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Mike needs to clear his fucking head. He left their makeshift campfire, feeling suffocated by the smoke and sparks in his eyes and Will’s ever-consuming presence.
He can’t escape it, not in Hawkins, not with his girlfriend, not even when they’re half a day’s drive away from finding said girlfriend. Will is always there, with his long hands and bright eyes and scattered freckles along his face and neck that Mike wants to-
And this is where he always stops himself. He can’t, he refuses to fantasize about Will like that. That would make him- make him gay, or something. Mike isn’t like that, he’s normal, he likes making out with his girlfriend and he had a crush on Jennifer Hayes in the fifth grade and he doesn’t look at men like that. A side glance in the locker room doesn’t count, obviously. And everyone noticed how hot Matt Dillon was in The Outsiders, that’s a fact.
And a lot of the time, Mike likes girls. Likes the pink of their cheeks and glitter on their eyelids and the curve of their waists at the pool. He loves their hair, the way it curls along their collar bones and sweeps down their backs like willow branches. The problem is, he found himself envying it more than just liking it. That’s not weird, though, right? Plenty of guys have long hair. Like Eddie Munson, their new Party leader. Eddie’s cool and crazy smart and normal. Mostly. So Mike started growing out his hair and by February his mother (unsuccessfully) tried to drag him to the barber. He thought it looked awesome, bitchin’ in El’s words. Eventually Karen relented, and now the messy waves are just reaching his shoulders.
Eventually he turns back, kicking the desert dust with his blood-stained Chucks as he goes. Mike isn’t really religious, but he sends up a quick prayer for Dead Hero Agent Man anyway. And a mental reminder to clean off his shoes. Jesus Christ, sometimes he can’t believe this is what his life has become. On the run from a government shootout, contemplating confusing sexual feelings in the middle of a desert. Mike shakes his head.
All too soon, he’s back at their campground, the now-common and strangely comforting smell of weed drifting from the direction of the car. He grins and walks over to the campfire looking for Will, ready with some joke about the ridiculousness that is Jonathan and Argyle that’ll hopefully offset the mountain of strangeness and tension between their relationship this week. But Will is nowhere to be found, and the elder two are dead asleep on a blanket, with Jonathan leaning on Argyle’s shoulder and Argyle drooling into his friend’s hair. Mike laughs behind his hand, not wanting to wake them but wishing he had a camera or a live studio audience or something. Christ on a bike.
He wanders back over to the van, and Will is there, laying on the roof all casual, and holding a joint between his left thumb and index finger. Mike’s heart honest to God stutters. He’s a goner, he thinks. This is it. The Demogorgon, Mind Flayer, government baddies can all go home. Will Byers, shrouded in smoke and beautiful, is going to fucking kill him.
“Why are you staring, Mike?” Will asks, all wide-eyed and innocent. He reaches out his free hand, but can’t quite reach him from his perch on the roof. “Cat got your tongue?” Will giggles softly and brings his gaze back up to the stars.
Mike, against his better judgement, starts to climb gracelessly up to the roof. Will probably doesn’t know what he’s doing, right? He needs someone to lean on. With this resolution, Mike finds a spot next to Will on the van. He smiles up at him. Mike could count the freckles along his Adam’s apple. He restrains himself.
“Wanna try?” Will asks, holding out the joint towards Mike expectantly. “Pretty please?”
Just one hit, Mike thinks. He won’t be that affected, he bets. “Uh, sure,” he agrees, taking it with his fist. Belatedly, he realizes he has no clue how to do this.
“I don’t-“ he starts.
“It’s okay,” Will smiles lightly. “Jonathan showed me once. Just-“
Will pauses, reaches out his hand to place it over Mike’s, sliding his fingers along the shape of the joint until he’s satisfied with their placement. “Now just draw the smoke into your mouth-” Will guides the joint towards his mouth, thumb inadvertently brushing Mike’s lips. “Then breath it in, let it sit for a second, and blow out slow. Got it?” Mike’s been hanging onto every word. He follows Will’s guidance, but trips up and hacks into the night air.
“S- Sorry,” Mike says, somewhat roughly.
“It’s okay,” Will replies. “Everyone coughs their first time. I mean, I was a mess when Jonathan first let me try.”
“Brother of the year,” Mike says sarcastically, grinning.
“Oh, totally. I’ve covered for him dozens of times, and somehow Mom still doesn’t have a clue."
Mike furrows his brows. For some reason, this is important. “But- you were always a shitty liar. Remember when we used to play Two Truths and a Lie, and you’d always say stupid something like ‘I have a secret older sister’?”
Will looks sad, and Mike hates that. He wants to wipe the frown off his face and never let it return. “Yeah, well,” Will says, taking another hit. “You’d be surprised.”
Mike rolls over so he’s facing Will, and their legs tangle from the movement. Their noses are just a few inches away from each other, which makes Mike laugh. He reaches over and Will starts to flinch away, but he just taps his nose and says “Boop!”. Will finally lets himself chuckle, and Mike thinks this right here is the sun, and he will be bordering around this moment until the end of time.
They just lay there for a while, legs still intertwined, laughing and talking about random shit, school and D&D and music. Mike feels like falling asleep soon, but Will says, “Can I show you something?” and Mike has no choice but to agree because this boy, this boy is his sun and he is never letting him go.
They pull each other up, legs coming undone and criss-crossing until they’re facing each other, still close enough to touch. Will’s voice is shaking slightly when he says, “Jonathan didn’t show me this one.” He spins the joint around in his hand and places the lit end between his teeth. Grasps Mike’s neck and pulls him in slow, taking his time as if to let him pull away. He doesn’t. Mike takes the other side hesitantly in his mouth before breathing in jaggedly, because Will is blowing it in through his teeth and he’s not the sun, he’s heaven personified, all focused and soft and a little scared, but so is Mike. And as he pulls back, he just stares at Will through the haze, reaching out almost unconsciously to graze his forefinger along the other boy’s cheek, brow. Lips.
“Hey, Will,” Mike says, and he looks up, frozen and tranced. “Tell me a secret?”
Will bites his lip, fidgets with it under Mike’s watchful eye. Whispers, “I don’t have one.”
Mike smiles almost mischievously, like when they were kids planning pranks or imaginary battles. “But I do.”
“Yeah?” Will asks, all careful.
“Yeah.” Mike says. Then, soft yet powerful as an evening prayer, “I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re beautiful, and I have since we were twelve or maybe even before that. You’re the fucking sun, Will, and I don’t care anymore if that makes me queer." Breathless, he pauses, then leans in. “I just want you.”
Will’s eyelashes flutter, and his gaze drops to Mike’s mouth, which is open slightly and gasping for air. “Do you really want this? Like, for real, not just as a game or- or a joke?”
Mike just grins and presses his lips to Will’s. The first kiss is chaste, just a peck, and when they pull away they noses bump. Then they leave in again, angle their heads so their mouths fit together just so, and then it’s all pressing and warmth and collision. Mike experimentally tugs Will’s bottom lip with his teeth, and the sound he makes is the holiest thing he’s ever heard. Will slips his tongue gently through their mouths and Mike understands why Icarus couldn’t help but glide higher, because any second he can get with Will is now lightning personified, and he is more than willing to melt for it.
With their legs intertwined and leaning almost on top of one another, it’s suddenly painfully obvious that both of them are hard. “We should probably… stop soon.” Will says reluctantly, and Mike pulls back, equally so. They untangle themselves and lay on their backs to the stars, hands still holding on as if their lives count on it. Maybe they do.
Mike glances over at Will, who is staring at the pale black sky, mesmerized. Bizarrely, Mike is jealous. Look at me, he thinks. Paint me, take me, make me yours. He leans over and plants a wet kiss on Will’s forehead, who turns over and laughs brightly. Mike never wants him to stop. He kisses his nose, and his cheek, and finally his mouth.
“Hi,” Will says, sweet and warm as honey.
“Hi.” Mike wants them to be like this forever, molded into one another. Safe.
“Will it be like this, tomorrow?” Will asks with fragility. Mike’s heart tugs.
"Yeah,” he says it like breathing, like smoking a forbidden fruit. “Pinky promise?”
They interlock their little fingers, and Will rests his head on Mike’s chest, who listens to the steady rhythm of his heart and thinks Amen, and that’s how Jonathan finds them in the morning. Braided together. Whole.