Chapter Text
He's already awake when he watches the shadow cross in front of his door, two patches of darkness following two feet in the quiet hallway of their apartment. The remnants of his own nightmare have been cast off, faded into the nothingness of the early morning, and he waits, almost breathless, almost desperate, for the knock.
The shadow hesitates. Hovers. He watches as the shadow raises its arm, prepares itself, and stops. Waits. Lowers. Waits.
The shadow steps back, turns, and begins to leave. Before Mike has a chance to think about what he’s doing, he’s out of his bed and reaching for the lamp on his desk, still unplugged and ready from the last time. He reaches his door and pulls it open to find the shadow following Will back to his bedroom.
“Will,” he whispers, but it crosses the room and catches him, hand frozen on the doorknob.
Will turns to face him, frowning. “You really are the lightest sleeper in the world.”
“Guilty,” he says with a shrug. Will’s chuckle is almost silent in the still air of the apartment. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Nightmare?”
He casts a sheepish look to the side. “Yeah.”
“Okay, c’mon.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” he says, waving a hand. “I’ll be f—”
“Will,” Mike interrupts. “Come on.”
He’s grateful it doesn’t take any more convincing than that, and Will makes his way back to Mike’s room, shoulders hunched and looking ashamed. It stings just a little, tiny pinpricks across the surface of his skin, that Will still won’t trust him fully. If he hadn’t already been awake, Will would have gone back to bed by himself, forced to deal with this on his own.
He wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to scream and tell Will to wake him up. That he would never be mad at him for asking for help, even at three in the morning. That he doesn’t care, that this is what he’s made for, that this is what he’s best at, that sometimes the only thing that makes him feel good about himself is knowing that he can help others. That he can help Will. That he wants to.
He does none of that. He stays silent as Will walks past him into his room, instead.
“You’re really going with the desk lamp for your weapon of choice, huh?” Will says as Mike places it back on his desk, forcing a bit of levity into his voice.
“Look around!” he says, gesturing to his pitch-black room. “You tell me when you find something better.”
“I can show you how to shoot a gun.”
An image comes back to him, Will in the midst of the Upside Down, shrouded in the haze and darkness and carrying a shotgun. He’d watched Will’s deft hands load and unload and clean it with the utmost care, and it had caused a confusing and terrifying rush of emotions he didn’t have a name for at the time.
Now, in hindsight, he has a name for it. It’s still a little bit terrifying.
“Oh.” He remembers the way he’d blushed when Ryan had stood behind him, teaching him to throw a ping pong ball, and wonders if he’d ever be able to keep his composure if Will did something similar while holding a gun. “Um. Maybe.”
Will goes to climb into bed, and Mike walks to the corner to flip on his nightlight. He really never uses it, despite his own nightmares, but he always keeps it plugged in. Just in case.
He joins Will in the bed, and they get settled, pulling the covers up around them. Will faces the center of the mattress, arms curled close to his chest and gaze distant. He doesn’t seem as though he’s in the mood for conversation, which is probably to be expected, but Mike can’t help feeling just a little disappointed. It’s just that he’s always in the mood to talk to Will, especially after his most recent revelation, and there’s something about conversations at three in the morning that seem so much more intimate.
It’s been a while since he’s had a crush—or, at least, since he knew he had a crush—and it’s honestly sort of thrilling, in a roller coaster stomach dropping kind of way. He’s still plagued with constant doubts, and every time he catches Will’s eye to laugh at an inside joke or their hands brush when they walk to class together, his thoughts immediately turn to You shouldn’t be feeling that way and That is another man, what is wrong with you. But as the days go on, it gets easier and easier to push that voice aside, especially when he looks at him and it feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest.
Because it’s not just another man. It’s Will.
He’s spent a long time thinking about what Will had told him the other day, and how he had always sort of known. But Mike never had that luxury, having spent the last nineteen years of his life always sort of knowing he likes women. And he does. And maybe that makes him a freak of nature or an idiot for not figuring things out sooner, but…it’s Will. He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to feel any other type of way about him.
Really, he’s done enough overthinking these past few months to know it never actually gets him anywhere. He could spend weeks trying to figure out exactly what percentage of him is attracted to men, or how his parents would react if they found out, or if he’s going to hell like that random man who stands on the corner of campus near the library likes to shout at passersby. At the end of the day, none of it matters.
He wants to kiss Will. And maybe that’s supposed to be scary or sinful or evil or whatever else they want to tell him, but he just wants to kiss Will. And he doesn’t understand why he’s supposed to feel bad about that.
Will’s eyes are still far away as he counts his breaths, and it’s all Mike can do not to wrap him in his arms and pull him close. “It must’ve been bad,” he says instead.
Will seems to remember where he is, gaze shifting to meet Mike’s. “Oh. Yeah.” He shrugs a little half-heartedly, shoulders shifting against the sheets. “Time of year. You know how it is.”
“I’m glad you came to me,” he says before he can stop himself.
Will’s eyebrows draw together. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pauses, already flushing. “I like…helping.”
“Even though I woke you up?”
“I was already up,” he says. “Besides, I don’t need sleep.”
Will stretches just a little before pulling the comforter closer to his chin. “No, what you need is a heater. Why is your room twenty degrees colder than the rest of the apartment?”
“I told you! It’s crazy.”
“No wonder you never hang out in here. We should call someone. Get it fixed.”
“Yeah, we should.” He turns his head to stare up at the vent on the ceiling. “Who are we supposed to call?”
“Oh.” Will frowns. “No idea.”
“Cool. Well, until then, I got all these blankets for a reason.” He shifts the covers around as well, pulling one of the heavier ones from the bottom of his bed and readjusting them. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”
Will takes a long breath to consider this. “No,” he finally says, sounding short but not upset.
He tries not to let that sting too much. “Do you want to talk about anything else?”
Will raises one eyebrow. “Do you?”
“I’m just here to help. I mean, if there’s anything else you want to vent about, I don’t mind.”
All of which is completely and totally true. And if Will happens to want to talk about the alleged fight with Danny, which Mike still doesn’t have the details on, he’s willing to listen. Because he’s a really good friend.
Will stares at him for a long, breathless moment. “Why don’t you just ask?”
Mike does his best not to grimace, embarrassed with himself. Will is always a touch more irritable after anything Upside Down related, nightmares very much included, and clearly Mike is not being quite as subtle as he’d thought.
There’s no point in being coy. It’s never worked well for either of them. “What’s going on with you and Danny?” he asks.
“Nothing,” he says simply, quick and clipped. Mike stares at him, breathless and desperate for more. He’s silent for a long while before he finally takes pity on Mike and continues. “We…well, we weren’t dating, so it’s not like we broke up. But we’re, um, not seeing each other anymore, I guess.”
He waits for Will to elaborate, to explain why, but nothing more comes. He knows, if he wants the answer, he’ll need to ask. “Is it because of me?”
His mouth twists into a small, sad frown. “Yes.”
If you had asked him the day before, Mike would have thought he would be elated, jumping up and down in victory at the news. But seeing Will here, dejected and passive and not even angry at him about it, makes him feel like shit, guilt spilling out from his chest and creeping through his body in crawling tendrils. “Shit, Will, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s…fine, I guess. I mean, it sucks, but whatever.”
He needs to fix this. Will’s fallen silent again, and Mike doesn’t want to push him any more than he already has, but he can't make it right if he doesn’t even know what went wrong. “Will you tell me what happened?”
Will considers his answer for a minute. “He’s not a big fan of you.”
“I did pick up on that, yeah.”
“When I went to his place after our fight, he…had a lot to say about you.” In the pause between words, he places his thumb on his lower lip, chewing lightly on his nail in a resurgence of an old nervous tick. “I let him vent for a while, ‘cause you were a dick, and I was mad at you. But he just wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t even as upset as he was, and I’m the one you were actually mean to. And I guess I was just annoyed about everything, ‘cause I finally told him to stop, and it sort of just devolved from there.”
There’s a thousand things he needs to say. He needs to apologize for putting Will in this position in the first place. He needs to apologize again about the fight in general, just for good measure. He needs to tell Will that Danny’s a fuckhead and he could do a thousand times better than him. Instead, he settles on, “Well, that’s what he gets for listening to country music.”
Will bursts into laughter, clearly not expecting this response. “Mike!” he chastises, swatting lightly at his chest.
“That’s it? He’s still mad that I was kinda mean?”
“I mean, sort of. He couldn’t understand why I was defending you. I couldn’t understand why I was defending you.”
“Why were you defending me?”
The question pulls Will up short, and his face falls. “I don’t know. Benefit of the doubt, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to—”
“I know. It’s…fine,” he says in a way that sounds a lot more resigned than fine. “We were never gonna work out in the long run. I knew it, and he knew it. I wish it hadn’t fallen apart like that, but…whatever, I guess.”
Nothing else Will could have said would make Mike feel quite as guilty as that. He really, really needs to apologize. Again. A thousand more times, to make up for ever causing him to feel like this. He opens his mouth to do just that, and say, “God, fuck Danny. He sucks.”
Will rolls back on his side to give him a long, plaintive stare.
“What?” Mike says, unapologetic. “If that’s all it takes for him to call it quits, then he sucks.”
“Mike.”
“I’m serious! I don’t understand what you saw in him.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything about him.”
“I know enough.”
“Name one single fact about him.”
He combs through his memory, searching for anything relevant he might have retained about the most boring man in existence. “He’s an art major,” he finally says.
Will looks at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Wow. Great job.”
“And he likes country music.”
“Jesus,” Will says with an exasperated groan, but it’s followed by a reluctant chuckle. And really, what else is Mike supposed to know? It’s not his fault that trying to have a conversation with Danny is about as interesting as trying to have a conversation with a mannequin. Actually, that’s not fair, because at least the mannequin might be wearing an interesting outfit.
“I’m just saying I think you can do better.”
“Okay, well, you let me know when you find another guy that I have a lot in common with, that I actually like, and is also interested in me.”
It takes everything in Mike not to scream. “Yeah, sure, I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
“Well,” Will says, no longer trying to hide the annoyance in his voice, “if things ever do work out for me, can you maybe try not to run them off this time?”
The pause between them is heavy. “Will, I—”
“Never mind. Sorry. I just—” He presses his palms to his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before turning back to look at him. “It's different for me, okay? I don’t get a bunch of options. I don’t…want to be upset with you. And I don’t regret what I did. But I only get so many chances. I can’t—you can’t ruin them all for me.”
“I won’t,” he says, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “I’m serious. I-I promise.”
Will lets out a long sigh. “Okay.”
They’re both silent for a long minute, and Mike knows, if he rolls over and keeps quiet, they’ll fall asleep and never talk about this again. It would be so easy. But something keeps him staring at Will, and somewhere in the quiet dark of the morning, he finds the courage to ask, “You don’t regret…choosing me?”
Will’s eyes seem to stare straight into him. “Of course not,” he says, and something blooms in Mike’s chest, warm and flowering, and he can’t help the smile that follows. Will’s grinning back, and he leans in, half-laughing, to say, “We still have ten months on this lease.”
Mike scoffs in mock offense. “That’s it. I’m kicking you out.”
“You can’t,” he says, trying and failing to fight his grin. “I’m on the lease.”
“No, out of my bed, dummy.”
“Fine,” Will says, rolling towards the edge and sitting up. “Maybe I’ll be able to sleep without freezing to death.”
They’re both joking, and they both know it, but it doesn’t stop the brief moment of disappointment at the thought of Will leaving his room. He lunges for him, grabbing his arm and tugging him towards the center of the bed. “Get back here,” he says between chuckles, pulling so that he falls onto his back. Will turns to swat him away, but Mike catches his wrist in his other hand and twists it just enough to be annoying.
Will looks at him with a mixture of incredulity and irritation as he figures out what Mike intends, but when he tries to push him away with his free arm, Mike catches that one as well and goes to pin him down.
Even as kids, they’d never wrestled much, and when they did, it was usually started by Lucas or Dustin as well. He and Will had always been gentle with each other, and their roughhousing typically didn’t last longer than a few minutes. But that doesn’t hold either of them back now as they fight to pin the other down, bony limbs knocking into each other in between their laughs.
In all honesty, Will is stronger than him. Mike may still be a little taller, but he’s always been on the scrawny side, which does not lend itself to physical fights of any kind. Which is why, once he gets one knee around the side of Will’s hip, he’s surprised to find them falling back towards the bed, Will pinned beneath him.
“Alright,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “You got me.”
“Good.” Mike says with a grin, choosing to revel in his unearned victory. “Don’t try to leave again.”
“You told me to leave!” He laughs, trying to wriggle out from under him, but Mike uses the small amount of leverage he has to push him right back down, preventing his escape. Will gasps in surprise, lips parted and eyes wide, before he breaks into another breathy laugh, and god, he wants to kiss him.
He could do it. It would be so easy. Will is right there, right beneath him, smiling and flushed and looking up at him like when they were kids, bright and unfettered by anything around them. He could do it. He could lean in, slowly, give him enough chance to back out if he wanted to—but Will wouldn’t. Would he? Mike isn’t sure. He’d like to think he wouldn’t.
Mike would like to think that he could lower himself down, steady and deliberate, just enough to watch Will’s cheeks flush that same reddish-pink as they had the other night, rosy and warm and horribly tempting. He’d like to think that he could move his fingers up only a touch from where they lay, wrapped around his wrists, and slide them just a little further, until they meet Will’s and he could intertwine them together, tangling them so tight they could never be undone. He’d like to think that he could catch Will’s lips in his own, that he could press them both into the mattress, that he could kiss him until the morning light without a second thought, without a single care in the world.
It would be so easy. He could do it.
Will’s looking at him like he knows Mike’s mind is elsewhere, asking the question without saying anything. Their eyes meet, and Will’s widen for half a second, and that’s enough to take the wind out of his sails, to destroy whatever fantasy he created, and he rolls from over top of him and flops down beside him instead, insides churning with fear and want and something he doesn’t have a name for.
Fuck. He’s so stupid. He’s stupid for missing his chance and stupid for thinking he has a chance in the first place. Will just told him how upset he was that Mike ruined his relationship, and now he’s—what? What is he expecting? That Will would just be okay with Mike suddenly deciding he’s in love with him? That’s just like him, really, to overinflate his self-importance and convince himself there’s any possibility of something happening. Just because Will likes guys doesn’t mean he likes him.
He turns back to the center to find Will looking at him with an expression he can’t quite read. His brows are drawn and his eyes are wide and his mouth is tilted and he almost seems—
Will isn’t disappointed. That’s a ridiculous and stupid and conceited and idiotic thing to think, so he stops thinking it.
“We should go to sleep,” he says, because if he’s asleep he can stop his thoughts from banging around his head like one of those toy monkeys with cymbals.
Will agrees without argument. “Yeah, we should. Good night, Mike.”
“‘Night,” he whispers back.
He lies there with his eyes closed, willing his brain to shut off and give him some relief, something to help him relax and not lose his mind over the idea of his very handsome best friend being asleep just inches away from him. They fall silent as they each try to drift off, but Will continues to shift under the covers for several more minutes, and it keeps Mike up, knowing that he isn’t comfortable.
“Everything okay?” he finally asks, opening his eyes, and finds Will with a light blush, looking embarrassed, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
“How do you sleep in here every night?” he asks, shrugging the covers up higher around him. “Don’t you get cold?”
“No, I get hot when I sleep, usually. It’s actually kind of nice.”
“Oh. Well, glad it’s your room and not mine, then.”
“You’re still cold?” Mike asks.
Will immediately shakes his head. “I’m alright.”
He’s being stupid. He knows he is. He knows this is only going to hurt in the long run, giving him false hope without any sort of payoff. He knows, he knows, he knows this is a bad idea, but Will is right there, and he’s cold, and Mike can help, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s reaching out across the darkness and saying, “Come here.”
He grabs the arm pressed into the mattress, so that when he tugs Will closer to him, he has to turn and face the same way Mike is. He pulls Will until his chest is pressed against his back, and he throws his arms around him, wrapping him up and keeping him close. Mike is flooded with his own sense of warmth immediately, skin burning wherever it touches Will’s, and he steadies his breathing and fixes the blankets around them before settling back into the bed.
“Better?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“Better,” Will whispers.
He’d expected Will to be tense beneath him, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar territory they’re crossing, but instead, he’s melted into him, pliant and relaxed and exhausted. Will’s spent so long putting up false fronts, convincing everyone and even himself that he’s okay, that he doesn’t need help, that no one needs to baby him. Mike knows exactly how difficult it is for him to allow someone to take care of him like this, even if it’s something as simple as helping him fall asleep, that his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. Will trusts him. And he might be the only person who realizes exactly how special that is.
“We really should just go to your room,” he says, to offer him an out. To let him know the choice is still his, if he wants Mike to leave.
“That’s okay.” He can’t see exactly what’s happening, because their arms are under the covers, but he feels Will shift, one hand hovering just above them. He waits for a moment, then two, then he slowly lowers his hand to cover Mike’s where it lays wrapped around his waist. Another breath passes before Will interlocks their fingers together and pulls both of their hands close to his chest. “This is better.”
And Mike forces himself to fall asleep before he can do something truly stupid, like kiss him.
Everything is okay.
For now, that is. It’s a delicate balance along the side of a double edged sword. Mike has spent months, years wishing things between him and Will would just go back to normal, and they could fall into the ease of their friendship. No one knew him better. No one knows him better. And now that they’re finally back to where they were, now that they’re finally best friends again, Mike feels sick to his stomach.
Now that he finally got what he wanted, he wants more.
It shouldn’t be so goddamn hard. He’s an adult, and a stupid crush shouldn’t be ruining his day like this. He shouldn’t be daydreaming in class, unable to pay attention to anything his professors are saying because he’s too busy thinking about how nice it would be to spend another night with Will wrapped in his arms. Nor should he be flipping between that and the abject fear of Will deciding that maybe Danny is the perfect guy for him after all—or worse, the idea of Will finding someone else who actually is perfect, that Mike has no chance of competing with.
He doesn’t know how to fight it. All he knows is that next to Will, things make sense. He knows that every time they try to pull away from each other, something magnetic snaps them back together, a force neither of them can control. He knows that every time he sees Will with someone else, there’s a clawing in the pit of his stomach that aches and gnaws until he’s able to throw his arm around his shoulder. He knows that every time Will isn’t there, he misses him the way the moon misses the sun, lost and desolate, forever chasing after him.
He knows that when he’s with Will, he’s happy.
And not just that, but—well. He’s no expert on emotions, he knows that much, but sometimes he catches Will’s eye and thinks that maybe he thinks the same things. Maybe he’s reading too much into it. They’re best friends of a decade and a half at this point, so of course Will enjoys spending time with him.
But is it so outlandish for him to think that maybe, possibly, he makes Will happy, too? Is it so crazy to think that they’d be good together? That the decade and a half of friendship might mean something here? That he knows he can be a better boyfriend than fucking Danny, would was apparently never a boyfriend option to begin with?
Mike is a good boyfriend. Maybe not perfect—everyone knew he and El had their issues, and certainly had no qualms about informing them—but Mike can be a good boyfriend. That’s the kind of stuff he’s good at. Little gifts and presents, and planning fun dates, and all the romantic stuff that Will wants and deserves but thinks he’ll never get. He can do that. Of course he can do that. He wants to do that. He could be so good to Will.
And isn’t that what Will deserves, more than anything? Someone that treats him right? He could do that. He would. He wants to.
Does Will see that in him? Would it be too weird for them to take the leap and change what their friendship means? Mike knows he isn’t the most attractive guy in the world (especially not when he swallows his pride and compares himself to Danny, whose dark curls and toned arms put him to shame), but Will had never been superficial like that. And if he could get over that, if he could look past all of Mike’s numerous shortcomings, couldn’t they be something more? Something better?
Because it’s them. They’re Mike and Will. And if they’ve been through hell and back, traveling across multiple dimensions to save the world together, they can figure this out.
Mike makes a decision.
The next day, he bribes the twenty-one year old in his marketing class to run to the beer and wine store for him, paying probably double what he would have if this country wasn’t an affront to the very idea of freedom and he could’ve bought it himself. In exchange for a car wash and full tank of gas, their across-the-hall neighbors lend him their car so he can get the rest of what he needs, and he spends his free morning on Thursday running errands around town to gather everything.
He’s done with classes at noon the next day, hours before Will finishes, and he takes that time to start preparing everything.
It has to be perfect. He’s risking everything for this, this pipe dream of a scheme he’s concocted. If it doesn’t work, if Will tells him he’s crazy and decides their friendship is over for good, it’s not just a potential romance he’s losing. It’s everything. It’s his best friend. And as scared as he is, as much as he doesn’t want to lose everything that they have, he has to try. It’s worth the risk.
Because he can’t just go back to how he was before, drifting aimlessly day to day and without direction, hoping for anything to wake him up from the monotony. He’s spent so long caught in the droll of what was supposed to be a normal life, dragged down by all of his heaviest hopes, unable to break away and figure out what he’s supposed to be.
And maybe being with Will isn’t his purpose in life, maybe it’s not the answer to all of his problems, maybe it wouldn’t fix a single thing for him. But he and Will have always taken care of each other, and maybe this is just another step forward for them.
Also, he just really, really wants to kiss him.
He’s been done for an hour by the time he hears the key in the door, and his stomach clenches with a new wave of nerves. He shoots up and stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, hands swinging back and forth as he waits for the door to open.
“Hey! You're back!” he says once Will enters, in a super casual and normal kind of way.
“Yeah, what’s all this?”
“Oh, just thought it would be fun,” he says, voice coming out way too quickly. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “We never have sleepovers anymore, you know? Like we used to. I mean, we live together, so duh. I just thought it’d be fun to stay up all night playing video games and watching movies ‘til we fall asleep in the living room. Kinda like we used to.” He waves his arms in a hapless circle around him, motioning to the setup. “You in?”
It takes a moment, but it’s not long before a slow, genuine grin grows across Will’s face. “Yeah, sounds fun. Just let me change.”
He emerges out from his room just a few minutes later, looking much comfier in a pair of sweats, and joins Mike on the floor, crawling his way into the blanket fort that spans the length of their sofa, their recliner, and both of their desk chairs, which Mike had taken without asking. “How long did this take you?”
“Not that long,” Mike lies, having spent over an hour with increasing frustration trying to make sure the centers of the blankets didn’t concave on top of them.
“Lights are a nice touch,” Will says, motioning to the fairy lights he’d also spent way too much time stringing along the inside of the fort.
“They were on sale!” he explains excitedly. “I saw them on clearance and had to grab them. Sets the mood, right?”
“And what mood is that?” he says between laughs.
“The mood for Mario, I guess.”
He glances back at the lights. “Yeah, it’s working.”
They share another laugh, and it helps settle the nerves firing off like rockets inside of him, bright and dizzying. He pulls the NES out towards the center of the room and turns it on, stretching the controllers out so they reach into the fort, and, even though it’s his console, hands the player one controller to Will.
Love really does make you do crazy things.
Just a few minutes later, Mike jumps up and darts over to the fridge, having remembered the two bottles of champagne he’d paid an exorbitant sum for. Will gives him an odd look as he brings them over and sits back down.
“I don’t remember doing this at any of our sleepovers.”
“Shut up. I just—” He pauses to struggle with the cork. “—thought it’d be fun.”
“I’m not complaining,” Will says, moving closer to look at the bottle, peering over Mike’s shoulder as he leans in towards the label. “Champagne,” he reads dramatically, his breath hot against Mike’s neck. A shiver runs down his spine. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. Just thought—” He stops again, tugging against the bottle with all his might. A frown grows across his face when the cork does not budge. Mike deflates.
“It’d be fun?” Will finishes for him.
“Something like that.” He turns the bottle back towards him, leaning in to inspect the top to try and figure out how this was so difficult. The cork explodes into his face.
“Mike!” Will says at the same time Mike lets out a strangled yelp. Foam and alcohol blast from the bottle, spraying them in a fizzy mess. They sit there for a moment, stunned, before Will bursts into laughter, flicking some of the champagne off, and heads towards the kitchen.
Mike remains seated, frozen with the half-empty bottle of champagne dripping onto his lap. There’s a throbbing pain near his temple where the cork hit, and he thinks he should be grateful it wasn’t any closer to his eye.
Will returns, taking the bottle from Mike’s hands and replacing it with paper towels. He stifles another laugh as he wipes down the glass and Mike begins to clean himself off. “Are you okay?”
“Spectacular,” Mike grumbles. Will puts the now-dry bottle down and kneels to his level, grabbing Mike’s chin in his hand and tilting it up to get a better look.
“Is your face okay? That cork must’ve hurt.” He runs his thumb over the reddened splotch on his forehead, frowning with concern.
Mike forgets how to breathe. “Uh, yeah, um. All good.”
Will allows his hand to linger for a second too long before dropping it and standing back up. “Okay, well, I’m gonna change. Again.”
“Yeah, me too.”
When his bedroom door swings shut behind him, Mike only has enough brainpower to whip off his soaking wet shirt before grabbing his pillow and letting out one brief but powerful scream. God, he hasn’t even done anything yet and he’s already fucking everything up. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. He doesn’t actually have to tell Will anything. His excuse is believable enough, and they can just have a nice, normal night hanging out like they used to, and Will would be none the wiser.
That thought does ease the pressure a little bit, and he finishes changing his clothes to meet Will back out in the living room.
“Our next apartment needs to have a washer in it,” Will says, now in an entirely new pair of sweats. “I’m so sick of having to hang out in the basement for two hours every week just to make sure no one steals my clothes.”
Something about the words our next apartment sends Mike’s heart into a whirlwind. He laughs in agreement, and then they spread a blanket out over top of the wet spot where the champagne soaked into the carpet, and settle back down.
They don’t have champagne flutes. They also don’t have wine glasses. They also don’t have any cups made out of glass at all, so they pour their stupid bubbly wine into stupid plastic cups that Will’s mom had gotten them from the dollar store.
They make their way through the remainder of the first bottle, and even though there’s definitely a certain way that champagne is supposed to be enjoyed, and sitting in a blanket fort playing Mario with your childhood best friend who you’re maybe in love with definitely isn’t it, neither of them seem to mind. Mike immediately understands why Will prefers this over beer, the tart, tangy bubbles popping over his tongue as he takes another sip.
They take turns attempting to get through levels, joking and talking the whole time. It feels like old times again, before they had monsters trying to kill them every couple of months, when they could just hang out in the basement for an entire weekend and not worry about anything until school came around on Monday.
When it comes time to open the second bottle, he makes Will do it over the sink, still feeling a soft throb on his temple from before. Somehow, Will manages to get the cork off with a perfect little pop, and though a stream of soft white smoke trails out, not a drop of liquid spills.
“Show off,” he mutters. Will beams at him.
Hours pass. They get farther than they ever have before, but as the levels get harder, they get tipsier, making stupid mistakes and dying faster than they were ten levels before. Somehow, each passing death gets funnier, and they get stuck laughing harder and harder at every one until they’re sprawled out on the floor, breathless and useless.
Mike finds himself just gazing over at Will, his reddened cheeks and bright grin and eyes sparkling with tears of laughter.
“What?” Will asks between his giggles, hunching his shoulders slightly, an old, nervous tick that Mike recognizes immediately.
“Nothing,” he says, shrugging.
“You’re staring.”
He’s probably supposed to be ashamed of that. If he’d had a little less champagne, he might be. Instead, he shrugs again, refusing to look away.
Will’s eyes are wide as he looks back, the flush on his cheeks deepening before he tucks his head down and looks away. He grabs the controller for his turn and begins, leaving Mike to continue staring unabashedly, admiring the way the light catches the wisps of hair on the back of his neck or the strong curve of his nose from the side.
A few minutes pass before Will glances back and catches Mike still looking at him. “Stop,” he whines, shoving him in the shoulder, which gives Mike permission to shove him right back, and before they know it, they’re giggling on the floor again.
“I think I figured it out,” Mike blurts out before he can stop himself.
Will turns to face him, tilting his head in confusion. “Figured what out?”
Wait. Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that. Everything feels a little blurry, a little too bright, and his mouth is dry and this is not how he wanted any of this to go but fuck it, he can’t think of another way out. “Why I was so—um, uncomfortable. And why I was so upset about Danny.”
“Oh,” Will says, recognizing the shift in tone and sitting back up. “Okay.”
“I just—fuck. Okay. Listen. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot, and you were right. I was being weird, and uncomfortable, and it took me a while to figure it out, but I think I know why. And it’s not what you think. I don’t think so, at least.”
Will stares at him, expectant. “Okay,” he repeats.
“Um, right, okay, so the truth is, um, it really wasn’t about Danny at all. It was about me, and, um, what really happened was—um, the truth is—” There’s no point in holding back, right? He’s done everything he could. Nothing he says now is going to change Will’s answer. “I was jealous.”
There. He’s said it. He’s done it. He’s put it out there, he’s told Will, and now he knows, and the rest of it is up to fate. But he’s done it. He’s past the hardest part. He lets out a tiny sigh and looks at Will, waiting for his answer.
Will is frowning, looking back between him and the controller. “Mike…we talked about this already. I mean, you didn’t say the word jealous, but like, context clues. You said you were afraid of losing me to someone else. I get it. You don’t need to keep apologizing, or trying to make it up to me. It’s okay.” He gives him a soft, genuine smile. “I already told you, you’re never getting rid of me.”
Wait, what? “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, yeah, everything I said at the café was true. But that’s not all of it.”
“Oh.”
Waves of hot shame wash over him, and he’s embarrassed that he had to explain again, but now it’s out there. “Yeah.”
“I mean, that part’s kinda your fault,” he says with a small laugh. Mike gapes at him, dumbstruck, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he continues. “You get hit on, like, every time we walk outside. I know you’re not into casual hookups, but I bet it wouldn’t take long for us to find you someone.”
“No, no, no, you’re not getting it.”
Will’s eyebrows draw together, now thoroughly confused. “What?”
Fuck. He’s not getting it. He needs to explain himself, needs to tell him exactly what he means, but his tongue feels so heavy in his mouth and he can’t remember any of the words he’s supposed to use and why doesn’t Will just know? Why is he being so difficult? Can’t he see how hard this is for Mike, can’t he figure it out?
“Look, can I just—” He’s going to chicken out if he has to say it. He scooches closer until they're side by side, and leans forward, catching his weight on the floor with one hand by Will’s hip. “Can I just try something?”
Will’s gaze leaves his hand and rises to meet Mike’s. “Um, sure?”
“Just—okay.” He can do this. It’s just a kiss. He’s kissed plenty of times. And it’s just Will. And he’s imagined kissing Will plenty of times. He can do this.
He raises his other hand to cup Will’s chin, fingers spreading just down his neck, and he hears his breath catch. There’s no air between them. Will’s eyes are locked on his.
“Mike,” he whispers.
Will’s skin is so warm beneath his hand. One finger rests on his pulse point, and he can feel it racing as fast as his, tapping a furious rhythm that only picks up when he leans in.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
For a moment, neither of them move. Mike can count every heartbeat beneath his finger. Then, so slow and so small he almost misses it, Will nods.
Every fiber of his being aches to rush in, to grab Will and pull him close and never let go. But he can’t. It takes everything in him to restrain himself, to force his movements into something controlled, and he leans in with agonizing precision.
The last thing he sees is Will’s eyes fluttering shut before his follow suit, and he lets his hand guide him the rest of the way. Still, he stops just short of the kiss, letting their foreheads fall together. Electricity sparks from everywhere their skin touches, running a current through him that makes him desperate for more.
Will lets out one shaky breath, hot air rushing out from his parted lips, and that’s the final straw before Mike closes the gap, surging forward and pressing down and finally, finally kissing Will.
It’s nothing like he expected. He’d thought it would be like kissing El, sweet and bubbly like the first sip of soda on a summer day, something easy and refreshing. He doesn’t want to compare them, but it’s so different, so jarring—not in a bad way, but unexpected.
Will is so much more solid, from the sharp line of his jaw to the tiny pricks of stubble on his chin to the sturdiness of his form, unyielding as Mike leans in closer. He tastes like a mixture of the champagne, bright and tart, and some so familiar, so distinctly Will that he doesn’t have another way to describe it.
His lips move against Mike’s but it’s all tentative. Unsure. He’s second guessing everything, thinking so loud Mike can practically hear him. He’s kissing him back, but barely, so hesitant that Mike can’t bear to continue. He’s seen what Will kisses like when he wants to kiss someone, and this—this isn’t it.
Ice melts from his throat down his stomach. Will doesn’t want this. He pulls back, forehead resting on Will’s and he sighs, heart cracking.
“I can stop,” he whispers, trying to give Will the easiest way out. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Mike.” His voice is so low, almost imperceptible, and he doesn’t look up, gaze plastered on the carpet between them. “What are you doing?”
Well, he was kissing him. He kind of thought that was obvious. That doesn’t seem like the answer Will is looking for, though.
“Is…is this a joke?” Will continues, voice quavering with suppressed tears. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No!” Mike pulls back now, sitting up straight. “Will, no, I would never. I—”
“Then why are you doing this?”
Why is he doing this? Because he’s an idiot, apparently, who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. They were fine. Everything was fine, they were good, they were best friends and he just had to go and fuck it up again, like he always does.
“I—you said,” he tries to explain. Maybe if he makes it make enough sense, Will won’t hate him for the rest of his life. “You said that you wanted someone that would know what you like and…and care enough to do it. And I know you like Nintendo and blanket forts and getting to hang out like we used to, and then Ryan told me you liked champagne, and—fuck,” he groans, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I forgot about the strawberries. I got chocolate strawberries in the fridge, because I know you like strawberries, and I know we were joking when we talked about them, but everybody loves chocolate strawberries, and—” His voice falters when he looks back at Will, who’s still staring at him in some mixture of disbelief and something he can’t place. It takes the breath out of his lungs.
“Why?” Will says again, so low he can barely hear it over the tinny static of the television.
“Because I—I care enough to try.” That’s all he has the courage to say. It doesn’t feel like enough.
Will leans away, sitting back on his hands and looking out somewhere in the distance. He doesn’t exactly seem upset with that answer, but he doesn’t seem thrilled, either. The silence stretches between them for longer and longer until Mike can’t take it anymore.
“Please say something,” he whispers, almost a plea.
Will seems frozen, unable to move and unable to speak. Every second that passes feels like another rejection, and he swallows down the shaky, sickening feeling that rises in his stomach. Fuck. He just needs Will to do it, to shut him down so he can leave and wallow in his room about how he destroyed his entire life in one night.
“This isn’t funny,” Will finally says, voice crackling like cellophane. “You can’t just say that kind of stuff, Mike.”
“I'm not being funny. What are you talking about? Why would this be funny? I worked so hard on this, I’ve been so nervous all day, how is this funny?” He thinks he might be angry. He’s honestly too confused to tell. All he knows is that his entire body is trembling like it’s about to burst, and he’s so embarrassed and stupid and he feels like a fucking idiot for even trying, and now Will’s telling him his feelings are a joke?
Will looks at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen, ringed red like he’s about to cry. “You still don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“I have spent”—he takes a deep, shuddering breath—“so many years trying to get over it. And I did. I was—I am. I…I moved on. I made friends and I found guys that were interested in me and I was doing so well. And then I let you convince me to be roommates. And I knew it was a bad idea. And I knew—I don’t know. Because you would make all those stupid jokes about how I always come home to you. Or…or how you want me to spend the night with you. And it just drove me insane. I almost thought you were doing it on purpose. To torture me, maybe. And rub it in my face. Because how could you say that stuff so casually? How could you not know?”
He’s so rapt in his words he forgets to breathe. “Know what?” he asks again.
“Mike,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “You can’t say these things if you don’t mean them. I’m serious. This isn’t—you can’t just—”
“Know what, Will?”
Will lets out a heavy breath, facing toward the television, refusing to make eye contact. “How badly I wanted you.”
The words hang between them for a moment. Everything feels heavy, weighted by some outside force, and it takes him longer to process what Will said. Wanted. It spins around in circles in his head, over and over, almost perfect. Almost exactly what he wants to hear.
“Wanted?” he asks, barely more than a whisper.
Will takes a long, shaky breath. Swallows. Looks directly at Mike.
“Want.”
He’s kissing Will before he knows what’s happening.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should be embarrassed by how eager he is, grasping Will’s face in both hands and pulling him close. But he’s never been known for his impulse control, and he certainly isn’t about to start now. Not when Will is kissing him back.
It’s worlds apart from the first one, which had been so tentative, like dipping a toe in the pool to see if the water’s warm enough. This one is a cannonball, running headfirst with no preparation, fearless and wild and exhilarating to feel the fall through the air before being caught in the sharp chill of the water.
Every time he presses forward, Will presses right back, just as impatient, like he’s been yearning for this exactly as long as Mike has. And it’s so many things all at once—as warm as the hot chocolate Will makes him on chilly mornings while he pours his coffee, as bright as the string lights that twinkle above them now, as sweet as the dull taste of champagne that still lingers between them—that he’s almost overwhelmed, almost unsure of what to do.
But it’s Will. And haven’t they always known what to do? Haven’t they always been a perfect pair, inseparable for as long as either could remember? Hasn’t this been their inevitable end since the very beginning? Weren’t they always meant to find each other like this?
Mike would like to think so. No—he’s sure of it. They’ve chosen each other, time and time and time again, to the point that there’s no choice any more. Not for him, at least.
He shifts, and it causes Will to lean back, reaching one hand for the ground and landing on his controller, instead. It slips out beneath him, making him land on his back, and they both stare at each other for a moment before they’re bursting into laughter.
“Are you okay?” Mike asks.
Will’s cheeks are red, but he’s not sure if that’s from embarrassment or something else. “I’m okay.”
He goes to sit up, but Mike leans down instead, hovering over him as he lies back onto the floor. A lazy grin spreads across his face, and he presses one long, slow kiss to his lips before lifting back just a touch.
“Did that feel like a joke?” he asks in a breathy voice.
He barely has time to laugh before Will’s fists are in his shirt, and he’s being pulled right back down again.
He really can’t find it in him to complain.
By the time Mike’s alarm goes off the next morning, they’ve already been up for an hour, tired and scratchy-voiced but too enveloped in each other and the novelty of their relationship to fall back asleep. They’re curled up together in the cold air of his bedroom, legs tangled and arms wrapped around each other with their backs propped up on his pillows. All of his extra blankets are still being used as the walls of their fort, which just gives them more of an excuse to stay close under the one comforter he has left.
“I can’t believe you were jealous,” Will is saying, twisting the sheet in his hands. “If I’d known there was a chance, I—” Will can’t seem to finish his sentence. He swallows, staring at Mike with such intensity that he has to look away.
“I mean, I didn’t even know I was jealous,” he deflects instead, which just causes Will to laugh.
“I can’t believe you were jealous and you didn’t know.”
“Hey, you’re not allowed to make fun of me, not after being in love with me for a decade.”
“That’s not—hey!” Will says, shoving him lightly with his shoulder. “That is not what I said.”
“You just said you’ve had a crush on me since middle school!”
“I said I had a crush on you in middle school, not since.”
“Right, and when did you get over that, again?” he asks, not bothering to hide his smirk. He’s doing the smug thing because he knows it will get Will flustered, which is so—cute. It’s cute. And he’s allowed to think that now.
It looks like it’s working for a moment, but then Will narrows his eyes back at him and says, “Whatever. For all we know, you’ve been in love with me for a decade and literally didn’t know.”
Oh. Huh. He’s never thought about that before, but to be fair, he can’t remember his feelings for Will ever changing, at least not noticeably. Maybe it was too gradual for him to pick up on, little bits and pieces of their friendship shifting into something else, familiar but just different enough until it transformed into this. Or maybe he’s really just been in love with Will for as long as he can remember. “That’s actually probably true.”
Will pulls back, clearly not expecting that response. “What?”
“I don’t know. It makes sense. I was your first crush. Maybe you’ve been mine all along, too.”
“Oh.” Will looks like he has no idea how to process this information. “Maybe?”
“Well, I don’t know! I mean, I’ve always—like, it’s you, you know? So I guess I might have, you know…”
“No, I don’t.”
“Shut up. It’s just…it’s you.” He doesn’t mean to sound so sappy when he says it, but then again, he feels pretty sappy. All of his words taste sticky-sweet in his mouth, dripping in honey and spilling out between them before he can think them through. He’d tell Will every stupid thought that crosses his mind if he could figure out a way to say it coherently.
“Oh,” Will whispers again, looking away to hide his growing grin. He shrinks back down into the crook of Mike’s arm, burrowing himself in the covers, before turning back and darting up to press one quick kiss to the underside of Mike’s jaw.
It’s the first time Will has kissed him, and it sends the butterflies in his stomach into a tailspin. Even though he’s been more than a willing participant when Mike kisses him, it’s still so—so much, to imagine the possibility that Will wants this as much as he does. But it’s not imagination, it’s not just a possibility, it’s real and present and if Will thinks he’s getting away with just that, he’s insane.
Mike swoops down and captures Will’s lips in his own, fighting the giddy urge to laugh into it as Will brings his arms to wrap around his neck. It’s crazy to him that they haven’t been doing this for forever. Why haven’t they been doing this for forever?
Will pulls back suddenly, eyebrows knit together in concern. “You weren’t my first crush.”
The butterflies in his stomach die a quick, sudden death. “What? Who was?”
“Lucas.”
“What?”
“Relax. It was just a little one. Back in first grade. It’s why I always wanted him to play with us at recess.” Will’s fighting off another grin as he leans back in, one finger running through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t be jealous.”
He tilts his head back and lets out a low groan. “I’m never living that down, am I?”
“Never,” Will whispers against his lips before pulling him in for another quick kiss. Mike is just starting to lean in when Will moves back again, which is going to get old very quickly if it doesn’t stop soon. “How did you know, anyway?”
“What?”
“How did you know that you were jealous? You said it took you a long time to figure it out. I’m just wondering when you knew.”
Mike sits back a little, frowning. “Oh. I actually talked to Nancy about it. She’s the one that pointed it out.”
“Oh, yeah. Jonathan mentioned that.”
He whips his head around, ready to commit a murder. “Jonathan knew?”
“Not any details. He just said that Nancy mentioned you called, which is weird, because you never call Nancy.”
He leans back with another groan, running his hand through his hair. “Oh, no, this isn’t gonna work.”
“Huh?”
“Us dating while they’re dating. It’s way too much.”
When he turns to face Will, he finds him looking back with a small, disbelieving little smile. “We’re dating?”
Mike stares at him. Had he not made that clear enough? Had they not had that whole discussion yesterday? Well, now that he thinks about it, he actually didn’t get around to asking, and Will didn’t exactly answer. They just kissed. A lot. Which is sort of an answer, if you think about it.
“Not while they are. We have to break them up.” He tries to sound lighthearted about it, but judging by the way Will’s face falls, this isn’t something he can joke about. “Yes. God. I mean, I’d really like to. That is, if you want to.”
“Yes,” Will says immediately, followed by his cheeks turning a bright pink. “Yeah, I do. Wanna date you, I mean.”
He tries so hard to be casual about it, but he can’t help the stupid grin that grows across his face. “Cool.”
Luckily, the one on Will matches his. “Cool.”
And really, what is there left to do but what he’s been dying to do for months? He lets his hand spread across Will’s cheek as he pulls him back in, and despite the chilly air around them, he’s never felt warmer. He kisses him slow and lazy, because there’s no rush, because he can take all the time in the world, because he’s allowed to do this whenever he wants to, now. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks this is the best kiss he’s ever had.
Which makes him pull away with an embarrassing pop, leaving Will looking a little forlorn. “I have a question,” he says, sounding a bit more frantic than he wants to.
“Yeah?”
“Who’s a better kisser?”
Will’s expression falls from concerned to annoyed in remarkable time. “Are you serious?”
“I’m just wondering! It’s a normal question.”
Will looks like he's gearing up to say a hundred different things, and none of them anything Mike wants to hear. Instead, he shrugs and says, “I don’t know.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I don't remember,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You’ll have to remind me.”
Well, that’s definitely something he can do. But as he leans in to close the gap, Will tilts his head back, his dangerous expression only growing. “I’ll have to call Danny, too, so I can compare—”
Will’s suddenly cut off by a pair of lips against his own, pushed down into the mattress. And Mike knows it’s a joke, but there’s no way he’s letting Will think that’s ever going to happen. Really, the only solution is to kiss him until he forgets Danny ever existed. Which, again, is definitely something he can do.
He does his best, but Will is making it very difficult by laughing against his lips, childish and carefree. It’s so fucking adorable that he wants to crush Will against his chest and never let him leave. He can’t believe there was ever a time that he would deny himself this. He can’t believe there was ever a time he thought he didn’t want this.
He switches tactics, pressing his lips to the hollow of Will’s neck and relishing in the shiver that runs through his body. So he does it again, and again, and again, just to see how many times he can make Will let out that soft, fluttery little sigh.
And if it leaves a mark where someone else might see—well. That’s just a bonus.
Will’s hands, which have twisted themselves in his hair, tug him back up until they’re level. He tries to guide Mike back to his lips, but instead, Mike insists on kissing every other inch of his face first, peppering them across his cheeks and nose and forehead until Will is laughing again. Finally, he makes his way back to his lips, where Will leans up and meets him halfway.
It’s new, and it’s different, but it’s still them. It’s safe, and warm, and feels so much like home that Mike never wants to leave. Something quiet settles in him.
For the first time in a long, long time, everything is okay.