Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Where the hell is Will?” is a question Mike Wheeler finds himself asking more than he’d like to.

This time, they’re at Pinocchio’s, Will’s favorite pizza place ordering Will’s favorite pizza: pineapple. Honestly, Mike hadn’t even noticed that Will wasn’t there. He’d rattled off the order and Fran, their usual waitress, hadn’t even blinked as she’d taken the order. She’d even told Mike to switch out soda for water like she always does.

It’s not before Lucas had blinked twice, turned towards Mike and asked him, “Dude, why the fuck did you order pineapple?”, that Mike noticed. Will wasn’t there.

“Where the hell is he?” Mike asks, letting the frustration seep into his voice and Dustin, beside him, sighs. Somehow, they both seem to know exactly who Mike is talking about.

“Where do you think?” Dustin answers, before calling Fran over to change the order.

The TV is playing some mindless football game that Mike fixes his eyes to, his mind wandering elsewhere. Pinocchio’s had been Will’s discovery in their freshman year, when the library closed and Mike and Will’s room was too boring to study in for a period longer than five minutes.

Pinocchio’s had provided much cherished shelter with its brick walls and large ovens that always kept the pizza place warm. They have their Christmas lights strung up even in May and it sinks the entire place into soft red and green light. It’s Will’s favorite place in the entirety of Lenora Hills and that’s really the only reason Mike comes here as often as he does.

Lucas and Dustin are engaged in some heated conversation about Phoebe Cates that Mike doesn’t get into, only cutting in to give his yeses or nos to whichever side is winning. Lucas and Dustin seem unfazed by Mike’s unenthusiastic participation, instead reveling in the fact that someone other than themselves is taking part in their useless debate.

Lucas stretches his legs under the table, kicking Mike’s calf by accident. On a normal day, Mike would curse him out. Curse Lucas and his long, basketball player legs. Today, Lucas is spared because Mike is busy with his mental gymnastics, involving Will Byers.

Mike isn’t even sure why he’s surprised at Will’s absence. It’s been two months since Will has properly hung out with them. These days, it’s always Jennifer this, Jennifer that. It’s not even Will’s first girlfriend but he still treats her like she is. Not even Mike was all that obsessed with Jane when they’d dated.

It’s nothing like Lucas dating Max and it’s not like Dustin dating Suzie. Both of those things are very different from Will dating Jennifer Hayes.

Because Mike didn’t hate Suzie and he loves Max like a sister who terrifies him to his wit’s end. Mike doesn’t hate either of them — far from it, but he hates Jennifer Hayes.

Well. Mike doesn’t hate her. He dislikes her a lot and he ignores her when they walk by each other in the hallways, but it’s not hate. At least, he doesn’t think it is.

He should ask Max. She knows a lot about these things.

Mike absentmindedly bites into the lukewarm pizza, while Lucas and Dustin settle their nonsensical debate, busy experimenting with mayonnaise on the pepperoni (Mike and Will had tried it once, it was disgusting and Will had spent their car ride home, trying not to throw up all over Mike’s car seat). He picks at the cheese, feeling his appetite die when he thinks of Will and Jennifer.

It’s grown to be one of Mike’s unhealthy habits: spending his free time obsessing about his best friend and his girlfriend. It’s none of his business and it’s weird and Mike knows if he saw a character in a TV show do this, he’d immediately be creeped out.

Mike justifies it by putting it this way: it doesn’t make sense to him. Nothing about Will’s and Jennifer’s relationship made sense to him. So, he’s trying to figure it out. That’s it. There’s nothing weird about any of this. If it were anyone else, Mike wouldn’t have even blinked.

There’s just something about Jennifer Hayes that bugs Mike.

Mike abruptly stands up. Lucas and Dustin pause halfway through their conversation about who’s buying tomorrow morning’s coffee and stare up at him.

“See you guys tomorrow.”

“Leaving already?” Lucas says, and Mike shrugs. With something akin to a knowing look, Lucas continues, “I don’t think Will’s gonna be back tonight.”

Mike blinks. He hadn’t even considered that and the thought has bile rising up into Mike’s throat. “I’m just sleepy,” He mutters, grabbing his jacket off the table as he tries to ignore Dustin’s amused grin. “See you.”

As he’s walking out the door, he turns back to glance at Fran, who gives him a tiny goodbye wave. He considers ordering something for Will (Will is going to be pissed when he finds out they all went to Pinocchio’s without him), but he thinks about what Lucas said.

Will won’t even be back tonight. Mike turns on his heel and leaves.

It’s nearing midnight when Mike hears the lock turn.

He’s spent the three hours between leaving Pinocchio’s and now, flipping through the Cosmopolitan magazines he stole from his neighbor’s girlfriend (Mike just liked looking at the pictures and the pretty women. Especially the pretty women,) and debating with himself if Will is coming back tonight or not.

Will and Jennifer have been together for something close to six months now. They’re so close and they get along so well that even a caveman with zero knowledge of social cues could see that they’re dating. They’re both mildly popular, wildly attractive people and Mike would be surprised if they haven’t sealed the deal yet.

Will doesn’t talk to him about these things. Lucas and Dustin have no issues about telling him, relishing their stories about their tiny conquests like getting to hold Suzie’s hand or finally, finally getting to make out with Max (which drew Mike to the verge of ending it all when he first heard about it), but Will is the epitome of radio silence.

He wants to know and he doesn’t want to know. It’s both frustrating and satisfying that Mike doesn’t know one thing about Will’s and Jennifer’s relationship.

When Mike hears the lock turn, he can’t explain that flood of calm inside him.

Mike sits at his desk, legs folded onto his chair as he flips the magazine shut. He opens his mouth to make some snide comment about going to Pinocchio’s without Will, but the retort dies on the tip of his tongue when he actually looks at Will.

Tired. That’s the first word that comes into mind when Mike sees Will walk in through the door.

This was bound to happen. From the Hawkins days, Will has always been a bit of an overachiever. That’s the one thing about him that hasn't changed since coming to Lenora, California. He’s signed up for six classes, got a part time job, picked up basketball over the summer and while he isn’t a natural like Lucas, he’s up there on Lenora’s list of greatest potential players for the coming future.

But there’s something different about Will today, the slouch in his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. It’s not exam week and there are no matches scheduled, so Will isn’t supposed to have anything on his mind that’s bothering him so much that he doesn’t even notice Mike in the chair, busy drowning in his own thoughts.

Will's jacket is slung over his right arm. He'd only picked the sport up because Lucas needed company on the Lenora Lions basketball team, (and Dustin and Mike were the furthest thing from athletics, so Will was his safest bet).

It's been days since Mike has seen the jacket. Weeks, in fact. Usually, it's around Jennifer's waist or around Jennifer's shoulders or anywhere within Jennifer's three-mile radius. As far as Mike knows, she’s never let it out of her sight. Seeing it again on Will's arm rather than his girlfriend's, makes Mike blink.

(It would be so much easier to ask).

There’s this sinking feeling in his gut. It’s a feeling he only gets when something is terribly wrong with Will. It’s purely instinct. Mike has never been able to explain where, why, how this gut instinct works, but hey, you know someone long enough.

“Long day?”

Mike’s voice startles Will so badly, he goes rigid, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. For a second there, Will looks as if he’s about to grab his bag and bolt out the door. But their eyes meet, Will’s death grip on the jacket loosening and he loses the tightness in his posture. Somewhere, deep down, Will manages to muster the strength to grin at Mike.

“Something like that,” Will says, sitting down at the edge of his own bed to take off his shoes. He tosses the letterman over the headboard and for some reason, Mike’s gaze keeps flitting back to it. “Weird day.”

“What happened?”

Mike’s magazine lies long forgotten on his desk, a soft breeze blowing in through the window that curls around his ear as Will talks about his day. His coach said something strange to him, he found out he might’ve flunked a test he thought he did really well on. Oh, and he might be having problems with Jennifer.

“Can you try not to look so happy?” Will mutters as he shifts from lying face-front in his pillow to being propped up on his side. “I get it, you don’t like her.”

Mike gestures at his face, wildly. “I didn’t even crack a smile.”

“You totally did.”

“I totally did not,” Mike says. “And even if I did, how would I know? I can’t see myself.”

That gets a laugh out of Will, but it melts away as quickly as it came. Will stares into empty space, losing its traces of the amusement that played on his raised cheeks solely because of Mike’s comment. Maybe he’s said something wrong. The apology is ready on the tip of Mike’s tongue, but Will cuts him off before he gets to say anything.

“What’s your problem with her?” The question sounds accusing, but Will’s tone is devoid of any of the malice Mike might’ve deserved.

The thing is, Mike knows what his problem with Jennifer is, even though he’d die before he admitted it. The question isn’t about reaching into the deep, fucked-up recesses of his mind and trying to figure out why, just why he hates his best friend’s girlfriend who’s been nothing short of nice to him. He knows why. It’s a question about how he’ll ever say this to Will.

She’s not good enough for Will. Sure, she’s sweet and she’s nice and Mike would have to be blind to deny that she was hot — but she doesn’t get Will.

She doesn’t understand why Will has to play so much D&D or hang out with his friends outside of classes or room with Mike when Will could just get another one that’s much closer to hers. Will deserves a girlfriend who wants to spend the rest of her life playing D&D with him, someone who knows the ins-and-outs of Nintendo, someone who is willing to accept his dorky interests.

Jennifer is not that person.

It’s simple logic, really. Will deserves better. A lot better.

“I don’t know,” Mike lies, because he would rather walk on coals than say any of this to Will’s face.

Will shrugs, shifting onto his back so he’s staring at the bare ceiling. Even from here, Mike can see the genuine turmoil on Will’s face, accentuated by the golden light of his table lamp. Mike should’ve been more helpful, but again, he doesn’t know the first thing about relationships.

There’s a reason Mike has kissed a grand total of two women in his entire life of twenty years. There’s a reason Jane broke up with him within six months of dating. There’s a reason she didn’t even give him a full year before deciding to part ways with him.

It’s something Mike has come to accept and it no longer makes him feel like his insides have been carved out with the wrong side of a spoon. He’s destined to be alone forever. He looks over at Will, the crumpled letterman jacket and thinks if Will didn’t end up marrying Jennifer and having a huge roster of six kids, Mike would be content living out the rest of his life this way with him.

“By the way,” Mike says, raising his voice a little to get Will’s attention and hopefully distract him from the internal suffering brewing inside him. “We went to Pinocchio’s without you.”

Will’s response is immediate, loud and chock full of dramatics as he leaps over his bed to walk over to Mike and hit him in the arm. It hurts a little, but Will is smiling, his face lit up and Mike thinks, worth it.

It should be a crime to have classes at seven in the morning.

Mike stares at the white board blankly, making sure to maintain eye contact with his professor so he can pass this class. He hasn’t even had a sip of coffee and he can feel the turmoil brewing inside his body, as he glances at his notebook, eyes closed halfway.

The only reason Mike even showed up is because of Will. This is the one of the only two classes they share. Usually, Will sits with Jennifer but she’s noticeably absent today. Mike has never known her to miss her classes. He doesn’t ask — Mike isn’t the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, and Will doesn’t tell.

They sit all the way in the back of the lecture hall, where the material written on the board looks like nothing but squiggles drawn by a five year old on a sugar rush.

Mike’s cheek is pressed into Will’s jacket which he’s intelligently fashioned into a pillow, as he tries not to drool during his nap. Will, beside him, diligently takes notes, eyes zeroed in on whatever he’s writing.

They’d stayed up all night watching the sequel to Will’s favorite movie, Curtis and Viper 2, but there isn’t even a trace of exhaustion on Will’s face. He’s wide awake, brighter than normal and he hasn’t cussed Mike out for drawing on his arm with a black pen. Yet. The stark contrast from yesterday night to today morning is a bit of a shock.

Will seems so focused on what he’s doing (he hasn’t looked at Mike in the past five minutes) that it slightly breaks Mike’s heart to distract him.

“Will,” Mike whispers, knocking his knee into Will’s when he doesn’t respond. “Will.”

“I’m clearly doing something.” Will responds, not looking away from his book.

“Talk to me.”

“Just give me a minute.”

“I’ll slip into a coma in a minute.”

“Oh.” Will says, finally looking up. He gives Mike the distinct pleasure of one look before he goes back. “I’m keeping the Nintendo.”

“I can’t believe that if I go into a coma, the first thing you’re going to do is steal our Nintendo.”

“Not stealing if it’s already mine.” Will mutters.

“Dude. Dude. Dude.” Mike repeats, trying to distract Will from his diligent note-taking but Will doesn’t budge. He was immune to Mike’s shenanigans long ago. “Ugh, I’ll just take the notes from Sarah, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to pay attention.”

Will huffs, a smile tugging on his lips. His pencil stays glued to the paper in front of him, even as he talks to Mike. “Yeah, not all of us can rely on pretty girls to give us their notes, Mike.”

Mike blinks, the implication of Will’s words hit him square in the chest like a sucker punch. “Oh no, no, it’s not like that.”

“Really?” Will trails off, shrugging. “Okay.”

Mike has no idea what Will is talking about. He asks Sarah for her notes all the time and she’s more than willing to give it to him, but that’s the extent of their interactions. That’s it.

“Wait,” Mike says, turning halfway in his seat as he looks at Will. “What are you trying to say?”

Either Will doesn’t hear him or pretends not to hear him because Mike never ends up getting an answer to his question. (If Mike spends the next few days turning it over in his head, wondering what Will truly meant, it’s no one’s business but his own).

Will, instead, holds his notepad up and Mike blinks. Will wasn’t taking notes. Instead, it’s a mini version of Mike with droopy eyes and his long hair sticking up in all directions like he’s been electrocuted. From Will’s grin, it’s easy to see just how much fun he’s having at the expense of Mike.

Mike snatches the notepad away from him. “This — this isn’t accurate, I don’t look like this.” All that comment does is make Will laugh, bright and as loud as they can be in this quiet classroom.

“Sure you don’t,” Will chuckles, the tips of his ears run red. Mike grumbles, smooths his hair and goes back to drawing on Will’s arm and Will never stops him. Not once.

He hasn’t seen Will smile this much in a good bit.

Mike lets a moment pass. “Hey,” He says, and Will looks up at him, gaze focused and electric. “If something was wrong, you would tell me, right?”

Will’s breath hitches. “Everything’s fine,” He says, not actually answering the question and he goes back to his notepad, but the color has drained out of his face.

“Okay.” Mike replies softly, letting go of Will’s arm before he closes the marker. The wall between them is back.

From the corner of his eye, Mike sees Will’s uncomfortable expression and before Mike can apologize to him — he’s clearly stepped over a line, but Will stops him before he has a chance to say anything.

Will’s hand suddenly covers his and Mike goes rigid in his seat. He stares blankly at the board, heart picking up its speed in his chest. He can’t explain why he’s reacting like this, why the mere act of his best friend holding his hand has him close to leaping out of his seat.

“I’ll tell you. Of course, I will.” Will says, tone softer than butter melting in the sun and that’s that.

As it turns out, Will lies to him. Because Mike gets to hear about Will’s and Jennifer’s breakup from Lucas.

Mike sits by the edge of his bed, eyes wide. He hasn’t gotten much sleep since the news broke and Will hasn’t come back home since their morning lectures, so Mike alternates between listening to Lucas on the phone and watching the front door intensely.

Lucas sighs into the phone. “Erica’s been on the phone with Jennifer all day. I think I even heard Jennifer cry. And I was… curious, so I stood by her door.”

Mike blinks. “You mean you eavesdropped.”

“Potato, ‘pohtato’, okay? But, guess what? Jennifer was crying because she and Will broke up.” Lucas pauses for a second, then repeats, “Broke up.”

“No fucking way.”

People don’t break up with Jennifer Hayes. Lucas must’ve been mistaken. There’s no way, just no way –

“But she’s hotter than Phoebe Cates.” is the only thing Mike can find himself being capable of saying. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope. Will told Jane, Jane told Max and Max – “

“– told you. Yeah, I get it. But, fuck. I can’t believe it.”

“We have to talk to him.” Lucas states. There’s no mistaking the concern his tone is coated in. “I’m worried about him.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, absentmindedly. He’s thinking about Will and Jennifer, Lenora’s unlikeliest couple. He’s thinking about Will’s smile the night she asked him out after his first basketball game. You don’t break up with someone you’re in love with. “Me too.”

There’s no way. It’s their senior year. Even if Will didn’t like her anymore, all Will had to do was tolerate her for another six months. Why would he commit social suicide so late into the game? Another six months and that was it.

Through the entirety of their middle school (and high school) years, they were on the outside looking in. They’d spent most of their time coming up with the campaigns, thirteen, twenty hours spent in one go, just to pretend that their real lives were slightly more interesting than they actually were.

Mike hadn’t even looked at girls for most of middle school. They were all already taken or excellent at ignoring him or weren’t impressed by the fact that Mike had the entirety of the periodic table memorized at the age of thirteen. The only thing they all had in common? They were completely uninterested in Mike Wheeler.

The only one who didn’t resent that was Will. Girls being uninterested in them had zero effect on Will Byers. I think DnD is better, Will had said to him once and Mike had stared at him like he’d grown a third head.

Because there’s no world where DnD is better than having a girlfriend. Mike would’ve murdered all his friends and then some for even the smallest chance with a girl.

And then they moved to Lenora. Things changed. They were no longer social pariahs because there’s always someone weirder than you, someone more different than you in every corner and Mike loved the feeling of finally fitting in. He finally was a piece to the right puzzle and it clicked.

It wasn’t just Mike. Dustin started his own physics club, Lucas joined the basketball team and while Will wasn’t busy talking to the writers of the college editorial team, he was busy doing things to catch the eye of Lenora’s IT girl, Jennifer Hayes.

Off the bat, Mike didn’t get along with her. Dustin called it insanity, Max called it jealousy.

Will and Jennifer spent an entire college year hanging out to the point where Mike barely saw Will. He saw his mailman a lot more than he saw his own best friend that year. Just one of the many reasons that brought up Mike’s very tiny, negligible distaste for Jennifer.

A year ago, they’d officially started dating. Things were normal, things were nice. Mike, Jane, Will and Jennifer had gone out once and Mike doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen Will laugh so much.

There’d been a lurch in his gut then. It’s the same thing now.

The restlessness is getting to him. Mike gets off the bed, puts his jacket on and grabs his keys off the coffee table.

The rays of the evening sun flood Mike’s car with unintelligible shades of pink, orange, red and he pulls the window down. It creaks and the noise makes Mike cringe, but at least the cool breeze is a remedy to the hot skin under his collar.

Max tweaks the radio from the passenger seat, fiery red hair tied into a ponytail that tangles with the headphones slung around her neck. She always needs her music to be deafeningly loud and Mike always complains about it, but not today. He needs the music to drown out the noise in his head.

There isn’t much to see in Lenora, it’s known more for its manmade views but once you leave the town for a bit, there is a beautiful drive down the side of a mountain that overlooks the coast. Mike only takes the drive when he needs to clear his head. And he only takes Max out on that drive when he needs her unwavering, unflinchingly honest advice.

Once Max has adjusted the volume, she sticks a handful of lukewarm fries into her mouth, feet on the dashboard and Mike sighs.

“Off.” Mike says, slapping Max’s leg, which nearly gets him a kick to the face.

“You asked me to be here, so either I get to keep my feet up or you drop me off.”

“Fine. Get out.”

“I’ll strangle you.” Max replies, making a big show of untangling her headphones and stretching the wire between her two hands as she brings it closer to Mike’s neck. “And keep your eyes on the road, Wheeler. Do you want another New Year's incident?”

“That was one time.”

Max glares at him. “You almost drove us into a ditch.”

“Once, it was fucking once, will you ever let me live it down?”

Max glances at him, finger tapping on her chin, as if in thought. “If you let me drive your car.”

Mike makes a show of unlocking the door, making Max laugh, loud and bright. “Forget it, I’m kicking you out. Enjoy the ride down, asshole.” He says, keeping his eyes fixed on the road as Max settles back into her seat, cheek squished against the warm glass.

The music picks its speed up and Mike presses his foot on the pedal just a little bit harder. Max doesn’t complain, she never does, she loves the speed of Lenora as much as Mike does. It’s so much better than the slow, sluggish quiet of tiny Hawkins, a place they’re both trying their best to escape.

“Tell me,” Max says, and she doesn’t look at him once, her eyes trained on the vast blue that stretches out to her right.

“So.” Mike starts, turning the music down. The undercurrent of bass never leaves them, though. “Will and Jennifer broke up.”

Max hums.

“He didn’t tell me.” Mike’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles starting to bleed white in between the flashes of red. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Max, wise beyond her years, goes back to fiddling with the radio. Despite how much they claw at each other, Max never once tells him how ridiculous his problems are. She always knows what to say.

“Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing.”

Mike thinks back to Will in their room, the pale of his face, the bags under his eyes. He thinks of Will in the class, the clench of his jaw, the sour of his expression. “I really, really don’t think it was.”

“Why is this bothering you?” Max asks, a question Mike has been dreading since the start of this drive.

There’s so much Mike wants to tell Max. He wants to tell Max that Will doesn’t really talk to him anymore, that Mike feels like Will’s been keeping him at arms-length for a while now. Far enough to do the job, close enough not to make a ruckus.

He wants to tell Max about how this has been eating away at him for so long, the fact that his best friend, this person he grew up with, this person he’s spent a lifetime with, doesn’t consider him good enough to talk to anymore.

But any way Mike slices it, he can’t make it sound normal enough. He wants his friendship with Will back, the actual friendship, but Mike doesn’t know how to say it without it coming off like he wants something more. Which he doesn’t. That would be ridiculous.

The crunch of Max’s french fries brings him back.

“You didn’t answer me, Wheeler.”

“I want things to go back to normal,” Mike says, as vaguely as possible.

“Normal.” Max echoes, like the answer has somehow given her a good look into Mike’s psyche. “What’s normal?”

“I don’t know. Will saying three words to me without shutting down or talking to me when he decides to break up with his girlfriend.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe this isn’t about you?”

Mike pauses. “What?”

“Maybe Will has a lot on his mind and he just doesn’t know how to say it.”

“That’s the point. He used to be able to tell me anything.” Mike says. “Even with this breakup, he first went to Jane, which I get. She’s his sister. But he could’ve come to me after, you know. Can’t believe I had to hear about it from Lucas. No offense.”

Max shrugs. “None taken.”

“And I haven’t seen him all day and I don’t know if he’s okay or if he needs my help or if he’s drunk in a ditch somewhere.”

Max’s gaze is all-knowing when she turns on her side, arm slung over the back of the passenger seat. “Will can handle himself.”

“I know.” Mike huffs. “Just… it would feel nice if he needed me once in a while.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“What are you talking about?”

When Max doesn’t answer, Mike takes his gaze off the road and looks back at Max. Max’s eyes are bright, searching every inch of Mike’s face and suddenly, Mike feels naked, like his soul has been bared. Max is looking at him like she knows something, and Mike goes cold, a bucket of ice water emptied over his head.

“Dude. Max.” Mike starts. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Max purses her lips, shaking her head. “Call me when you figure it out.” She says. Before Mike gets to ask any follow-up questions, she turns the music up, but it’s not loud enough to combat the burning questions knocking around Mike’s skull.

 

Mike’s conversation with Max only leaves him with more questions, if that was even possible. Even after the long drive, he finds that ache in his chest growing, gnawing at his sides.

He never knows what to do with that clogged discomfort inside him, so he does the thing he does best: he drowns it out.

Mike puts a movie on, blasting it loud enough to make his ears bleed and cleans his room. Will still isn’t here and Mike highly doubts he’s going to get in until the night ends, but he forces his mind off that. If Will needs him, he’ll come to him.

Night falls, the crickets chirp. Mike’s movie has long since drawn to an end, an unsatisfying ending that seems appropriate given today’s mood and he’s still wide awake, itching, staring at the white ceiling looking for answers that walk right in through the door in the form of Will Byers.

Mike jolts from where he’s lying on the bed, sitting up on his elbows as he stares at Will blankly.

Will clearly wasn’t expecting Mike to be awake because his cheeks flush, obvious even in the dim light of their shared room. He’s shed his jacket, dressed in a plain white shirt that clings to his body with sweat like he’s been running for the past hour. Mike blinks, tearing his eyes away.

“Are you drunk?” Mike asks and Will doesn’t move.

“No.” He replies. His voice is clear enough for Mike to believe him.

The silence that ensues is buzzing with electricity. Mike has a million questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he waits for Will, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he does.

Will suddenly moves, flipping the light switch as he does and the room is filled with hot white light. Mike’s eyes struggle to adjust and he squints, long enough to see the expression on Will’s face.

This isn’t a man who’s going through a breakup, no. This is the face of a free man.

Will smiles, sultry and feline. A chill crawls up Mike’s back. “Do you wanna get out of here?” Will asks and the ache inside Mike’s chest ceases to exist.

 

They do this, sometimes, crashing parties outside of their college. Campus parties, while fun, don’t really provide a great level of anonymity. They came to Lenora to change their lives. From the way Will’s been acting, it seems like he’s desperately trying to remind himself of that.

Will asked Mike not to bring the car because he didn’t want to drive around, but Mike is slowly starting to suspect he just wants to get drunk. So, they walk down the busy street of Lenora’s town side, the thumping bass seeping out of every bar and club and it only gets warmer as they keep walking.

Mike wants to ask Will if he’s okay, if he has a plan, if he’s doing this because he wants to or because he wants to flush Jennifer out of his system so badly.

But suddenly, Will pauses, in front of what looks like nothing more than an inconspicuous house and finally, finally looks at Mike.

“We’re here.”

Mike blinks. “Okay.” He mumbles under his breath, as Will walks up the stairs to the door of the house and knocks three times. Mike hangs back as Will waits for the door to open.

Maybe this is a drug deal going down. Maybe that’s why Will has lost it. He’s doing drugs. It makes sense and then again it doesn’t make sense, because that’s not the type of person Will is. And he definitely wouldn’t bring Mike with him to a deal.

The door swings open to reveal a small blonde woman. The house inside looks nothing like the outside. A party is in full swing, purple lights strung up and red cups littering the floor. The music is pumping and Mike wonders how he didn’t hear it before.

“The place is soundproof,” The woman answers as she meets Mike’s eyes. “Also, scram. I don’t have any cash.”

“We’re Sinclair’s buddies.” Will says.

Mike inspects the woman for any visible signs of drugs. White powder on her nose, maybe a packet tucked into her sleeve (if it isn’t obvious, Mike doesn’t know how drug deals actually work), but she’s clean, from what Mike can see. The lady isn’t even drunk.

At the mention of Lucas, she visibly relaxes. Mike doesn’t even want to ask how Lucas knows her.

“Come on in.”

The house is packed with people and Mike is sure if he walked up to any of them, they wouldn’t know their own names. Once the door closes, any bit of moonlight present gets snuffed out like a candle and the place sinks into gaudy purple, the kind that makes Mike’s eyes hurt.

Will stays two steps ahead of him at all times, accepting the red cup that the blonde woman presses into his hand. When she offers Mike one, he takes it without complaint. He has no doubt this punch is spiked and someone needs to keep an eye on Will, but he goes along with the show. For now.

The woman leaves them alone to go deal with some of her other drunker guests who are currently drowning themselves in the big bowl of blood-red punch and Will maneuvers around the dancing bodies to lead them into the kitchen.

The kitchen, thankfully, isn’t as crowded as the outside, except for two other people. They seem deeply engrossed in a conversation and they don’t even notice as Mike and Will sidle past them.

Will leans against the sink as Mike sits on the counter to collect his bearings. Their eyes brush. Mike’s heart flips.

“Look,” Will starts, and he lets his head drop, intently staring at the tiled floor. “I know I’m acting… off.”

Mike bites back on his snarky comment, choosing to swallow it down with a big gulp of the punch. He almost gags at the bitter bite of vodka laced through.

“But, it’s been a rough week and I just…” Will trails off, shaking his head. He’s so different that Mike is having trouble believing that this is still his best friend. “I need you to trust me.”

“You don’t need to ask for it.” Mike says.

He wishes he could hide the sincerity that colors his words, but Will’s eyes snap up to meet his. Sharp, electric. Underneath the harsh of the purple light, Will is coming alive. As much as he wants to, Mike just can’t look away.

“Good.” Will nods. “Let’s go, then.”

In hindsight, Mike should’ve seen this coming. The vodka in the punch must be strong because it doesn’t take Mike more than three cupfuls to get hammered. The ground beneath his feet doesn’t start to sway, but the skin under his collar is starting to get hot, an itch running rampant on his scorched skin. He can’t think straight, can’t see straight, Will’s hand in his as they find themselves on the living room floor.

That last part might just be Will himself, though.

Will never gets drunk. His alcohol tolerance is unnerving. While Mike is down in three drinks, it takes Will six, seven, eight to get the same effect. But it’s different tonight. Either Will is letting go a lot more than he usually does or the vodka is stronger than he thought it was.

The flush of Will’s cheeks, his hair sticking to his forehead, Mike drinks it all in like a thirsty man in the oasis as Will beckons him close, close, closer.

He’s thrown caution to the wind a few horrible drinks ago and he doesn’t deny Will as he leads them to the makeshift dance floor.

They’re smack in the middle of the dancing crowd. The noise and the sweat and the chatter is setting Mike off. He’s been elbowed in the back enough times for a hospital visit to be justified, but Will is unmoving. The strands of Will’s hair stick to his forehead, sweat on his brow and his chest is heaving.

Mike didn’t even notice but they’re so close now. He can count the faint freckles on Will’s cheekbones, Will’s eyelashes that sweep the vast expanse of his cheek. Something about Will glows in a way that makes Mike’s heart pound beneath his ribcage.

Mike needs to do something. He should move, he should pull Will out of here and tuck him into his bed and let him sleep off the high, but Will’s eyes are on his — bright and electric and alive, and Mike stays frozen to his spot, unable and unwilling to move.

“Will,” He starts to say, but Will blinks, scrunching his eyebrows like he can’t hear what Mike is saying.

Before Mike can lean in closer to ask Will if he needs to get out of here or throw up in a bush, Will takes the first step. He throws his arms around Mike’s neck in one fell sweep and suddenly, they’re close enough for Mike to smell the mint on Will’s breath.

Mike makes an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat, drowned out by the loud music that seems to fade into white noise. Will grins at him.

“You know I can’t hear you, right?” Will says, right into Mike’s ear and there’s a hot something curling around Mike’s gut, making him gulp to combat the sudden dryness of his mouth. “Come closer.”

Will has never been much of a touchy person, not with Lucas or Dustin or never with Jennifer. So Mike can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or there’s actually a side of Will that he’s never seen before. Mike isn’t sure which one he wants it to be. The alcohol would certainly be a lot easier to explain.

He’s searching Mike’s gaze and Mike is struggling to understand what Will wants him to do here. He’s never encountered a drunk Will, but a silent Will is far more jarring. Will seems like he’s a million miles away from this stupid party, his arms still around Mike’s neck, like he never wants to let go.

“Will,” Mike tries again. This time, Will snaps out of his trance. Mike can’t tell if the red of his cheeks is a trick of the light.

In their twelve years of friendship, Mike has never looked at Will as more than a friend. Sure, Mike could appreciate that Will was conventionally attractive and he could see what the girls from college saw in him. Will is nice and he’s sweet and he’s so considerate that it breaks Mike’s heart sometimes.

But Mike has always been attracted to girls — girls like Jane Hopper and Sarah Miller and Phoebe Cates. He’s never once thought about kissing a guy.

But this isn’t the same Will he grew up with. There’s something almost animalistic about this version of his best friend standing in front of him, something raw and desirable and it’s turning him from the inside out. Mike’s brain is short-circuiting.

Mike distinctly wonders how badly his soda was spiked because he can’t stop thinking about kissing Will in this purple light that bounces off Will’s cheekbones. Mike can feel heat burrow itself deep into his face as he throws caution to the wind and lets his hands fall to grip Will’s waist. It should be a crime, how perfectly they fit together.

They shouldn’t be doing this. Will just broke up with his girlfriend. Today. From what Max tells him, there’s a good chance Jennifer is going to ask Will out again next week. The fact that Will refuses to tell him what happened means it’s either so serious that Will is holding back or it’s something so negligible, they’ll end up back together next week.

Either way, they shouldn’t be doing this.

They’re friends. They’re just friends. It’s going to be hard to come back from this. A million reasons not to do this. Yet one prevails. Mike wants to.

There’s something brewing inside Will. The furrow of his eyebrows is enough of a tell. Before Mike can ask, Will lets one of his arms drop, his left hand curling around the back of Mike’s neck and Mike feels his resolve crumble as he tries not to let his gaze wander past Will’s eyes.

That proves to be tougher than Mike thought as Will leans back, their eyes stuck in a deadlock where neither of them are looking away. Mike clings to whatever little sobriety he has left because he wants to remember this — this night, this party, this Will.

Will’s blunt nails dig into the back of his neck and Mike snaps back to this moment.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Will says.

His gaze is switching from Mike’s eyes to Mike’s lips. Something behind them falls in the far distance, crashing to the ground and Mike hears the clink of shattered glass crunching like gravel under the heel of someone’s boot. He doesn’t look away.

“Never.” It slips out of Mike’s mouth without a second thought. That’s enough of an answer for Will.

Will's fingers knot in his hair. Somewhere in this room, someone's lit a cigarette and Mike can taste the acrid smoke on his tongue. The glass crunches under someone's foot. Will slots his mouth against Mike's and Mike's mind empties itself.

It's so different from kissing a girl. There's nothing to hold onto, nothing to run his hands over, but Will kisses him with that feverish hunger that it compensates for anything that Mike might’ve missed.

There's that distinct taste of cherry vodka on Will's tongue, but Mike is more or less distracted by the heat of his mouth as he gets pulled in. Will's fingers slip from his hair to the back of his neck and god, he's such a good kisser that Mike never wants to let go.

He's not thinking of the consequences. He's not thinking of what a huge mistake this is. He's not thinking of tomorrow morning when they're both going to wake up and realize that things have changed now. Instead, he's thinking of the arm he has slung around Will's waist, Will's hands knotting into his shirt, tight and almost possessive.

They come up gasping for air, like their heads have been dunked under water, but Will's eyes are splayed wide and he's breathing so heavily, out loud and Mike can't hear himself over the sound of the loud music that makes the ground shake beneath his feet.

Mike can't stop looking down at Will's cherry-red bitten lips and even in his drunken state, he's wondering if he should take the next step or let Will make his move. This is all about making Will feel better. Nothing more, nothing less.

He's thinking about what Max said. Call me when you figure it out. He lets Will's gaze sweep over his face, heart pounding in his chest as Will pulls him in again. He didn't even realize there was anything there to figure out.

They're halfway through their fifth, when Will finally passes out. Mike — slightly sobered up from the third kiss when Will's cold hand reached under his shirt and pressed onto his bare abdomen, lets Will sling his arm around Mike's shoulders and drags them both out of this place he never wants to see again.

He hails a cab back to the campus, dreading that headache that he knows is right around the corner. Will, still asleep, slumps into Mike's side, drooling into his shoulder. Mike looks down at their linked arms, accented in the moonlight and feels the cool Lenora breeze hit his warm face.

They barely make it back to the apartment in one piece. With Will's entire body weight leaning onto Mike's frail stature and Mike, who hasn't lifted a single weight since college started, it's a tough journey back to their room. Thankfully, they make it back.

Mike flips the light switch on and even that isn't enough to stir Will. The guy is seriously knocked out cold. Mike manages to drag Will to his bed and lets him drop onto the mattress, only feeling mildly bad when Will makes an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat, clawing at his shoes in his deep slumber.

Despite his better judgment, Mike sits down by the edge of the bed. He's completely sober, wide awake and he's trying his hardest to keep his eyes off the pink of Will's face. Mike carefully undoes the laces of Will's converse, sliding each shoe off his foot, as gently as he can. It's strangely intimate and it makes Mike want to bite down on his pillow and scream.

He tucks Will back under the duvet, not making the mistake of touching him anywhere else lest he slips up and he pushes himself off the mattress.

Mike's heart lurches into his throat when he feels a warm hand curling around his wrist, tight and pleading and wanting.

Mike, against his better judgment, looks. Will, through half-lidded eyes, reached over to grab onto Mike's wrist. He's bathed in the silver of the moonlight, all soft pinks and dark hair splayed on his pillow. He's never looked this real and this untouchable and Mike, half-sober and completely confused, can't look away.

“Stay.” Will says, and there isn't much room for argument.

“Bad idea.” Mike manages to find his voice somewhere within the gravel. Will's fingers don't leave his wrist.

“I don't care.” Will mutters. Then the next words he says are so soft Mike almost misses them. “I want you.”

There it is again, that thing curling around Mike's insides, knotting his intestines. He can't find his voice as he struggles to think of one thing to say to this Will, who watches him closely with those sharp eyes. If he were any smarter, he would've walked away five kisses ago.

Instead, Mike does the stupidest thing. He sheds his coat and takes off his shoes and climbs into Will's bed. Mike is on the right side, the side with the lump in the mattress but as he lets his gaze rake over Will, who flits in and out of consciousness, he finds that he doesn't have much to complain about.

Mike wakes up to an empty bed, which in hindsight he should’ve seen coming. Will has the awful habit of waking up early to go for long, tiring runs, even on weekends, so for most of the morning, it’s just Mike. It’s a good thing because Mike gets to figure what the fuck just happened last night.

He remembers the weird house and the purple lights. He also remembers drinking. He definitely remembers sticking his tongue down Will’s throat and god, if that doesn’t make his headache worse.

Mike falls back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as the heat in his cheeks only gets worse. Jesus, he needs another drink. Or two.

As Mike tries to remember the time of the opening of the nearest bar, the lock turns. Mike’s heart jumps up into his throat.

Will definitely went out for his run because his gray shirt clings to his body from sweat and Mike can’t stop noticing all these little things about him, suddenly. Will’s short shorts are too short. It should be illegal to look like this in a plain gray t-shirt that definitely looks like a t-shirt Mike owns.

Also, there is absolutely no indication that Will remembers anything about last night.

“Hey.” Will casually says, as he goes for a cold bottle of water from their mini fridge.

Mike keeps waiting for him to say something, anything about last night. Be awkward, refuse to make eye contact, maybe pin Mike to the mattress and — Mike would take any kind of reaction over Will’s plain nonchalance.

Will’s eyes widen as he slaps his hand to his forehead. Mike prays that Will’s had some sort of epiphany.

Nope.

“Dude, it’s Sarah’s birthday today.” Will says.

Something inside Mike deflates.

Will doesn’t remember.

“How do you look even worse than yesterday?” Max asks, sticking her fork in the heap of food she has in front of her. “You look like death.”

“It’s called a hangover.” Mike says, burying his face in his arm.

They’re at a diner nearby, known for its sticky corn and bitter coffee that Mike so desperately needs. Mike takes a sip of his coffee, staring at his car parked outside, wondering how badly Max would hurt him if he just got up and bolted.

He does not want to have this conversation right now, he can’t. At least, not until he’s talked to Will.

But it’s hard to keep things from Max. There’s also the factor of Mike wanting to spill the beans, claw this conflict out of him and tell Max everything. She’ll understand.

Max chews on her food slowly as she keeps her eyes on Mike’s face. “You figured it out.”

Mike stares at the coffee stains his mug has left on the table. He definitely figured something out. He hasn’t even begun untangling this mess of feelings inside him and he’s been trying his best not to think of last night.

“I kissed Will last night.” Even the words sound so foreign on his tongue, it tastes like sandpaper.

Max blinks.

“Wait, that’s not entirely accurate. We drank, we partied and then he kissed me. I mean. He asked me first, obviously. And I said okay. And… yeah, shit happened.”

“Good god,” Max mutters, as she tucks back into her food.

“I don’t know what to think!” Mike exclaims. “And, that’s not even the best part.”

Max quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not?”

“He doesn’t even fucking remember it happened.”

“What?”

“It’s like the alcohol gave him some sort of amnesia. Will doesn’t even remember what happened last night. Picture this, okay: I’m fucking freaking out about what happened because I have no idea what he’s going to say or if he’s going to hit me or whatever and he just… doesn’t acknowledge it. At all. It’s like his mind has been totally wiped clean.”

This gets Max’s attention as she finally ditches the fork, puts her plate away and rests her face on open palms. “This is really interesting.”

“I’m having a life crisis and you think it’s interesting.”

“You having any kind of crisis is interesting. And funny.”

Mike buries his face in his hands. “I’m not paying for breakfast, fuck you.”

Max chuckles. “Okay, wait. Maybe it’s an act, you know?”

“An act?”

“Yeah. Like you said, he took the first step last night, right? Maybe, this time, when you guys are actually sober and can actually feel your faces, he wants you to take the initiative.”

Mike groans, long and suffering. Even the coffee has lost its heat, so it tastes like nothing more than sweetened black tar. “Why is this so complicated?”

Max rolls her eyes, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It’s simple to understand, really. Of course, I know I’m overestimating your emotional intelligence.”

“Fuck you.”

“But, what I’m trying to say is maybe Will is just pretending not to remember because he wants you to talk to him about it.”

“Why wouldn’t he just tell me?”

Max shrugs. She reaches over to pat the back of Mike’s hand. “Men.”

“Men.” Mike repeats, shaking his head.

Mike spends the next few days running it over in his head.

He knows what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to talk to Will about this — whatever this is, but he can never find the right thing to say. The words are either too hostile, too friendly or too romantic, and neither extreme can work.

The words have to be just right or he’s going to damage their friendship to no repair.

The issue is — Mike just doesn’t know how he’s supposed to break the news to Will in the first place.

So, like clockwork, Mike makes the stupidest decision in the history of stupid Michael Wheeler decisions. He doesn’t tell Will.

Most of the time, Mike doesn’t even see him. Their lives go on, plagued by the heavy realization that this is their final year finally dawning upon them. Days turn into weeks and Mike keeps it to himself. It’s slowly starting to eat him alive.

He should say something, anything. Will knows he’s acting weird, keeps pausing their movie marathons halfway through to ask if he’s doing okay, but when Mike goes to say the words, they bite his heart and he swallows them down.

“I’m fine.” Mike says. Will bristles, before quickly recovering and putting the movie back on.

As it turns out, Will isn’t faking anything. He genuinely doesn’t remember. They’re at Pinocchio’s when Mike realizes this.

It’s Mike, Will and the rest of the Party members, trying to decide what to order. There’s no one at the pizzeria except them and one sole waiter, who keeps leaving every five minutes to take his smoke break. As predicted, they’re fighting about the orders because they only have the collective money for one pizza.

Will says pineapple, which makes Dustin gag. Max insists on pepperoni. Lucas only cares about his meat supreme. Mike tries his best to contribute to the discussion but his brain is mush from processing the fact that he’s sitting next to Will.

Some time ago, this wouldn’t have mattered to him. They’re best friends, of course they’re sitting next to each other. But since the party, it’s like Mike forgot how he’s supposed to behave around Will. The word normal has no meaning to him anymore.

Will is busy arguing with Dustin about the pineapple and Mike can’t help his eyes drifting from the menu back to tracing the side of Will’s face. Pinocchio’s red lights only make it worse. Mike turns his gaze back to the oregano and chili flakes shakers before someone catches him.

“Mike.” Will says, and Mike’s head snaps up only to find everyone staring at him, particularly Max. “It’s two for pineapple, two for supreme, break the tie.”

Mike blinks. “Who’s the other psychopath who picked pineapple?” He asks, trying his best to ignore the expression of faux hurt on Will’s face.

Max raises her hand, looking smug. “I’m just a harbinger of chaos.”

“This isn’t a video game, Max. This is real life.” Lucas says, gesturing with his hands wildly. “You actually have to eat the pineapple pizza. Are you sure you can do it?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re right, it’s worse.” Dustin says, shaking his head. “Mike, come on, man, you have to save us.”

“Uh…”

“Mike.” Will states, meeting his eyes and suddenly all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. Mike can’t breathe. Thank fuck for the red lights. “Pineapple.”

Dustin pleads, wildly shaking his head. “Mike, man, come on. Fuck.”

Will’s knee knocks into his. Mike is such a fucking goner.

They made a mistake letting it come down to him because there’s no fucking way he’d ever pick anyone who isn’t Will.

“Pineapple it is.” He shrugs.

Dustin pretends to fall over while Lucas says something about being on a hunger strike. Max just smiles softly and shakes her head. Of course Mike sees none of this because he’s terrifyingly occupied by Will. His heart thumps away uncomfortably in his chest.

Over the emptied cups of water, Mike’s eyes find Max’s. She has her headphones on, but her gaze is sharp. Tell him, she mouths, her eyes momentarily flicking over to Will before she turns her attention back to her Walkman. Mike bites the inside of his cheek as he considers those two words.

Mike thinks he can survive a few more weeks of this weird dance they’ve been doing.

When he’s studying or playing video games, he isn’t thinking about it, isn’t thinking about Will and those are the true moments of peace that he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. He can do this, it’s just a few more weeks.

That doesn’t last. Mike should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.

He’s getting some coffee with Max when he sees them together. Will and Jennifer. Will and his ex-girlfriend. They’re sitting on the ledge outside Jennifer’s classroom, so deeply engrossed in their conversation that an earthquake could’ve come and swallowed them whole and they wouldn’t have noticed.

There’s no tension in Will’s jaw, nothing to indicate that he’s talking to a person he doesn’t like and Mike’s blood is turning into shards of glass, tearing him up from the inside.

There’s a sick feeling coiling in his gut that Mike does his best to suppress, but he’s weak. He’s weak. Mike stares at his coffee cup, wondering how he hasn’t burned a hole through it yet. Even when Max says something, Mike doesn’t look up, terrified at the thought of what morbid jealousy might look like on his face.

Truthfully, Mike has no reason to be jealous. He had a chance to tell Will at class or on one of their movie nights, but he didn’t. It’s not Will’s fault and it’s certainly not Jennifer’s fault. Mike made the conscious decision not to tell him.

This is the exact outcome that Mike should’ve anticipated. Still, it doesn’t hurt less than a dagger being pushed through his ribs and furiously twisted.

“Mike, are you okay?” Max asks, and she sounds worried, so worried.

“I’m fine.” Mike repeats, gulping down his bitter coffee before he crushes the cup in his hand and tosses it away.

They’re almost through the semester. The exams are looming and Mike has barely even started, but Mike is far more distracted by the Will thing. He can’t get it off his mind. The ache in his chest is worse.

Mike buries his face in his textbook. The quiet chatter of students in the library doesn’t help. Mike is in a far corner, hidden between two stacked shelves, as he desperately tries to focus on his work. He comes up short.

Mike chews on the back of his pencil. He needs to stop thinking about Will. He needs to firm his resolve and he needs to focus. He needs to focus, he needs to focus, he needs to —

A swift kick to his table distracts Mike. His heart lurches in his chest. Mike didn’t even notice Will approaching.

Will has no right to look this good. The sunlight breaks through the tiny window high above them and the splices of light fall over Will’s face, lighting up parts of his face and Will looks like someone straight out of a movie. Mike wonders if Will has always been this way or if it’s his sudden, newfound perspective that’s changed things for him.

When Will quirks an eyebrow, Mike realizes he’s staring. He quickly looks away.

“Hey.” Will says, leaning against the table. “Let’s go do something. Just the two of us.”

Mike almost chokes on those words. He prays to the heavens above that there isn’t a mind reader in this library.

“I’m busy.” Mike replies, making wild gestures towards his textbook before he goes back, flipping a page to pretend like his heart isn’t racing under his ribcage right now.

Mike tries to ignore how disheartened Will looks because at the end of all this, it’s really Will’s fault for kissing him and then conveniently forgetting all about it. But even after Mike’s prompt refusal, Will doesn’t move and stays rooted down on his spot at the table.

“An hour. That’s it.” Will states. As he gets off the table, Mike’s eyes follow him. “Then you can come back here and keep pretending that you’re studying. Just give me an hour.”

An hour is not groundbreaking time. In the big picture, sixty minutes is time that means nothing, but Mike isn’t sure he can survive that long without a buffer. Every time Mike looks over at Will, all Mike can think of is that night, those drinks, that Will. He can’t survive this spiral sober.

But Will has a small smile on his face and he’s glowing in this golden sunlight and Mike can’t look away from him. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, Mike wants to say. Instead, he shakes his head, grabs his coat, packs his books and slings his bag over his shoulder.

“You’re buying dinner.” Mike says. Will beams.

They take the car because Mike is insistent that he’s never going to get drunk with Will again. Mike drives them a little out of Lenora Hills, past the mountains. Will never asks him where they’re going, just sticks his head out the open window and he looks like he’s taking a bite out of the cold air.

When Mike is sure Will isn’t looking, he sneaks glances at this person sitting beside him, knees hugged close to his chest. The music streaming from the radio is soft, almost inaudible but Will’s bopping to the tune, humming under his breath.

Mike uses that to tether himself to the ground, his eyes fixed to the road.

Hawkins didn’t have beaches, but California has a coastline of eight-forty miles. Mike loves the taste of salt, the humidity in the air as he drives down to the nearest beach. It’s close to nighttime when they get to the beach, but California is a state that never sleeps. Mike turns the keys in the ignition, feeling the engine sputter as the car shuts down.

They’re surrounded by so many people and the shacks are still alive, serving cold beers and corn on the cob. Mike can taste the char from miles away and he’s sunk into this hazy environment. Will heads straight for the water, Mike quietly in tow.

The moonlight bounces off the waves, making the people in the water look like they’re waddling through buckets of thin silver. Will stops when the water comes up to his ankles, waiting for Mike to sidle up to him. Mike’s feet sink into the sand as they get into the water.

The air carries the taste of tang and salt and there’s heat crawling up Mike’s skin. As Will shifts, his arm brushes against Mike’s. There are no sparks of electricity but Mike’s skin prickles like goose flesh. He keeps his eyes trained on the water disturbed by the movement of the people emptying out.

“I’m sorry things have been weird.” Will says, toying with his keys as he says so.

Mike doesn’t trust his voice to come out normal, so he doesn’t say a word. Will mistakes his silence for something else.

“But, what happened?”

Mike can’t help the uncomfortable jump of his heart as he turns his head to look at Will, maybe a little too quickly. Maybe Max and Will have been talking and Max, somehow, let it slip. Mike’s cheeks run hot. He isn’t prepared for this conversation or rather any conversation about that particular night.

Will sighs as he gauges Mike’s reaction. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know something happened because before this whole breakup shit, things were fine. We were fine. And, I can’t think of one reason why we’re not fine anymore.”

The words are right there, dancing on the tip of his tongue and oh, he so badly wants to tell Will. But, Will is back together with Jennifer. If Mike tells him about the kiss, two relationships will simultaneously implode and Mike isn’t sure he can deal with that.

Will deserves peace for at least the latter part of his final year. If Mike tells him, that’s gone out the window.

So, what if it aches in his chest? Mike has dealt with worse for people that mean much less to him. It’s only two more months and then they can finally put that awful night behind them. But, Mike needs to give Will something, any explanation for his strange behavior. He asks him the question that has been on his mind for weeks.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jennifer?”

That clearly catches Will off guard. “What?”

Mike shrugs. “I mean, I had to hear about it from Lucas.” He stares at his feet, completely sunken into the sand. “What, am I not good enough for you anymore?”

That hurts Will because he clearly flinches, shrinking like a snail going back into its shell. He doesn’t meet Mike’s eyes, instead choosing to stare out ahead onto the water.

“It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Mike scoffs. He really doesn’t mean to sound as malicious as he does, but this has been eating at Mike for days. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Look, I — “ Will starts, then cuts himself off. He looks so small and Mike hates himself for having done this to him, this person he loves but it’s too late to take it back. “You would’ve asked me why and I…” Will shakes his head.

Mike bristles. “What?”

Will wraps his arms around himself. “If I would’ve told you about Jennifer, you would’ve asked me why. And I can’t tell you.”

This statement has Mike reeling. “What can’t you tell me?”

The color has long since drained out of Will’s face and he looks positively terrified as he shakes his head. “Don’t ask me. Please.”

“Is it drugs?” Mike suddenly asks, and Will blinks at him, features morphing from fear to confusion.

“What the fuck? No.” Will says, his tone a little watery. “Drugs? Is that what you think of me?”

Mike shrugs. “I mean, that party was pretty suspicious.” The mention of the party has Mike’s cheeks coloring but Will doesn’t notice.

“She was one of Lucas’ friends from… somewhere, I can’t remember and no, she doesn’t take or cook drugs.” Will says. “I just… I don’t know. I needed to unwind.”

“I get it. I just wish you could’ve told me about it.” Mike nods softly. He’s still stuck on Will’s I can’t tell you, but this isn’t the right time to bring it up. Mike shelves it away for things he wants to ask Will about but never can.

“I don’t know, these past few days…” Mike starts. He can feel Will’s gaze on the side of his face. “We haven’t been talking and it’s been so weird. I don’t know, I guess I felt like I lost you or something.”

Will’s eyes snap up to his, his gaze suddenly fierce. “Mike.” Will says, and he’s turned on his heel so he’s completely facing Mike. “You’ll never lose me.”

The crash of the waves against his calves keeps Mike tethered to the ground as he lets Will’s words sink in. If he were any stronger, he would’ve told Will about this turmoil brewing inside him. He would’ve untangled that mess inside his chest.

He would’ve told Will about the kiss, the true reason for why he hates Jennifer and he would’ve told Will that he can’t stop thinking about him in the way that friends are never supposed to think about each other.

Mike wishes he was stronger. But, the fact of the matter is that he isn’t.

“Good.” Mike says, instead. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Will pays for dinner as promised and Mike has charred corn on the cob with an ice-cold beer. If only all his worries washed away like this. They don’t talk about it, but the energy between them has changed. Will catches Mike’s eyes over the grill and he smiles, soft and secretive. Mike barrels towards the realization that he is, truly and utterly, fucked.

It’s two weeks away from finals week. Mike focuses on getting everything in order for finals week. His notes, his assignments and he shoves every distraction — his comics, the Cosmopolitans, his fifteen posters of Phoebe Cates under his bed — into the trunk of his car.

Unfortunately, the biggest distraction of them all, remains.

They’re in a good place now, though. Will seems to think their only problem was keeping Mike out of the loop on the Jennifer thing, so in Will’s eyes, they’re back to normal. They should be back to normal. But Mike, as always, ruins everything.

From the last time they were left alone with alcohol, Mike really should’ve learned his lesson and put a stop to this idea that’s sprouted inside his head with zero prompting. But Mike is growing sick of the tension in his shoulders and if the remedy is some quick alcohol, so be it.

That’s how Mike and Will find themselves on the rooftop of their dorm building, drinking their troubles away on a warm Thursday evening. The sun has melted into the horizon, pink and purple and orange mixed together in a mess that looks like Holly’s art palette. It’s a sight that Mike can’t take his eyes off. And neither can Will.

“You know what I miss the most about Hawkins?” Will asks, handing Mike the half-empty bottle of warm beer. “It was so much simpler back there.”

“I don’t miss it.”

“Really?” Will replies, incredulously.

Mike has always dreamed of escape. Far, far away from his parents and Holly and the stickiness of Hawkins’ air. “It’s much better.” He takes a sip of the beer, trying not to gag. “I like who I am here.”

“Me too.” Will replies, smiling into the distance. Mike suddenly wants to do something really, really stupid.

He’s been thinking about it a lot lately. Telling Will about everything. There’s something about Will’s presence that makes Mike want to always be honest with him, even when he knows it’s probably for the best if he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just tired of lying. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

He’s thrumming with this restless energy that’s setting him off. He needs to go out there, he needs to do something, he needs to kiss Will. He wants to kiss Will. Mike wonders how long ago he accepted this.

There is, of course, the elephant in the room. Will is back with Jennifer. A socially inept person would be able to tell that they were back together. From the negligible distance between them to Jennifer being totally tuned to the rest of the world to listen to what Will was saying — it was pretty obvious.

Will needs to know, though. He needs to know before it’s too late.

“Hey, so,” Mike starts, clearing his throat when his voice gets groggy. “How are things with Jennifer?”

The soft, hazy expression on Will’s face shatters. “What things?”

Mike blinks.

Will turns on the ledge so he’s completely facing Mike. He looks sharp, stone-cold sober, eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline as he asks, “What are you talking about?”

Mike’s mouth is dry. He doesn’t want to confess that he was basically spying on them with Max while having his morning coffee. “Um, I just meant now that you guys are dating again…”

Will leans back, quick in his refusal. “What — what are you talking about — we’re not — we’re definitely not — what, did Jane tell you this? We’re not dating again. Definitely not.”

“Oh.” Mike says, uselessly. “Sorry.”

Will’s cheeks are burning and he refuses to meet Mike’s eyes. “It’s, um, it’s fine.”

The knowledge rests heavy upon his lungs, the fact that Will isn’t back with his ex-girlfriend and he’s trying to make some sense of it all.

“It’s over between us.” Will says, before he quickly shakes his head. “I mean, between me and her. It was… it was so stupid.”

Mike doesn’t trust himself to speak at all. He’s still processing Will’s words. This means that every excuse he ever had not to tell Will has just gone flying out the window. They’re in a good place. Will and Jennifer aren’t seeing each other. Suddenly, there are no reasons not to tell Will.

“Why?” Mike asks, instead. Will’s gaze stays caught on the rim of the glass bottle.

“I guess… she just wasn’t my type.” Will states. “I mean, she was so sweet and funny, and don’t get me wrong, I liked her a lot as a person. But it’s so hard to give your one hundred percent to someone you’re not interested in.”

“So…” Mike trails off. “What kind of a person are you interested in?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Mike almost folds in on himself, mortified. But Will doesn’t laugh at the ridiculousness of his question. Instead, he lifts the bottle to his mouth and drains it before he answers, “I have someone in mind.”

“I have to tell you something.” Mike blurts and the regret truly, truly sets in when Will looks at him. Mike can taste his heart as it climbs up his throat.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember that party where we got really drunk and kind of did a lot of stupid things?”

Will blinks. “You’ll have to be more specific, Mike.”

“Lucas’ friend’s party.”

“Oh.” Will nods. “Sure I remember.”

“Actually, you don’t really remember it that well.” Mike says. If he could fling himself off the edge of this roof, he would. “We did get really drunk — like blackout drunk, actually — and we kinda… um, how do I say this?”

Will stares at him blankly. “Mike, you’re stalling.”

It feels like swallowing down a fistful of glass. “We kissed.”

At first, it seems like Will hasn’t heard him because Will doesn’t react at all. Mike isn’t sure if he needs to repeat it or if his body can actually handle saying those cursed, terrifying words again, but he doesn’t need to because Will lowers himself off the ledge and — totally freaks out.

“Holy fuck.” Will says, burying his face in his palms as he goes into one of the rooftop’s corners and totally loses his mind. Will’s entire face and neck is bright, bright red. Mike isn’t sure if Will’s having an allergic reaction or if this is just panic.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck — “

“Will — “ Mike starts, as he gets off the ledge as well, slowly approaching Will, like you would with a frightened cat caged in a corner. With caution.

Will raises his hand, gesturing at Mike to stop. “Shut the fuck up, let me freak out.” Will pinches the space between his eyebrows before he looks up at Mike, blinking rapidly. “Wait. This was like two months ago.”

Mike gawks. “Uh…”

“You waited two fucking months to tell me?!”

“It’s not my fault you forgot about it!”

“What were you doing for two months?!”

“Trying to figure out how to tell you!”

“I can’t believe this.” Will says, shaking his head. “I just can’t fucking believe you, holy shit, I hate your guts so much.”

“Look, in my defense, first I thought you’d hate me if I told you. Then I thought you were back together with your girlfriend and then I thought it was too late.” Mike says, shrugging.

“Wait.” Will says. “Who kissed who first?”

Mike blinks. “You did.”

“And you kissed me back.”

Mike tries to look anywhere that isn’t Will’s face. “Maybe.”

“So, let me get the facts straight. I kissed you first, you kissed me back and you didn’t tell me because… you thought I would… hate you? This doesn’t make any sense.”

Mike opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Fuck, you’re right, that doesn’t make sense.”

Will looks absolutely gobsmacked as he stares at Mike, an incredulous expression on his face. “You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable.” He coughs into his fist, furiously blushing while Mike’s legs feel as heavy as lead.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Mike says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But this wasn’t easy for me either.”

Will’s face softens. The silence is heavy, laced with the taste of beer and naive hope, though the latter is all Mike. Will hasn’t slapped him in the face and stormed off, so this is a good thing, right? It has to be.

“I’m sorry.” Will says as he leans against the wall. “I didn’t tell you the full truth either.”

“Truth about what?”

Will lets his head hang low. “I didn’t break up with Jennifer because I wasn’t interested in her. I did it because I’ve been interested in someone else for a long, long time.”

“Oh.”

“And I thought I could just spend the rest of my life ignoring this — these weird feelings I was having for this person who I considered my best friend, but — “ Will cuts off, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t really work that way. And Jennifer didn’t deserve a person who was not as invested in a relationship as her. So, I broke up with her and I told her the truth. I figured… you deserve it, too.”

Mike can’t find his words.

“I kept waiting for the right time to say something, you know, but how do you find the right time for this? There was no right time and no right words and slowly, it just started getting too weird to say something, so I didn’t.” He finally looks up at Mike. “And, I’m sorry.”

Mike’s throat is dry, mind breaking down from this overload of information. “Oh. Is it Lucas? I totally get it if it’s Lucas.”

“Oh my fucking god, it’s you.” Will says, and he grabs fistfuls of Mike’s shirt and pulls him closer. “It’s you, Mike.”

And Mike, who wants to be a writer, is studying for a degree in creative writing, can’t think of one thing to say. This entire scene: Will’s insistent eyes and Mike’s shallow breathing and the soft, soft moonlight beating down upon them feels so reminiscent of the party that his brain short-circuits.

The plummet in his stomach is something akin to the feeling you get right before the drop on a rollercoaster. His organs lurch, his heart jumps up into his throat and he’s filled to the brim with this restless energy, pushing him to do something, anything.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Mike says. Will’s eyes widen.

“Never.” Will breathes out, and the rest is history.

This time, there's no heat, no purple lights, just Will's hand curling around the back of his neck and Mike's desperate grip on his waist. This time, he doesn't run away.