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Mike is self-centered enough to push aside the fact the world is ending because he can’t handle how his heart is feeling.
The team just banded back together. After his long road trip with Argyle, Jonathan, Will, and El, where his butt had gone completely numb from sitting for so long and he still feels like his legs are going to give out on him, he could barely process the fact that the Upside Down is here. The gates are open. Eddie’s dead, Max is halfway gone, and the world is seemingly ending.
Then why is this clouding his mind more? Pushing at the trauma that was needling itself in between his darker past memories to be at the forefront of his mind?
After El had seen the damage of the gate, standing on a field of flowers that had been cut open like a knife through butter, everyone decided to push off “saving the world from eternal damnation” to tomorrow. Tomorrow, they’ll make a plan. Tomorrow, they’ll figure it out. Tomorrow … Tomorrow, they’ll save the world again.
Earlier, when a piece of the group was standing out in the field, El standing a few feet ahead staring out at the gaping rift to the Upside down as he stood next to Will. Nancy and Jonathon whispered hushed at each other, and Joyce and Hopper held each other tightly for comfort at the sides of them. Comfort. They were giving each other comfort. Mike brought his hand into a fist to distract himself from everything.
He just got to Hawkins. What a welcome to have, huh? His eyes drifted to the left of him, Will fiddling with his fingers as he always did. Should he be comforting him too? Should he say something? The sound of the grass snapped him out of his mind.
El’s shoes crunched the dead grass as she turned around, marching past Mike with a look of determination on her face, or maybe it was anger, he couldn’t tell.
“El,” he started, going to grab her forearm as she passed him but she didn’t even spare him a glance. He left Will and the others alone, jogging after her as she made her way back to the trees. He made his way around to face her, but she didn’t stop walking. Walking backwards to keep up with her pace, he looked behind him every now and then to not run into a tree. “El, please talk to me.”
“I can’t,” she blurted, then she stopped walking altogether, and they stood in the middle of the forest with the worst tension Mike’s ever felt between them clinging onto the air.
“You can’t?”
“Everything’s in danger, Mike. I need to think. I need to be… alone,” the words were struggling to come out of her mouth, El’s eyes darting around as she was searching for the right words to say. A sudden panic spiked into Mike’s heart and he grabbed both her shoulders, bending down a little to be at her height.
“Think with me,” Mike inhaled, his tone shaking, “Be alone with me. We can work it out together.”
“Together,” El repeated, like she was questioning the word. She shook her head, her eyes welling up as she came to a realization, “We can’t be together.”
“What?” Mike’s hold on her shoulders loosened. He knew where this was going, but he didn’t want to believe it.
“Friends don’t lie, Mike,” she brought her arm up to swat away the hands he still had on her shoulders. God, Mike couldn’t stand that stupid phrase anymore.
“What do you mean? What the hell am I lying about?” he furrowed his eyebrows, throwing out an arm in complete frustration.
“You lied…” El thought for a second, gripping onto the edges of English words she still wasn’t great at piecing together, “When I piggybacked in the pizza dough freezer, you lied to me.”
The panic again, it crawled up Mike’s throat like bile. Lying? Was he lying when he told her he loved her?
“Do you want me to say it again?” Mike hurried, his voice picking up in volume. It. He couldn’t even say it then. Say “it” again. What is wrong with him? “Because I can. I can say that I love you. I’ll say it right now. I’ll--”
“I love you, Mike,” El stated, but it was barely a whisper, “But not… I don’t love you like we are… together.”
Mike could hear it in her voice again, like she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted, not enough words in her dictionary to communicate correctly. She used the word again, “together”, like she heard him say it and realized it was important in the conversation they were having, but not sure how.
“You are my family,” she wiped at tears that were halfway dried. Mike held his breath, “I don’t love you like girlfriends should love boyfriends. I don’t know if I know how to love like that. You know you don’t love me like that either.”
El could see right through him. He never thought she could. He never thought there was anything to even see through. But she saw right through him anyway. And when that thought had popped up into his head, a sudden fear rushed through. See right through him? At what? What was she seeing into?
“El…”
“You agree, right?” she cut him off.
She saw right through him. The thought made his body heat up, and a weird defensive anger flickered in his stomach.
“No! This is ridiculous,” he clutched at his hair, “Agree about what?! You can’t have commissioned a whole painting about how I’m the heart of the party, clearly talking about how much you loved me, just so you can turn around and say that you don’t!” he breathed harshly. Why was he so angry about this? He wasn’t this stressed out when El had dumped his ass outside the mall a year and a half ago. What was getting him so worked up? He felt like a part of the dam he had in his head was breaking. Lying. He was lying this whole time.
“What? Mike--”
“I don’t get it, El. I thought you meant that I was your heart too. That’s why I told you I loved you. I thought I could convince myself that ‘hey, if I tell her I love her, then I do.’ Because the painting meant so much to me, and I knew that if you could touch my heart like that then I should love you.”
“Mike.”
“I mean… I mean I do love you. I love you and--”
“Mike!” El grabbed onto the sides of his arms, shaking him just a little to ground him because Mike can't stop thinking. He hasn't stopped thinking since Will showed him his painting. “What painting?”
He held his breath for a moment, a weird tension starting to build up between them. He loosened his grip on his hair, staring at her with serious confusion.
“The one you told Will to paint? The one of me leading the Party into battle.”
El scrunched up her face, the way she always did when she can’t understand jokes, the way she always did when she didn’t know what the hell people were talking about. Holy shit, she had no idea what he was talking about.
“I never tell Will what to paint, Mike.”
And that’s when it started.
The world was ending. Max is halfway dead. Eddie’s gone. Hawkins literally had rifts into hell. His girlfriend broke up with him. And his best friend fucking lied to him. Will lied to him.
That’s not really what was bothering him about the whole thing. The lying was one thing, but he told El he loved her because he thought it would save her. He told El he loved her because he wanted to convince himself that he could. El didn’t get through to him when they had fought in her room, but the painting did. The painting got through to him.
The painting Will lied about. The painting that Will painted, and Will thought of, and Will did all on his own because El never commissioned anything. Will got through to him. But if that’s true, and Will’s words got him to say I love you–
Then when he said “I love you” to El. The “I love you”, was that meant for her? If it wasn’t meant for her, then it was meant for…
Oh.
Oh.
Holy fucking shit.
Mike’s been in his head the whole day after that. Even when El walked away after their break-up, even when the whole group had come together in Hopper’s cabin and started talking about their game plan, even after Hopper had decided that they needed one night, that everyone would rest for one night, and then they’d start again. Then they’d save the world. One night.
Mike was still in his own head when they started making sleeping arrangements, and when Joyce had said the Byers and Argyle could just stay at the cabin with Hopper and El, Nancy jutted in and asked Jonathan to come back to her house with him. Mike didn’t even think when he opened his mouth.
“Will can stay with me.”
Will looked up from the spot he was looking at on the floor. “What? I can?”
“Stay at my house tonight.”
Will played with his own fingers. He’s always fiddling with his own fingers, touching his hands. Mike couldn’t stop looking at them. “What? Mike, why? I’ll be okay here.”
“It’s just one night,” Mike said, a little loudly, a little desperate. He was thinking so much, he felt like he was in overdrive. If Will lied about the painting, and Mike said I love you because of the painting… If he said I love you to the one who had the idea for the painting, and El had no idea about it--
“Okay,” Will replied, a little loudly, also a little desperate, a little too fast like he had been meaning to say yes the entire time. “Yeah… Yeah, I’ll stay over.”
And now they are here. Both sitting on Mike’s bed, and with the most crushing tension hanging over them, Mike wants to die in it.
One night, he reminds himself. It’s just one night.
To be fair, Will seems to be fine, just sitting where the bed touches the window and looking out into the night like he doesn’t want tomorrow to come. Frankly, Mike doesn’t think anyone wants tomorrow to come. Tomorrow means the start of the end. Tomorrow could mean goodbye. He was terrified, but also confused.
Because the painting. Will lied about the painting. And he said I love you to the person behind the painting.
This is what Mike meant when he said he was truly fucking self-centered because the world was ending, and he can’t stop thinking about Will.
And he doesn’t think he’s ever been in love with El, and El knows she had never been in love with Mike either. And he’s been pushing Will away because of a relationship that was built on literally nothing, and now he was single, and terrified, and confused as all hell because he still knows he has love in him. That he’s in love. But his brain was blocking him from knowing who. But he knows who. Because albeit being stupid, Mike’s not braindead. He’s in love with… with...
and he’s terrified. But it’s only one night, and tomorrow, they might all die. Tomorrow, they might wake up to a demogorgon crashing through the window. Tomorrow, he literally has no idea what will happen. So--
“Why did you lie about the painting?” Mike spills out. He sounds a little mad. And maybe he is.
“What?”
“When we were in the car. And you told me El commissioned it, and you said all those… those things. Why did you lie?”
“Mike, what are you--”
“I asked El, and she didn’t know what I was talking about. You lied to me, your best friend, and I’m asking why,” Mike blurts out, his voice stern, a little scarier than he means for it to come out. He said it again. Best Friend. He always feels the need to bring it up. To prove to himself something.
Will’s ears tinges a darker shade of pink, and a look of fear flashed across his face.
“I was… It’s not…” he stumbles over his explanation, “I was just stretching the truth. But I… It’s… El still loves you. She loves you a lot. I didn’t mean to make it… I’m not--”
“Jeez, stop it!” Mike stands up from the bed, turning around to face Will who still sat by the window. At the raise of his voice, Will recoils in on himself, fisting at the sheets of the bed. “God, you’re so…” Mike brings his hands up to his hair, not finishing his sentence. Not knowing how to. Will’s messing with his head. He is so annoyed. With himself, with El, with knowing that Will was hiding something. And Mike feels like he knows what Will is hiding. But he’s terrified to pry. He’s terrified to confirm it.
But the world is ending, and tomorrow they’ll have to face the end. So what does it matter? Why does it matter if it’s terrifying?
“Did you…” Will starts, and Mike opens his eyes at the smallness of his voice, the withdrawn tone that Will has been using with him ever since Will got half his life sucked out of him when the Mindflayer was burned out of his insides. After Mike and El got together. After Mike started pushing him away. “Did you invite me over just to ask that? Did you invite me over only because you were mad I lied?”
A part of Mike knows Will doesn’t want the answer to be yes. Will is playing with his hands again. Will. Will. Will. Will. Will. God, why is he always thinking about Will?
“I don’t know,” he settled.
Will nods at the answer, reluctantly, disappointedly. He looks so small. Granted, he is small. Smaller than Mike. Will didn’t bring any clothes from California, and Mike had given him a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants before he had sat near the window. It looks like it was swallowing him, too big on his shoulders, and too long on his torso, and too long for his legs.
Will is too short for Mike’s clothes, and he is brave, and he is selfless, and he is too good for the things that he’s been through, and too good. He is just too good. He’s literally the embodiment of light, and Mike can’t stop staring at him. What the hell. He’s so fucking bright, and Mike is running through the past two years of his life he’s been shoving Will away. Why? Why did he ever--
“Mike,” Will let out, breaking the tense silence. Mike was too in his head to even notice, “We should just go to sleep. I’m sorry I- That I lied. I’m sorry, okay? Don’t let it bother you. I don’t want it to bother you, and I don’t want to bother you,” and then, with a little more volume, “Okay? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just thought you needed the push, and… and so I lied. But I didn’t lie that much. El loves you, and you love El. And you guys still need each other, and I’m sorry I lied. But--”
The world is ending tomorrow. Tomorrow could be goodbye. Mike knows Will is still half-lying.
One night. It’s just one night.
Mike moves quickly, taking two long strides to the bed almost at a running pace that Will flinches.
“Stop talking.”
And Will does. Because he always does. Because he always just blindly follows Mike. Mike. Who’s stupid, and not all-knowing, and the most boring, unbrave teenager that Hawkins has to offer. Mike, who’s afraid of the truth, and trying to run from it, like he always does. But… but…
It’s just one night.
“Will. Tell me,” Mike starts, and Will looks terrified out of his mind at the implication, “Just tell me. We have to get up in a couple of hours and everything will change, so stop lying to me. Just tell me. You can tell me what you have on your mind. I’m your best friend.”
Something twitches in Will’s expression. “I can’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“I can’t, Mike.”
And there it is. Will’s confirmation that he is hiding something because Will knows Mike can see through him. Because they’re best friends. And they’re idiots. And Mike knows what Will’s hiding, and Mike knows what Mike’s hiding. Because he’s not stupid. But he’s scared. And being scared shouldn’t feel this new. But this feels different. Will always makes him feel different.
“Why?”
Will looks like he’s on the brink of tears. He’s been like that a lot. Like he’s a second from a breakdown. Not that Will’s weak. He never was. Not in Mike’s eyes. But just… recently he looks like there’s something in him that he can’t seem to bear. It looks like there’s a feeling in him that he knows will spill right out if he opens up too much. So he’s withdrawn, and shut down, like a single poke at him will send him spiraling.
“I thought you invited me over so we could spend time together before tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The word is heavy on Will’s tongue, and it hangs in the air. Tomorrow is terrifying. Never has it ever been more terrifying than tonight.
Will continues talking, “I thought…” he inhales, shakily, but he isn't crying, “I thought you invited me over so we could just… breathe. You can’t do this to me.”
“Will,” Mike starts, and Will looks up at him. Mike makes his way to the side of the bed Will is hanging his legs off of, and then he's just standing in front of him, looking down at him from where he still sits on the bed. Their legs are close, Mike could easily take one small movement forward and bump their knees together, but he doesn't. “It’s just one night. Just tell me.”
He searches Will’s eyes for something. For something. Because what the fuck, he just realized he's in love with his best friend, and his best friend is a boy, but the world is ending tomorrow and why the hell does he care if he loves a boy if his hometown is about to get overrun by monsters. It’s just one night. It’s just one--
“You know,” Will says, completely sure of his realization. There’s a tinge of anger in his voice, “You know, don’t you?” He stands up, and Mike takes a step back to create room between them, but Will is mad. His eyebrows are downturned, and gosh, Mike made Will mad. “You invited me over so you could yell at me for lying, and now is this just some sick joke from you? I thought we’d relax. I thought you cared. I thought you knew that I’m scared out of my mind, but you just invited me over to confirm your stupid suspicions because you think we’re all gonna die and you want to be right. Well, you’re fucking right. Is that all you wanted to hear?” Will pushes at Mike’s chest, and Mike sticks a foot back to keep from crashing into his wall.
They dance around it. That Mike has figured out that Will is in love with him. They never say it out loud, but they know what they’re talking about. And Mike knows about Will but Will doesn’t know about Mike, and Mike’s entire chest feels tight as hell.
“The world is ending,” Will says, and then he’s silently crying. His voice is unwavering but Mike still sees the tears, “Fuck, you’ve convinced me. I’m just gonna-- I’ll just,” Will pushes the heels of his palms into his own eyes, and Mike doesn’t know if he's supposed to say something, or grab his hands away from his eyes. Mike always wants to reach forward. He always wants to hold a part of Will, and it terrifies him.
“I love you,” Will’s voice doesn’t waver, it sounds almost dead, like there was too much emotion in the sentence that Will knows that if he gave it even a little bit of feeling, the rest of his insides would come pouring out with it. “I’m sorry,” he attaches to the ending, sounding a little panicked. “I love you, and I’m sorry, and I was never going to say it, literally going to take it to my fucking grave, but you’re freaking me out, and… and if we’re really going to die tomorrow, or any time soon because we have to literally start fighting hell tomorrow then… I’ll just say it. And if we survive, then please just forget it.”
Mike feels like something opened up in his chest. Relief, maybe. Relief? What does that mean? He also maybe feels guilty. Like he pushed too hard, and now Will might resent him forever. The silence is crushing, but Mike’s still thinking and he might need the rest of eternity to think.
“Mike, please say something,” Will begs, his eyes shut tight as he plays with his hands, “Look, if you… if you hate me or… or you can’t be my friend. Just tell me. Please just tell me, Mike. You can tell me. I’m your best friend,” Will says, repeating Mike’s words from earlier, “I won’t blame you.”
It’s just one night. It’s just one night. It’s just one night. Mike’s repeating it in his head like a mantra. He’s in love with his best friend. And his best friend is Will Byers. And Will Byers is in love with him. And they’re both boys, and it should be wrong, and Mike is terrified, but he’s more terrified of dying in the worst possible ways imaginable tomorrow, so who the hell really cares?
“Mike?”
If everything changes tomorrow, if the world goes to shit, and Vecna ends up destroying all there is left in this world, then Mike will dive into it headfirst tomorrow.
That means tonight, he just won’t care.
He won’t care.
“I don’t want to tell you,” Mike deadpans. I’ll show you. The second part goes unsaid.
And then Mike’s diving forward, and Will staggers backward at the action because he isn’t expecting Mike to jump at him.
Mike’s left hand makes contact with Will’s cheek, his fingers hook behind his ear as he holds Will’s jawline, his pinkie and ring finger on his neck. When Mike pauses, waiting for Will to push him away, or for the ceiling to collapse in, or for Vecna to open his bedroom door with a knife or whatever he attacks with, and nothing happens, Mike pulls him in.
Their lips collide way too aggressively to be sweet, but Mike moves away to come back in more gently.
It should feel wrong, but Mike doesn’t care, because he’s kissing Will Byers and how could he ever be ashamed of loving fucking Will Byers.
His other hand goes to Will’s waist, and he pinches at his hip bone. Will staggers again and takes two steps back, both his hands gripping at Mike’s shirt like Mike was going to disappear if he let him. Will finally moves along his lips, inexperienced and uncoordinated. He’s pressing forward, and up because Mike is taller and he’s losing himself in the feeling of whatever this was.
Mike pushes Will back a little more by the waist, and he hears the back of Will’s knees hit the edge of his bed. He pulls away for a second, and when Will opens his eyes and their gaze meets, both their eyes hooded and surprised, Will’s legs give out.
Mike lets out a gasp, trying to hold Will up by the one hand he has on his waist but it’s barely anything and then they’re crashing down. Will sitting on the edge of the bed, and Mike with one knee on the bed near his waist, his other leg still upright on the floor. Mike’s hovering over him, cautiously, their faces still too close to think about anything else but each other.
Will looks flustered out of his mind, and he looks like he’s still trying to process what the hell just happened, but before he can say anything, Mike goes back in.
And Will lets him.
Their lips crash again, and Will’s inexperienced, but he’s pushing up and so Mike keeps moving. Keeps leading. Because Will will follow him to the edge of the world, if he could.
Mike’s insides are heating up, and the hand he had on Will’s cheek travels up to his head of hair. He’s grabbing at the soft strands just tightening his grip every now and then, and pulling, and Will’s just pliant in his hands like putty and Mike’s losing his fucking mind.
He feels Will try to say something into the kiss, and Will’s hands aren’t holding his shirt anymore but pushing.
“Eleven,” Will tries to say, muffled in the kiss. Mike doesn’t hear him the first time, and Mike presses onward and Will’s almost got his back on the bed, but then Will shoves him and Mike snaps back into reality, pulling away roughly and then Will’s back in his sitting position.
“Mike, we can’t,” Will pants, out of breath, and frazzled, his hair a mess, and his ears all the way down to his neck, red and embarrassed, and flustered.
“What?” Mike whispers.
“Eleven. I can’t do this to her,” Will’s kind of crying again, bringing his hands up to his own hair and he’s tugging, and crying and he looks so afraid, and stupidly guilty, “Why did you kiss me? Mike, El loves you, and you… I can’t–”
“We aren’t together anymore, Will,” he says, kind of frantic.
“What?”
“We broke up,” Mike hurries, and because he needs to wipe that guilty look off of Will’s face, he continues, “I still love El, and El still loves me, but we’re not… we’re not in love. I said I loved her back when she was fighting Vecna because you got through to me with the painting. I said ‘I love you’ to the person who made me the painting, Will. That was you.”
Will’s breath hitches, and Mike’s hand hesitantly comes up to hold his shoulder.
“I was so mad you lied this whole day because I’m just… I’m just scared. I don’t want to think about this right now though. I think I’ve done enough thinking for a while,” he says with a smile, and Will lets out a small laugh, “I’m not dating El, okay? You aren’t hurting her,” he adds, because Will still has that look in his eyes like he ran over a puppy with a tractor.
“Okay,” Will whispers, and it’s so quiet, Mike almost missed it.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Will says, way too easily. “I’ve done enough thinking for the rest of my lifetime. I’m exhausted, and I’m just… I’m scared too. I’ve been scared about loving you for forever. I’m so tired of being scared. I kind of don’t want to talk about feelings right now either.” Which was a rare thing to hear from Will Byers, but Mike gets it. Because it’s Will. And they just get each other.
The look on Will’s face makes Mike want to hold him for the rest of his life. Which he then remembers, might end in the next week.
An unspoken agreement passes through them, and then Mike grabs Will’s waist with both hands and bends down. They’re kissing again, and Will wraps both his arms around Mike’s neck and he pulls him in harder. Their mouths open for each other, and their lips trap together in a way that’s way too intoxicating than it should be.
There’s a boldness to Will’s actions that wasn’t there earlier. Will isn’t just following Mike anymore. Mike tries to push Will to lay down on his back because he wants to get closer. He always needs to get closer. He doesn’t know how close he wants to get before he’s satisfied.
But Will isn’t letting Mike take the lead anymore, and then Will suddenly unhooks his hands around Mike’s neck and grabs his shoulders. Mike gasps into their kiss when Will pushes him.
They roll over, away from the window, and then Mike’s back hits the bed and it knocks a little air out of him. Will kisses him again, and Mike’s fucking dying.
Will scrambles on top. He feels Will’s knees on the sides of his waist, and Will’s pushing down on him like he’s been waiting to lead forever. Then, Mike just lets go.
He just lets go.
Mike licks along Will’s closed mouth, and Will opens for him. They kiss heavily, Will sucks at his tongue and Mike doesn’t know how he knows to do that, but he doesn’t even question it. Mike feels like he’s dying, and he probably is, and he probably will be, but he doesn’t pull back.
He pushes up, and Will pushes down, and they meet in the middle. Will’s got one of his hands tangled in Mike’s hair, and it kind of hurts when he pulls but he lets him anyway, because Mike would let Will do anything to him. Mike kind of cringes at the sudden thought, but it goes unnoticed at the moment. How has he been this blind for so long?
Will’s other hand though is on the back of Mike’s neck, pulling him up towards Will. Mike feels like he should be doing more, but they’ve already got their tongues in each other’s mouth so what would even be more?
How can Mike still be thinking in this situation? He wants to laugh at the thought, but then Will is tugging at his hair again, a lot harder than the previous times, and Mike hisses, arching his back as Will pulls away. When Mike opens his eyes after he’s done wincing, Will’s just staring down at him. His eyes look incredibly innocent, and so Mike just stares at him too.
“Did I hurt you?” Will asks, seemingly afraid of an answer.
“Oh, um,” Mike tries to respond but he’s flustered, and still feels like he’s dying, “No. I mean, yeah, kinda. But it,” he breathes, and then he's rambling, “It wasn’t like a bad hurt. It like… It hurt a little bit, but it didn’t hurt. I've felt worse. Like a lot worse. Like–”
“Mike,” Will cuts him off, and when Mike looks at his face, Will’s smiling at him, on the brink of laughter.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
And Mike does.
Will comes back to him with more fervor, and Will’s suddenly grabbing Mike’s hand and guiding it back to his waist. Mike lets Will lead him again, and Mike’s losing his mind. Instead of keeping his hand on Will’s waist, he slides it underneath Will’s T-shirt.
The skin to skin contact made Will jump, their teeth almost crashing into each other as they kissed.
Will climbs off Mike languidly, and then collapses right next to him, on top of Mike’s arm that had been on his waist. They’re laying side by side, Will’s leg half over Mike’s leg, and Mike’s hand still under Will’s shirt. Mike turns over to face the other, but Will’s staring up at the ceiling in disbelief.
“What the hell,” Will laughs, and then, because Mike is definitely in love with him, Mike laughs too.
“What are you laughing about?” Mike asks, still laughing along with him. He can’t help it. How can he ever resist him?
“I don’t know. The world’s ending and I just made out with the Mike Wheeler,” Will looks up at the ceiling, a hand in his own hair, and he’s talking more to himself than he’s talking to Mike, but Mike listens anyway. Because it’s Mike and Will.
“You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“No, it’s good. It’s a good thing,” and Will’s on the brink of laughter again, “I think,” he adds.
And then they’re laughing again.
The situation should feel more heavy, more confusing, more terrifying. But the world’s ending, and they’ve got enough trauma to last them ten lifetimes, and they’re in love, and so since they might die in the next day, or week, or month, then who the fuck cares that they’re two boys who are in love, and kissing.
Because it’s just one night.
And Mike has decided not to care. And Will has also decided not to care. Unspoken agreements.
“What do you think will happen tomorrow?”
“What did I say about having to talk about feelings, Mike?” Will reminds him.
“This isn’t feelings! Just a question. Like do you think anyone has a plan?” Mike whispers.
“Probably. Probably not,” Will’s voice sounds tired and a lot less cheerful than it has been. Mike feels a twinge of guilt go through his throat.
Before he can stop himself, Mike pushes up against his elbow to lean over Will and peck him on the lips. Because he has decided not to care. Just for one night.
“Okay, you were right,” Mike says, “No talking about feelings… or anything about the state of Hawkins right now.”
“Leave it for tomorrow,” Will says, but there’s a sound of a smile in his voice. Maybe it was because of the kiss, or maybe they’re both losing their minds.
“Leave it for tomorrow,” Mike parrots.
Tomorrow, they’ll save the world. And when Will suddenly shuffles around again, and then he’s on top of Mike and they’re kissing… again, Mike decides that, no.
They were going to survive whatever shithole they were about to fall into. And then they’ll talk about feelings when Will’s ready, and when Mike figures his shit out, AND when the world isn’t ending.
Will instilled some kind of hope into Mike that he didn’t know he needed, and he didn’t know he could ever get after everything that has happened in the last week. Mike doesn’t like feeling hope. It scares him. It feels like he’s jinxing it. But he feels it anyway because Will is inescapable. They’ll be okay. Probably. Hopefully.
“Mike,” Will says, breathy and certain, as he lifts his face out of the kiss.
“Hm?”
“Stop thinking.”
Mike has no idea how Will knew he was lost in thought because he was still moving against the kiss. At least he thinks he was. But Will sounds stubborn, and right –
“Mike,” Will says again, and there’s a sound of a smile on his lips, and Mike also feels that smile against his own because Will’s mouth is close enough to his to feel it.
“Yeah?” he answers. Again.
“Just focus on me.”
And, the end of the world be damned, Mike does.