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Okay, since at this point he has to admit it—Will is a little drunk.
It’s not like he’s never had alcohol before. He’s in his freshman year of college, for crying out loud; he’s had his fair share of shitty jungle juice and cheap beer at the parties Lucas used to drag him to in high school, though never enough to make him anything more than buzzed. Anyways, most of his experience with alcohol has been limited to get-togethers with the Party at Mike’s house, and pissing off Mike’s mom by getting wasted in her basement is the last thing any of them want to do.
Tonight, though—tonight is different.
They’re still at the Wheelers’, but tonight they have the house to themselves. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were invited to an “adults only” New Years’ Eve party hosted by Mr. Wheeler’s boss, so Holly is sleeping over at a friend's (thanks to weeks and weeks of begging from both her and her older siblings). And although the siblings in question could’ve technically joined their parents at the party, neither Ted nor Karen seemed quite keen on bringing them along.
This, of course, was just fine by them.
“Mike!” Nancy screams up the stairs at a volume that makes Will’s head hammer. He can’t say he’s ever heard her this loud when she’s sober…or when he’s sober. Will has to admit, the alcohol is starting to mess with his senses a little.
“Miiiiiiike!” Nancy shouts again. Jonathan winces from his place beside her on an armchair.
“WHAT!” Mike bellows from the kitchen above them.
“Don’t forget a beer for Jonathan!”
“Jeez, Nance, okay!”
They’ve been planning this New Year’s party for ages now. It had taken weeks for Mike to convince Nancy to supply them with drinks, and she only relented on the condition that they stay away from the liquor cabinet once she and Jonathan leave for Steve’s party. They’d learned their lesson after an attempt at making cocktails for El’s 18th birthday; apparently, Mr. Wheeler’s memory is photographic when it comes to which of his prized bottles of whiskey belong on which shelves.
When Mike emerges from the stairwell, he’s balancing 4 cans of beer in his arms—Nancy’s, Jonathan’s, Dustin’s, and his own—along with a small glass of orangey liquid that he cradles gently in one hand. He passes the cans around the room before retaking his place beside Will on the couch, smiling at him softly as he hands him the mixed drink. A burning sensation shoots up Will’s arm where their fingers brush.
“Happy New Year’s Eve,” Mike whispers.
He’s wearing a blue and red knit sweater his grandma bought him for Christmas. It’s brand new, but he hit an unexpected growth spurt this fall—so it’s a size too small anyway. His pale, bony wrists peek out from the ends of his sleeves, and while he argues with Lucas about whether or not Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie, his animated gestures expose the smallest sliver of skin at his navel.
Will hazily ponders what it’d feel like if he were to reach out and touch it: cold and stiff, like the rest of Mike, or unexpectedly warm, tender. He realizes he’s been staring at Mike’s waist for a little too long now, but he can’t bring himself to care—and when he finally looks up, the bemused expression he’s met with seems to say that Mike doesn’t care much either.
If this is what happens when they’re drinking, Will thinks they should do it a little more often.
“What’s in this?” he mumbles, dully aware of the flush creeping across his cheeks.
“Whiskey and bitters.” Mike cracks a sheepish smile. “Figured you’d like it. It’s called an Old Fashioned; it’s my dad’s favorite. It’s a little strong, but I can make you something else if-“
“Mike,” Will grins. “It’s perfect.” To demonstrate his point, he takes a big, fast sip from the glass in his hand.
Almost immediately, though, he starts to cough. Jeez, Mike had not been kidding about the strength. Will can’t help but privately wonder why Mr. Wheeler would drink something like this on purpose. The warm brown liquid burns its way down his throat, its subtle sweetness chased down near immediately by a powerful bitter taste.
“Jesus, Mike, what did you give him?” Dustin cackles from the other end of the room. El sits opposite him at the snack table, still nursing her first beer and staring at Mike judgmentally.
“Hey, I didn’t do anything! Will said he was fine with something strong!” Mike protests. When he turns to look at Will, his eyebrows are knit together in concern. “I can really make you something else if-“
“No! No. It’s good,” Will giggles, placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder. He quickly discovers that he's a little too close to pat Mike on the shoulder comfortably, so he ignores his better judgment and slings an arm around him instead. “I really like it, Mike.” He’s not lying, either. It had surprised him at first, sure, but he finds the more he sips at the drink, the more the burning feeling in his throat subsides. If he really focuses, he can even taste the sweetness he’d barely noticed before.
“See, Dustin? He reeeeally likes it,” Max mimics. She wraps an arm around her boyfriend’s shoulder and gives it a little squeeze.
Lucas frowns. “How are you still so sober? You’ve been drinking just as much as Will has.”
“A girl never gives away her secrets,” Max shrugs. “Besides, it isn’t my fault Will has such a low tolerance.”
Lucas still looks concerned, so Will gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Lucas, I promise. Yeah, I’m getting kind of drunk—“ he giggles again at this. He’s apparently feeling very giggly tonight. “But I’m with you guys. I’m safe. I’m having fun. What else could I ask for?”
“Hear, hear!” Dustin cries, standing up so suddenly that the chair he’d been sitting in clatters to the floor with a thunk. “To fun!” He clinks his can of beer against El’s as she shakes her head and laughs at him. He then cheers a reluctant Nancy and Jonathan before making a round of the rest of the basement. By the time he gets back to his table, everyone is smiling, taking celebratory sips of their drinks as a delayed chorus of to fun! echoes around the room.
“Speaking of fun…” Nancy glances down at her wristwatch and sighs. “Robin is supposed to pick us up in a few minutes so we can watch the ball drop at Steve’s. You sure we can leave you guys alone?”
“We will be on our best behavior,” El says seriously.
“This’s my last drink, Nancy,” Will adds.
Nancy shakes her head. “It’s not you two I’m worried about.” Everyone laughs when she shoots a pointed glare at Mike, who throws his hands up in defense and scowls.
“Jeez, Nancy, I’m not gonna blow the house up!”
“Just-“ Nancy sighs, standing up to meet Mike and Will by the couch. “Don’t go into the liquor cabinet while the two of us are gone, okay? You don’t know where everything goes and I am not covering for you again. And put all the beers-“
“In the trashbag at the foot of the stairs, and hide them in my room so we can take them to the dumpster down the road tomorrow before Dad loses his shit. I know.” Mike raises an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, I’ve done this before.”
As the two of them argue, Will belatedly realizes that his arm is still around Mike. More than that—Will seems to have unconsciously leaned into the touch, because he’s pressed up against Mike’s side and their thighs are flush together on the couch. Shit. Will slowly pulls his arm back, staring at his lap as his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Thankfully, though, Mike is too busy arguing with his older sister to notice, and Will lets out a private sigh of relief. He may be drunk, but he’s lucid enough to know when he’s crossing a line.
Things have been good with Mike lately. Now that he and El are broken up and the Upside Down is sealed away for good, the major stressors on his and Will’s relationship are gone—and for the first time in forever, Will really feels like they’ve returned to normal. It had taken them a while after leaving California to brush off the awkwardness of a year and a half of growing apart. Now, though? Now they’re a duo again: Mike and Will, just like it was when they were kids.
Actually, with Dustin and Lucas at Purdue and Max and El still in Hawkins, Mike and Will have gotten closer than ever. They share a dorm at Ball State, eat in the dining hall together, study for exams together—and though they aren’t in all the same classes or clubs, they always fill each other in when they return to Woody Hall at the end of the day. They spend so much time together that Will’s mom of all people had warned him over the phone to not get too “co-dependent.” His blush was so intense and immediate that, for once, he was glad she wasn’t there to see it.
So yeah, things have been really good with Mike lately. Will is not going to let any weird feelings mess that up.
While the Wheelers continue to bicker, Jonathan sidles up to Will with a hazy smile. Unlike Will, who (apparently) is a giggly, touchy mess when he’s drinking, Jonathan is as stoic as ever. In fact, Will thinks he might get even more quiet when he’s had a few drinks—more spacey, like he’s piecing through a puzzle invisible to everyone but him.
“Hey, bud,” Jonathan says. “You gonna be okay on your own?”
“I’m eighteen, Jonathan,” Will responds with mock offense. He sets his Old Fashioned down on the coffee table and crosses his arms. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Yeah, yeah; I know. Just promise me you’ll sleep over, okay?” Jonathan nudges his shoulder gently. “And don’t go too crazy on the drinks. As glad as I am that you’re having fun, Mom’s gonna have a heart attack if you bike home in the dark like this.”
Will smiles. A few years ago, Jonathan worrying over him like this would have probably been frustrating—but at this point, with all they've been through, he’s just grateful to have a brother around to tell him to be careful. “Promise,” he nods, returning Jonathan’s nudge. “But only if you promise to actually loosen up at Steve’s party and not just stick to Nancy the whole time.”
Jonathan’s eyes widen. “I’m- I’m plenty loose.”
Will raises an eyebrow knowingly, and Jonathan grins, pushing him again with a chuckle. Eventually, both of them are laughing, hands on each other’s shoulders as Will reaches up to pull his brother into an awkwardly-angled hug.
“Love you,” Will whispers, burying his head into Jonathan’s shoulder.
When he pulls back, he can see the corners of Jonathan’s eyes crinkle as he smiles again. “Love you too, man.”
“Jonathan!”
Jonathan turns to Nancy, who’s stopped arguing with Mike and is instead glancing at her wristwatch with barely disguised impatience.
“Coming, Nance. Have fun, you guys.”
“Yes, have fun,” Nancy says hastily, dragging Jonathan up the stairs. “Don’t burn anything down. And if anything happens, Mike, I swear to go-“
Her last word is cut off by the sound of the door slamming behind her.
When the room falls completely silent, El and Max exchange a look and stand up, taking their places in front of the Wheelers’ brand-new basement TV set. The two of them are trying to look serious, but El doesn’t have Max’s poker face; the way the corner of her mouth quirks up tells Will that she’s unmistakably up to something. Oh, boy.
“Okay, guys. El and I have an important announcement to make,” Max declares, folding her arms across her chest and glancing at Lucas with a self-assured grin. When he follows her gaze, Will is relieved to find Lucas looking just as confused as he feels. His eyebrows are furrowed together, like he’s wracking his brain for what scheme his girlfriend could have possibly roped Will’s sister into.
“Here we go,” Mike grumbles.
Dustin just rolls his eyes. “Can you at least move out of the way? I’m trying to turn on MTV.”
“No,” El replies, blunt as ever.
“Come on, El, the B-52s are on soon. You love the B-52s.”
“No, I like the B-52s. I love Danny. If Danny is not going to be on TV I don’t care.”
“Seriously? Danny Wood? Over the guys that wrote Love Shack?”
“Dustin.”
Miraculously, this time, Dustin doesn’t argue back. Instead, he mutters something about terrible taste under his breath, sliding down into his chair and crossing his arms. Will is taken aback—he’s never seen Dustin back down from a confrontation that quickly. One glance in Lucas’s direction tells Will that he’s thinking the exact same thing.
Ever since a pre-semester camping trip the Party took back in August, Dustin and El have been acting weird around each other. Lucas is convinced Dustin has a thing for El, and Will is pretty sure El likes Dustin—but Max refuses to tell them anything. And Mike…well, neither of them really wants to rope Mike into their conspiracy. As Lucas once said, “Mike has the emotional awareness of a rock. His track record when it comes to picking up on stuff like this is pretty awful.”
“You heard her,” Max says with a smirk. “Sit down, Henderson.” Ignoring his irritated mumbling, she turns her attention back to the rest of the Party. Will has no idea what she’s about to say—but considering the glint in her eyes, he figures it can’t be anything good.
“So yesterday, El and I were watching When Harry Met Sally-“
Lucas groans.
“What was that, Lucas?”
“Nothing, it’s just- I can’t believe you guys like that movie. It’s so…corny,” he replies, wrinkling his nose. “And Harry is an asshole.”
El frowns. “I think that it is romantic.”
“It’s unrealistic.”
“It is pretty silly, El,” Mike adds.
“You are silly.” She sticks her tongue out.
The room erupts into a cacophony of arguments. If Will’s being honest, he agrees with Lucas—he’s never been a fan of cheesy romance—but he knows better than to argue with El about movies. She’s the biggest film buff in the Party by a long shot. El will watch just about anything, but when it comes to her favorites, she is both fiercely opinionated and incredibly stubborn. Will wouldn’t dare disagree with her to her face. From the looks of it, his friends are currently learning that lesson the hard way.
“Ahem. As I was saying.”
Max all but spits out the last word, inclining her head in Lucas’s direction and raising an eyebrow. He opens his mouth for a moment, as if he’s going to bite back at her—but instead, he sighs, sinking back into his seat in defeat. He knows better, Will thinks with a smile.
“While we were watching the movie, we had an idea. Something new for El’s bucket list,” Max continues, lowering her voice.
At the mention of El’s list, everyone falls completely silent.
Two years ago, when the Upside Down was finally sealed away, El had gone through a bit of a crisis trying to figure out what to do with her newfound freedom. Will, Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max…the Upside Down may have changed their lives forever, but it didn’t matter; they still, as El so bluntly put it, “had lives to go back to.” As far as the government was concerned, El didn’t exist. She couldn’t go to college. She couldn’t get a driver’s license. She couldn’t even really leave Hawkins, not until Hopper was sure she could safely live on her own. On top of everything else, her powers were gone, having vanished just as quickly as the Upside Down itself. Will can’t count how many times she’d shown up at his bedroom door in the middle of the night, voice thick with tears as she admitted to feeling completely and totally lost.
It was during this period—“El’s Great Depression,” as Dustin so tactfully called it—that Max came up with an idea: El should make a bucket list. Will still remembers coming home to Hopper’s cabin to find the two girls sprawled out on the floor, El’s favorite set of colorful markers scattered across a giant roll of paper. On the list went every experience El had ever missed out on and then some: camping, high school football games, trips to the beach, actually playing a game of DND. It’s good to have little goals to work towards when the big ones are too much, Max had said. Worked for me, at least.
And Max was right. El took to the bucket list right away; soon enough, it was growing twice as quickly as she and Max could work their way through it. Max is on a gap year, so she’s been home all semester—and she and El have been spending every waking minute either chipping away at their many tasks or scheming up new ones. Even though this isn’t the first time El’s gotten a list item from a movie (see #48: get a black belt in karate), Will doubts how good of an idea When Harry Meets Sally could have inspired.
Still, El's bucket list more or less saved her, so Will takes it very seriously—even if it means taking notes from Billy Crystal. He can tell by their attentive silence that the rest of the Party feels the same way.
“At the end of the movie,” El begins, pacing back and forth in front of the TV. “When Harry finds Sally at the party. The New Year starts…and then he tells he loves her. And they kiss.”
“El remembered seeing lots of people kissing when we watched the ball drop last year,” Max cuts in. “So she asked if that was, like, a thing people did. Y’know, kiss on New Year’s.”
Mike looks at Max questioningly. “And you said…”
“Well, I said not everyone does. Obviously. Like, me and Lucas never have. But…” Max’s mischievous grin returns. “I told her it’d be perfect for the bucket list.”
Mike glances at Will just long enough to make Will’s stupid, presumptuous heart skip a beat. He frowns at Max. “I guess. But…I mean, who’s she even gonna kiss? You know I want to help with the list and all, but don’t you think it’d be a little weird to-”
“Ew, Mike, get your head out of your ass.” Max rolls her eyes. “She’s not kissing you. She’s kissing Dustin.”
El buries her head in her hands. Dustin squeaks in surprise.
“And I’m kissing Lucas. Obviously.”
The wheels start to turn in Will’s head, and he feels his heart drop to his stomach. If we’re pairing off, that leaves…
Before he can finish the thought, Mike suddenly sits up straight. “Wait, Dustin? Why would El kiss Dustin?”
El makes a strangled sort of noise.
“I know you like orchestrating stuff, Max, but you can’t just…decide something like that. I mean, did you ask her what she wanted? Did you even ask Dustin?” Mike exclaims, pointing at his friend—who is looking increasingly uncomfortable with every second that passes. Lucas and Will exchange a look.
Max smirks. “Didn’t think I needed to.” She pivots to look at Dustin, who for the first time in his life is dead silent. “What do you think? Should I have asked you, Henderson?”
“Obviousl-”
Max whips around, glaring at Mike. “I’m sorry, Mike, was I talking to you?’”
Mike grumbles and falls back into the couch, crossing his arms. His brow is furrowed and his eyes dart between El and Dustin in confusion. Jeez, he really has no idea. Will knows Mike’s being oblivious, but he can’t help but feel a little bad for him. His wavy black hair falls over his face in a mop, and Will absently considers running his fingers through it before abandoning the idea in embarrassment.
“So.” Max turns back to Dustin, whose ears are now beet-red. “I’ll ask again. Are you gonna kiss her, or what? It is for the bucket list.”
After a few moments of awkward silence, Dustin clears his throat. “Well…I guess if it’s for the bucket list…”
Lucas lets out a loud whoop and Max’s grin gets even wider. Above all, Mike still looks perplexed—but as the tension dissipates and their friends go back to chattering, a smile slowly spreads across his face. It’s hesitant, sure, and it’s not quite as giddy as Max’s, but it’s a smile of understanding. He gets it. He sees that she’s happy.
Will breathes a sigh of relief.
Without even thinking, he leans into Mike’s side as his body relaxes. Before he has time to pull away, Mike wraps an arm around him, giving a low chuckle.
“Took you long enough,” Will whispers. He’s already warm and flushed from drinking, but a new wave of heat courses through his body, radiating out from the place where his and Mike’s shoulders meet.
“Hey,” Mike whispers back. All of his squeaky indignance from before is gone, replaced with a softness that makes Will’s heart stutter in his chest. “Cut me some slack. I’m…I’m pretty oblivious when it comes to this kinda stuff.”
“Mike Wheeler, oblivious? No way,” Will says playfully, twisting out of Mike’s embrace—God, there’s got to be a better word for that—to look up at him. What a mistake that was. He’d been hoping putting some distance between them would give him a reprieve from all that heat, but the gentle smile Mike gives him is enough to bring it all back and then some.
Will expects him to tease right back, so he’s surprised when Mike just laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, leaning back into the couch to survey the room once more—and pulling Will with him.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, Byers. You’re stuck with me now.”
The alcohol has made Will’s brain fuzzy—fuzzy enough that he lays his head on Mike’s shoulder without a second thought. “Not so bad,” he mumbles.
Mike’s shoulder tenses beneath him, and it’s as if Will can feel all the liquid courage leave his body in a single moment.
They’re usually fine with casual touch—all of them are, all of the Party—but this is something different entirely. Will’s head is tucked into the crook of Mike’s neck, their shoulders and sides pressed together at every point, their hands so close on the couch that Will could easily intertwine his fingers with Mike’s if he felt so compelled. They’ve never been this close before. Up until now, Will has done a very good job at keeping his distance.
So much for-
Will’s internal panic is interrupted by the feeling of soft curls against his head.
“Not so bad,” Mike echoes.
Will finally—and very belatedly—realizes that it’s Mike’s head leaning on top of his, and he has to do everything in his power to keep from startling. Maybe this isn’t a big deal to Mike. Maybe he really doesn’t think anything of it; after all, why would he? Will is his friend, his best friend. But God, this is doing something to Will. He can’t escape the heat anymore, and he doesn’t want to; he’s swimming in it, trapped by Mike on all sides. For a few seconds, he doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare move—as if the slightest shift of an arm or leg could break the spell and make Mike realize how really quite weird this all is.
Luckily, Will doesn’t have to worry about that for too long; someone else does it for him.
“Wait, Max!” El calls out, so loud that the entire room falls silent.
Mike and Will both sit up so quickly that Will almost bonks his head against Mike’s. Will doesn’t even look at his friend, just scoots a little to the right to put some space between them. He’s suddenly aware of just how fast his heart is beating. It’s silly, he thinks, that we sat up so fast. It’s not like we were doing anything. When he dares sneak a glance at Mike out of the corner of his eye, though, his friend’s cheeks are flushed. Not just that—Mike has the same dazed, distant expression that Will’s sure is on his own face, like he’s trying to appear unfazed by whatever just happened and completely failing to.
So he did notice. Then why would he…
“Max, I have a question,” El says. “If you are kissing Lucas…”
“She better be.” Lucas cackles. He’s got an arm around Max, who sticks her tongue out at him in mock indignation.
“And I am…” El’s cheeks turn a pretty pink, and she blows her bangs out of her face. “Kissing Dustin.”
Will’s heart sinks as he realizes where she’s going with this.
“Then who is Will going to kiss?”
It’s as if a bomb was dropped; the Party falls dead silent, the only noise in the basement the quiet hum of MTV in the background. Will is sure his cheeks are bright red at this point. Everyone’s looking at him now—well, he’s not sure about Mike, but he doesn’t dare check—so he attempts his best casual laugh. “El, I don’t need to- I’ll be fine. I can just- watch.” He cringes at his own awkwardness as El regards him with concern.
She frowns. “I want you to have fun.”
“I am having fun,” Will reassures her. He gets up from the couch and makes his way over to her side—anything to put a little more distance between him and Mike, whose uncharacteristic silence is really starting to stress him out. “Especially since you’re having fun,” he adds, with a furtive glance at Dustin that makes El blush. “Promise.”
“Besides,” Dustin says, mouth full of Hot Pocket. “It’s like there’s anyone left for him to choose from. All the other girls we know are at stupid Steve’s stupid party.” He shouts the last part at the ceiling—as if Steve could possibly hear him from all the way town. Dustin is still sore about the fact that Steve turned down his invitation to their get-together in favor of his own—a party which he insisted was “adults only.” And you kids don’t count, he’d said with a smirk, cutting off Dustin’s protestations before they could even be made.
Will breathes out a sigh. “Yeah. Bummer,” he says, not even trying to hide his relief. He shudders a little at the thought of being paired off with Robin. They could just laugh it off—he knows about her, and she knows about him—but he’d still feel bad doing that to Vickie. And he’s pretty sure Robin would rather come out to the whole Party than be goaded into something like that.
“Hey, at least you’re not alone,” Lucas says with a warm smile. He inclines his head towards Mike, who’s still sitting on the couch looking absolutely dazed. “Mike’s gonna have to sit this one out too.”
“What?” Mike snaps to attention.
Lucas groans. “Dude, it’s like you’re not even paying attention. I just said that you don’t have a New Year’s kiss either.”
“Gotta work on your game, Mike,” Dustin adds, flashing Mike a shit-eating grin. “Heard Mindy Novak stood you up on your first date.”
“It was a mutual decision!”
As the other boys bicker and El drifts back to the snack table, Will notices Max giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. Not just any look—this is certified Max Mayfield look, complete with inquisitive eyes and a knowing smile. Her gaze is so intense that Will almost feels like she’s trying to read his mind. Instinctively, his eyes dart away from hers—and when he glances back, something resolute has settled in her expression. Will knows it sounds dramatic, but it’s almost as if she’s a lioness who’s just decided on a mid-day snack. And, well. To say that Will is her prey of choice really wouldn’t be that far off.
“I don’t see why Will and Mike can’t just kiss each other,” Max announces.
It’s less of a suggestion than a declaration—and, for the fifth time this evening, the room falls dead silent.
It’s not that Will hadn’t had the thought himself. When El and Max first started pairing them all off, for a moment, he’d selfishly imagined a world where he and Mike would share a kiss just like the rest of their friends. But to actually hear it spoken aloud? That’s a different thing entirely.
Will’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t dare turn around to look behind him; after all, any air of nonchalance he’s managed to keep up would shatter at the sign of a reaction from Mike. Max is joking, right? She must be joking, what with the roguish smile that still hasn’t faded from her face and the way she surveys the room, waiting for someone, anyone to react.
And why aren’t they reacting? Shit…now that he thinks about it, Max was definitely trying to make a joke—but no one even laughed. He’s gotta do something, gotta step in and help her save face.
And okay, Will is pretty sure he’s the worst liar in Hawkins—maybe on the planet Earth. Even he can hear how choked his laugh sounds as he forces it out. As soon as he opens his mouth, though, just like magic, whatever spell had fallen across the basement is broken. Soon, Dustin is laughing, and Lucas too; even El chuckles a little, perplexed as she looks. Will isn’t sure about Mike—he definitely doesn’t hear his telltale laugh, loud and awkward and uneven—but he honestly just doesn’t want to look.
They were…they were waiting for me. They didn’t want to laugh until I did. The realization makes his face burn in embarrassment.
“Jeez, Max,” Lucas huffs, shaking his head.
“I don’t see what the problem is.” She rakes a hand through her bright red hair. “Not my fault Hawkins isn’t as open-minded as San Diego.”
“But why’d you go and stick Will with Mike?” Dustin chimes in. “Obviously if Will’s kissing a guy in the Party it’s gonna be me.”
“Nah.” Lucas shakes his head. “You wish, Henderson. It’s me any day. Everyone knows I’m the most good looking.”
“Yeah? And where’s that data coming from—your mom?”
Will’s head is swimming. Never in his life did he think this is a conversation they’d be having today. Weirdly enough, though, there’s no vitriol in Dustin or Lucas’s words. They’re not serious, sure, but their teasing is light and kind, the playful ribbing of friends rather than the jabs of bullies in the hallway who are a little too close to the truth for comfort.
No, he’s not sure whether or not they really know. But in this moment? It almost feels like it doesn’t matter.
Something warm wells up in his stomach, and his fake laugh quickly becomes a real one. “Bold of you to assume I’d kiss either of you.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d let you,” Max adds.
Newly emboldened, Will steels himself to look at Mike—and when he turns around, he’s surprised to see the boy completely lost in thought. His dark hair falls over his face as he hunches over his lap, head resting in his hands. It’s as if he’s completely disconnected from the rest of the group’s conversation; he’s sunk so deep into the brightly patterned couch that he’d probably leave an imprint if he were to stand up.
“Earth to Mike!” Max grumbles. “God, you’re impossible.” She waves a hand impatiently in front of his face, and he comes to with a start, brown eyes hazily coming back into focus.
“What’s g- jeez, Max, you’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Okay, well, if I’m a pain in the ass, then you’re a total space cadet. You’ve spoken, like, two full sentences in the last ten minutes.”
“I was just—thinking.” Will swears he sees Mike steal a glance at him before returning to glare at Max.
She gasps in feigned surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I didn’t realize! Sorry to interrupt. I know that can be pretty hard for you.”
“Shut up!” Mike says with a scowl. “I meant, like…I was just thinking…” He chews on his lower lip, like he always does when he’s anxious. “I mean, why don’t we just do it? Why don’t Will and I kiss?”
It’s as if you could hear a pin drop.
Lucas stares at Mike like he’s grown an extra head. Dustin and El exchange a meaningful look. Even Max, who just a moment ago had been happily poking fun at Mike, is seemingly at a loss for words.
Will is silent too, color rising to his cheeks. It’s one thing for Max to suggest it; it’s another entirely for Mike to double down. Mike, his best friend for as long as he can remember. Mike, who regardless of any newfound warmth could barely touch Will for an entire year. Mike, who is oblivious to the fact that Will is desperately in love with him.
Mike, who despite all that said Why don’t Will and I kiss as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
This has to be some kind of prank. Because if it’s not…if it’s not, what is Will supposed to think?
When no one replies, Mike lets out a stilted laugh of his own. “Guys, jeez, it’s not that serious. It’d just be…you know, for the hell of it.” He sinks further into the couch, tone completely level—so much so that it almost feels deliberate. Will isn’t sure whether to throw up or sigh in relief. “I mean, he’s my best friend, so it can’t be that weird. I just think it’d be lame for us to be the only ones without a New Year’s kiss ‘cuz we’re too chicken.” When he finally looks up from his sweater, he doesn’t even make eye contact with Will—just looks vaguely about the room, as if this is some kind of group decision and not a ticking bomb he’s just thrown exclusively in Will’s direction.
“...Suuure…” Max says slowly. She raises an eyebrow. “But I think you should run that by Will first.”
Will has never been more grateful for his poker face than he is now.
He puts on as neutral an expression as he can manage, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his lips from wobbling. If nothing else, Will knows how to mask his discomfort, how to smile just so when he wants someone to look the other way. More than that: he always knows what to say—and, more importantly, what not to say. It’s clearly something Mike has yet to learn.
And Will wants to say no. He could say no. Everyone would probably just chalk it up to him being reserved, or weirded out, or whatever, and the night would move on like usual. Mike is Mike, so he’d still probably bug Will about it later (though the thought of Mike asking Will why wouldn’t you kiss me sends Will’s stomach reeling), but Will is good at being evasive and Mike is good at knowing when Will doesn’t want to talk.
And there’s something else he wishes he could say—the truth, as messy as it may be. Actually, it would be weird if we kissed. It doesn’t matter that we’re best friends. It doesn’t matter if it wouldn’t mean anything to you, because it would mean something to me, and then everything would be ruined. I just don’t want to ruin anything.
So when Will opens his mouth to speak? He’s fully intending to say no.
He glances around the Wheelers’ basement at his friends. Lucas seems kind of concerned. Max looks expectant. Dustin and El are pretending not to pay attention and doing a very poor job of it. But then he makes eye contact with Mike.
And, well…maybe Will isn’t as good at controlling himself as he’d thought.
“Sure,” he chokes out, mouth dry. “Sure. Like he said…for the hell of it.”
Fuck. He’s definitely going to need another drink.
Who cares what Jonathan says? Going crazy on the drinks is awesome.
At first, Will couldn’t bring himself to return to his spot on the couch—so he’d retrieved his drink from the coffee table and finished it as he made his rounds of the rest of the room. He played El in War and lost, although he thinks she may have been cheating. Then he played Dustin in War and lost again; Dustin always cheats.
He even chatted with Lucas and Max about the trip they’re taking to a ski resort up in southern Michigan next week. Unsurprisingly, Max has snowboarded plenty before; when they lived in California, she and her mom would drive all the way to the border of Nevada every winter to tackle the slopes there. “It’s a little like skateboarding,” she explains when Will asks. “As far as balance goes. You could probably pick it up.” And Will is very polite, responds thank you, and yes, maybe—even though he thinks he’d rather jump off a mountain than onto a snowboard.
If Lucas’s expression is anything to go off of, Will’s pretty sure he feels the same way.
He hates the taste of beer, but they’ve been banned from the liquor cabinet, and he is definitely not drunk enough for what’s about to happen—so downs a Schlitz, and then another, and then another. He keeps going until he stops being self-conscious about the fact that he’s drunk, and he figures that’s enough to keep him from completely freaking out at midnight.
At some point, once Mike’s left the couch and Will has reclaimed it as his own, Lucas catches onto what he’s doing. He plops down next to Will and throws an arm around his shoulder. “You know, you can just tell him you changed your mind,” he whispers, offering him a glass of water.
Will shakes his head with a frown, but he takes the drink anyway. Anything to wash down the awful taste of Schlitz. “I—didn’t. Lucas. I’m having fun.”
“I know,” Lucas says. “I know you are.” He doesn’t look any less worried, though. When Will finishes his water, Lucas doesn’t say anything—just dutifully refills the glass and brings it back.
Will is really lucky to have Lucas. Has he ever told Lucas that? He doesn’t think so. “I’m lucky to have you, Lucas,” he blurts, a little too loud and a little too hazy all at once. “I’m really sorry.”
The tension in Lucas’s face evaporates, instantly replaced by a confused grin. “You’re sorry?”
“Yeah. I don’t think…I think I haven’t ever said that before. That I’m lucky to have you as a friend. But I am. I’m really lucky.”
Will can tell he’s probably not making much sense, but Lucas just shakes his head and laughs. “Man, Will. You really are drunk.” He trails his hand up Will’s back to ruffle his hair. “But for the record, I’m lucky to have you too. We all are.”
Will doesn’t drink quite as much after that.
Before long, it’s five minutes to midnight, and the chaos of their simultaneous conversations and games and shenanigans dies down as each member of the party dutifully takes their spot around the TV set. Mike and Nancy had begged their parents for a new TV in the basement for a years, but it was to Holly that Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler finally gave in. Mike complained about it endlessly, but when the TV finally arrived—a brand-new, 32-inch Sony Trinitron—he shut up pretty quickly.
Speaking of Mike, Will is sitting next to him again. He seems sober enough, giving Will an awkward nod as he reclaims his spot by the bright, mushroom-shaped lamp in the corner. “Hi.”
“Hiiiiiii,” Will drawls. “Almost midnight.”
“It is.” Mike’s eyes dart down to the empty beer cans on the coffee table, and he frowns. “Don’t you think you should lay off the booze a little?”
“I did lay off.”
Mike raises an eyebrow and scoots closer to him. “Will, you had, like, four cans.”
He’s not wrong, but Will points to the water on the coffee table and smiles the biggest, most sober smile he can muster. “Had. Lucas got me water. Besides,” he says, grin widening. “I’m having fun. This is…this is pretty fun, right?”
He expects Mike to laugh, but he just smiles a little uncomfortably, fidgeting with his sweater sleeve and looking down at the floor. “Yeah.”
Instead of moving away again, he scoots in a little more. They’re right back where they were before, now—side by side, Mike’s arm pressed against Will’s as he sips passively at a soda. Mike doesn’t even look at him; he just scans the room if nothing is happening. As if he isn’t so close Will can feel their arms brush every time Mike moves.
“Move,” Will mumbles, halfheartedly shoving at Mike’s side.
“What?”
The basement is pretty loud. Some band Will can’t remember the name of is performing on MTV, and Lucas is singing along loudly (and terribly off-key)—so Will figures Mike just must not be able to hear him. He tries to lean in just a little, just enough so he can whisper in Mike’s ear, but small movements don’t seem to be his forte right now; he practically crashes into Mike’s right shoulder. Shit.
“Mike,” Will breathes into his friend’s neck, flush rising to his cheeks. “Was trying to say…um…you’re too close.”
For a moment, Mike is just silent, and Will thinks he may have said something wrong—until his friend laughs, low and warm like before. “Pretty sure you leaned into me,” Mike murmurs, wrapping an arm around Will once again.
Will rolls his eyes. Mike is always so annoying like this; Will clearly fell into him by accident. He can tell from the gleam in Mike’s eye that he’s looking for an argument—Will just has to find a good comeback. Something…quick. Sharp. Just the right amount of playful, so that Mike knows he’s not really upset.
“Did…did noooot.”
“Holy shit.” Mike smiles, eyes widening in disbelief as he turns to look down at Will. “Will, have you…have you ever been this drunk?”
“No. Haven’t ever needed to be this drunk.”
The smile drops from Mike’s face. “Why would you need to…”
Maybe the water is finally working its magic, because Will has a sudden flash of soberness—and, with mounting embarrassment, he realizes that he has said way, way too much.
“Mike,” he repeats in a helpless whisper. “Too close.”
The song by The Whatever-Their-Faces ends—and Mike pulls away from him without saying a word, taking his arm off Will’s shoulder and scooting back to his corner of the couch. Lucas finally sits down to a chorus of scattered applause. As Will joins in cheering on his friend, he can feel Mike’s eyes burning into him in some weird mixture of concern and…pity, probably.
And why shouldn’t he pity Will? This whole thing was a bad idea from the start. Will has crossed the line from pleasantly buzzed into disorientingly hazy; he’d been trying to make the whole New Year’s kiss a little easier for himself, but he thinks he’s just gone and made it worse for the both of them. Now, Mike has probably—no, definitely—picked up on the fact that Will is being weird about the kiss.
It’s not that far of a leap from there to figure out the reason why.
“Off your asses—they’re starting the countdown!” Max screams.
Too late to back out now. Will can feel the pit in his stomach growing by the second.
Max has an arm slung around Lucas’s shoulder. He kisses her once on the cheek, once on the forehead, and then almost once on the lips before she stops him, protesting that it’s not midnight yet. Dustin and El, meanwhile, have taken Max and Lucas’s former spots on the floor—and they don’t seem in any rush to get up. When Will peers at their hands, he notices Dustin’s is gently resting on top of El’s, fingers barely but clearly interlocked.
Will looks at Mike. Mike looks at Will.
We don’t have to, Mike mouths.
Yes we do, Will thinks sourly. It’s fine, he mouths instead.
Mike doesn’t look like he believes him, but he comes a bit closer, eyes trained on the slowly descending numbers on the TV screen. The tips of his fingers graze Will’s.
Will's breath hitches in his throat. He barely has the courage to breathe. He barely has the courage to move. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Max looking at them curiously. Shit. She really had meant this as a joke, hadn’t she? Or, at the very least, she’d hoped they’d do it as a joke. Well—Mike still thinks it’s a joke, but Will doesn’t. Can’t.
It's like all the color has drained from his face. Heat pools somewhere deep in his stomach. For once, he finds himself grateful that Lucas and Dustin are so wrapped up in themselves, that El is lost in her own little world.
But Max. Max notices. Will knows she does.
“29…28…27…”
This is going to be my first kiss, Will realizes despondently. He’s never had high hopes for it—for what he thinks are obvious reasons—but there’s still something especially cruel about this. Maybe it’s karmic retribution for the number of times he’s allowed himself a glance at Mike’s lips, smiling and soft and always out of reach.
“20…19…18…”
Mike is staring at him now, really staring. He scoots another few inches closer on the couch. Will finds himself moving to meet him; suddenly, they’re side by side again, arms and legs and hands pressing together just like they had before. This is an awkward position for a kiss, Will observes to himself, absently picking at a ball of fuzz on his sleeve.
No, not to himself—to Mike. He says it out loud…to Mike. He doesn’t even realize it until Mike looks at him like he’s crazy and he suddenly remembers the way the words slipped out of his mouth, hazy and uncontrolled. Will’s stomach sinks. Stupid Schlitz. He should have known better than to drink so much around Mike. He should have known he’d say something he’d regret.
But before he can even compose himself, something equal parts strange and wonderful and terrifying is happening.
“I guess- um, I guess you’re right,” Mike mumbles. And oh my god - oh my god, he’s turning to face Will, slowly raising a hand to cup his jaw. The tips of his fingers are cold, but his palm is soft and warm against Will’s cheek. “Better?”
Will feels like his face is on fire, but he manages a brief nod. “Yeah.”
“5…4…3…”
“Is this gonna make things weird?” Mike whispers, inches away from Will’s face.
Will’s throat feels dry. “Probably,” he whispers back.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The ball drops, the room explodes with noise, and Mike closes the distance between them.
All of a sudden, the tension Will swears he’d felt in the moments leading up to the kiss is gone. It’s like he’s woken up from a trance; the gentle, deliberate way Mike had touched his cheek is replaced with an awkward haste, the kind Will would expect from Mike in a moment like this. Mike’s lips are chapped. His breath smells like beer—though Will’s sure his isn’t much better. He presses against Will quickly, mechanically, with none of the warmth Will had felt before. It’s altogether pretty terrible.
Will feels sick.
He’s not sure what he wanted. He’s not sure it was fair of him to want anything. All he knows is that he wanted something, and it isn’t the thing he got.
They separate after barely a second of contact. Mike wipes his lips and averts his eyes, but Will just stares. He stares and stares and stares until something finally snaps in him and he comes to again, suddenly all-too-aware of how hot the room is and how close he still is to Mike and how awful that thing that he’s wanted longer than he can remember actually ended up being.
And he’s aware of his friends’ eyes on him. Not everyone is staring; Dustin and El jump up from the floor, shouting Happy New Year and hugging each other and yelling because they’re both loud and oblivious drunks. But Max—Max is looking, just like before. And now, Lucas is looking too.
Shame pools in Will’s stomach.
He stands up quickly and heads for the stairs before anyone can ask where he’s going. “Getting a drink,” he calls over his shoulder. It’s a weak excuse; they brought all the 12-packs of beer and soda downstairs an hour ago, and there’s a giant case of bottled water at the back of the basement. Will’s voice, warbly and uneven, betrays him too. But Lucas and Max must know better than to call his bluff, because they send him off with nods and equally concerned looks as he stumbles up the staircase.
Mike does not look at him. Will, for once, is glad of that fact.
Will’s not sure how much time passes—twenty minutes? maybe thirty ?—before he hears a knock on the bathroom door.
“Washing up,” he croaks. A steady stream of hot water flows from the sink. At this point, Will’s left the tap on for so long that his hands are pruny and the room is starting to steam up.
He’d have gone home by now if he hadn’t sworn to Jonathan he wouldn’t bike after drinking. Will honestly thinks he’d be fine; he’s not so drunk now that he’s spent a good half hour alternating between throwing up and drinking water from the bathroom sink. But promises are promises, and Will doesn’t like to make a habit of breaking them.
“Can I come in?”
Mike, Will realizes with mounting dread. He steadies himself against the bathroom sink and stares down at the sparkling porcelain, an ever-present reminder of Mrs. Wheeler’s impeccable housekeeping. If he could only wash down the drain with the water running from the tap. Then, he’d never have to face Mike again.
“I’ll be out soon,” Will mumbles.
Mike doesn’t even need to call Will’s bluff; his scoff is enough to tell Will he knows he’s lying. “Mom’s gonna kill me if you run up the water bill.”
Shit. Will turns the tap off. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I just- I know you aren’t coming out, so will you just let me in? Please?”
Checkmate. Some things may change with time, but the fact that Will can’t say no to Mike is not one of them. Will knows it. He thinks Mike might know it, too. There’s an expectancy in his silence, like he’s not wondering if Will is going to open the door so much as when.
Which, yeah, Will is going to. What else is there for him to do?
He turns the lock and leaves it at that. He’ll take his little victories where he can get them. Slowly, the door creaks open, and Will finds himself face to face with Mike for the first time since midnight.
“Can I come in?” Mike asks again. Will nods.
The bathroom—the guest bathroom on the first floor—is small, small enough that Will has to move back for Mike to even enter. When the two of them are finally both inside, Will in front of the toilet and Mike in front of the sink, Mike turns to look at him and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Mind if I…” he starts, gesturing to the door. “Just so no one will bother us. Privacy and all.”
The implication of privacy makes Will’s heart beat twice as fast, but he wills the feeling away and nods again. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”
It’s as if the room gets smaller as soon as the lock clicks back into place. Mike, tall and gangly like always, is leaning back against the closed door—clearly trying to give Will space, though Will’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. His expression is strangely guarded. It’s unlike Mike, really, to look so contemplative; his emotions usually explode into a room, regardless of how appropriate the moment may be. Now, though, he’s silent, no indication of feeling on his face other than the tiniest frown teasing at the corner of his mouth.
When Mike finally speaks, his words are so deliberate they almost feel rehearsed. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before bringing that up in front of the whole Party. I know you…probably felt pressured.” He winces. “And I should have known that wouldn’t really be your thing.”
The idea of kissing Mike not really being his thing makes Will want to laugh and cry all at once, but he steels himself and conjures up the most unruffled smile he can. “It’s okay.”
Mike’s frown deepens. “No, it’s not. You were having fun, but you left the basement because of me. I basically ruined your night.”
“You didn’t…ruin anything,” Will attempts. He can only pretend so well, though—and the way Mike’s expression sours tells him he’s not doing a very good job. Will half expects Mike to say something else, but he only sighs, leaning back against the sink and running a hand through his dark, curly hair.
There was another time when Mike would have pressed further. They used to tell each other everything, but somewhere along the way they just…fell out of step. Even after they reconnected in high school, things were never quite the same. There’s space between them now, space that never used to be there. Space that Mike honors. Space that Will needs and resents all at the same time.
“It was my first kiss.”
Will barely realizes he’s spoken until the words have already left his mouth. He’d meant to break the silence somehow, but this is more honest than he’d ever planned on being. He can already feel heat creeping back into his cheeks as lowers himself to sit on the toilet seat.
Mike stumbles back against the counter. “Your—what?”
“My first kiss. Sorry.” Will shakes his head, doing his best to keep his eyes trained on the floor and his growing blush out of sight. “That’s why I was being weird.” The truth, but safer.
“Shit.” Mike looks just as mortified as Will feels. “I didn’t know. You could have—“ He interrupts himself with a sigh, leaning back to rest an elbow on the sink. “I mean, if you had said something, I…I probably wasn’t your first choice. Sorry.”
Will almost chokes on air. He forces a smile. “Yeah, not really top of my list.”
Mike’s head tips back as he laughs. The fluorescent lighting of the bathroom illuminates his face, and for a moment, Will feels that familiar tug in his chest—the one a part of him had hoped would be gone after such a terrible kiss. Just my luck, he thinks sorely. He’s still beautiful. Even after all this. He can’t help but smile, though. Something about Mike’s laugh, warm and genuine, pulls him out of his misery even now.
“Your breath smelled like beer,” Will adds sheepishly.
“No shit, man. You should have smelled yours.” Mike has the audacity to waggle an eyebrow at him, and Will must be absolutely gone because he laughs even though it’s the dorkiest thing he’s ever seen.
“Your lips were chapped!”
“Yours were-” Mike frowns. “Okay, okay, that was just me. But I wasn’t prepared! I didn’t even know I’d be kissing anyone!”
And Will—Will is maybe still a little tipsy, but he’s feeling bold. “Guess I thought you would have been better.” He gives Mike a teasing smile. “Seeing as you have so much experience.”
Now it’s Mike’s turn to be flustered. “Hey! That doesn’t- that’s- you know that’s not-”
Will can’t help the peal of laughter that escapes him. “Mike. I’m teasing.”
“Oh. Right.” Mike’s face softens, and his grin returns. This is…this is really nice. When Mike showed up in the hallway, Will had half-anticipated an interrogation—why did you run off? What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you take a joke?—even though he knows Mike too well to expect something like that from him. But this? It almost feels like…normal.
Everything is a little more fragile, sure, but Will feels like they can come back from this. They’ll move on and pretend it never happened. Maybe it’ll become another one of their inside jokes, something they skirt around in conversations and at get-togethers and trace the shape of but never really say out loud.
Until…
“Was it really that bad, though?”
Until, as usual, stupid Mike ruins everything.
Will attempts a laugh. He falters, though, as soon as he sees Mike’s expression. There’s something unnervingly earnest about it. It’s almost as if Mike’s expecting a real answer—a real answer to an absolutely ridiculous question, mind you. Belatedly, Will notices that his friend has inched closer; the distance between them is slowly but most definitely shrinking.
Trapped, Will thinks, heart sinking into his stomach. “I- I don’t know, Mike, I don’t really…have anything to compare it to.”
“Come on. You can tell me. I can take it.”
“I don’t-”
“Will,” Mike says. Why does he care so much about this? Honestly, it’s starting to get on Will’s nerves. So much for making up and moving on; Mike is turning this question of whether he’s a good kisser or not into a whole spectacle.
Will knows Mike, though, and he knows Mike isn’t going to give in until he gets an answer. A real one. So, as much as he hates it, he does the only thing he can—he looks Mike straight in his eyes and tells the truth.
“It was. It was really bad.”
Will expects Mike to laugh like he had before. Instead, his eyes flicker down to the ground, and his teeth toy at his lip. Why does the bathroom suddenly feel so small again? Why can Will feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears? Things were so normal just a moment ago—what changed?
What did Will miss?
Mike is silent. He looks everywhere but at Will. He looks at the ceiling. He looks into the mirror. He even shoots a passing glance at the door, like he’s going to up and leave. Will doesn’t move a muscle. It’s as if the tiniest movement would shatter the moment—whatever it is. Will has no idea.
When Mike finally meets Will’s eyes again, his gaze is intense, focused. “I could make it up to you.”
Will freezes.
“I- you- what?” he sputters.
Mike looks less sure of himself now. “I just- it was your first kiss. And it sucked. That’s a stupid memory to have. I could…” He seems to finally come to his senses a little, because his face reddens and his next words are much quieter. “I don’t know. Make it a better one.”
Will can barely find it in him to reply. Every word is a burden to get out, catching in his throat and sticking to the roof of his mouth as he searches for an answer. “Mike, you- you’re drunk. And you don’t have to do that. It’s not…it’s not midnight anymore.” His fingers dig into the sides of the toilet seat—an attempt to ground himself in reality that is very clearly not working, because Mike is still looking at him like that.
“Not that drunk,” Mike says simply.
He slowly makes his way over to stand in front of Will. Will doesn’t move away. He wants to. He would if he could—it’s just that he’s sitting down, and the door is so far away, and Mike is so close that Will can’t help it if he’s suddenly immobile.
“And I know I don’t have to,” Mike continues—slow, full of intent. “But I want to.”
“Mike,” Will urges. He’s not sure what it’s supposed to be. A warning, maybe? A last attempt at refusal before everything comes crashing down? All he knows is that whatever this is is snowballing into an avalanche that he can’t keep at bay much longer.
His eyes flit over to the lock on the door. No one will bother us. Privacy and all.
He’s so distracted that he almost jumps when he feels Mike’s hand on his cheek. It doesn’t settle there at first; his cold, cold fingertips brush Will’s cheek, and Will shivers. When Mike’s palm finally rests flat against his face, he leans into the touch instinctively. Mike notices. Mike always notices.
“Can I?” Mike asks, voice low.
It’s against his better judgment. It’s going to ruin everything. To break everything.
But Will nods. Since when has he ever been able to say no to Mike?
Mike leans down and Will finds himself stretching to meet him like a sunflower to the sun. He pauses, though, when his face is so close to Mike’s that he can feel hot, boozy breath on his face. Mike pauses too.
“Is this gonna make things weird?” Will whispers.
“Probably,” Mike whispers back.
He closes the distance between them once again.
And oh. Oh. This is what it’s supposed to be like.
The warmth of the kiss blooms through Will’s body. There’s none of the awkward haste from before; Mike tilts his head slightly, and their lips slot perfectly together. It’s a pleasant heat unlike anything he’s ever felt before—not shameful, not sudden, but steady as a burning candle. There’s desire in it, too, something in the quiet pressing of Mike’s lips against his own that’s full of so much want Will’s brain stutters to a halt.
It’s only been seconds, but it feels like hours have passed when Mike finally pulls away. His hand falls away when he steps back from the toilet. Will follows the ghost of his touch without a second thought, wobbling as he rises to his feet.
“Better?” Mike’s voice is so low and uneven that it doesn’t even come out sounding like a question. The fluorescent lights illuminate the faintest shimmer of sweat on his face.
“Not sure,” Will breathes in reply. “Think we should…test it again.”
“Yeah,” Mike responds immediately. “Good idea.”
This time, they crash together.
If they move back any further, they’ll hit the toilet—so instead, Will finds himself pressing Mike against the wall. Mike’s breath on his face is hot and heavy. His hands find their way to Will’s waist as if by their own accord, and he grips it tight, pulling them together as their kisses grow more and more desperate. As Will lifts his arms to run his hands through Mike’s hair, his shirt rises to expose the littlest bit of stomach—barely anything, but enough for Mike’s cold fingertips to graze his skin. Enough for Will’s brain to short-circuit.
Mike must notice, because he pulls away. What are you doing? Will wants to say. Why did you stop kissing me? Kiss me again. His voice doesn’t seem to be working, though, because all he can manage is a frustrated noise.
“Cold?”
Will nods. Mike slips his hands just a little further up under Will’s shirt, and Will shudders at the touch.
“I can…I can help.”
Will doesn’t even need to nod this time. They’ve known each other long enough for Mike to know exactly what he wants.
He’s not sure how it happens, but somehow, Mike manages to flip them around; now Will’s the one pressed up against the wall. Heat surrounds him. The cool tile against his back is powerless to the warmth of Mike—Mike, whose hands fly up from Will’s waist to cup his face as he presses kiss after insistent kiss to Will’s lips.
Mike is pushing Will backwards so hard he almost feels like he’s going to slip; all he can do to steady himself is tighten his grip in Mike’s hair. Mike gasps against his mouth in response and almost stumbles himself. They keep kissing, though. Their pace gets less feverish as they go on, less desperate. No point in being so rushed when they have what feels like all the time in the world.
Will makes up for experience with want. It overwhelms him all at once, a tidal wave of memory and pain and love that threatens to knock him over. After a while, though, he starts to get accustomed to the rhythm of it all: lips against lips, skin against skin, brief interludes just long enough for them to breathe and giggle and start kissing all over again.
Of course, slowing down comes with some…unwanted side effects. Like, as Will observes while Mike gently presses chapped lips against his jaw, finally being able to think again.
Thinking means realizing that this isn’t another one of Will’s fantasies. This is real—this is happening. Mike is kissing him. Not just that; Mike is kissing him like he wants to, like he’s wanted to for a long time. It sends Will’s head reeling. He is grounded in the sudden reality of warm lips against his neck, cold fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone, and prays he isn’t somehow reading this wrong. That Mike isn’t just really, really drunk.
If he’s not…if he’s not, then this may mean what Will has never dared to think possible.
“HEY!”
They’re interrupted suddenly by a loud voice, echoing up the basement stairs and into the hallway.
“Mike!” Dustin screeches. “If you don’t get out of there right now, I am GOING to take a shit in your mom’s bathroom!”
They part immediately and unceremoniously.
For the first time in what feels like forever, Will is actually looking at Mike’s face. He’s never seen him look so…disheveled. I did that to him. Mike’s cheeks are rosy, and his hair is all mussed up; what was once a faint glimmer of sweat now sparkles across his entire face like dew. Beautiful, Will thinks, trailing a finger down his jaw absently. He’s beautiful.
“Shit on the lawn for all I care!” Mike shouts back. Will can hear faint laughter coming from downstairs, but Mike’s eyes never leave his face. His voice wavers, though; he’s clearly doing his best to put on a level tone despite the fact that he and Will were just…
Just kissing doesn’t sound right. Will may be new to this, but he’s smart enough to know that that was more than just a kiss.
“What was that?” Will whispers, still only inches away from Mike’s face.
When Mike responds, his voice is hoarse from disuse. “Me making up for your shitty first kiss.”
“And my second, apparently. And third. And-”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” Mike at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “I don’t- I’m not sure how to-”
“Mike,” Will interrupts. “I know what it was. What I meant to say…what I meant was, what did it mean?”
Mike swallows, glances away. “Whatever you want it to mean.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Mike’s gaze returns to him, and Will suddenly sees an emotion he’s not sure he’s ever seen on Mike’s face—panic. He’s caught.
“Mike,” Will pleads. He hates having to push for this, but he’s not letting Mike walk away like nothing happened. Not after all of that. “Please. I can’t keep…I can’t do this. I can’t read between the lines. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to-“
He’s interrupted by the feeling of warm lips against his own.
This time, when Mike kisses him, it’s neither aggressive nor apprehensive—it just is. It’s so simple that it almost feels natural. Briefer than the others had been, yes, but sweeter too. There’s your answer, the kiss seems to say. Are you happy now?
Mike pulls back, gentle and slow. There’s still some anxiety in his expression, but it’s backed by a new conviction. A steadiness. “That’s what it meant,” he says. “That’s…me being honest.”
“Honest as in…” Will’s cheeks burn ruby-red. “Honest as in you’re not just drunk. Honest as in…you wanted to?”
Mike’s laugh echoes off the tile walls of the bathroom. “You didn’t pick up on that by the third time?”
The realization hits Will all in one moment.
“You…you like me,” he says, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice.
“Pretty presumptuous of you, Byers.” Mike waggles an eyebrow again, but he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t deny it. His face is pleasantly flushed, and he smiles down at Will like he couldn’t be bothered to look at anyone else.
Questions that were distant blurs in the heat of the moment are now sharp, all-consuming. How long have you known? Will wants to ask. How long have you wanted to do that? Is this going to change things? What are we even going to tell the rest of the Party? His mind races to catalogue every awkward moment over the years, every stray glance, every sign he must have just been too scared to see. This is more than just a silly mistake at a party. This is real. This is everything. It’s almost too much for him to take.
But Mike. Mike pulls him out of his head, like he always does and always has.
“Hey. It’s gonna…it’s gonna be okay.” He wraps his arms around Will’s waist and gently pulls him in until they’re flush together—just like they were when they were kissing. Except now they’re not kissing, so Will is actually conscious of what’s happening, and—oh, god, he can’t be normal about this. He is trying so hard to be calm and confident but it is just so difficult when he has to stand here and watch Mike look at him like that, like he’s-
Well…alright, maybe Mike isn’t as confident as Will had thought. When their eyes meet, Mike’s face is pretty much the reddest Will has ever seen. He feels the gentle quivering of hands near his waist—as if Mike thinks touching him will break him. He’s just as afraid as me, Will realizes. He’s just trying to get this right. We both are.
“Didn’t realize you were so smooth,” Will says. An olive branch, extended.
Mike stutters out a nervous laugh. “I’ve been practicing,” he admits. “You know- before any of this stuff with El, I had a whole plan? A plan to get you to be my New Year’s Kiss.”
Will’s pulse quickens. “You’re kidding.”
Mike shakes his head. “No, I’m serious. I mean, it wasn’t a serious plan. Like, I would have probably chickened out without all that bucket list stuff.” He drums his fingers anxiously against Will’s side and it feels like a second heartbeat. “But I was gonna come up to you, late at night. Late enough that we’d both be a little drunk…you know, enough to forget it later if it went really wrong.”
“Of course,” Will smiles.
“And I’d be like…” Mike’s gaze intensifies, and the corner of his lip turns into a smirk. “‘Hey, handsome. Come here often?’”
It’s so stupid—it’s so stupid—but Will likes stupid, apparently, because he instantly feels his face heat up.
“You would not,” he protests, trying to hide just how much he’s enjoying this.
“I would! I really would. And then you’d say…” It isn’t until Mike inclines his head towards Will that Will realizes he’s waiting for a response.
“I’d say…I’d say, ‘Yes, but apparently not often enough.’” Will’s no expert flirt, but he throws in a wink. You know—to really sell the whole thing.
Mike coughs.
Will is immediately self-conscious. “Sorry, I didn’t…that was weird, wasn’t it?” he apologizes. He’s painfully aware of just how new he is to all of this, and he wants nothing less than to make things awkward when they seem to be going so well.
“No, No, I just- I didn’t expect- that surprised me. You surprised me.” Mike can’t seem to make eye contact with Will anymore. And oh…he liked it. He liked the wink. The realization sends a thrill through Will’s body.
“So…what would you say?”
“Huh?”
“What would you say next?” Will prompts.
“Right. Um…” Mike seems to think for a moment. “I’d say…” His voice goes all gruff again. “‘You look like someone who needs to be kissed.’”
The line’s boldness stuns Will for a moment—but it’s such a non sequitur and so distinctly un-Mike that it just feels silly. “Mike, you would never say that!”
“I- okay, okay, I wouldn’t. I probably wouldn’t say any of that, to be honest. But I wanted to!” Mike protests. His hands fly up as he gestures vaguely in self-defense. “I just couldn’t think of a way to get it to happen naturally. Y’know, that didn’t involve me…just…telling you everything.”
“Everything?”
“Hey,” Mike laughs—but his voice is softer now. Tender. “Not so fast. I can’t just…show my whole hand right away.” They fall into a comfortable silence: Mike’s hands languidly wrapped around Will’s waist, Will’s hands coming to rest on Mike’s shoulders.
It’s all so easy it scares him.
Will’s feelings towards Mike have never not felt dangerous. Dancing around them is almost second nature to him; pull back at just the right moment, he’s learned, and everything can stay the way it is without consequence. He’s grown accustomed to a life of withholding—withholding feelings, withholding touch, withholding so many parts of himself that he’s almost disappeared into the absence more times than he can count.
But he never meant to make things so hard between him and Mike. And this…this feels easy. This feels right. He could have had this so much sooner if he’d just stopped being so goddamn scared.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now? Cut it out.”
Will startles into focus. “Mike-”
“I mean it,” Mike interrupts. “Seriously. You look like—like you always do when you’re beating yourself up about something. None of this is on you.”
“I know, I just…” Something cold and wet trails down his cheek. A tear, Will realizes, embarrassed. Now? Seriously? Mike reaches up to swipe it away, and the feeling of his finger dragging underneath Will’s eye somehow makes the whole thing even worse.
“I just…I’ve just been so scared of this. Of all of this. Of you,” Will admits. “For so, so long. But now, you’re here, and it’s so…it feels so…easy. And I can’t help but feel like, like if I’d just been braver…” He feels his lip wobble a little—no. He’s not going to cry right now. “If I’d been braver, we could have figured this out sooner, you know? It could have hurt less.”
Mike frowns.
“And the stupidest part is- I’m still scared,” Will warbles. “I’ve been imagining this moment for years. Imagining what it’d be like if we…” His breath catches in his throat as he feels Mike’s hand settle on his cheek again. Real. He’s real. Will grounds himself in the sensation, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he continues. “But I never thought it’d actually happen. I don’t know…I don’t know what’s supposed to come next.”
For a moment, the two of them sit in heavy silence. Mike’s thumb rubs gentle circles over Will’s cheek. He takes in Will’s words with a serious expression—brow furrowed, lips pursed like he’s looking for the right thing to say but just can’t figure it out.
Because there is no right thing to say, Will despairs. The answer is nothing. Nothing comes next. It’s so like him, isn’t it, to tear apart a good thing before it even has the chance to take shape. Mike kissed him only moments ago, but Will’s new convictions make it feel like a distant memory; after all, now that Mike has realized this whole thing is a lost cause, it’s never going to happen again.
But then Will feels strong, lanky arms pulling him into a hug. And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he might have been wrong.
Mike’s head tucks into the crook of Will’s neck. “Me neither,” he confesses in a thin voice. “Will, I barely even…I mean, I barely even understand how I feel.” His arms tighten around Will, hands gripping his back so hard Will almost feels like he’s going to be squished. “But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You worry, and worry, and worry…and I know it’s important, but we have all the time in the world to figure that out. Together.”
Together. A feeling buried years ago finally loosens itself in Will’s chest.
“But for now…” Mike draws back from the hug, but his hands never leave Will’s back—and suddenly, they’re only inches apart all over again. They always find their way back to this, don’t they? Something low and flirtatious slips back into Mike’s voice as he raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to think. About anything.”
Will laughs wetly. Dork. “Should be pretty easy for you, according to Max,” he teases, pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek.
When he pulls back, Mike’s grin is ridiculously wide. “Oh yeah? I don’t see Max anywhere.”
“Pretty sure she’s waiting for us downstairs. You know…like the rest of our friends.”
Right on cue, a raucous cheer sounds through the house. Will hears Dustin’s unmistakable wail of defeat intermingled with shouts of victory that sound like they belong to Max and El.
“Our friends can wait,” Mike says dismissively. “We never finished talking about my plan.”
“Your plan?”
“Remember?” He slips back into his persona from before, pseudo-deep voice complete with a dramatic, serious look. “We left off on ‘You look like someone who needs to be kissed.’”
Will smiles and suppresses a laugh. “Right, right. I remember now. So…so then I’d say, ‘What are you going to do about it?’”
“I have a couple of ideas,” Mike—just Mike, now—replies quietly, eyes flicking down to Will’s lips.
In that moment, Will takes it all in: the faint but riotous sounds of the Party arguing downstairs; the quiet drip of the sink that was never properly turned off; the tight, warm feeling in his chest that has only gotten stronger with time; the mischievous glint in Mike’s eyes in stark contrast to his stern expression.
“Lead the way,” Will whispers.
Sure, he may not know what’s coming next. But as Mike closes the distance between them again, he realizes with a rush that he knows what’s happening now. And all things considered?
He thinks he can be content with that.