Chapter Text
“Can you please get the good jar of those cherries?”
Mike craned his neck from behind the refrigerator door, watching as Will leaned against the kitchen counter. “Yeah. The ones with the green label?”
Will nodded, small grin forming on his lips, turning back around to walk toward his bedroom. “Thank you, Mike!” He answered in a singsong voice, the padding of his feet quietening into the distance.
Mike faced the fridge, the light boring into his sockets. Cherries? For what? The fucking milkshake machine they had sitting on their counter? There wasn’t a damn milkshake machine. Mike shook his head, tallying up the number of incidents he can begin to remember.
It started small. Like anything else does. Will had started to lose track of items, resulting in Mike finding them for him. And when he did, god, was the reaction of Will worth it. Mike felt like a dog, tongue out, tail wagging as Will would respond with Oh my gosh, thank you, Mike! I had no idea where I placed it. You’re so good to me.
Another thing was the clothing. Mike would find Will’s shirts, or a pair of socks, or a beanie lying on the yellow rug they both continued to smoke on. Mike would fold the shirt, put the socks in the hamper, set the beanie on the rack by the door and spark up a joint. Or the time that Will had asked Mike to change the lightbulb in his room. He did it because it felt normal. Felt right. He was needed. Taking care of Will but also not being so direct about it was addicting.
They’ve been roommates for three years now, and everything was perfect. They had a full routine. A domesticated partnership. Will would go to class, come home, and dinner would be ready. Mike would ask Will for a grocery list with meal ideas, and he would oblige. They’d swap laundry days and mix their clothing, clean the bathroom on the weekends, and alternate trash days. It was a good balance.
Or Mike would just do it anyway; without letting Will complete the task. It was as if anytime Will tried to do anything somewhat strenuous, Mike would practically gallop in on a horse, sweep Will off of his feet and clear the trash for him like it was a venomous pile of snakes.
His best friend needed something? Mike would do it. One blink and he’d be back like the goddamn Flash, saving his best friend from the absolute torment of not finding his art history notebook. It left Mike feeling warm and needed, like he was rewarded with forty thousand pieces of gold that could be pawned off in return of something even better for Will. Like new paint brushes. Or a new vinyl.
Mike closed the fridge, staring into his metallic reflection with a frown. This was normal, right? Wanting to do things for your best friend in return of a small shoulder squeeze or a brush of the elbow was normal, right? Right.
“Will? I’m running to the store before work at six.” Mike spoke, walking around the kitchen counter to grab his backpack and shoes, “Do you need anything else?”
He bent down on one knee, tying his shoe while he could hear Will approaching.
“No. I think that’s it. I gave you the list yesterday, right?”
Mike could see Will’s feet between his legs as he finished tying his shoe. “Yes. Cherries. Got it.”
Will pushed his toes forward, nudging Mike’s hand with his socked foot. Mike halted, looking up at Will who was smiling down at him.
“You’re such a good friend. Thank you for being so good.”
Mike could’ve ran through drywall at that point. He could’ve closed his fist and punched the wood floor and it would have splintered, leaving behind a large indent. Those words were addicting. He drank them in, lips parted, staring up at Will.
Will took his hand and brushed Mike’s hair away from his forehead, before poking him in between his eyebrows.
“Have fun.”
He swung around on his heels, and Mike almost followed after him on his hands and knees in a trance-like state. Was he pathetic? Probably. He didn’t care. He would let Will put a collar on him and pull him around if it meant Will would be by his side at all times.
He shook his head to clear the absurd thought from his brain and decided it was time to be normal and go to the grocery store like any normal human being who wanted to go above and beyond for his best friend, right? It was normal to crave the validation and affirmation, right?
In one quick movement, he scooped his keys up and shut the front door, locking it with one hand and adjusting his shoe with the other. The apartment hallway was damp and smelled like mildew due to the hot summer that engulfed Chicago. It was particularly hot today, and Mike avoided the jeans and had decided on blue shorts and a white tee that hung just above his groin.
He left the apartment building, and palmed his pocket to double check that he slid his keys inside. The sun beat down on his neck, prickling his skin like needles. He wasn’t one for hot weather. Once his back started to sweat he had to leave the premises until further notice.
It was a short walk to the market, thankfully. Will and Mike had decided on an apartment in Wicker Park. Junior year was on the cusp, and they wanted an apartment that screamed Adult but still had personality, as Will said. Wicker Park had easy access to Jewel-Osco Market at the corner of Milwaukee, which was south of their apartment. They had come accustomed to the late night food runs, especially when the alcohol was buzzing in their system.
He remembers vividly when Lucas and Dustin had visited and at around 2:30 AM, a musician sat in the isle between the ramen and canned green beans. Will had stood, watched with so much intensity as he swayed from the drunkenness, and Mike remembers the warmth that crept into his chest like a shower on a cold day.
He found himself thinking more intensely lately; using his brain to full capacity if you will. The year of thinking, was all he could muster when he sat in his bedroom and stared at the water stain on his ceiling. That was stupid. He knew it was stupid but that sentence was the only thing he could use to justify the constant noticing of Will. Everything that was Will.
He did have to admit that he wasn’t the smartest guy ever. Sure, he dated a girl for years and didn’t realize it wasn’t working until it was too late; facing the consequences of being told in her final moments that he knew her better than anyone—which was another lie. He knew she deserved better.
It hurt to think about Hawkins. It hurt to think about everything that went down in their childhood. Losing El and then everyone suddenly parting ways after caused a shift for Mike, and he clung to what he knew best; to who he knew best. Will. After high school graduation, he followed Will to Chicago with exactly one penny until he cried on his Mom’s lap and begged for help to pay for rent.
Okay? Don’t judge. People struggle. He couldn’t get a job right away, so he settled on getting paid barely minimum wage at the learning center and tutored students who needed help in writing. His mom and dad were fortunate enough to help, and with the support of Will’s scholarship, they made it work.
Before Mike even realized he was a few inches away from the double doors of Jewel-Osco, he stopped and stared at the city behind him. It was mid June, and the city was alive. Posters of flea markets and bands playing at different bars were plastered around the stub pole, and he made a mental note of checking who was playing because maybe Will would want to go.
He finally entered the market and grabbed a basket, nodding briefly at a mother and her baby who passed by, breeze flowing in through the open doors. It was cooler inside of the market, thankfully, and Mike pulled the sweaty grocery list from his pocket. He grumbled something under his breath as the ink had smudged, leaving a few words unreadable.
The two words that were left perfectly intact was of course: Maraschino cherries. Mike squinted and looked closer, and there was a tiny little smiley face next to it. His heart puttered, and he rolled his lips together, dragging his fingernail across the sentence.
Maraschino cherries. They were sweet, abnormally red, and weirdly delicious. He wasn’t a fan. He thought for a second longer about why Will had a sudden need for them, but the only thought that came to mind was because they were tasty. But not by themselves. Or at least he thought.
The mere sight of Will pulling a maraschino cherry from the green labeled jar made Mike’s knees weak. Imagining him digging into the jar, red syrupy liquid spilling over his fingers as he gripped the stem. He could see it now; Will wrapping his perfectly pink lips around the cherry, stem held in his hand gingerly, as he would pull it off with a pop. The sound would be obscene. He could see Will twirling his tongue to taste the juice—
“Excuse me?”
Mike jumped, practically crumbling the grocery list in his fist as the basket tumbled to the ground. He spun around, making eye contact with a small elderly woman.
“You are in the way.” She grumbled, using her cane to motion to the side, “All you kids do is just stand there.”
Mike was sweating despite the cool air of the market. He swallowed, gave an embarrassed smile and said, “I am so sorry, ma’am.”
He moved out of the way, picking up his fallen basket and wrapping his sweaty hand around it. What the fuck was he doing? Daydreaming about his roommates tongue and lips and the noise the cherry would make as it slid into his mouth? Jesus. Mike bit his lip and unrolled the paper again.
He thought for a second.
Be normal. Quit thinking about this. If Will ever found out, I would have to kill myself. Throw myself into the Chicago River. Actually, I can’t. Nevermind. I would miss him. And because Will would find me and I probably would have shit myself because people do that when they die right? He would have to see my shitty butt and then clean it probably because he’s so nice and then he would have to call my parents and explain that I died because he found out I wanted to kiss his neck and touch him. I wonder if Vecna ever shit himself.
Enough thinking for now. Mike was a mannequin against the flow of passerby’s and wanted to shove his head into the produce mist system, letting the veggies hold his head up while the water washed away every thought imaginable.
Albeit, he continued. He checked through the list again, making sure he could read it, before heading over to the frozen foods to grab a box pizza and a small bag of mozzarella sticks.
The rest of the grocery trip was uneventful, and he was thankful for that. His own mind was betraying him and he couldn’t help but to think back to the fact that these cherries were the cause of his demise. Maybe Will knew what he was doing? Was Will testing Mike to see how far it could go before his back broke, crawling on the floor and ripping his nails into the rug to grip at Will’s ankles and beg for relief?
He let out a breath, approached the cocktail aisle and stared longingly at the wine. He could use a drink. He decided to grab two bottles of white wine. One was sour apple flavor and the other was strawberry. Sounded good enough. Toward the end of the aisle, Mike adjusted the grip on his basket and noticed the section of maraschino cherries.
The green label stuck out like a sore thumb, and he leaned down to get a better look at it. He hated cherries. But for Will, he would get them. He’d put them in his basket, return home, get on one knee and shove the cherries into Will’s hands like it was a ring.
Despite the continual mental warfare, he chuckled at himself and grabbed two jars just for good measure. The basket was getting heavy in his hand, and he decided that was enough shopping for the day. He waltzed to the front, grocery list soft between his fingers. The crowd had died down within the last thirty minutes, and he was happy to say he was next in line to check out.
After the person in front had finished, the cashier looked over at him with a smile, one that didn’t necessarily meet his eyes but it was good enough. Mike returned it, slowly setting down the cherries and other items he had gathered.
The beeping of the scanner was piercing as the cashier filled the bags, stopping to grab the cherries and looking up at Mike with a quizzical expression.
“You like these?” He asked, turning it over to find the barcode, “Can’t get into these. My wife loves them on her milkshakes, though.”
Mike’s lips twitched. Why was everyone being weird today? Was he wearing a shirt that said Hey! I’m Mike. I love my roommate. I am a fucking freak that wants to do crazy things to him. Also, ask me anything. I’m free today from 2:30-5:00 PM.
“I don’t really like them,” He answered, fishing around his pocket for some cash, “But my roommate does.”
The cashier set the last jar of the cherries into the bag, making sure it was snug between a box of cereal and a bag of ramen. He looked back over at Mike, “Your roommate must love milkshakes.”
Mike disregarded that and looked forward, checking to see if there was an invisible camera looming in the distance. What kind of conversation was this? He grit his teeth and offered another smile, “Oh. Yeah. I guess.”
The cashier chuckled to himself and rung up the last of everything, and Mike was pretty sure he should have just left. It felt like everyone knew what he was thinking. Today of all days.
“45.68,” The cashier spoke, “Receipt in the bag or with you?”
“Bag is fine. Thanks.” Mike handed him the cash, taking note of how expensive it has gotten, and waited patiently for his change.
Once the cashier handed it to him, he grabbed all of the bags that he could, slinging one around his elbow and the others on his wrist, and walked out of the grocery store with sweat brimming on his forehead.
He decided he needed Will to go grocery shopping next time.
~
Mike kicked the apartment door closed with his foot, wincing at the pressure from the bag dangling off of his wrist. He was about to set down the bag but the plastic ripped, frozen pizza and mozzarella sticks toppling onto Will’s tote bag. He groaned, walked forward and set the bags onto the kitchen island before retreating back to grab the frozen food.
Once he picked it up, he brushed away the frozen ice on Will’s tote and stared as he gripped the strap and set it on the rack next to the door.
“How was the market?” Will chirped, voice bellowing from the hallway.
Mike turned away from the tote, dark eyes meeting Will’s hazel eyes. “Awful. So busy.”
Will tutted, “You picked peak grocery hour to go. I should’ve told you. Last time I went around two I almost got trampled.” He pushed against the counter, elbows propped up.
Mike approached the island and started to take out the items from each respective bag, smiling down at the bag of ramen, “You could’ve saved me from this torment? Shame on you.”
Will laughed, small but real, and Mike’s chest tightened. He looked over at Will, who was watching him set down the ramen on the counter.
“I apologize. I will warn you next time.”
“You won’t.”
“True. I like to see you all frazzled.”
Mike halted, hand hovering above the can of maraschino cherries. Will had a playful grin on his face, eyebrows quirked, and his cheeks were twinged pink. God, he was beautiful. Mike just stood, eyes blown wide.
“Whatever,” He mumbled merrily, the bottle of cherries clinking on the counter as he set them down, “I got you what you wanted.”
He watched as Will’s face lit up, and suddenly the nightmare grocery store from hell was worth the trip.
“You always do.” Will spoke, reaching forward to grab the two jars, “Don’t you?”
Without thinking, word vomiting spilling out, Mike said: “I do.”
Will hummed in response, turning toward the kitchen cabinets to put the bag of coffee away, as well as the cereal and ramen. It was nice to watch. Mike stared longingly at the tank top Will was wearing, and his boxers had ridden down just below his belly button. It looked warm and fuzzy, and Mike wanted to bury his face into it his skin and breathe it in.
He opened and closed his hand at his side, hiding it behind the kitchen island. He felt like a loser. Will just wanted something sweet, and Mike had absently thought about his lips moving over the red ball, licking and sucking the juices off of it. He was going to get sick.
“What made you want the cherries anyway?” Mike asked, pushing back the thoughts, crumbling the plastic bag in his hand.
Will opened the cabinet above the coffee machine and craned his neck to stare at Mike, “I don’t know. It sounded good. I like them. We used to get those milkshakes from Scoops Ahoy with the cherries on it. Remember?”
Mike nodded, remembering briefly to the scorching Hawkins summer and bothering Steve for free ice cream. “Oh, yeah. Those were good.”
“Plus, I like the way they taste. They’re juicy.” Will answered, staring a little longer than normal at Mike as the word juicy rolled off of his tongue. He turned back around and closed the cabinet.
Maybe Mike would shit himself. Who knows. His stomach felt weird and his limbs were all too heavy with the way Will was staring at him. Mike looked at the back of Will’s neck, staring at the small mole that took its home just where his hair met the top of his spine.
There was an audible pop noise and Mike realized Will had opened the jar. His mouth went dry, and he leaned against the counter. His ribs hurt from how far he was pushing into it, but something had to give in order to erase whatever sentence would come out of his mouth in the next five seconds.
“Do you want one?” Will’s voice was soft, back still to Mike. He could see his arms moving at his sides, and he knew Will was sticking his finger inside the liquid to pull a cherry out.
Mike bit his lip, pushed into the counter even harder, and swallowed. “They’re not really my favorite.”
Will finally moved back around to face Mike, holding the jar in one hand, cherry stem in the other. He raised one eyebrow, syrupy liquid falling down his wrist.
“C’mon. They’re so good.” Will smiled, waiting for Mike’s response.
He couldn’t move. His feet were glued to the floor and if he did move he was sure his skin would rip off and he would have to go to the hospital. Maybe then Will wouldn’t offer him the tangy cherries and he would have enough courage to tell Will he wanted more than to just taste the cherry. He wanted to taste Will.
Mike scrunched his face up, titling his head to the side. Will was patient. Will was kind. Will was everything Mike had ever wanted so of course he said yes.
“Okay. Fine.”
Will set the jar down and flicked his eyes over Mike’s face, mirroring him and pushing against the opposite side of the counter. He stretched his arm out, cherry dangling between his pointer finger and his thumb.
“Here.”
Mike stared at the cherry, watching as it dripped carelessly on the countertop. Will shook it slightly, as if motioning for Mike to take it. His throat was going to close and his heartbeat was too loud in his ears.
“Are you okay?” Will asked, peering around his own hand and catching Mike’s eye, “If you really don’t want it, it’s fine.”
Mike’s vision adjusted as he looked back at Will, rolling his lips together, “No, I do. I haven’t had one in a long time. Maybe I’ll like it.”
Will nodded encouragingly, “Open.”
Mike’s hands were gripping on the counter, white knuckles and all. He thought he might turn into the Hulk and rip off the counter, grab Will, and carry him away into the sunset. His throat was the driest it ever has been, but he obeyed. He always does.
He parted his lips, tongue sticking out slightly. He watched Will’s expression as he opened wider, bending his head down so Will could plop the cherry into his mouth. Will’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and his throat bobbed.
Mike watched the action, eyes following every movement. Will lowered the cherry even more, the bottom of it touching the tip of Mike’s tongue. His head was buzzing. Everything felt slow motion as his teeth scraped the fleshy fruit, biting it softly.
Mike brought his lips over the entire cherry, and the stem was left sticking out. Will’s finger was an inch away from Mike’s lips. Will studied him for a second, face still flushed pink, and a small grin grew on his face.
Mike felt sweat gather in his armpits. He was nervous. He was scared Will would think he was weird for holding on to the cherry for so long, but part of Will looked like he was…enjoying it?
With his arm still stretched over the counter and his finger barely grazing Mike’s lip, he pulled back slightly, trying to break the stem. Mike hardened his lips around the cherry and moved forward as he pulled, almost climbing on top of the counter.
Will touched Mike’s top lip and yanked, snapping the stem. The cherry fell back onto Mike’s tongue, and it was more bitter than he remembered. He watched as Will retreated his arm and brought the stem to his own lips.
What? Was he going to suck on the stem? What the fuck?
Mike’s heart was hammering against his ribs as he chewed, breaking apart the cherry. The juice was overflowing his tastebuds and he swallowed, mouth agape as Will pushed the stem against his own lips.
Mike had never watched someone so intensely. He took in the mole just above Will’s upper lip, the flutter of his lashes. The way his cheeks were pink, and his lips were full. He watched as his eyebrows wavered from furrowing, and his hair was swept just above them.
Heat grew against his stomach. He was hard. His body gave him no time to think about why he was, but nevertheless, his shorts were tight and it was probably obvious. He thanked whoever was above that the counter was hiding him.
Will didn’t break the eye contact as he slipped the stem inside of his mouth, and Mike could see his tongue working inside of his cheeks. His fingers hurt from gripping the island counter and his shorts felt like they were ten sizes too small.
Will cocked his head, smiling as his lips were closed and his tongue was still moving behind it. Mike realized the silence had gone on for far too long.
“What are you doing?” He breathed, crossing one foot over the other underneath the counter.
Will held up a finger, as if he was silencing Mike, and a second later he smiled again, but this time the stem was tied in a knot and held between his two front teeth.
“See?” He spoke through clenched teeth, showing off the ruby red stem. “It’s a knot.”
Mike almost fell backward and the thought of him hitting his head and blacking out was better than watching Will’s tongue dart out of his teeth as he put the stem in his hand.
“Cool.” Mike muttered, face blank. He didn’t know what to do. He was hard, Will was staring at him, and there was a kitchen island standing between them.
“You should try.” Will pushed the jar forward, glass hitting Mike’s knuckle.
Abort. Abort mission. Your dick is hard and you need to go to your bedroom. You also don’t know how to tie a stem with your fucking tongue. How does Will know how to do that?
“Actually—“ Mike paused, letting go of the counter. His palms were clammy. “I have to pee.”
Will squinted his eyes at him, amusement apparent on his face. “Okay.”
Mike took that as enough and sprung toward the bathroom, ran down the hall, and swung the door open with so much force he could’ve ripped it off the hinges. Even though he closed it softly, his hand trembled as he locked the door.
Finally, he took a look at himself in the mirror and gasped. His lips were cherry red, and his face was flushed. His eyes were wild and he knew he looked like a mess. He knew Will could tell he was hiding something.
Mike had to get a grip. He knew he had to calm down and chalk it up to a misunderstanding. He was a good friend, after all. And he liked being good.
Mike groaned and pressed his groin into the sink. No more maraschino cherries. Never again.