Chapter Text
The cool, mid-afternoon breeze hits his face the moment he steps out of the church doors.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing outside; the suffocation of being inside the service covering his body like a heavy, wet blanket. He doesn’t want to be in there anymore; that’s the only thought that echoes through Will’s mind, over and over again. He purposely didn’t look any of his family members in the eye before he left, mumbling an excuse about his stomach hurting, and not many (if any) noticed his departure.
“You… um, smoke?” Will asks before he can stop himself, swallowing as he watches a boy lean against the dusty, cracking brick wall. He tries to be as casual as possible, ignoring the fact that the taller boy with long, slightly curly black hair has an eyebrow piercing that catches the sunlight that pokes through the branches of the trees that surround them.
Will doesn’t know much about the boy, except that his name is Mike and his father is the pastor. He remembers his mother saying that he’s around Will’s age and that maybe they could be friends, but Will doesn’t need to speak with Mike to know they’re likely too incompatible. The only thing they have in common is their close age.
Will’s hair is always cut perfectly because he hates the feeling of hair getting caught in his eyelashes. Mike’s hair is long, curly, and untamed. Will is too scared to get a piercing because of the risk of infection, while Mike has eyebrow and septum piercings. Will is wearing clothes that Joyce would deem ‘church-appropriate,’ and Mike is wearing an outfit that he’s sure his own mother would be vehemently against wearing in public. They’re just… inherently different, and as much as it’s distracting, Will also kind of… admires it.
“What?” He replies, pulling the cigarette from his lips and lightly blowing the smoke from his mouth. Will’s eyes are instantly drawn to his lips, watching as the puff of smoke clouds the air between them. “Just because my dad is the pastor, you think I can’t enjoy a cigarette?”
Will blinks rapidly, shaking his head. Does he sound as big a loser as he feels? A lot of people smoke, his older brother especially — why would he say something like that?
“No, that’s…” He stops, cringing for a second time at how he sounds. “I mean, you could do whatever you want. I just thought there might be some rules against you smoking, or something.”
The cigarette rests idly between his fingers as his eyes study Will, who swallows involuntarily at the prolonged eye contact. “Rules?”
“You know, the um, rules of the church?” Will specifies, clearing his throat. Maybe he should just stop speaking, he thinks. “‘Cause, you know, you’re his… son?”
A small laugh escapes the boy’s lips at the implication, and Will bites the inside of his cheek. “I mean, yeah, my dad tries to implement rules and stuff to ‘maintain his Hawkins reputation’, but I couldn’t give two fucks about that kind of stuff.” Mike lifts the cigarette back to his lips, blowing out grey smoke, causing Will to scrunch up his nose as the smell wafts through his senses. “Fuck, you probably think I’m sort of an asshole, don’t you? I didn’t even offer you a cigarette.” Using his free hand, he digs through the pocket of his black, baggy jeans, pulling out a slightly crushed, half-full carton of cigarettes. “Here, take one. Do you need a light? I have one in my back pocket.”
“Oh,” Will shakes his head, slightly lifting his hands. “No, thank you. I, um, I don’t smoke.”
“You don’t?” Mike licks his lips slowly, though unconvinced. “I mean, you look pretty stressed. Is it cause you’ve never smoked before? They’re like, one of my favourite ways to decompress whenever I’m forced to be in this place.”
“No,” Will furrows his eyebrows, awkwardly standing in his place. “I’ve never… um, tried them, but I just don’t like the, um, smell? Of the smoke? It gives me a headache.”
“Sorry,” He nods, turning his head to blow the smoke from his mouth in the opposite direction, away from Will. “What’s your name?”
Despite being partly grateful that Mike dropped the topic of smoking, a sense of embarrassment settles in the pit of his stomach. Will isn’t surprised that Mike doesn’t know who he is — despite going to the same elementary and high school, he usually kept to himself. Not having many friends often meant eating lunch outside by the soccer field rather than in the cafeteria, and he enjoyed the calmness of it all. Mike, on the other hand, from what Will could remember, had a ton of friends. Or, at the very least, his own group of friends that kept him busy enough so they didn’t ever need to interact.
“Oh,” Will clears his throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Scratching the back of his neck in an attempt to relieve some of the anxiety crawling up his neck, he adds, “Will, um, Byers.”
“Byers,” the boy repeats, “Oh, yeah. That sounds familiar.” His eyebrows furrow as if he’s trying to connect the dots in his head. “I think I know your mother.”
That takes Will by surprise, only slightly. “You know my… mother?”
“Well,” he pauses, throwing the cigarette onto the cement beneath him, putting it out with the white toe of his black, battered converse. “My parents talk about your family a lot. I think our moms might be friends? Plus, she comes with you to church, doesn’t she? I’m sure if I see her, I’d recognize her.”
“Yeah,” Will nods his head, knowing that his mother never mentioned being friends with the wife of the pastor. “Maybe.” That’s something he’s sure he would remember — something that would likely stick out to him in a normal conversation.
A small silence settles between the pair, and Will slowly walks over to the brick wall, leaning his back against it.
“So,” Mike asks, “If you’re not out here for a smoke break, why aren’t you inside focusing on… getting blessed or something?”
Will lifts his shoulders. The last thing he remembers before walking out is the pastor rambling on about the ‘sanctity’ of marriage — specifically, one between a man and a woman, and it makes his heart ache in his chest. He isn’t stupid. He knows the church isn’t a place for him; he knows that they don’t want him there.
Not wanting to go into details, he opts to keep his response short and sweet, “Not very, um, interested in what he’s talking about today.” He doesn’t want to go into the deeper details, hoping and praying Mike doesn’t look too deeply into what he’s saying.
“Right,” Mike agrees, and Will tries his best to ignore how the slight wind is blowing some of Mike’s long hair into his face, covering his eyes. Mike grimaces as one of his shorter curls gets caught in the silver of his eyebrow piercing, placing his cigarette between his lips and using both of his hands to pull the caught hair from his piercing. “I don’t blame you, considering all the bullshit he spews on a daily basis.”
“Bullshit,” Will repeats carefully, like he’s trying his best to unpack the idea that Mike may not agree with everything the Pastor expresses throughout his services. “Is it bad if I agree with you?” He winces, shifting his position against the brick wall, the rough surface scratching against the back of his neck. He shuts his eyes, clearing his throat. “I mean, of course, no offence to you, or your father—”
“Please,” Mike lets out a soft laugh between them, “Don’t ever feel scared to shit-talk my dad in front of me, Will. I’ll probably even do it first. You’re fine.”
“Okay.” Will nods his head, though unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling that spreads at the base of his stomach. “I’ll, um, keep that in mind for next time.”
“Next time?” Mike lifts his eyebrows. “You’re planning on ditching service again?”
Will cringes. “I mean, I don’t know–”
“I’m just joking,” Mike smiles, crossing his arms. “I mean, it’s not often I find someone who’s also willing to talk shit about the pastor in Hawkins.”
Will shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk shit–”
“Another joke, Will.” Mike laughs, still holding onto his cigarette.
“Right,” Will nods his head, trying to ignore the embarrassment settling into his skin. “Another, um, joke. Yeah, I definitely knew that.”
Mike opens his mouth, as if about to say something else, but before he’s able to, the familiar sound of the church bells rings into the sky, and both boys know that the service is now over.
“That’s my cue, isn’t it?” Clearing his throat, Mike pushes himself from the wall. “Need to go back in there before my dad loses his shit. I’ll see you around?” He asks, looking at Will expectantly.
“Yeah,” Will nods softly. “I’ll see you around.”
☾𖤓
The problem, Will quickly learns, is that he's unable to stop thinking about Mike.
The early stages of their ‘friendship’ (if Will can even call it that) consist of a few fleeting, surface-level conversations outside the church’s main entrance, when both boys leave the service early. As the days go by, the longer Will is forced to sit and listen to the pastor’s service, the more uncomfortable he becomes with each word that echoes through the room. He finds himself looking forward to church, not to listen to any prayer, but to see Mike.
He comes up with excuse after excuse to leave his spot and go outside to see Mike. He knows his mother is growing increasingly frustrated with his constant disappearances, but he chooses not to dwell on it. The conversations between him and Mike flow easily, naturally even, and despite never leaving the church grounds, there’s something about him that’s so… distracting, something that Will finds so… comforting.
More specifically (and even more embarrassingly so), Will finds himself searching for him. He looks for traces of him everywhere: whenever his mother takes him to another morning service at the church, every time she asks him to join her at the supermarket to pick up groceries, when his older brother asks him to run to the corner store to grab something for him, or when he’s hanging out with Robin. No matter where they are, he wonders whether Mike might walk through the door and ask to join them.
He never does, of course, because Will quickly realizes that he’s never going to be that lucky. He isn’t even sure if Mike would want to hang out with him outside of the morning services. Why would he? Maybe they’re just church friends, someone who makes it easier to pass the time, but not someone he plans to spend his free time with.
So, there he is — another morning passing by, spending it in the church. Another hour of shifting uncomfortably on the wooden bench, wondering how long it will be until they figure out who he really is, and don’t let him through the heavy doors anymore.
He tries his best not to pay attention to his mother, who is sitting next to a woman whose name he isn’t quite sure of, attempting not to eavesdrop as they whisper formalities to each other, and watches as Jonathan fiddles with a loose thread on his pants to avoid being drawn into the conversation.
In last ditch effort to regroup, he tries to focus on what’s directly in front of him. Stop thinking about Mike, he tells himself. Which, he thinks, is easier said than done. All he can think about is that the familiar head of curls isn’t in the front row of the pews. Is he already gone? Is he outside now? How did he manage to sneak out without anyone noticing?
Very impulsively, he stands up from his seat, mumbling a small ‘I need to use the washroom’ to Jonathan, who looks at him, confused. He slips out the door, hoping Mike will be at the same, familiar brick wall. Is it bad that he hopes Mike is there? Is it bad to say he… misses talking to him? That, as he rounds the corner, he can’t miss the weird feeling that spreads throughout the base of his stomach?
They make eye contact as Will approaches awkwardly, balling his fists and then immediately unclenching them. Something about the taller boy makes Will so nervous, and he can’t quite figure out why. For a moment, he considers turning around and going back to his spot on the pews beside his mother and brother.
“Morning,” Mike smiles, an unlit cigarette in one hand and a silver lighter in the other. As if it’s second nature, Mike places the lighter in the back pocket of his jeans.
“Hey,” Will sends him a small smile, softly lifting his hand to wave at him. He drops his hand immediately. Why did he just… wave? They’re right next to each other, now. He can see you, Will. “How, um, are you?”
“I’m good,” Mike nods leisurely. “I guess," he tilts his head, “as good as I can be when I’m… here, you know?”
“Understandable,” Will agrees, leaning his left shoulder against the brick wall beside them. “This place isn’t exactly the most, um, enjoyable place to be, is it?”
“Yet, you’re always here,” Mike replies, expectantly. “It’s like you spend all your free time here on purpose.” A small smirk forms on his face. “Are you feeling… guilty about something?”
“No,” Will furrows his brows, clearing his throat. Guilty? Why would he feel guilty? Does… does Mike know? Is he… making fun of him? He hopes the fear seeping through his veins isn’t giving anything away. Can Mike see right through him? “Why… why would you think that?”
“I mean, Hawkins isn’t really big, and the only place I ever see you is here, for a service,” Mike shrugs, and Will desperately tries to fight the internal panic that creeps up his throat, mixed with the blush that rises to his cheek at the thought of Mike looking for him. “I think I would remember seeing you around.”
He would… remember? Does Mike think about him?
“You would?”
“I mean, yeah, of course I would. We’re friends,” Mike replies nonchalantly, as if the words coming from his mouth don’t make Will want to throw up. Friends, Will thinks. They’re friends. Mike likes hanging out with him, even if it’s at the church. “I’m sure we’re probably at the same place sometimes and don’t even know it. Do you go to like… parties or something? Clubs? The drive-in?”
“Clubs?” He repeats, head shaking. “No, um, none of those places are really my, um, scene? I guess? I mean, sometimes I do go to the drive-in, but not much anymore.”
Mike pauses, eyes scanning Will as if he’s examining him. Will shifts awkwardly in his place, still leaning against the brick wall. Should he tell Mike that he goes to clubs even if he doesn’t? Maybe he wants to hang out with someone who likes parties; maybe Will should try his best to sound cooler than he really is. What if Mike doesn’t want to be his friend because he doesn’t feel comfortable in spaces like those?
“So, what is your scene, then?”
“Um, I don’t know?” Will swallows. “I mainly just like staying home and hanging out with friends. Other than that, I have things I like to do, Mike.” He lets out a small groan, mixed with a little laugh that sounds strained. “I spend my time doing lots of things, besides being... here, or at the club, or at parties.” He winces slightly, wondering if Mike thinks his life revolves around church, around service.
Maybe, in another life, it would. Maybe he would look forward to sitting on the wooden bench that makes his butt numb after an hour, maybe he would look forward to connecting with God. But Will knows that in this lifetime, it isn’t possible. It’s nowhere near possible.
“Like, what?” Mike asks, looking at him expectantly, fingers playing with the unlit cigarette he’s holding. Only then does Will notice that his fingernails are painted black. Will’s throat dries. Did he do that… himself? “What do you enjoy doing? Sure, we both don’t like it here, but I feel like I don’t know much about you other than that.”
“Right,” Will pauses, nodding his head slowly, trying to calm down the heart beating in his chest. “I mean, I really like to draw? Nothing too special, or, um, too exciting, I guess?”
Mike rests, crossing his arms. “You draw?”
“Yeah,” Will nods, lifting his hand and scratching the back of his neck. Drawing? Really? Mike’s going to think he’s so… lame, won’t he? Feeling another wave of redness cover his skin, “I just find it to be relaxing? Kind of? I’m able to just, like, take my mind off things, of the outside world.”
“Wait, like, portraits and stuff?” Mike asks, curiosity lacing his voice. “Of real people?”
Will purses his lips. “Sort of?”
“That sounds hard,” Mike points out. “Isn’t it? I mean, I remember the shit I used to make in art class in high school.” He winces at the memory. “My art teacher used to tell me she’s thankful I’ve taken an interest in music, rather than drawing.”
“It is,” Will answers, eyes unable to leave Mike’s face.
It’s true – he’s spent most of his childhood with his head in a sketchbook, drawing anything and everything that inspires him. The muse has shifted through his life, from his mother to his brother, to his friends and to the small family of birds that live on the branch of the tree by his bedroom window. As much as he loves to do it, he thinks that there’s nothing too exciting about the work he’s done.
“So, you’re like, talented, then?”
“I don’t know?” Will replies self-consciously. “I mean, I mainly just like to do it, you know? I don’t really care much for the, um, finished product. I mean,” Will shakes his head. “I do, of course, I do. I just… don’t like to put pressure on it, if that, um, makes sense?”
“Makes sense,” Mike nods his head. “Do you think one day you’d be able to show me some of your work?” He asks, an edge of curiosity to his voice.
“Oh,” Will blinks, not realizing that Mike would even want to see some of his work. He doesn’t bother to think about how Mike would ever have the opportunity to see any of it, but he allows himself the selfishness in the assumption that maybe it could be possible if he and Mike hang out more. “Yeah, um, sure, if… if that’s something you want?”
“It is,” Mike smiles softly, and Will thinks he might be in trouble. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
☾𖤓
The service went as slowly as usual, and Will couldn’t wait to go home. Maybe he can spend the afternoon in the backyard drawing something, he thinks. It’s not too warm outside, the breeze making it comfortable despite the sun beaming through the stained glass of the church windows.
The thought of Mike asking Will to see what he draws makes him feel a bit sick — but also a little excited. What if he’s disappointed in what Will can do? What if he’s expecting something… revolutionary? What is he supposed to do, then?
“Michael,” Joyce smiles, causing Will to turn around and pull himself out of his thoughts. He notices his mother immediately straightening her posture, hands clasped in front of her, as soon as Mike stands in front of them. “It’s nice to see you, honey.” Will’s eyes immediately fall to the ground, unable to look at the boy before him. Mike’s familiar scent of both coconut and cigarettes clouds his surroundings. “Did you enjoy your father’s service today?”
“As much as it’s possible for someone to enjoy hearing my father rant about the same three things for almost two hours,” Mike smiles, earning a light (though tentative) laugh from Joyce and a small smile from Will, who is still unable to look at him. “What about you guys? Is it any easier to get through the service without falling asleep when you’re sitting all the way in the back? I’m front row, and I almost fall asleep every single time.”
Will tries hard to hold back a laugh because his mother would absolutely kill him for making fun of the pastor while they’re still in public. ‘That’s something we keep behind closed doors,’ she often reminds Will and Jonathan that people are always listening, even if it doesn’t look that way, and that they jump at the first opportunity to gossip about the Byers’ family. He knows it to be true — especially because he’s witnessed first-hand the way some of the older ladies whisper about them in their ‘hushed tones’, which, in Will’s humble opinion, isn’t very hushed at all.
“Don’t be silly, Michael, I don’t think any of us would fall asleep,” Joyce laughs awkwardly, slightly nudging Jonathan to say something. She looks at Will, eyes tightening. “Right, boys? Aren’t we all so interested in whatever Michael’s father has to say?”
“I mean, what’s more interesting than this?” Jonathan replies, though his voice is notably laced with sarcasm. It’s Will’s turn to nudge his elbow into the side of his older brother, to which he just shrugs in response, uncaring. Will wishes he could care as little as Jonathan does. “How else would I like to be spending my summer in Hawkins?”
His mother, now mortified, lets out a small gasp, as if she can’t believe what he’s saying. “Jonathan, honey, don’t be ridiculous—”
“Do you guys mind if I borrow Will for a sec?” Mike interjects, sending a quick smile toward Joyce, then to Jonathan. Will feels his stomach flip. “It won’t be for long. I promise I’ll get him back to you guys soon.”
“Take all the time you need,” Joyce smiles, lightly pushing Will by the small of his back. Will knows her well enough to know that she’s thankful that Mike is leaving before Jonathan can say anything more that would embarrass her. Will doesn’t blame her — not everyone at the church is… so understanding. He would know. “Go ahead.”
Mike motions for Will to follow him, and he does so — easily. They walk out of the hall, onto the front steps of the church. Will tries to crack some of his knuckles against his palm in an attempt to calm himself down. Why does Mike want to talk to him?
“Hey,” is the first thing Mike says to him, the chatter muffled by the wooden doors that now separate the pair from everyone inside.
“Hey,” Will replies, easily.
“Is your mom scared of me?” Mike asks, a light laugh escaping her lips. “It’s like she thinks I’m the devil, or something. She didn’t blink once when she spoke to me.”
“Sorry,” Will winces at the choice of words Mike uses. “She… she can be a little stressed sometimes. I’m sure she, um, doesn’t think you’re the devil.”
“Good,” Mike lets out a small sigh of relief. Shoving both of his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he clears his throat. “Do you… Do you think you’d be able to sneak out of your house tonight?”
Will’s eyebrows crease. “Sneak out?”
“I mean, I assume you would need to, unless your mom doesn’t ask any questions,” Mike continues. “I was going to ask you inside, but your mom and brother were right next to you. Not exactly the best place for me to ask you to sneak out.”
Will isn’t sure he’s following. “Why would I want to… sneak out?”
“I’ll be at the church tonight,” Mike says, leaning against one of the pillars, as if that’s enough reason for Will to want to join. “I honestly really like coming here at night. To… think without being surrounded by like, half of Hawkins. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to, um, hang out.”
“The church?” Will repeats, still confused. He clears his throat, glancing quickly at the front doors of the church, worried someone might hear them. “In the middle of the night?”
“Well, I’m thinking like, maybe we can meet here thirty minutes after midnight?” Tilting his head, as if thinking about it. “I mean, unless your family is usually up at that time, then we can totally meet later.”
“Midnight?”
“Yeah,” Mike nods his head. He wants Will to meet him at the church, at… midnight?
Will tries his absolute best not to sound as lame as possible, meekly mumbling a small, “Isn’t that like… not allowed?”
“Never stopped me before,” Mike runs a hand through his curly hair. “It makes things even more exciting, honestly.”
Will feels goosebumps crawl all over his skin at the words leaving Mike’s mouth, and he hopes, he prays that it isn’t as obvious as it feels. He’s never snuck out before. He’s not even sure how he would sneak out that late at night without anyone noticing. Despite every part of his brain warning him that this isn’t a good idea, he finds himself becoming... curious.
“You want me to come with you… to sneak out, to the church, in the middle of the night?”
“Bingo,” he smiles, lifting his hand to the silver horseshoe piercing on his septum, adjusting it so that both small metal balls are facing downward. Will can’t help but look at the size of his fingers compared to the piercing, and it makes his cheeks flush.
Will finds himself nodding his head before he’s able to properly think this through. “Okay,” He lets out a small, shaky breath as he nervously wipes his hands on the side of his pants. “Okay, I’ll come.”
☾𖤓
As Will keeps tossing and turning, he realizes that no matter how much he wishes for time to pass quicker, it won’t. In fact, he can’t help but think that time is moving even more slowly the longer he stares at the alarm clock.
The green numbers on his bedside clock flash three minutes past midnight. Will already knows that it would take him about fifteen minutes to walk to the church (twelve, if he forces himself to keep a quick pace). He knows himself well enough to know that he needs to give himself time to change out of his pyjamas, brush his teeth, and sneak out of his house without anyone noticing. He begins to work backwards — if he wants to be there for thirty minutes after midnight, as Mike asked him to, he knows he needs to, at the very least, get out of his bed to get dressed.
Carefully peeling the blanket from his skin, he walks to his closet on his tiptoes. He knows that both his older brother and mother are very light sleepers and that the slightest sound would wake them. The last thing he needs is for one of them to ask where he’s going this late at night, especially his mother.
He doesn’t risk turning on the light on his bedside table, relying instead on the faint green light from his alarm clock and the moon peering through the window to choose an outfit. What is he even supposed to wear to meet Mike at a church? Is he supposed to dress casually? Or like he normally does – with jeans and a sweater? He settles on the latter, seeking the familiarity of what he normally wears. He shouldn’t have to dress differently, Will thinks. They’re just… hanging out. Nothing more, nothing less. He shouldn’t be overthinking. Friends do this all the time, don’t they? Friends dress casually whenever they meet up.
Friends.
How is he supposed to get out of his house without anyone noticing? He considers leaving from the window, but he doesn’t trust himself not to accidentally lock himself out of the house, with no way to get back into his room afterwards, before anyone wakes up. He’s never done anything like this — not usually leaving the house past dark, unless Robin comes to pick him up for a movie. This is so… unlike him, but it’s so exciting at the same time.
The walk to the church doesn’t take Will long at all (he did, in fact, keep a quick pace). The small excitement of seeing Mike settles in his stomach, proving to be enough motivation to walk quickly through the streets of Hawkins. The roads are quiet, the lights in all the surrounding houses are off, and there are barely any cars on the road – and another wave of exhilaration rushes through Will’s body. He’s really doing it. He’s really going to meet Mike in the middle of the night.
As he rounds the corner, he notices Mike right away – leaning against the very same brick wall they often meet at. He pushes down a smile as he begins walking toward him.
“You actually showed up,” Mike states, licking his lips and immediately throwing his cigarette on the ground beneath him, putting it out with his shoe. “I’m surprised, Will.”
“You weren’t done with your cigarette,” Will points out, focusing on the small (now crushed) white cylinder on the ground beneath him rather than on the boy standing in front of him. He ignores Mike’s comment, despite goosebumps spreading across his skin at the sound of his voice. “Why’d you put it out?”
“Because you told me you don’t like the smell,” Mike shrugs, as if the answer is obvious, pushing himself off the wall. “Why would I smoke around you if you don’t like it?”
Will tries his best not to let Mike’s answer make his face flush, but it’s no use. He actually cares about that? He isn’t… making fun of him for it? He tries to focus on the outfit Mike is wearing, noticing that it’s different from what he wears to church – a black hoodie that swallows his thin, tall frame, the hood pulled over his long, messy, curly hair, with only a couple of strands falling free to frame his face, and black jeans that are baggier than Will ever tries to wear on his own. He looks… different, and he forces himself to tear his gaze away from Mike before he’s accused of staring.
“Oh,” Will clears his throat, looking down at the outfit he worried about wearing. He feels stupidly overdressed, stupidly formal in comparison – the sweater he saved for fancy occasions (it used to belong to Jonathan), and jeans that are probably a little too tight, but he likes how the fabric hugs his legs. It makes him feel secure. Does Mike think he doesn’t know how to dress? Does Mike think the sweater he chose is… ugly? “You remembered.”
“You sound surprised,” Mike crosses his arms and lifts his eyebrows slightly. “I listen when you talk, you know.”
“I never said you didn’t,” Will replies, definitely blushing right now – thankful that it’s past midnight and the moon isn’t bright enough for Mike to know how hot his face feels. “But, um, thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Do you trust me?” Mike questions, suddenly.
Will blinks. “What?”
“It’s a simple yes or no question, really.”
“You’re asking if I… trust you?” Will repeats. ”After asking me to meet you here in the middle of the night?”
“Yeah,” Mike repeats, waiting for an answer.
“You are aware of how suspicious that sounds, right?” Will lets out a nervous laugh. “You… you aren’t going to like, murder me or something?” Though he doesn’t believe Mike is the type to kill anyone, Will feels a bit uneasy.
What if this is all part of a plan? What if he’s just luring him out here because he knows what Will is capable of? What he… likes? It wouldn’t be surprising, Will thinks. He knows how much people hate anyone who isn’t… straight, and he’s seen enough stories on the news channels to understand how people choose to express their anger and disgust towards him.
“Why would I want to murder you?” Mike asks, his eyebrows raising. “You’re my friend, Will. I like you.”
“Your friend?” Will repeats, the worry that Mike might have ulterior motives suddenly washing away, replaced by the fact that Mike just told him he… likes him. As a friend, he reminds himself. That’s what Mike means. Nothing more, not at all. “Yeah, um, I like you too? As, um, a friend, of course.”
“Obviously,” Mike crosses his arms, “I don’t just invite… anyone here, you know. You have to be like, a close friend.”
“A close friend, yeah.” Will nods, playing with the sleeve of his sweater. Why can’t Will just… act normal whenever he’s around Mike? Why does he always feel so… nervous?
“So?” Mike asks, “Do you trust me? Or do you still think I’ll somehow kill you and dump your body in the back of the church?”
Will winces, “I don’t think you would dump my body—”
“I know,” Mike smiles, eyes lingering on Will’s face. “I’m just teasing you, Will.”
“I mean,” Will bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess I trust you?”
“You guess?”
“I mean, yeah, I do—”
“That’s good enough for me,” Mike smiles, “Follow me.” Mike shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, then walks around the church and stops in front of the door. Will hesitantly follows, trailing behind. Mike quickly turns his head, as though to make sure he’s still behind him. “I want to show you something.”
Will clears his throat as they begin walking up the cement stairs, leading to the front door of the building. His stomach flips. “What are you doing?”
Mike doesn’t look back. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“You want to go… inside?” Will’s voice falters slightly, and he gives Mike a quick look. It’s dark, but not so dark that Will can’t see him. As he stands beside the taller boy, Will’s eyes fall to Mike’s hands and the silver rings adorning them as Mike fumbles with the ring of keys he’s holding. “I thought you just wanted to hang out at the church. Not… not inside.”
Will swallows, biting the inside of his cheek to calm the swarm of nerves in his stomach. He can’t believe he’s really here, sneaking into the church in the middle of the night with Mike.
Isn’t it a crime to sneak into a church after hours? Is this considered breaking in if Mike has the keys? What if someone sees them? Will they call the police? Will he go to jail? Will he need Jonathan to bail him out?
The thought of his older brother and mother being forced to come up with money he knows they don’t have makes him sick to his stomach. Maybe this is a bad idea – maybe he should just go home, tell Mike that he’s sorry, that it’s best he goes home. Maybe he should leave.
“Yeah,” Mike nods, tucking a loose strand of his long hair behind his ear, flipping through the ring of keys with one finger, before shoving them back into his pocket, letting out a loud sigh. Will tenses, the sound of the metal keys clinking against each other echoes in the quiet, and he begins to nervously play with his fingers. Can anyone hear them? “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Will’s voice shakes more than he would like to admit, wondering if Mike regrets telling him to meet him here. He doesn’t do things like this. “Is um, everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just brought the wrong set of keys with me.” Mike sighs before turning toward Will. The dim light of the moon illuminates his sharp features, making them look delicate. The silver of his eyebrow piercing glows, and Will forces himself to look down at the cement beneath him to (once again) stop himself from staring. “I knew I should’ve grabbed the other ones on the counter. Fuck.”
“Should we go home, then?” Will adds, using that as an opportunity to give himself an out. “Maybe that’s a sign that we should leave—”
“Will, it’s okay.” Mike lightly nudges him, voice delicate. Will wonders if his anxiety is as obvious as it feels. Mike sends him a small smile, as though telling him that he isn’t judging him, and that everything will be okay. “I know another way to get in. It’ll be fine. We’ll just go in through the back window.”
Will’s eyes widen. Back window?
He’s going to Hell, isn’t he? What else would happen when someone breaks into a church? This must be what they call a cardinal sin, isn’t it? Thou shalt not break into a church? He can picture it now – on his day of judgement, God will sentence him to an eternity of damnation because he’s breaking into a holy place, sneaking in through the back window. Is there even a way to repent of this? Can he pray for forgiveness? How is he supposed to ask God for forgiveness for breaking into a… church?
Beginning to feel lightheaded, Will shakes his head. “The window? Mike, I don’t think this is a good idea—”
“It’s no big deal. I always leave one back window slightly open for this reason,” Mike replies, as if this is something that isn’t illegal. “This happens to me at least once a week, but my parents still refuse to give me my own set of keys.”
“How often do you, um, sneak into this place?” Will swallows, not sure he wants to know the answer to the question. Does this make him an accessory to a crime? Does this make him as guilty as Mike? Can he get time in jail for this?
“Like, three times a week, maybe?” Mike shrugs. “Too often, probably. Especially in the summer.”
“Right,” Will tries to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. Subconsciously, he lifts one of his hands, grabbing at the material of the sweater over his heart and gripping it slightly. Calm down, he tells himself. “Makes sense. Makes total sense.”
He doesn’t want to seem like a buzzkill or to look like he can’t handle this – but Will doesn’t normally do this, ever. The riskiest thing he’s done is go out to the movies with Robin and then sneak into a second movie without paying for another ticket. Will didn’t even enjoy it – too stressed, worried the movie theatre employees would come in and kick them out. Despite Robin’s attempts to drag him back, he still refuses to go back to that movie theatre. What if they have a picture of him in the breakroom? What if he returns and the police are waiting for him? He would rather never see a movie again.
“I can feel the anxiety radiating off you, Will,” Mike sighs, though his voice is far from judgmental. Will shifts his weight to his opposite leg, forcing himself to take a deep breath to avoid the spiral from overtaking him. “I promise you, I wouldn’t put you in a situation that would get you in trouble. Plus, my dad literally owns this place. Technically, this isn’t even sneaking in. I’m allowed to be here.”
“I’m not,” Will mumbles, trying to mask the anxiety that’s creating a pit the size of the solar system at the base of his stomach. He knows his attempts to ease the stress are futile; he’s never been good at hiding his feelings.
“You are,” Mike replies, casually. “And that’s okay, Will. I’m here, and I won’t let you get into any trouble.”
Will lets out a small, dejected sigh. He tries to ignore the fact that Mike just told him that he’s here for him, “And you’re telling me that there’s no way we could go in through the front door, right?”
A smile spreads on Mike’s face, and Will’s gaze drifts to his lips. “Nope.”
“Fine.” Fighting every single rational part of himself that is telling him this is a bad idea, he forces himself to push it down. “But if something, anything happens, you will take complete blame.”
Mike smiles widely, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
☾𖤓
This is Will’s first time in a church in the middle of the night, and he feels an odd mixture of guilt and curiosity.
The church is admittedly beautiful, the only light a dim glow filtering through the stained-glass windows. The moonlight bleeds through the coloured windows, washing the platform in soft hues of blue, red, green and yellow. For a second, he almost forgets that even if he thinks the architecture is beautiful, he isn’t truly welcome in this building. That if the pastor, Mike’s father, really knew him, he wouldn’t be allowed here. He wouldn’t be worthy of prayer; he wouldn’t be worthy of Mike’s presence.
Both boys sit in the first row of pews, close enough to the platform that Will thinks his fingers would brush the wood if he reached out. Mike is right next to him, a couple of inches away.
Another weird feeling spreads through the base of Will’s stomach. He’s never been this close to the platform – his mother usually makes them sit in the last row. The first row of pews is usually reserved for guests of honour and the Pastor’s family, and the same words that he’s been trying to ignore keep repeating in his mind: Will, you know better than coming here. You’re not supposed to be here. People like you are not supposed to be here.
“So,” Mike asks, speaking first. Will can see him from the corner of his eye, see him licking his lips. “How does it feel?” His legs spread slightly so their knees brush. Will feels the touch all over his body, the heat travelling from the source to his stomach. Their skin isn’t even touching, the fabric of their pants keeping them apart, yet Will feels the electricity ruminating between them anyway.
“How does, um, what feel?” Will repeats, his throat dry. Does he know? Will thinks. Does he know that he doesn’t belong here? He can’t make eye contact, not right now, and his eyes focus on the colours reflected on the wood of the platform.
“Being here.” Mike shrugs, leaning back against the wooden backrest. He lifts his arm, placing it behind Will and resting it on the bench. Though not touching him, Will can feel it. “At night. Are you still feeling a little anxious?”
“I mean, I guess?” Will swallows, his leg beginning to shake, as if purposely trying to discredit everything coming out of his mouth. Why can’t he just… calm down? Why is everything making him so… anxious? He wishes he could be as nonchalant as Mike – as calm – but he can’t shake the feeling that this is going to end well for him. “It’s super… pretty in here and everything. I’m just not used to doing … this kind of stuff, you know?”
“Wait.” A small smile spreads across Mike’s face, eyebrows raising. He lets out a small gasp, placing both of his hands over his chest. “Will, you’re telling me you’ve never snuck through a back window into a church in the middle of the night? I never would’ve guessed.”
“Mike,” Will lightly shakes his head softly, though he can’t help but smile. Is he… teasing him? He almost has half a mind to reach over and lightly push his hand against his chest, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “You’re lucky I’m even here right now. This goes against like… everything I would normally do.”
“I am lucky,” Mike says, his eyes drifting down to Will’s lips. Will thinks he must be seeing things. There’s no way Mike is looking at his lips in the middle of a church. He’s seeing things, he thinks. He’s definitely seeing things. “Oh, before I forget. I have something for you.” Mike reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small, black notebook. For a split second, Will wonders if he’s about to be handed a Bible, but he’s proven wrong when Mike awkwardly opens the notebook, fanning through it to reveal blank pages. “This isn’t anything, um, crazy? I guess? But I saw this when I was forced to go to the mall with my mom at some random department store. I thought that, since you mentioned you like to draw, this notebook would be small enough to sneak into church, like, in the pocket of your jeans or your sweater, or something. Maybe you can… draw instead of being bored while my dad speaks. To um, keep yourself awake.”
“Mike, this is…” Will mumbles, taking the notebook from his grip, and his hands subconsciously feel the soft, suede material of the cover. He doesn’t know what to say, not really – because what is he supposed to say to Mike, who remembers that Will likes to draw after only mentioning it once, and goes out of his way to get him a… notebook? Will doesn’t even know what to say, other than, “Thank you.”
“I mean, it’s not one of those… super fancy notebooks or anything, but I think it would probably do the job, wouldn’t it? I don’t really know how this stuff works, if I’m being honest.” Mike cringes. “Is there a certain kind of paper that’s best? My little sister draws sometimes, but my dad doesn’t want to spend money on anything to do with that, so she just uses like… just some paper from the printer, which, by the way, I tried to explain to my parents that that arguably costs more—”
“Mike,” Will shakes his head, a wave of embarrassment washing over him at the fact that he’s tearing up, “No, Mike, this… this is perfect. I’ll um, use it. I promise.”
“Good,” Mike smiles, and now he’s the one struggling to maintain eye contact with Will. Is he… blushing? Will doesn’t know if his eyes are deceiving him, whether the red tint on his cheeks is just a figment of his imagination. Why would he be blushing? He reminds himself. You’re his friend, Will. Don’t be ridiculous. “I, um, also forgot to buy you a pencil, or something, so… so hopefully you have one of those at home.”
“Yes, Mike, I have pencils at home.” A small laugh echoes through Will’s throat at the comment, and his laughter consequently echoes throughout the empty hall. “Thank you, Mike. This… this is really nice of you.”
“It’s nothing,” Mike smiles softly, swallowing. He pauses for a second, eyebrows creasing together the slightest bit. “I also wanted to ask you something.” Will’s eyes drift upward. “I’m having, um, a party? No, not really a party, you don’t even like parties.” Mike cringes slightly at the words coming from his mouth. “More like a… hangout, I guess? It’s not really anything crazy, but since I have the keys to this place, my friends and I sometimes use it to get away for a while at night. It’s a nice place to just… chill.”
Will isn’t sure he’s understanding – is Mike… asking him to join? “Oh?”
“If you don’t want to come, that’s totally fine, too. There’s no, like, pressure or anything.” Mike looks at Will, biting down on his lip anxiously. Will wonders if he’s imagining the entire thing. “I was, um, just wondering if you’d want to come and meet my friends? You know, since we’re friends now, it would be cool if you guys all got along, too. If you want to, of course.”
Friends.
“It does sound fun,” Will assures him, trying his best not to let the word friend pierce a hole directly through his heart. “Yeah, um, I would love to come.”
“Great,” Mike smiles, turning his head away from Will. “I was hoping you’d say yes.”
“Really?”
Mike gently nudges Will’s shoulder. “Yeah, really.”
☾𖤓
Will knows this is a bad idea.
In fact, he should’ve seen the imminent regret lurking around the corner the moment Mike told him that to get inside the church, he’s going to have to sneak through the back window. Doing it once, with Mike by his side, is scary enough. Doing it alone makes it feel suspiciously like a crime he’s afraid of committing. What if he gets caught? What if he gets thrown into jail without bail, accused of breaking and entering? Not only will he be doomed to a life behind bars on Earth, but to eternal damnation, too.
Who breaks into a church, of all places?
The only thing that tempts him more than his fear of getting into legal trouble is the thought of Mike waiting for him in the basement. Mike asked him to come, so why should Will be scared of a little bit of breaking and entering? Friends hang out all the time, don’t they? Mike’s friends likely had to sneak in through the window, too — so why is it only difficult for him to do so?
Before giving himself the opportunity to back out, he grips the old, yellow-tinted window, remembering how Mike told him that ‘it’s super important to push the glass a bit toward the left, it’ll unlock the latch and open smoothly every time’ – and just like Mike said it would, it does.
A small wave of relief washes over him at the simplicity. It’s okay, everything is going to be okay. He lifts his leg, grateful that the window is low enough to the ground that he doesn’t need to jump through.
He follows Mike’s directions perfectly: walk down the hallway to the left, turn right, open the door, and then go down the stairs. It’s hard for him to forget — Will made it a point to memorize his directions so he wouldn’t need to worry.
As he expects, he regrets his decision to come the very second he sets foot on the basement floor of the church, watching as everyone is already huddled together, familiar in each other's presence. A couple of them are sprawled out on the couch, in the middle of an animated conversation with one hand holding a cigarette, while the others are sitting on the floor, leaning against the coffee table, holding (and then drinking) red solo cups.
Will’s first reaction is to grimace at the smoke clouding the basement, holding back a cough. Why are they smoking in the church? The smell hits like a freight train heading directly for him, and Will, again, tries his best not to physically recoil as it hits his nose. It dawns on him rather quickly that he doesn’t belong here.
Will awkwardly stands at the bottom of the stairs, scratching the back of his neck. He feels out of place, maybe because everyone is in a mix of sweatpants and hoodies, eyebrows furrowing. Are those pyjamas? He looks down at the oversized flannel he borrowed from Jonathan and the dark blue jeans he’s wearing, and a wave of self-consciousness washes over him. How come Mike didn’t tell him this would be so… casual? Does he look as ridiculous as he feels? Is everyone going to make fun of him for the way he dresses?
“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the other side of the dingy room, and immediately, like he always does, Mike puts out the butt of his cigarette onto the ashtray in the middle of the table. Lightly jogging over to where Will is standing, he lets out a small smile. “You came.”
“Yeah, um, I did.” Will replies, trying his best not to focus on Mike and what he’s wearing: a matching grey hoodie and sweatpants. He looks… good, Will can’t help but think. There’s no use denying the power of grey sweatpants, especially now that Mike is the one wearing them. He pushes the thought immediately from his mind — is he insane? In what world is it okay for him to look at Mike and think he looks… good? Friends don’t do that, especially not to other boys. Awkwardly shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he sends Mike a small smile, hoping he can’t read his mind. “Thank you for um, inviting me.”
“Of course,” Mike pulls Will into a hug, and the familiar scent of a mixture of coconut and the faint remnant of the cigarette he just put out flows through his senses. Will hugs him back, though tentatively. Will follows Mike to where everyone is sitting, and he’s unable to shake the feeling of nervousness that finds a home in his stomach.
“You must be Will,” a red-haired girl smiles, lifting the cigarette back to her lips. “I’m Max.”
“Hi,” Will replies, smiling softly in return. She looks vaguely familiar, as if she might also go to this church, but he can’t quite place where he knows her from. Maybe it’s because he spends most of the service looking for Mike.
“You came just in time,” she smiles, motioning for Will to sit beside her on the couch. She seems nice, he thinks. “We’re about to start a new round.”
“A new round of what?” Will hesitates, sitting down on the couch beside her. He sends a quick glance in Mike’s direction, who nods quickly as if to say, ‘go ahead,’ and the reassurance instantly softens Will’s shoulders, comfort washing over his body.
“Truth or dare,” a boy says from a couple of feet away, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch’s armrest, directly in front of Max. Will looks at him, slightly puzzled. The boy lifts his eyebrows. “What? Have you never played this before?”
“Lucas, don’t be an asshole,” Mike calls, settling onto the floor directly across from Will. The only thing separating them is a small wooden coffee table with half-full ashtrays. Mike glances at Will, a small apologetic look on his face. Will wishes he could sit next to him. “Obviously, he knows how to play truth or dare. Everyone does.”
“The rules are pretty self-explanatory,” a curly-haired boy points out, his voice muffled by the unlit cigarette between his lips. He brings a lighter to the tip and presses down on the valve, revealing a small orange flame. “I would be surprised if Will doesn’t understand it.”
“Literally,” Mike mumbles, shaking his head. “He’s not dumb.”
Will feels his face heat up when Mike defends him. Despite it being over something as trivial as a game of truth or dare, he can’t help but send a small smile in Mike’s direction.
Rolling his eyes, Lucas sighs. “I never said he’s dumb.”
“Good,” Mike tucks a strand of his long hair behind his ear, mumbling to himself. Will’s eyes trail to the various silver hoops and studs adorning the length of his ear, the light catching some of them. Will can’t help but think he’s never seen piercings look that… good on anyone before. “‘Cause he’s not.”
“Guys,” Max clears her throat, causing all four boys to look in her direction. “Can we just continue this shit? I want to get another drink, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity to witness Wheeler doing something stupid.”
Mike sends a glare in Max’s direction, a small huff leaving his lips. “Since when do I do anything stupid, like, ever?”
It doesn’t take Max long to reply, “Do you want the short list? Or the long one? Because I don’t think we have enough time for the long list.”
“Long list—”
“Mike, it’s your turn, man. Truth or dare?” Lucas asks, lifting the plastic red Solo cup to his lips. Will’s eyes meet Mike’s across the circle. Truth is the easiest, safest option. It’s what he always chooses, anyway. If they give Will a turn, he knows without a doubt that he would choose truth every single time. Who would willingly choose dare?
Mike, on the other hand, doesn’t back down, because he never does. “Dare.”
The group echoes in a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’, some chugging more of their drink in anticipation or taking another drag of their cigarettes. Will bites the inside of his cheek, not hard enough to draw blood this time, but enough to distract himself from the fact that Mike places both his hands behind his back, stretching it enough that the grey sweater lifts and shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. Will immediately looks away, worried that someone might catch him looking, or, in his humble opinion and a million times worse, that Mike might notice.
Lucas leans back. “Tell us the craziest place you’ve ever had sex.”
“How is that supposed to be a dare?” Mike shoots back, shaking his head. Will’s hands drop to his fingers, anxiously picking at the skin around his fingernails until it turns red. “Sounds more like a truth to me.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, normally you’re supposed to say ‘I dare you to’…” Mike continues, letting a sigh escape his lips.
“Fine,” Lucas huffs, crossing his arms and glancing back at Mike. “You’re so annoying, Mike. I dare you to tell us the craziest place you’ve ever had sex. There. Is that better?”
“And why would I tell you guys that?” Mike scoffs, bringing his own red cup to his lips and wincing as the alcohol barrels down his throat. “Did you forget we’re in the basement of a church? This is the house of the Lord, Lucas. Watch your mouth.”
“Don’t give us that bullshit, Mike.” Dustin groans, turning his head to blow the smoke from his mouth. “Like you suddenly care about anything related to this place.”
“The whole point of playing this game is to get people to say or do shit they wouldn’t normally tell anyone,” Lucas points out. “Besides, you’ve been sneaking around lately, and I, for one, want to know why.”
“Sneaking around?” A small laugh escapes from Mike’s lips, and Will feels the tips of his ears blush red. Does Lucas know that he and Mike have been spending more time together lately? Is he going to judge them for always hanging out alone? Will’s mind begins to race faster than he can handle, trying his best not to let his fears take over and ruin the night. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Will thinks. They’re just hanging out, as friends—nothing more. Isn’t it normal to spend a lot of time together? He always spends time with Robin, and no one ever accuses either of them of… sneaking around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
“Come on,” Lucas sighs, “You’ve been going out at night, and it’s not with us. You must be seeing someone, right? Is that why you don’t spend time with us anymore?”
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Mike denies, shaking his head. He doesn’t look at Will as the words leave his mouth, and Will is grateful. What if… what if Mike’s friends think he’s seeing him? Will they hate him? Will they hate Mike? “You’re asking too many questions, by the way. You only get one. Didn’t you ask Will if he knows how to play? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be reminded.”
“You’re the one who isn’t answering the original question I asked you.” Lucas retorts. “It sounds to me that you’re just avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Then answer the question, Mike. Where is the craziest place you’ve ever had sex?”
“Fine,” Mike tilts his head back, groaning. “If you guys are really that interested in my sex life,” he sends a quick glance in Will’s direction, almost hesitantly, then looks away. The eye contact lasts for less than two seconds, but Will can’t help but be completely mesmerized. “I’ve fucked someone in my parents’ bed before.”
A chorus of gasps fills the room, and Will is trying his absolute best not to let his face turn as red as it feels, thinking about it. Mike fucked someone in his parents’… room? On their… bed? On the pastor’s bed? As in, the very bed Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler share every single night?
“That’s fucking gross, dude.” Max groans, covering his ears. “On your parents’ bed? Do you have like, no shame at all?”
“Hardly.” Mike smiles, earning another groan from the red-haired girl. “Isn’t that what makes it fun?”
Dustin moves his body forward, a mix of curiosity and disgust on his face. “Did you, at the very least, wash their sheets?”
“No,” Mike lifts his hand to his eyebrow, playing with the small silver balls of his piercing. “Why would I? They both slept in my sweet, sweet—”
Lucas throws a pillow at Mike, who is too busy laughing, his head tilting backward. “You’re disgusting, man!”
Will, still sitting in his spot on the couch, doesn’t say anything because he can’t.
He refuses to comment on anything related to Mike’s sex life because he’s not supposed to care about that kind of thing. The same overwhelming feeling he finds himself grappling with way too often — why can’t things be that easy for him? He wishes he could casually talk about his experiences without fearing people will hate him the moment they find out he isn’t talking about a girl at all.
“Wait, guys, let’s think about it for a second. We should probably give Mike some credit,” Lucas sighs, a small smirk spreading across his face. “The girl he fucked must be a freak, too. Fucking on a pastor’s bed… That’s like… sacrilegious.”
Will feels an unfamiliar pool of anxiety tug at the base of his stomach.
Another groan escapes from Mike’s lips as he reaches and adjusts his septum piercing. “He didn’t even know it was my parents’ bed. We were drunk as fuck, Lucas. For all I know, he doesn’t even know my dad’s the pastor.”
Will thinks he might explode on the spot. Did Mike just say… he? As in, a… boy? Mike Wheeler, the pastor’s son, slept with a boy? Will bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste the iron from the blood he’s drawn. There’s no way he heard that properly — there’s no way Mike really said that. It must be a misunderstanding, Will thinks. Mike definitely said she.
There has to be a logical and normal way to explain this. There’s no way Will is going to ask Mike to repeat himself or question whether he said ‘he’ or ‘she’ — but is that even an appropriate question? Nobody in the basement of the church seems surprised that Mike said he slept with a… boy? He must have heard him wrong, Will thinks.
“Who didn’t have a turn yet?” Max asks, pulling Will out of the spiral he’s falling into.
Don’t think about it, he tells himself. You definitely heard wrong. Why would he sleep with a boy? That’s... that’s a sin. It’s sinful, and if Mike knew what Will is really thinking, how he feels, he would kick him out of the basement, and eventually out of the church. Will has enough self-preservation to never tell anyone the thoughts that plague his subconscious.
“Will,” Mike lifts his chin. “Do you want to try?”
“I mean,” Will pauses, avoiding eye contact. “I guess?”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Mike replies immediately, causing Max to glance in his direction, head shaking.
“Everybody has to do at least one round,” Max sighs, turning toward Will. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you an easy one first.”
“Okay,” Will brings his knees up to his chest on the couch.
If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want to play this game. But he’s never met these people before, and what if they can see right through him? What if they’re waiting for Will to say something, do something wrong to justify their anger toward him? What if they know what he is, and if he says he doesn’t want to play, they’re going to tell Mike?
“So, Will, truth or dare?”
“Um,” Will clears his throat, quickly scans the room with his eyes, turning towards everyone, who wait for his answer. “Truth? I guess?”
“Boring,” Dustin groans, though his tone is light. “Lucas, do you have any ideas on what to ask? Mike? Max?”
“Oh, I know,” Lucas smiled mischievously. “Where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”
“Are you seriously reusing the same question you asked me, as a dare, for a truth? You can’t do that.” Mike protests, crossing his arms. “Jesus, you guys fucking suck at this game.”
Will feels his face turn bright red. He opens his mouth, then closes it immediately. What the hell is he supposed to say to that, anyway?
He’s only ever kissed someone once, and it was a boy from summer camp. How is he supposed to admit that out loud? They were young, experimenting, and Will still, after all these years, feels the guilt in the layers of his skin because he gave in to his deepest desires, to his sin. He doesn’t even think of that as a real kiss — it was all lips, no tongue, and it didn’t last more than ten seconds before the boy told Will that it was disgusting, that they were disgusting.
The boy never spoke to him again — he left the summer camp shortly after, and Will knows it was because of him. Isn’t that embarrassing enough? Sure, he could lie. He could tell them that he’s had sex before, multiple times, and that it was amazing — but then he would also be lying to Mike. Something about that makes Will feel even worse.
“I, um…” If his stumbling over his words doesn’t make his lack of experience obvious enough, he figures his red face would give it away. Maybe if he says it casually, as if it doesn’t matter, they won’t think it’s a big deal. “Haven’t.”
“Haven’t what…?” Dustin repeats, his voice slowing. His eyes widen slightly as the words escape his mouth, as if connecting the dots immediately once they settle in the air between them.
“Holy shit,” Max mumbles, a smile spreading on her face. “You’re a… virgin?”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Will mumbles, feeling self-conscious. His eyes lift, nervously trailing over the group and eventually landing on Mike, who isn’t saying a word — just staring at him. He’s staring at him so intently that for a second, Will wonders if he’s mad at him. “A lot of people are virgins, guys.”
“Is it like… a saving yourself for marriage kind of thing?” Lucas asks, interjecting. “Because like, if that’s what it is, you do you. Nobody here will judge you, promise.”
“No,” Will shakes his head, face flushing. Why is he even answering them? None of this is their business; the embarrassment makes Will wince. “I’m not, um… I’m not saving myself for marriage—”
“If you’re not saving yourself for marriage, how are you a virgin?” Max asks, more curious than judging. It still makes his head hurt.
Will gives Mike another glance. He still isn’t speaking, though his eyes stay fixed on Will, his jaw clenched. He must have said something wrong, didn’t he?
Will doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. His leg, hanging from the couch, begins to bounce against the carpet. What is he supposed to say, anyway? That he’s a virgin because he doesn’t like girls? Because he’d rather spend eternity in Hell than admit out loud the sin he’s living? How will God ever forgive him?
“I mean….” Will manages to squeak out, unsure of where to even begin. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. “I answered the question, didn’t I? Isn’t it, um, someone else’s turn, now?”
“Come on,” Max continues to pry, and Will refuses to send another look in Mike’s direction. Why do they care so much whether or not he’s had sex before? “This is a safe space, Will. I mean, you’ve at least kissed someone before, right?”
“Yeah, I mean, once.” Will cringes as the words leave his mouth. Why would he tell them that? He needs to stop talking. He should stop talking.
“I mean, dude, look at you,” Lucas mumbles. “I would’ve assumed you… I don’t know, are experienced at the very least.”
“Totally,” Dustin adds, nodding his head.
“Both of you, stop hitting on him. You’re gross.” Mike’s voice is tight, like this conversation is annoying him. Will’s heart tries not to drop at the implication that Lucas or Dustin hitting on him would be gross. Will ultimately knows why — because they’re boys. Boys aren’t supposed to like other boys. Will bites the inside of his cheek again. Mike probably hates him now, doesn’t he? “Can we just drop it, already?”
“I can totally see you being, like, a real ladies’ man, probably.” Max adds, lightly nudging Will’s shoulder. Will doesn’t know what else to do other than awkwardly laugh along. That’s what they think? That he’s a… ladies’ man? “You’ve got a cute face.”
“You guys are so annoying,” Mike groans, tilting his head back. “I hope you know that all of you are making a shit first impression.”
“I actually think we are making a great first impression.” Dustin smiles. He moves the cigarette in his hand toward Will. “Do you want some?”
“Oh,” Will shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
“You don’t smoke?” Dustin questions, “He’s celibate, and doesn’t smoke cigarettes. Is this guy a saint or something?” He mumbles under his breath. Will cringes at the words coming from Dustin’s mouth, knowing that he’s the furthest thing from being a saint, but he knows better than to comment on it.
“Not everyone likes to smoke, asshole.” Mike snaps, sending an apologetic look in Will’s direction. Will can only smile in response, feeling like anything more he says will only worsen the embarrassment that’s creeping up the back of his neck.
Is it too late for him to go home? Maybe he should tell them he needs to leave and walk home before he makes everything a lot worse for himself.
Dustin pulls the cigarette from his mouth, turning his head as he blows the smoke and coughs slightly. “I never said he has to like anything, smartass—”
“Guys,” Max groans, tilting her head onto the back of the couch, head between the crook of the cushions. “If I wanted to listen to you guys argue, I would’ve made sure I ate first. Now I’m annoyed and hungry.”
“Don’t you have snacks here, Mike?” Lucas asks, turning his head. “Like, you know, the ones your parents keep around for youth group or something?”
“Won’t they notice if those are gone?” Dustin questions. “I’m sure Mike’s mom keeps track of those things.”
“Do you think his father would even notice?” Lucas replies, eyebrows raising. Looking at Mike, he shrugs his shoulders. “Can you check to see if you have any fruit gushers left? Those are Max’s favourites.” Will notices a smile spread across her face, and Will forces himself to look away. He will never have that, will he?
Mike tilts his head, as though he’s thinking about it. “Even if I do have gushers, I don’t know if Max deserves them.”
“Asshole,” Max mumbles, earning a smile on Mike’s face, like he enjoys it when they bicker. “Get me gushers please.”
Mike sighs, overexaggerating. “Why don’t you get them yourself? You know where the closet is.”
“Dude,” Lucas rolls his eyes. “How am I supposed to know where the snacks are? This is your church, not mine.”
“Fine,” Mike sighs as he stands up and runs a hand through his curly hair. “Hey, Will.” Will looks up, grateful for a distraction. “Do you mind helping me grab some snacks?”
“Oh, um, yeah. Sure.” Will stands up from the couch, doing his best not to think about the fact that Mike probably doesn’t need help carrying a couple of packs of fruit gushers, but that’s much easier said than done.
Max looks at Mike, eyebrows creasing. “Wheeler, he doesn’t need to follow you everywhere.”
“You think I’m going to leave him here with you guys alone?” Mike replies smoothly. “For what? So you can question his sex life again?”
“We were literally playing truth or dare, man.” Dustin groans. “That’s the point of the game.”
“Don’t care,” Mike mutters, giving another look in Will’s direction. “Come with me.” He opens the door that leads into a hallway, away from the group of friends. Will follows him without hesitation.
The hallway is short, with Will unable to take his eyes off Mike as they walk into another room. It’s a small kitchen — one without a stove, but with a fridge and a couple of shelves full of non-perishable snacks.
His eyes scan the colourful labels, eyes widening. He’s never seen a place with this many snacks before, unless it’s a grocery store. He’s lucky if his mother brings back some crackers — and she only does when they’re on sale. Some cookies, if they’re near the expiry date. Here… here, there’s everything.
“I think there are fruit gushers somewhere,” Mike mumbles. Will watches as he bends down to the bottom of the shelf, digging through one of the boxes. “Oh, here. We have three packs left.” He lifts up the yellow plastic packaging and places the three individual packs on the counter. “I think we might have some, um, more in the storage closet.”
Will lifts his eyebrows. “Storage closet?”
“Yeah, the storage closet.” Mike motions to the shut door on the other end of the room. “Sometimes, my mom puts the extra, unopened boxes in there.”
“Shouldn’t three packs be enough?”
Mike licks his lips. “We’re… four people, Will.”
“Right,” Will nods, feeling stupid for even saying something like that out loud. Mike lets out a small laugh before walking toward the closet. Will stays where he is. “Four, not um, three.”
Mike turns around, hand on the handle. “Can you come? Some of these boxes are heavy. I might need your help.” Will doesn’t question it, walking toward Mike easily.
The storage closet is full, and Will can’t help but let out a small, “Whoa,” his eyes scanning every single unopened box. Are they even going to be able to get through all of this food before it expires? How often does the youth group meet that they need all of these snacks?
“I know, right?” Mike replies, as if reading his mind. His back is turned to Will, lifting small boxes to reach the snacks in the row behind. “Even though we have all these snacks, my mom still gets pissed when I try to grab some.”
Will swallows. “If she doesn’t want you taking any, why are we here?”
“She won’t notice if a couple of packs of fruit gushers are missing,” he shrugs. “But, um, that’s not the only reason I wanted to come here.”
Will’s throat becomes dry. “What do you mean?”
“Can I ask you something?” Mike asks, licking his lips, not bothering to answer Will’s own question.
Will is trying his best to focus on the boy in front of him — but the space in the storage closet only allows them enough distance for Will to take one step back. Which, he quickly learns, is not nearly enough space for Will to feel like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest.
“Why… why are we still in the storage closet?” Will’s voice is a little higher-pitched than he wants it to be, but he tries his best to brush it off. “Did you, um, find the fruit gushers yet?”
“I don’t care about the snacks right now,” Mike shakes his head, taking a deep breath. Some of Mike’s curls cover his eyes, and he lifts his hand, tucking some strands behind his ear. Will tries his best not to reach out and fix Mike’s hair himself. He can’t. Boys can’t do that.
Mike lifts his hand, reaching over him, causing Will to stiffen. With his eyes immediately dropping to the floor, all he can hear is the door of the closet shutting behind them. Why did he close the door? What is he doing?
“Is it true?” Mike blurts out, as if the question has been lingering on the tip of his tongue for the past twenty minutes, and Will blinks slowly.
He feels his stomach drop to his ankles. “Is… what true?”
“That you’re…” Despite the darkness, Will can see the wince on Mike’s face. He knows exactly what Mike is referring to, and it makes him feel dizzy. “You know?”
“Seriously? Mike, is that why you brought me into this closet?” Will wants the ground to open and swallow him whole. “All… all of this to ask me if I’m really a virgin?”
“Is it?” Mike presses, seemingly uncaring about how ridiculous this is.
“What does that even matter?” Will shakes his head, letting a small scoff leave his lips. “I don’t understand why everyone keeps asking me that question.”
“I want to know,” Mike shrugs, answering honestly. “Friends, you know, tell each other these things. It’s all about getting to know each other better.”
“Getting to know each other better?” Will repeats, unable to believe the words coming out of Mike’s mouth. “Knowing about my… sex life is getting to know each other better?”
“Yeah,” Mike continues, not caring how ridiculous this sounds. “I’m just… surprised, you know?”
“Surprised?” Will mumbles, head shaking. Why do people keep saying that to him? “What are you even talking about right now?”
“I mean, I think it’s insane that someone as…” He lifts his hand, gently placing it on Will’s face and tracing the outline of his lips with his thumb. What is he doing? What the hell is he doing? “Pretty as you has never slept with anyone before.”
Swallowing, Will’s eyes drift to the hand on his face. This can’t be real, he thinks. There’s no way that this is real. Despite every single ounce of his being telling him to push Mike’s hand off of him, he doesn’t move. What the hell is happening?
“Pretty?”
“Yeah.” Mike nods, lightly tightening his grip and tugging Will’s chin toward him. Will feels lightheaded. “Pretty.” Then, as if nothing had happened, Mike drops his hand, bends down to pick up an unopened box of fruit Gushers, and opens the closet door. “Can you bring the packs that are on the counter?”
☾𖤓
Never in a million years did Will think he would be standing in the gravel driveway of Mike's home, waiting to be let inside. Even more so, watching as Mike unlocks the front door and motions for Will to come inside.
One of the first things he notices is that Mike's house is much bigger than his own — but that's to be expected, Will thinks. How much do pastors get paid, anyway?
The smell hits him immediately. It's sweet, reminding him of the apple pie his mother usually makes for Thanksgiving, and almost… homey. Both Mike and Will kick off their shoes by the front door, and Mike grabs Will's bag, swinging the backpack straps over his shoulder.
He tries not to blush, focusing on the walls, which are adorned with a mix of crosses and various family photos in frames of all shapes and sizes. Will recognizes the faces of both Mike's siblings, though he doesn't know them by name. He can't help but notice that there are significantly fewer photos of Mike than of his sisters, and it sends a small wave of pain throughout his chest.
This is normal, he tells himself. Friends hang out all of the time at each other’s houses. Nothing about what he and Mike are doing is any different than them.
"Michael? Is that you?" A voice calls from the kitchen. Will can tell by the rustling of utensils and the subsequent (angry) footsteps heading in their direction that it must be his mother. "I thought I asked you to be home by six. I need help setting up the—" Stopping abruptly in front of both Mike and Will, she immediately sends a confused and aggravated glance toward her son, then a tight smile over to Will. "Oh, I'm sorry. Michael, you didn't tell me you were having someone over. Byers, is it?"
Will clears his throat; the overwhelming feeling of being out of place takes over his body. Mrs. Wheeler is dressed eerily similar to how she normally does at church; her hair curled to perfection, her cheeks flushed, and a perfectly ironed dress. Who wears all of that in the comfort of their own home?
"Hi, Mrs. Wheeler. Yes, um, Will Byers." He extends his hand for Mrs. Wheeler to shake. She takes a step forward, albeit hesitantly, and takes Will's hands in hers. Her grip is tight, slightly surprising Will. Why does this feel like a… warning? He swallows, forcing a smile onto his face. "It's nice to finally, um, meet you. I see you often at church. I don’t think we’ve ever, um, properly met.”
“Right,” she wipes her hand on the kitchen cloth she has hooked onto the string of her apron, and sends a pointed look in Mike’s direction. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Will.” She lets out a small sigh, one that gives him the feeling that maybe he isn’t welcome here. Will’s eyes shift to the religious imagery draped all over the house, and he feels a prickle of discomfort, though he can’t necessarily place why. Mrs. Wheeler knows he attends their church, so why does she look at him like he’s a non-believer? “Michael didn’t let me know someone would be over, so I don’t think I have enough food for everyone, let alone dessert—”
“Don’t worry, we don’t need to eat. We’re not hungry.” Mike interrupts, walking past his mother and up the stairs. Will stands awkwardly in his spot, watching as a flash of discomfort washes over Mrs. Wheeler’s face. It’s a face Will knows all too well — one of disapproval. “Will? Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to come up with me?”
Awkwardly clearing his throat, he sends another smile toward Michael’s mother. “It really smells delicious,” he tells her, before following Mike up the stairs.
Will isn’t sure what he expects when he walks into Mike's room — but Mike’s room surpasses all of his expectations.
Posters taped the walls of bands he doesn’t know. He recognizes one, The Cure, but other than that, the others are unfamiliar. Pictures of guitarists that Will can’t name, along with pictures of Mike and his friends propped up on the walls by messily cut tape. Will winces slightly, knowing that it’ll likely rip the paint off the wall when he removes it.
His bed is messily made, the blanket half on the floor and half on the foot of the bed, and the same second Will notices, Mike seems to notice as well. He clears his throat, muttering a small ‘fuck’ under his breath before picking up the navy blue blanket off the floor, starting to hastily make his bed.
Will fights back a smile, his eyes drifting to a shirt hanging half out of his hamper. On the chest, in bold black lettering, is ‘Hellfire Club.’ Raising his eyebrows, he’s quickly reminded of high school. Will has heard of the club, having dabbled in a bit of Dungeons and Dragons during his childhood himself, but he also knows that everyone… condemned them. His classmates often berated those who were part of the club, claiming all they do is worship ‘Satan’, and though he’s never met any of the members himself, he knows they’re often… othered.
“You were in Hellfire Club?” The words slip from his mouth before he’s able to control them. He doesn’t mean to sound judgmental, because he’s not. He just thinks it’s… ironic that the pastor’s son was a member.
Mike, now on the other side of the bed and tucking the blanket underneath the mattress, nods his head. “I loved being a part of that club. It was probably the best part of my entire high school experience.”
“Your parents… let you?”
“I mean, no, not at first.” Mike laughs. “They hated every second of it.” Picking up a pillow from the floor, he readjusts his pillowcase, which is half off. “But I was stubborn, so I didn’t give in. They… they sort of gave up? I guess? I just wasn’t allowed to wear the shirt near them, or anyone from the congregation. Oh, and forced to repent every couple of days at church. Sometimes use the confessional. Compromise, I guess.” He lifts his eyebrows, walking over to pick up some of the laundry on the floor and place it into the small, wicker basket. A small smile forms on his face. “Do you normally look in people’s dirty laundry when you’re in their room for the first time?”
Will’s eyes widen, head shaking. God, he thinks, this is so embarrassing. Mike probably thinks he’s some form of creep, doesn’t he? Why would he mention his… dirty laundry like that? “No, I—”
“I’m just kidding, Will.” Mike smiles, "Sorry about my mom, by the way." Mike cringes, walking over to the edge of his bed and sitting on it. Will awkwardly stands by the door of Mike's room. He turns his focus to a framed picture of Mike when he was a kid, playing a board game Will doesn't recognize. He can't help but think that Mike looked so… cute. "Sometimes, she can be a little bit…"
"Judgemental?" The word slips out before Will has a chance to control himself. He immediately turns toward Mike, both hands and head shaking. Why would he say that out loud? Mike probably thinks he's being mean, doesn't he? In what world is it appropriate to insult his mother, who also happens to be the wife of the pastor? "Sorry, Mike, I really shouldn't have said that—"
"It's totally fine," Mike smiles, "It's the truth, anyway. She's easily the most judgmental person I know."
"Still," Will clears his throat, slightly cringing. He walks to the other side of the room, trying to distract himself from the fact that he feels incredibly awkward. “I shouldn't have said that." Mike stands up from the edge of the bed, walking toward Will, who is now standing beside the dresser. Will's eyes instantly drop to the floor. Why is he standing so close?
“You have so many rings,” Will mumbles, watching as Mike continues to pull off the silver bands from his fingers and place them on a small dish perched on the top of his wooden dresser. He counts seven on the dish and six on Mike’s fingers, and he wonders if there will ever be an opportunity to see him wear them all at once. Will’s eyes drift to Mike’s hands, and only then does he realize just how… big they are. Or, rather, how long his fingers are.
“Right? I like to collect them,” He continues, their shoulders brushing the slightest bit. “I got a couple of these from a guy named Eddie. The rest I get from thrift shops, mainly.” Mike smiles fondly, reaching back into the dish to pick up a thick, silver ring engraved with a skull. “My parents hate it when I wear this one.” He sends an innocent look in Will’s direction, blinking lightly. God, Will thinks. How can someone have such perfect… eyelashes? “I wonder why?”
“I like them,” Will blurts out before he can stop himself, a warmth crawling up the back of his neck and into his ears. “I think they’re, um, cool.”
Mike pauses, their shoulders still touching. Will can feel his skin burning through the shirt he’s wearing. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Will replies, awkwardly clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact. His eyes trail to the small dish full of rings, desperate to focus on something that isn’t the boy beside him. “They look, um, good on you?”
“Do they?” Mike, once again, lightly bumps their shoulders together. “You don’t sound so sure.”
“I’m sure,” Will manages to say, trying his best to stop his voice from shaking. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, really – whenever Will is near Mike, a permanent blush spreads across his cheeks, refusing to go away. Up until this very moment, he didn’t realize how attractive rings could be. More specifically, on Mike’s fingers. Is that weird to admit? Is it weird to think about Mike’s fingers when they look that good? “They, um, suit you? I guess?”
“I’m glad you think so.” The words send goosebumps down Will’s spine as he watches Mike reach forward and pick up a small ring from the dish, handing it to Will. “Here, try this one on,” he says.
“I don’t think this will fit,” Will shakes his head indigently, trying not to focus on the ring Mike chose – the smallest and daintiest of them. He doesn’t wear much jewelry, aside from a necklace his mother bought him when he turned twenty. It probably won’t fit, he tells himself. It’s better not to try it on.
Mike walks to the edge of the bed, the ring in his hand, and Will hesitantly follows. They both sit at the edge of the bed, and Will can’t help but feel that this is oddly… intimate.
“Just try it,” Mike mumbles, handing it to him anyway. Their knees brush now, and Will is using every ounce of self-control not to melt at his insistence. “You never know. Ring sizing is weird.”
Will doesn’t need to be convinced; the way Mike asks him makes his heart rate rise. He takes the small silver ring and slips it onto his index finger. It’s a bit tight – a bit too tight for him to wear comfortably. He lifts his hand to show Mike, “See? I told you. It’s too tight.”
“No,” Mike swallows, his voice low as he uses one hand to steady Will’s, sliding the ring off Will’s index finger and onto his ring finger. It slides on perfectly, and Will can feel his heart leap at the sight. The… ring finger? Will can’t tear his eyes away from the silver band that fits perfectly, as if it was made for him. As if it’s meant to be his. Control yourself, he tells himself. This doesn’t mean anything. This can’t mean anything. It could never mean anything. Not here, and especially not in Hawkins. “See? A perfect fit.”
“Yeah,” Will swallows, his eyes still fixed on the thin, silver band on his wedding finger. Will thinks he might be going insane. God, he thinks. Will he ever get to experience this? Will he ever get to marry someone he actually loves? Will this be the closest he ever gets to this feeling? Instantly, he pulls the ring off his finger and hands it back to Mike. “It is.”
“Keep it,” Mike shakes his head. “It looks better on you, anyway.”
“Oh.” Will echoes, blinking away the tears that are forming in his eyes. At the same time, Will feels his face flush deeply, red seeping through his skin. He opts to put it back on his index finger. “Um, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mike smiles, licking his lips and placing both of his hands on his thighs.
Will finds his eyes drifting from the hands on Mike’s thighs to his lips – it’s undeniable, and the longer he hangs out with him, the harder it is to contain. Maybe it’s a combination of everything; the fact that he’s in his room right now, the memory of all the rings stacked on Mike’s fingers, the way his hair is just so… curly today, the way he keeps licking his lips – Will is having a hard time controlling the same needs he’s been repressing since the first time he and Mike spoke.
His desires.
“Do I have something on my face?” Mike asks, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper. In the quiet of the room, Will hears him perfectly. Will’s face flushes even deeper, a mix of embarrassment and a new sense of fear overtaking every inch of his body. “You’re staring, Will.”
The words coming from Mike’s mouth make it hard to control his breathing as he tries to stop himself from descending into a spiral he knows he won’t be able to pull himself out of alone. It’s over, isn’t it? In a moment of weakness, in a moment of pure distraction and carelessness, Mike caught him staring at his lips so… blatantly. There’s no way to avoid it now — Mike’s going to know.
Mike is going to know about Will’s secret, he’s going to know who he really is, and he’s going to tell his father. Tell the pastor. The pastor is going to kick him and his family out of the congregation, out of the church, and they’re going to live with that shame for the rest of their lives. They’re going to carry it with them, and it’ll all be his fault. It’ll all be his fault because something is wrong with him.
“No,” Will shakes his head, moving over slightly so their knees no longer brush, and his hands settle in the middle of his own lap. He can’t touch him anymore, Will thinks. Because of who he is, Mike is probably disgusted, isn’t he? Why isn’t Mike saying anything? He’s probably trying to find a nice way to kick him out of his room, out of his house. He’s never going to talk to him again, is he? How did he manage to ruin a new friendship so… easily? “No, Mike… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… um, stare at you, or anything.” He knows he likely looks ridiculous, because he feels ridiculous — that if anything, Mike is probably disgusted by the mere thought that Will looks at his lips, that he’s having such perverse desires, and that something is so… deeply wrong with him.
“Will,” Mike reaches forward, placing his hand on top of Will’s, which are beginning to shake. Will bites the inside of his cheek, the touch burning his skin. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re fine.”
“No,” Will shakes his head, his eyes still unable to meet Mike’s. He knows. Mike has to know now. He feels dizzy, his eyes closing in an attempt to steady himself. “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t be staring, Mike. That’s… that’s so…”
“Will,” Mike moves closer toward Will, closing the distance that Will just made between them. Their knees touch for a second time, and Mike doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t pull away. “Will, it’s okay–”
The words rush from Will’s mouth, stumbling: “Do you want me to leave?” He searches Mike’s face for any sign that Mike is angry, mad or upset at him. It doesn’t matter if Mike is telling him that it’s okay, because they both know it isn’t. They both know it can’t be. “Because if you do, I promise that I can leave, and go home, and not ever speak about this again—”
“Why would I want you to leave?” Mike asks, eyebrows furrowing. Will shakes his head. He doesn’t understand, Will thinks. Mike will never understand. “I don’t want you to leave, Will.”
“Because,” Will clears his throat, his leg beginning to bounce against the wooden floor. How is he supposed to explain this to Mike? He can’t. There's no way that he can ever explain it to him because this is all too much. The tears prick at his eyes, going to cry. He might actually cry. “Because I was staring, and–”
Mike interrupts him, except this time, not with his voice.
It takes a couple of seconds for Will to realize what’s happening. Mike’s lips are on his.
He’s kissing him.
Will doesn’t know what to do with his hands, landing hesitantly in Mike’s lap and clutching at the fabric of his jeans, as Mike’s hands move steadily toward Will’s head, cupping his cheeks. Tilting his head, Mike uses the space between them to move closer together, and Will thinks his heart might explode out of his chest.
At first, their lips move slowly against each other, like they’re testing it. Like they’re testing if the other wants this, that they’re okay with it. Despite the overwhelming feeling of guilt overtaking Will’s body, he’s certain in his decision to keep kissing Mike.
So, he does.
Their lips begin to move messily — the tips of their noses bumping against each other and their lips slipping as the heat of their moment deepens. Will can feel the ring Mike told him to wear and gave him earlier, burning the skin beneath the metal on his index finger, but he doesn’t mind. He welcomes the burn if it means kissing Mike.
You shouldn’t be doing this, he thinks to himself. What if he doesn’t want this? What if Mike is only kissing him out of kindness? To make him feel like he isn’t a… freak? What if Mike’s only kissing him to get the moment over with?
Will pulls away slowly, carefully — needing to make sure this is really happening to him. He needs Mike to tell him he wants this, that this isn’t just a cruel joke or a misunderstanding. Mike just kissed him, and the disorientation washes over his body as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. He’s in Mike’s room, sitting on Mike’s bed, and just got kissed by Mike.
Both boys look at each other for a couple of seconds, and Will can’t help but widen his eyes. Mike’s breathing is heavy, his eyes fixed on Will as his chest rises and falls quickly. Selfishly, Will can’t help himself as his eyes drift back to Mike’s lips, unashamed this time, and Mike seizes the opportunity to close the gap between them for a second time.
If this… if this is so wrong, then why does it feel so good? Why is Will enjoying so much? Why is Mike kissing him back?
This time, the moment they touch is more intense — ravenous, really, and Will thinks his stomach might explode. The hunger within him wants more.
The longer they kiss, the more Will can taste the faint trace of cigarettes in Mike’s mouth. Though that would normally make Will recoil, he welcomes the bitterness as it spreads across his tongue. He craves it, and he wants to taste even more. Will carefully lifts one of his hands, wanting to thread it through Mike’s untamed hair. His hand lightly bumps against Mike’s eyebrow piercing as he reaches for his scalp. God, he thinks. He loves Mike’s hair so much. So, so much.
He mumbles a soft ‘sorry’ as they reconnect their lips. Mike doesn’t seem to mind, humming in response as he places both of his hands on Will’s waist, lightly squeezing and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.
Still sitting on the bed, warmth spreads across the base of his stomach. Will wonders if this is what Heaven feels like — if this is what he’s supposed to feel when kissing someone.
Mike pulls away, though their foreheads bump and press against each other. “I don’t want you to leave,” He mumbles, and Will can feel the ghost of his breath against his lips. Will nods his head, hand falling from Mike’s hair, to the back of his neck. Goosebumps spread across his skin as their skin touches, and it takes everything in himself not to immediately draw his hands back to his own lap, away from Mike.
“Are you sure?” Will whispers, voice getting caught in his throat. They lock eyes, and a small smile spreads across his face. “If, um, if you don’t want me to stay, I’ll leave now, and we can never mention this again.”
“Stay, Will.” Mike slowly shakes his head, their heads still touching. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
☾𖤓
“You guys have gotten close,” Dustin remarks as Mike and Will sit next to each other on the couch in the church basement. They’re only a couple of centimetres apart, but Will wishes he had the courage to move closer to the boy beside him. He wants to reach out, maybe even hold his hand, but he can’t — because they’re in public. They’re surrounded by others, and even though they’re Mike’s friends, Will knows he can’t do it.
Will grows close to them as well, often finding himself hanging out in the middle of the night and sometimes during the day. He doesn’t mind — it’s been a while since he’s hung out with a group of friends like this. To be honest, he enjoys it. He has Robin, whom he loves, but it’s nice to have a friend group.
“Yeah,” Mike replies, nonchalantly. He doesn’t look at Will as he runs a hand through his curly hair. “It was, like, inevitable. He’s always at church.”
“No, I mean… close,” Dustin pushes, raising his eyebrows. “As in… you barely hang out with us anymore.” The words echo through the basement, and Will shifts uncomfortably. He sends a quick glance in Mike’s direction, who looks unfazed by the comment. Will, on the other hand, feels his stomach drop to his knees. Does Dustin know? Does he know about him and Mike? Does he think it’s… gross? Will he yell at him? Will he go and tell the pastor?
“Don’t say stupid shit, Dustin,” Mike says, sending a pointed look at his friend. “We’re hanging out right now, aren’t we?”
“We had plans this summer,” Dustin continues, looking over at Max and Lucas, who nod in agreement. Will feels a flush of red wash over his face. Is it his fault that Mike doesn’t hang out with them more? Is he the one to blame for Dustin thinking Mike isn’t making time for them anymore? Does Dustin hate him? “We were supposed to go and get fucked up, man.”
“Fucked up?” Mike raises his eyebrows. “What? Are we like… seventeen?”
“You know what I mean,” Tilting his head back, Dustin sighs. “What about going to the club, or something?” Will internally winces at the thought of going to a club. He’s never been to one, and it doesn’t interest him. All he’s able to think about is how out of place he would feel.
“We had plans to go to the quarry, remember?” Max adds, turning toward Dustin. “We wanted to spend a lot of time there, too. The sunset is so nice in the summer. We should go.”
“Why don’t we go now?” Lucas replies, shrugging. “What else do we have to lose? It’s better to smoke out there, anyway. This place fucking reeks of cigarettes.”
“Now?” Mike repeats the word, drawing it slowly from his throat, as though he’s mentally dissecting the syllable as it leaves his throat. “In the middle of the night?”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t Max just say she wants to see the sunset?” Mike replies, turning toward the red-haired girl. “It’s like three in the morning. I think we missed sunset by like, a couple of hours, didn’t we?” A small smile forms on Will’s face at Mike’s comment, though nobody else does. Immediately, he pushes the smile down and stares at his legs instead.
“Seeing the sunrise would be nice, too,” Max replies casually, twisting some of her hair around her finger. She turns, now looking at Will. “Would you want to go?”
Clearing his throat, he feels the familiar sensation in his stomach. He doesn’t like the quarry. He has no desire to go there, but he also doesn’t want to be the only one against it. They’re going to think he’s a loser, won’t they? They’re going to judge him for feeling sick at the sight of the water from above; they’re going to know that something is wrong with him.
“Oh, um… yeah, I guess?” Will begins to pick at the skin around his fingernails, hoping no one notices. He wishes he could tell them no, that he doesn’t want to go, but he doesn’t want to cause any more problems than he already has. Mike turns his head subtly, his eyebrows creasing at the slight waver in Will’s voice.
“Perfect. It’s settled, then.” Dustin clears his throat, a wide smile forming on his face. He pats down his pockets, letting out a slight groan at their emptiness. “Lucas, you have my lighter, right?”
“Yeah,” he nods, pulling it out of his pocket. The bright blue contrasts with the blandness of the furniture around them, and it catches Will’s eye immediately. “Here,” he throws it towards Dustin, who catches it with one hand.
☾𖤓
It doesn’t take long for the five of them to get to the quarry.
Biking up the hill is the hardest part, Will thinks to himself, but biking up the mountain in the dark, without any lights to illuminate the path they’re taking, is another feat in itself. Normally, he wouldn’t have such a difficult time convincing himself to pedal and move forward, but everything inside him feels heavy.
Will doesn’t need to think very hard about the reason he’s feeling this way. The last time he was at the quarry was three years ago, and it was also one of the hardest periods of his life. Struggling more than usual, he found himself often needing to be alone — away from his family, friends, and everyone around him. He would often sit a couple of feet from the edge, wondering whether or not he was worthy of living, if the cards he’s been dealt made everything feel that much worse. Being here reminds him that even in spaces like these, even after all of these years, the same feeling continues to gnaw at the base of his chest.
He trails behind the group as they all set their bikes against one of the taller rocks. It’s going to be okay, Will tells himself.
“Are you okay?” Mike leans in, his lips brushing Will’s ear. The rest of the group is laughing at something Lucas says, sitting a couple of feet from the edge, but Will doesn’t have it in him to laugh at anything anyone says.
All he feels is… distant.
Will’s fingers play with the rocks they’re sitting on top of, and he isn’t sure he can find the proper words to express how he feels about the quarry, about sitting here with people who don’t know the real him. Who, if they did, would want nothing to do with him.
“Yeah,” Will nods his head slowly, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to distract himself from the tears prickling his vision. “I’m fine.”
Mike lightly bumps into Will’s shoulder, the wind hitting against their clothing. “Are you tired?”
“Kind of,” he nods, thinking that explaining fatigue is easier than explaining his uneasiness about the quarry. “I just… don’t come out here very often.” His throat is dry. Mike probably thinks he’s lying, doesn’t he? Can Mike see right through him? He probably regrets inviting Will to tag along, knowing he’s such a buzzkill, right? Mike should be sitting in the circle with his other friends; instead, he’s sitting beside Will, a couple of feet away. He should say something to Mike, right? He should, at the very least, give Mike an answer, right? An explanation? “I’m, um, afraid of heights.”
“Oh,” Mike licks his lips, casting a quick glance at their friends, who are lighting their cigarettes and listening to Dustin talk animatedly about a new science-fiction movie he rented earlier that week. Will doesn’t even know what movie they’re referring to, and he doesn’t have the time to even attempt to connect the dots as Mike reaches down and grabs one of Will’s hands in his own, threading their fingers together. “Don’t worry,” he smiles, squeezing Will’s hand as a gesture of reassurance. Will feels his stomach flip at the gesture, feeling the familiarity of the silver rings Mike’s wearing between their fingers. “We won’t go too close to the edge, I promise.”
Will doesn’t let go, because he doesn’t want to. “Thank you.”
The gnawing in his chest dulls into a small murmur.
☾𖤓
As the days continue to pass, Will realizes just how much he loves to kiss Mike.
The more they do it, the more they touch each other, the more it becomes something he craves and something he looks forward to every time they’re alone. In fact, all he’s able to think about whenever they’re with others is the opportunity to be alone. In a closet, in another room, anywhere that Mike would be willing to take him.
Maybe that’s why Will can’t help but feel so… guilty.
Lying in his bed, he can’t stop thinking about Mike. About how… perfect his hair is, how much he loves threading his hands through the curls, how some of the strands cover his face. He thinks bout his lips, God, his lips – about how perfectly they feel against his own, and how badly he wants to… feel them.
Heat spreads in his abdomen, along with the sense of guilt. He shouldn’t be thinking of Mike this much, especially not in this way. Despite being underneath the covers of his bed, he can’t hide the way thinking about Mike makes him feel, the way it makes his body react. Just the mere thought of his lips sends a wave of arousal to his crotch – the same arousal that he’s been trying to suppress from the moment he met Mike outside of the church. Sure, Mike kissed him, but what if that’s all he wants to do with him? What if he never wants… more? Is there a way to… ask?
He thinks about how Mike looked when they hung out with the others tonight. About the shirt that was just short enough to show the slightest bit of his stomach, about how the band of his boxers peeked through his pants. Is it bad that Will wants to see him? Is it bad that Will wants to ask him to take his shirt off? He can’t help but think about how good Mike would look without clothes on, and he quickly realizes he’s not going to be able to stop anytime soon. His mind wanders to the hand Mike placed on his thigh, in front of everyone, and how nobody noticed it – or said a word. He likes it when Mike touches him. He likes it so much, but he is still able to feel the ghost of his touch against his leg.
His hand slips under the blanket, playing with the hem of his own boxers, the ones he’s sleeping in.
This is wrong. He knows it is. If Mike finds out what he’s doing, if anyone finds out that he wants to touch himself at the thought of a boy, he would be shunned. The church would call him out for his misbehaviour, his sinful behaviour, his lust, and he would never be able to face Mike again.
Maybe all of that is… worth it.
Still, he sticks his hand into his boxers, lightly shivering at the coolness of his hand against the delicate skin of his length. He’s only semi-hard, and he lifts his hand back up to his mouth, lightly spitting on his palm before slowly and tentatively dragging his hand down his length. He lets in a sharp breath, trying his best to remain quiet.
He tries to imagine the hand wrapped around his cock being Mike’s. He tries to imagine his big hands taking Will’s entire length in one hand, the thought making him pump faster. His lips slightly part, hips bucking as he moves faster. He uses his thumb to rub over his sensitive slit, biting down on his lips to avoid letting out a moan.
God, he wishes the hand wrapped around him belonged to Mike. He wishes he could see the way Mike’s eyes stare at him as he unravels; the way they widen, the way they gloss over. He wishes Mike could see just how much he wants him, in a way that is beyond just… kissing. Fuck, he thinks, taking in a deep, shaky breath. He wishes he were home alone, so he could moan Mike’s name – so he could hear what it sounds like to say his name and mean it.
With his back arching and his cock demanding more friction, he pumps faster and harder, the movement desperate. This isn’t enough, he thinks. He needs more. He wants so much more. His mind begins to swirl, wondering what it would be like, how it would feel if Mike is the one moaning his name. What if he’s the one who can make Mike feel good? He’s never done it before, never put his mouth on anything, but he wants to. He wants to try it on Mike. He wants to make Mike feel so good. He wants to know what it’s like to have a cock in his mouth.
He’s close. He can feel it, and he keeps riding through the onslaught of overstimulation coursing through his veins. He keeps thinking about Mike, about what it would be like to be touched by him, to be desired, and it doesn’t take long before the adrenaline sends a wave of pleasure throughout his body.
Guilt washes over him for what he’s just done. He just… touched himself at the thought of another boy. He just… came at the thought of Mike. His hands start to shake as he wonders what the hell got into him. He’s not supposed to do this; he’s not supposed to like this as much as he does, if at all.
In what world is this okay? In what world is he a good person? Will the Devil even save him a spot in the deepest parts of purgatory? Will his mother be able to look him in the eye ever again? Will the people of Hawkins think he’s… diseased?
As quickly as the pleasure consumed his body, it is now replaced by a mix of anxiety, worry, and a deep, deep sense of shame. Nobody can know what he’s done, he thinks. But what if they do? What if they know? What if it’s written all over him, like a neon sign, that he’s a sinful, shameful human being?
Pushing the sheets off of his body, suddenly way too hot to deal with anything touching his skin, worry begins to cloud his mind, overtaking every other attempt to calm himself down. Did anyone… hear him? What if Jonathan heard him through the walls? Or, a million, infinite times worse, what if his mother heard him?
Did… God?
God is all-knowing, so surely he knows the sin he’s just committed. Surely, he’s keeping tabs on how many sins Will continues to indulge in, and he will make Will pay his dues. A wave of nausea washes over his body at the thought of what he’s just done. He’s going to be punished eternally. He’s going to be forced to live with the guilt of his selfish actions for the rest of his life.
God will never forgive him.
Will knows something is wrong with him.
Something is terribly, terribly wrong with him.
Rushing to the bathroom, he locks the door behind him. With his breath caught in his throat, he places both hands on the edge of the sink, trying to steady his breathing. He feels lightheaded, reminding himself that he needs to breathe – but should he even be allowed to? This is wrong. This… this is so wrong. He stares at himself in the mirror, notices the dark bags under his eyes, the tears streaking his cheeks, and the trembling of his lips. All he sees is a failure—someone who is… wired wrong, someone destined to live in shame for the rest of his life. Someone who will be forced to hide, someone who will be forced to pay for his sins.
How is he supposed to live with himself?
He needs to clean himself. He doesn’t care that it’s the middle of the night, he doesn’t care that his mother will likely question him in the morning about the late shower, he feels… dirty. He needs to wash off, to scrub off every single part of his body that is sinful, every single part of himself that is different. He shouldn’t be like this – he can’t be.
He peels off each layer of his clothing, avoiding the mirror, not wanting to look at his naked body. His clothes fall to the floor in a heap, and he can’t bring himself to kick them aside. His eyes drift to his boxers, which have remnants of his cum on the fabric, and Will thinks he might throw up. This is disgusting, he’s disgusting.
He forces himself to look away, turning his attention to the shower. With trembling hands, he turns the knob to the hottest setting, not thinking twice. He doesn’t care that the water burns his skin immediately, because he knows he deserves this. The burning reminds him of his relentless need to become clean again. He closes his eyes, letting the water wash over him. It burns, his skin feeling like it’s on fire, but he’s too overwhelmed to complain.
He sinks to the bottom of the ceramic tub, letting every inch of his skin scream from the temperature of the water. The steam begins to feel slightly suffocating, but Will believes he likely deserves that, as well.
He lifts his knees towards his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He rests his head on his knees and begins to cry, hoping the water is enough to drown his sobs out.