his face back around, but Mike can still see his face turning red from the side. He tries to bite back his laugh, but it’s impossible as he shakes into his hands. Will elbows his ribs, making Mike keel over, but he’s too busy quietly laughing to feel the pain.
Will finishes Holly’s hair in record time, sending a glare that’s very hostile but not threatening in the least as he hiccups through his next sentence. “Your turn now, Michael.”
He takes it back. That glare is very threatening.
Mike’s hair ends up being a mess of scratchy glittery scrunchies and colorful clips, definitely not anything he can go out into public looking like, but it’s worth it because Will hiccups and laughs the whole way through.
March 20th, 1987
Friday is simultaneously the best and worst day of the week. It’s the last day of school before the weekend, but it’s the weekend, meaning all his teachers assign heinous loads of homework to be done before Monday comes around. Mike likes to get it all done that same night, preferring to spend his weekends enjoying his time rather than stressing about school. Will, on the other hand, likes to wait until the very last minute. Says it helps him hyper focus once time is ticking down. He does sometimes join Mike some nights when he’s lacking any inspiration or motivation to draw or read, but tonight isn’t one of those nights. He’s been asleep in the basement for hours as Mike is still struggling to figure out how to apply formulas to word problems. Seriously, what sadistic historic figure made word problems like riddles? This was math, not english.
He checks his watch. It’s nearing 3am, meaning he hasn’t eaten in at least seven hours other than a small bag of chips and water. He could use a break from thinking anyway.
He quietly makes his way to the kitchen, searching the pantry for anything he could make that won’t wake up the whole house. Most of the people occupying the house were deep sleepers, except for Will, Mrs. Byers, and Holly. And he’d feel genuinely bad if he woke any of those three up, so he tries for something not microwavable or requires too many dishes.
His eyes settle on bread and decides he’ll make a quick sandwich and maybe grab a cup of coffee. Mike knows drinking coffee at three in the morning is probably a really bad idea, but he needs his brain functioning if he’s ever gonna finish his calculus worksheet. Multiple pages. Like, almost double digits. Yeah, he hates his math teacher.
Mike places all his ingredients on the counter, peanut butter on his finger. He silently groans, turning to reach for a paper towel – he’s a fiend for peanut butter but only when it’s accompanied by some other condiment or food – when he sees a dark silhouette standing in the hallway. He grabs onto the whole paper towel roll, knocking it on the floor and it rolls out. He bangs his hip into the stabbing handle of the drawers beside him.
“Ow– Shit.” He leans down to pick up the roll when the figure does it for him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” It’s Will’s voice, quiet but shaky. “What…” He’s trying to cover it up. Mike knows it all too well. “What are you doing up?”
They meet in the middle, a mess of paper towels and peanut butter fingers between them. “Got hungry while doing homework. Are you…” He reaches up to try and touch Will’s shoulder when he remembers peanut butter and pulls his hand back. “Are you okay? What are you doing up?”
Mike’s eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, the moonlight doing its job to light the kitchen. He gets a good look at Will, who– Oh. Oh.
“Will.” Mike cleans his fingers of peanut butter, tossing the dirtied paper towels and clean roll on the nearby table before hugging Will. His cheeks were flushed, wet with tears, but he was cold to the touch. It always physically hurt something in Mike whenever Will got nightmares, brows arched high on his face and his lip quivers with tears streaming down his face. He always tries to be strong, to push it down, but when Mike wraps him in his arms, he all but breaks and squeezes him back. He does that now, unraveling in Mike’s arms as he pulls him in so close that Mike can feel the shivering of his bones. “Will, I’m sorry. It's okay now. I’m here now.”
Will’s breathing doesn’t seem bad, so Mike slowly pulls back. His hands are a little damp with Will’s cold sweat soaking his shirt.
“Hey, why don’t you take a quick shower and sleep in my room tonight?” Mike knows that’s uncharted territory. Knows that after their initial shut down from their parents to share Mike’s room that they never spoke of it ever again. Mike’s been wasting too much time trying to figure out how to get Will to stop being so polite and just come up. He spends as much time there as he does in the basement. And right now, they both probably know Will won’t get any sleep if he goes back down into the cool basement. “Sound good?”
While Will showers, Mike cleans up the mess in the kitchen and consumes his sandwich in a whole two bites. He decides to make another one for Will to eat when he gets out.
“Mike?” Will quietly calls, peeking his head out from the bathroom door.
“Yeah?” Mike is walking up the stairs, hands full, when he sees steam fog out from the bathroom. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just…” Will shyly squeezes the door in his hands. “I didn’t bring any clothes up. Could you…?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course!” He says a little too loud for it to not even be dawn yet.
Will thanks him before retreating back into the bathroom to wait. Mike hurries to place the food on his desk before going through his clothes. He tries not to fluster at the thought of Will in his clothes, but it’s hard when he’s finally about to get what he’s been wanting for months now.
Mike knocks on the door, holding out nicely folded clothes he thinks would fit Will. “I, uh, the underwear is new, so.”
Will’s eyes dart between him and the clothes, still hiding behind the door. Mike can see just the tiniest peek of his bare shoulders, pink and shiny from the hot shower. “I meant–” Will shakes his head before grabbing the clothes. “Nevermind. Thank you.”
Mike waits in his room, pacing, then sitting because it’d be weird and obvious if Will came in to see him pacing, twisting a particularly long curl between his fingers because he’s about to have Will in his room, sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes, smelling of his bath wash. And, yes, he’s been smelling like Mike since the Byers moved in, but it’s one thing to catch an endearing whiff of it sitting side by side or passing by one another. It’s another to be smothered in it with Will right by his side. Inches, centimeters between them, under the same sheets.
Will comes into the room, silent, like he’s not even here at all, shutting the door just as quietly as he had entered. He stands awkwardly at the edge of Mike’s bed, not looking at anything in particular.
Mike didn’t think about it. It might look really suspicious, but he can tell Will isn’t thinking about it either. That the shirt Mike had lent Will is his hellfire one. The one that’s recently been causing some rather strange incidents with Will in the past few months. Good and bad.
Will’s always been a colorful person, dressing himself in cute flannels and bright arrays of yellows and whites and reds, sporting the occasional blues and greens. Like he lives life through a vibrant filter, completely opposite to Mike’s dark tones. So, seeing Will in black, a color Will has really never worn before, is something. It’s just something. Something to behold. Something to stare at. Something worth writing poems and stories and songs about, and he has been. Mike has a secret notebook full of songs. Once Will falls asleep, Mike will commit this to memory and write it into lyrics.
Mike clears his throat, bringing himself out of his head. “You can sit.” He pats the empty space beside him. “I’m just going to be doing homework, so you can rest or read or draw if you want. I’ll lend you a notebook.”
Will shakes his head, settling into the space that has always been his. That Mike has always been leaving empty in wait for Will to come and fill it. “I think I’ll just…try to close my eyes or something.”
“Okay. Cool.” Mike watches as Will falls onto his back, his wet hair leaving a dark spot on Mike’s pillows. “There’s a sandwich on my desk if you’re hungry.”
“‘M not.”
Will’s eyes falls shut, his breathing easy and stable. “Okay.”
It takes Mike a good minute to pull his eyes away from the peaceful Will, another 15 until he’s able to actually focus back onto his homework instead of being overly aware of the warm presence by his side, and then they settle into a nice silence. Will’s quiet breathing a tune all on its own, and Mike takes it in with a smile. Calculus has never been easy for him, but he finds he can’t even bother to be upset when Will’s by his side.
He doesn’t know how long it takes, time seeming to have passed by in a blink of an eye, but he’s finished all his homework for the weekend. Maybe he’ll spend the first wakings of tomorrow helping Will with his. Well, if he’s still in bed by the time Mike wakes up.
Mike reaches up into a long stretch before gathering his books and quietly placing them on his desk. The sandwich there is stale now, untouched.
It’s worrying whenever Will gets nightmares like this. He never eats, only speaks if he needs to. Mike had learned very quickly that the best he could do was stay by Will’s side, but when things got really bad, Joyce would have to take over. Back then, Mike was too young to know what to do about it. Like that night when the men in hazmat suits burned the tunnels, burned Will, and all Mike could do was freeze and watch. It felt like he had disconnected from his mind, following behind Joyce and Bob and Hopper as they broke speed limits to get Will back to the hospital. His screams for Mike so pain filled in a way he never thought he’d ever have to hear. Will was always quiet whenever he was hurting. He never talks back, never screams or yells. He just took and took and took.
The agony he must’ve been in to be screaming like he was, Mike hates thinking about it. He read somewhere that being burned alive was one of the most painful ways to die, and Will had to experience it alive, unable to really die, unable to do anything but scream for help and just take it.
Mike’s never hated anything more than he does the Mind Flayer and Vecna and the damn government. He wished he never had to find out what a dying Will sounded like. Looked like.
A rustling jolts Mike out of his thoughts. Will was here and on his bed. He was alive, and that was enough. Mike promised himself that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him ever again.
“Will? You awake?”
He turns to find anything but a peacefully sleeping Will. Instead, he’s thrashing, eyes squeezed tight as his mouth gapes open with silent screams. He pulls at his chest, red and sweating again, tearing and tearing at the hellfire logo. It’s a nightmare, it’s just like they’re at the hospital again, and Mike doesn’t know what to do. What did Joyce always do?
Mike runs to the bed, grabbing Will into his arms. He’s still sleeping, flailing and bumping his elbow and hands across Mike’s skin that might leave bruises and scratches.
Fuck. What does Mike do?
He thinks about waking Joyce or Jonathan, someone better suited and used to this. But, it’s Will. And Mike isn’t a kid anymore.
“Will.” He hugs him tighter, so tight he can’t pull away or even move in his arms. “Will, please. Wake up. It’s me, it’s Mike.” Will doesn’t listen, just sobs in phantom pain. “Will. Please.”
His own voice is breaking. He’s crying. God, this is horrible. He can’t stop thinking about not-Will, spy Will. About the Will that was hidden away behind brown eyes that weren’t his own. Yelling in a dark and demonic voice that he could never reach even if he tried to because he’s Will. And then he’s remembering a tapping hand – morse code – telling them to close the gate. Mike knows Will knew. Because it was so Will of him to break through just to tell them to kill him. Because that’s the only way they could have ended things, and Mike knew it too. But he couldn’t lose Will again. The first time was bad enough. Seeing a carbon copy of his body, purple and stiff as he was lifted out of the water, sent his blood running.
Everything comes back to him as Will gasps out in his arms, clutching painfully onto his back and sides, begging for freedom.
“I know, Will.” Mike sobs out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He repeats it like a mantra, weeping into Will’s shoulder and he just won’t stop. How much longer is Mike going to let Will suffer like this?
“I’m sorry.” He says, one last time, before pulling the collar of Will’s shirt – his hellfire shirt – aside and sinking his teeth into the flesh of his neck.
Will finally lets out a whine of pain, his limbs falling to his side as he dissolves into Mike’s arms. There’s the start of blood rising to the surface where Mike’s teeth marks are left, but it doesn’t fall. It’s just red and wet, but he’s not hurt. Mike didn’t break skin.
“Will?” Mike grabs Will by his shoulders, pushing him back slightly to get a good look at his face. His lids flutter before lifting slowly. Good. His eyes are still green. “I–I’m sorry. You were having a nightmare, and I didn’t know how to stop you from hurting yourself, and I–” He runs his thumb over the bite, feather light so he doesn’t hurt Will anymore. “I’m really really sorry.”
Will’s eyes follow the stinging touch of Mike’s hand, widening a bit before he sends him a weak smile. “It’s okay, Mike.” Then, he sees the tear in the hellfire shirt and frowns. “Your shirt… Did I do this?”
Mike nods, not wanting to speak because he’s still crying and he doesn’t want Will to hear how broken he is.
“I’m sorry. I know this shirt means a lot to you.”
“No. No, it’s–” Mike shakes his head and brings Will back into his arms. He’s hot, too hot, but he’s awake and still and breathing. “As long as you’re okay.”
It’s pathetic. How Will was the one who just woke up from a terrible nightmare and it’s Mike whimpering into his shoulder, holding him like he won’t be able to breathe if Will isn’t in his arms. But that might be the truest thing he’s thought all year. Mike isn’t sure he knows how to live if Will isn’t right by his side.
“I’m okay, Mike.” Will hugs him back, squeezing him so tight to let him know he’s here. “I’m okay, thanks to you.”
Mike is broken and weak and crooked and all that’s wrong with the world, but when he’s in Will’s arms, his hands smoothing out against his back, he thinks he can be okay for just this moment.
March 22nd, 1987
Mike will spend his entire life regretting spring break in California. He knew it was Will’s birthday, but then he was stuck thinking about the girl and the painting and Angela who turns out was not the girl or even a friend but a bully. He did all the wrong things that day, not even being able to tell Will happy birthday despite having so much time to themselves in the back of Argyle’s van because he was so ashamed to have been such a bad friend. Because Will was right. Mike had gotten Will’s letters, he had written so many back, he just never sent them. Too afraid he’d lay his heart bare and that Will would know. Too scared that if he really sent one, it’d be like sending his whole heart and he wasn’t confident it’d be returned whole. Not because he was sending it to Will, but because the hands it might go through to get to him could tear through every word and Mike would be exposed. The world would finally see him for all he is, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Even if it came at the expense of his best friend.
It was easy to be an asshole when he didn’t have to see Will’s reaction to it. That in itself was the worst part of it all.
So, this year, Mike prepared a lot. Not anything, like, romantic. Just, friendly. Best friendly. Totally.
Will had confided in private that Jonathan was high almost all the time back then and his mother was so stressed out from her job and grieving Hopper and Eleven didn’t really get the concepts of birthdays yet, so he didn’t blame any of them. But that also means he does blame Mike.
That’s a lie. Mike knows Will never blamed him. Will said it himself. That’s the second worst thing, or maybe the first. They switch places depending on the day. The fact that, even with everything Mike has done to Will, he forgives him with a smile and he really means it. He moves on like it’s nothing and everything is fine again. Even with the fact that Will is wearing a too tight turtle neck to cover what Mike had done to him just a couple nights prior, he doesn’t even complain.
Not this year. Mike will go above and beyond to make it up to Will. This year, he’ll have done enough to atone for his wrongdoings.
It’s a big birthday. Big for Will, who doesn’t like being the center of attention, but it’s big for him. It’s a dinner at the Hopper’s, opening gifts and watching a movie. Basically, a hang out.
The thing is, Mike’s whole plan is a…one on one thing. Will smiles wide at Mike’s gift of a cassette Mike knows he’s been wanting along with a VHS tape from one of his new favorite movies he had discovered while in California. Will laughs at the most ridiculous parts of the movie, accidentally kicking Dustin’s hat off and sending Lucas barreling him into a headlock. Will waves with a satisfied look in his eyes as Lucas bikes off to the hospital to visit Max and Dustin heads home to catch up on a class project. Jonathan and Nancy go out on a date or dinner or whatever. Holly is put to bed, his father is out for golf night and his mother with her girl friends.
It’s just the two of them.
The front door closes with a light click as Will turns to face Mike. There’s a weird sort of tension in the air as Mike realizes they’re truly alone in this big house. Well, not alone alone because they still have to be here to watch over Holly in case she needs anything, but the only ones conscious. They haven’t been alone like this since a sleepover at the Byer’s old house, Mike staying over to keep an alone Will company. It was some time during the year after he came back to them, not wanting to admit his fear of being alone, but knowing that Mike would come at the drop of a hat. He did. He still would.
“So—” Mike acts first, grabbing Will by his shoulders and pushing him into the dining room. “Oh? Okay.” Will laughs, sitting in his usual seat.
“Wait here a sec.” Mike hurries to his room, and there it is, sitting on his desk. He had worked hard all day to make sure Will wouldn’t accidentally come into his room and see this. He takes a deep breath, hand over his heart (“you’re the heart”), and brings it downstairs.
“Mike.”
Will knows it’s a surprise second gift. He doesn’t really like things like this because it feels like too much and he can never afford to give much back, but Mike never wants anything materialistic. Will could pick a rock off the ground, hand it to Mike with his toothy grin, and that’d be enough. That rock would sit at the forefront of Mike’s desk for years and years. He might even name it. Might even buy a glass tank to decorate and let it sit there, a home just for Peddle. And now he’s named an imaginary rock.
He’s nervous. He knows Will will catch onto that, but he sits anyway and places the wrapped box on the table between them. Mike sits in his usual seat too despite there being at least six other chairs around them, but he chooses to be right next to Will. Right where he wants to be.
“You didn’t hav–”
“I wanted to.” Mike catches Will’s eyes. “I wanted to. So, just accept it, and…” Please don’t break my heart. “Don’t laugh.”
Will shakes his head with a sweet smile. “I’d never do that.”
He knows Will would never do that, but he still has to say it. Just in case his gift is too much and all wrong.
Will reaches for the box, bringing it into his lap as they both turn to face each other. Their knees are knocking into each other, thighs almost slotted between each other as Will pulls the shimmering golden ribbon apart and lifts the lid. Inside the box is an assortment of things. Just as Mike would take a literal grain of salt from Will and treasure it forever, he knows Will is the same way. It’s not as silly when Will is taking them out one by one with eyes so bright his gaze battles that of the sun.
“Oh my god, Mike.” First, there’s the notebook of the first campaign him and Will ever made together when they were probably like six or seven years old. It’s full of Mike’s handwriting, ideas upon ideas, and Will’s drawings, not quite the masterpieces they are today, but legible and perfect for the dragons they had imagined together back then. “You still have this?”
Will looks so fucking happy and Mike could fly. He thinks he might by the end of the night. “Yeah. I look back at it, like, almost every week.” He freezes, realizing that was not friendly at all. “For inspiration. It’s a…a good memory.”
Friendly or not, Will doesn’t seem to catch on as he continues to pull out the next gift. It’s a mixtape. Well, not any mixtape. The mixtape that Mike had made when Will was in California and the only way Mike could cope was to take a page out of Max’s book and drown himself in music. In music all Will, until he found himself taking notes of songs Will might like, songs that reminded him of Will, songs that he knows are Will’s favorites. He put them all into a tape, signing it off with a For Will x. It was too much, too raw, so he kept it on the underside of his backpack the entire California trip, but now, maybe it’s okay. Maybe he won’t read into the kiss at the end.
Will seems to be at a loss for words as he flips the mixtape from back to front, front to back. It’s not well decorated – Will is the artist between the two of them – but he still stares like he’ll find something on the blank cover.
When he finally stops, placing it on top of the old dusty notebook, he reaches for the envelope. The letter.
God, it gets worse the more Will takes out.
Mike doesn’t regret pouring his heart out, but he’s scared. Scared Will will break Mike’s heart the way Mike knows he’s been breaking Will’s. Will break his heart the way Mike deserves.
Instead of disgust or confusion or rejection, a single tear falls from Will’s eye, but it isn’t sadness. It’s…hope.
Mike watches with oxygen stuck in his lungs as Will gently opens the envelope, like he doesn’t want a single tear, and pulls out the papers. It’s kind of a thick letter, many drafts thrown away, many crossed out lines and near confessions of too much. This final draft, the one he can see Will’s eyes read at lightning speed, isn’t anywhere near perfect. But it’s real. And Will deserves real.
Will gets to the bottom of the last page, eyes going over the same one line over and over and over again. Mike doesn’t know what line it is, but it’s got another tear falling down Will’s other eye as he smiles.
He folds the letter back into thirds and tucks it into its homely envelope, letting it lay beside the mixtape. And then he’s reaching for the last gift. The most vulnerable one in there, which is saying something given the first three.
It’s a box, small enough to fit into Will’s palm. He pops it open, quietly gasping as he sees what’s inside.
“It’s, um…” Mike finally finds it in himself to speak up. This, he definitely has to explain. “Well, I know you’re always saying that you’re not as brave or courageous as the rest of us, but I don’t think that’s true. You are the bravest, most courageous, strongest person I know, Will. So, just in case you ever feel like that isn’t the case, or you need a little…push, this is a–a reminder for you.”
Inside the box is a ring, just a simple circle of metal, but engraved inside is the name Will the Wise.
“I know it’s, like, super cheesy and sappy, but I just thought you should know how strong you are. Just like I know. H-how everyone else knows it too.”
Will silently turns the ring to the ceiling, reading the engravings as he twists it between his fingers. He brings it back down between them, smiling as he slips it over his ring finger. Will doesn’t ask why, not even how Mike got his ring size. He just smiles and leans forward to bring his arms over Mike’s shoulders.
Oh.
They’re hugging now, Will stuffing his head in the junction between Mike’s neck and shoulder, sniffing as silent tears fall over the skin revealed from Mike’s t-shirt. Mike wastes no time bringing his hands around Will’s waist, digging his own nose into the back of Will’s neck. Their legs are intertwined now, ankles kicking into each other and the fluff of their socks getting caught on one another. Mike takes it all in, running a hand up and down Will’s back, bringing him closer while telling him it’s okay. Mike knows he isn’t crying because he’s sad or upset, but because he’s so overwhelmed with emotions that he can’t do much else than silently cry into Mike’s shoulder and hug him so tight that they might combine into one by the end of it. It brings a swelling pride to Mike’s heart to know that Will likes his gift this much.
“Thank you, Mike.” Will says into his skin. It’s quiet, but loud enough for just Mike. Like they’re the only two people in the world. “I really appreciate it.” He squeezes. “I love–” Will stops himself, and Mike’s heart nearly stops. “I love it. It means the world to me.”
Will starts to pull away, probably embarrassed, but Mike brings him back in. Will can’t see his face right now. Can’t know how red he is or how mortified he is because he thought Will was going to say he loves him. He really thought that.
“Mike?”
He squeezes this time, tucking his head into Will’s shoulder. A hand slides up to the back of his neck, tangling into his too-long curls, and he feels the cool metal of a ring, the ring Mike gave him, sending a shiver down his skin.
“Sorry.” Mike burns all over, but Will is here in his arms, rubbing a comforting hand through his hair, and he loved it. He loves Mike’s gift. “Let me hold you like this a little longer.”
Will nods, and it’s his turn to rub a hand over Mike’s back. Mike doesn’t know how long they sit there for, embracing each other in a way no friends do, but Mike doesn’t care. He takes it in full and lets his mind go crazy because Will loves the most tender parts of him. Parts he himself can’t even love.
March 23rd, 1987
Will runs his hand over the mark of Mike’s mouth still stuck into his skin, hidden at the base of his neck. He’s had to wear turtle necks he never wears and very high collared shirts the whole weekend since, but he doesn’t mind how much it makes him sweat under the spring sky. It’s an embarrassing reminder that Mike had been there during one of his worst nightmares, but it was also kind of…nice. Obviously, it sucked. Waking up to find Mike in tears and hugging him so tight like he was afraid to lose him again. He felt bad and promised himself to never go to Mike if he was having another nightmare because he can’t bear the thought of making him cry again.
He’s not sure what it is exactly. The bite mark is something so personal, like a secret only Will holds because Mike didn’t bring up the nightmare again after he fell asleep in Will’s embrace. It’s just that this might be the closest thing Will will ever get at having Mike’s mouth anywhere on him, and that thought is dirty and convoluted and disgusting, but he likes it so much that it kind of balances out.
That’s the one thing he doesn’t tell Max.
“Embarassing, right? I tore right through his favorite shirt.” Will fiddles with the end of Max’s blanket. “He said it was fine, but he was probably embarrassed too. I mean, okay, don’t tell anyone this, because I know you love teasing him but this is serious. He was crying. Like, seriously crying. So, he probably doesn’t care about the shirt and more that he had cried in front of me. But…still. I need to make it up to him somehow. He’s been really sweet lately, so I have to.”
Will huffs back into his seat, stuffing his hands into his pocket when he feels a thick envelope. He pulls it out, smiling as he takes the pages out.
“Anyway, my birthday. Wow, kind of crazy to think that whole nightmare fiasco happened two days before my birthday. And it was a great birthday too.” He unfolds the letter, a small chuckle making its way out at the ridiculousness of it all. “I’m gonna read you what Mike wrote me. You’re in it, actually.” He laughs again, and it comes out a bit fuller this time. “Don’t make fun of Mike for this either. This is strictly confidential.”
Dear Will,
Happy Birthday! I want to start this letter by getting this out of the way first. I know you already said it’s okay and forgave me, but I’m really sorry for what happened in California. That was probably one of your worst birthdays ever and it’s all my fault. Don’t try to stop me because I’m pretty sure I’ll spend every birthday of yours from now on starting with an apology. I was a shitty friend for a long time, and no amount of sorries could ever fix that. So, I’m trying to do better. I’ll start with this letter.
I know you think I never wrote you any letters. I did, I just never sent any of them. I was…scared, I guess. Because we’ve always been good at talking and not talking, we just get each other, and I didn’t know what to write because I missed talking to you. Your mom was always on the phone, and it was kind of weird to ask Eleven to share cerebro. I don’t know. But I read every letter you sent. I kept them and reread them and I still do even now. Anyway, it’s my turn now.
So, here we go. Here’s my letter.
We never talk about California. My fault, really, because I’m too scared to hear about it. I’m afraid you actually had a great life without me and I hate it. Even though I was the one who joined another party. I know you never did. I’d like to hear about Lenora sometime. Maybe I’ll build up the courage to ask after you read this letter. If I’m not too embarrassed by the end of it, that is.
I missed you a lot. Hawkins isn’t really Hawkins without you. You’re in every crevice of this place. The good and the bad, but I took every inch of it into my heart because it was a piece of you and your whole was all the way across the country. Of all the places in the world, California? Might as well have left the country at that point.
I would often go with Lucas to drop Erica off at school because, well, it’d be creepy for a high schooler to hang around Hawkins Middle for no reason other than trying to find fragments of his best friend. Walking down those hallways was nice. Some snob has your locker now. I don’t know his name, but he’s always got papers sticking out and a weird slimy purple stain dripping from it. What are middle schoolers doing these days?
I’d go to your old house too. It’s still for sale. I’m happy it is because then I can sit out on the porch or sneak into the backyard all I want without disturbing anybody. Sometimes, I break into your room, but it doesn’t feel like yours anymore. The walls are still yellow, but it’s empty and cold and lacks your artist’s touch. I did my homework there a lot, when there were no campaigns to keep me busy. I brought Max along with some days too because…I don’t know. I think we were both a little lonely. She lost her brother and broke up with Lucas, and I lost you. It’s not the same, of course. But there was a time where I really did think I lost you like that. Sorry, this is getting depressing.
Max vandalized your room with a glittery pink sharpie. If you ever go back there one day, you’ll find it. I won’t tell you what it is though. I made a pact with Max, and if I break it, I’m sure she’ll rise from her coma just to spite me, then slip back into sleep like nothing happened.
I left Castle Byers as is. It just doesn’t feel right to touch it without you. I won’t ask about it, but if you ever feel like telling me, I’ll be here.
Anyway, Hawkins kind of sucks when you’re not around, so I’m glad you're back. Even if it’s because the world is ending once again. I’m just happy you’re here, close enough that I don’t have to call or write letters I won’t send. I don’t know if I can survive being away from you again. I know that sounds kind of codependent and scary, but I seriously can’t imagine a life without you, Will.
I can’t remember what life was like before you. I’m pretty sure it was always supposed to be us. Mike and Will. Will and Mike. Inseparable like laws of the universe. Just right.
What I said to Eleven that night by the pizza freezer…I lied. I’m sorry. My life didn’t start that night in the woods when we found her. I think that’s when it started to end because I was genuinely losing myself. I had lost you and I didn’t know how to simply be without you. And Eleven showed up with superpowers and she said she could find you, and I could live again.
The truth is, my life started the very day I met you. And I only really live when you’re here. I know it’s your birthday, but if I could ask just one thing of you…
Please stay by my side.
Love, Mike
Will gently places the letters onto the bed, careful not to crumple the pages. “Did you hear that?” He had spent at least a good minute just rereading the sign off. Love, Mike. Love, Mike. Love, Mike. Mike loved him? Mike loves him? “As, like, a friend. Right?”
Okay. Will is a lot of things. But, he knows this isn’t just some letter. He can feel the weight of Mike’s words simply by holding the paper. Can see Mike slouched over his desk, erasing and rewriting parts until he gets it just right. This is so much more than any old letter. And now, it kind of makes sense why Mike had never sent one before if they all sounded like this. Because it’s so sensitive, like Mike will bleed if Will presses into it just a tiny bit too hard. But Mike had given it to him anyway, and Will couldn’t help but cry and hug Mike because it meant so much to him. To the both of them.
“You don’t think I’m imagining things, right?” Will runs his finger gently over the last few lines, not wanting to smudge the lead. “I’m… I’m not actually crazy.”
He chokes out a dry laugh as he tucks the letter back into the envelope. “I was thinking about going over to my house to see what you wrote, but I think I’ll wait a little longer. I’m not quite ready to go back yet. But it better not be something obscene, I swear. That’s my childhood bedroom.”
He falls into silence. It’s been a long week. A nightmarish night, a great birthday, and, yeah, maybe Will isn’t crazy.
He twists the ring over his finger. “I wish you were…here. You’d call us all out, no bull.” The tape clicks, ending the playtime of Max’s favorite song. Will sighs, the sun behind him starting to set. “I should go. It was nice talking to you today. I’ll probably be seeing you again soon. Have a good night, Max.”
Will leaves the room with a sigh. It’s kind of weird to feel so close to Max when all she really does is silently lay in bed, but Will knows her enough to know that even if she were up and talking, she’d say all the right things and push him in the right direction. His problems might not have gone on so long. He might’ve had Mike in his arms much before now, and even then, Mike still isn’t really his. Is he a fool for getting his hopes up? He can’t really tell anymore.
Down the hall, he sees a familiar face disappear into a room. It’s…Robin. He’s not super close with her either, but he does like her. She says whatever she wants, and Will admires that.
“Rockin’ Robin!” Will calls, but she doesn’t hear.
He follows her to the room and freezes. There’s Robin, holding…a candy striper. They're kissing, and while it’s shocking, that’s not what gets to him. No, what gets to him is the gentle way they hold each other. Fingers so soft yet firm as they glide down the red head’s arms and flashes of Will’s birthday night in Mike’s dining room, Will doing Mike’s hair, Mike helping Will breathe and overcome a fake fever. They all come back to him. It’s so loving and intimate and absolutely everything Will wants to have with Mike, and it almost feels like he’s got it.
He stumbles too far forward, smacking his head on the door that swings wide open. The two girls jump apart, staring down at him with wide eyes.
“Will?” Robin sounds defensive, which he gets.
“Hi.” Will looks up at them from where he’s slouched on all fours, knees slightly scraped. “I, uh, saw nothing?”