Work Text:
It happens on an ordinary day.
Will wasn’t expecting it to be today. He wasn’t planning for it, not in any sense of the word. He didn’t wake up and shuffle over to the cabin bathroom and brush his teeth and look in the mirror and think: I’m gonna come out to my brother today.
But mid-apocalypse life has a funny way of ruining plans, of taking what you had meticulously laid out and saying to hell with it.
To be fair, it’s not like Jonathan doesn’t know. And it’s not like Will doesn’t know that he knows. And it’s not like Jonathan doesn’t know that Will knows that he—
Anyway. They both know. But it kind of feels like the elephant in the room, something no one can put a name to, something that’s choked out by fear but conveyed through meaningful glances and supportive hands on shoulders and tight squeezing hugs and whispered I love yous.
But Will needs more than that.
He’s fifteen, for fuck’s sake, and he’s been through far more than any fifteen year old should reasonably be expected to endure. What does he have to show for it? He’s bursting at the seams, bottled up and corked, overflowing with rants and cries and screams; all the things he thinks about constantly, but can never say. Like: Mike broke up with El, and now he’s been hanging around Will more. Like: Mike’s been really clingy lately. Like: Mike’s been looking at him and talking to him and touching him in these certain soft ways, and it could mean nothing but it could mean everything, and he can’t talk to El about it and he definitely can’t talk to Mike about it, and everyone else is so busy, constantly working and planning and patrolling, and he’s busy too, but while he’s busy he’s also losing his mind, and he can’t keep going like this. He can’t. There’s work to do, and he’s too distracted to do it properly.
He needs to tell someone. He needs an opinion other than his own, someone rational and calm and honest, someone who can tell him he’s being an idiot and overthinking things, but also that they’re glad he’s opening up and letting this shit off his chest.
So. There’s really only one answer.
But Will wasn’t going to do it today. He was going to be reasonable about this. Meticulous. Planned out. He was going to write down his words, make sure he didn’t sound too whiny or insane or insecure. Make sure that, above all else, Jonathan wouldn’t end up hating him afterwards and never talking to him again. Low chance, of course, but never zero. Will won’t rule anything out. He’s too cautious for that.
He hasn’t even started planning his speech, though, on the day that Mike decides to be the most confusing and frustrating human being alive.
“Will,” Mike calls, hands paused around his broom handle, and Will glances up. Cleaning duty isn’t exactly how he expected to spend the apocalypse, but so far, that’s all he’s got for today.
He scrubs harder at a stain on the window. “What, Mike?”
Mike shoots him a lopsided smile, hair flopping into his eyes—charming and boyish, but still devastatingly attractive somehow. Will’s heart squeezes in his chest.
“C’mere,” Mike pleads, a half-whine, resting his chin on top of his broom handle and widening his eyes. “You’re so far away.”
Will pointedly looks at the distance between them. From Mike’s Converse to his yellow socks, it can’t be more than ten feet. “So far,” he repeats, trying for flat but ending up a little amused.
“Uh-huh,” Mike insists, widening his eyes even further.
Will snorts, puts down his rag, and crosses the room. “You look constipated.”
“I am,” Mike says, mock-seriously. “My intestines are all blocked up with sadness. That’s what happens when my best friend is so far away—”
“Mike!” Will laughs, shoving him lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The joke, the laughter, the coveted title of best friend— it all combines to leave Will feeling giddy and light, like he’s made of sunshine. He thinks he might explode. “I’m right here, dumbass,” he chides, plopping down on a nearby couch. He reaches out with his foot and taps Mike’s own to prove his closeness, and he can’t help but feel like he’s getting away with something sneaky. Furtively, he checks to make sure there’s no one nearby.
But there isn’t. Jonathan’s on patrol with Steve, Nancy and Robin are in the shed for tactical planning, the adults are making a supply run, and the rest of the Party is… somewhere. Not here, clearly.
“Still too far,” Mike claims, dramatic as ever, and throws down his broom to sit down next to Will. Once he’s seated— very close, by the way—he smiles beatifically at Will. “See? Much better.”
The heat from Mike’s thigh seeps into Will’s own jean-clad thigh, warm and pressing and familiar. He tries not to blush, but the sting in his cheeks tells him he’s failed. “Totally,” he replies, a little strained. “Way better.”
There’s a pause, then, a moment of silence that starts casually but grows heavy as it passes, Mike’s eyes flickering from Will’s own to somewhere lower, just below his nose. His arm, splayed out across the back of the couch, inches closer to Will’s shoulders, until the side of his wrist is nudging the back of Will’s neck.
Will stops breathing.
Slowly, Mike’s thumb reaches out, stroking gently between Will’s shoulderblades. “Will,” he murmurs, low and soft, still looking at Will’s lips. “Will, I—”
The door kicks open, and a harsh gust of wind blows in with it. Mike startles, like he’s been shot, and jumps away from Will, cheeks burning scarlet. Will blinks into the sudden space between them, trying to remember how to restart his heart. What? What just—what just happened?
It almost seemed like Mike was about to—like he wanted to—
Jonathan bustles in through the door, adjusting his rifle over his shoulder, lowering the dark blue bandana tied around his mouth and nose. “Hey, guys,” he greets, setting his stuff down on the table, and then stops. He looks at Will, then at Mike, then at Will again. His eyes narrow. “...Everything okay in here?”
“Great,” Mike squeaks, still flushed pink. He’s not looking at Will. “It’s—great! Awesome, really. Totally normal. We were just—” He jerks a thumb sideways, laughing awkwardly. “Taking a break. From the—cleaning. Yeah.”
Jonathan stares at him. Mike stares back, looking vaguely like he’s about to shit his pants.
“Cool,” Jonathan says finally, shooting Will a meaningful glance. Somewhere in-between blink once if you need help and is this guy bothering you? “Well, Steve wants you out back, when you get a chance. Wants to help you with your nail bat technique, or whatever.” He makes air quotes around the words, rolling his eyes, but Will can see the fondness in his expression, given clearly away by the twitching corner of his mouth.
“Okay,” Mike says, strangled, fingers fiddling desperately with a stray string on his jeans.
The cabin falls silent again.
“So…” Jonathan starts, pointedly, and Mike just blinks at him, clueless. “So—maybe you should, you know.” He gestures to the door. “Get to it?”
“Oh!” Mike yelps, looking embarrassed. “Oh, right. Yeah. For sure. I’ll just…” He stumbles to his feet, awkwardly glancing back at Will. “Um. I’ll… see you around?”
“Well,” Will says, still recovering from whatever the fuck just happened, “I do live here.”
“Right!” Mike laughs, reaching around to rub the back of his neck. “And so do I. Live here, that is. For now. Temporarily. Um.”
“Right,” Will agrees, fighting off a smile now, even if it’s more bewildered than anything. “So I’ll… see you.”
“Uh huh,” Mike says, with the distinct aura of a man wishing for death, and bravely scurries away.
Will blinks at the cabin door, wishing, for once, that he could figure Mike Wheeler out. It seems to be a Herculean task, these days.
“Wow,” Jonathan says, with a low whistle, and nudges Will over as he comes to sit down. “That was…”
Will groans, scrubbing his palms over his face and leaning back against the couch. “Tell me about it,” he grumbles.
Silence falls between them—not un comfortable, but not entirely comfortable, either. Finally, Jonathan ventures, “You wanna talk about it?”
And this is where Will would usually deflect. He would shrug the question off, or change the subject, or just mutter some vague mumbly excuse that doesn’t really do anything to address Jonathan’s real concern. This is a scene they’ve re-hashed over and over again, so many times that it’s practically memorized by now. Will knows his lines.
But maybe—maybe it’s time to change them up.
“Yeah,” he says, a little quiet and a little choked. “Yeah, I think so.”
So—he wasn’t planning for it to be today. But it looks like it is, anyway.
Jonathan immediately snaps to attention, straightening on the couch, pinning his big sympathetic eyes directly on Will’s face. “Yeah?” he nudges, setting a hand on Will’s shoulder. “I’m here, buddy. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” Will whispers, leaning forward into the touch. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Jonathan’s shoulder. “I know you’re not.”
Jonathan strokes a hand over his back, warm and encouraging. “Take your time, Will. It’s okay.”
Will takes a deep breath, his pulse pounding in his veins. This is just—it’s hard. Even with Jonathan, and he already knows. But there’s still the lingering anxiety curled up around his ribs, sending spikes of fear directly into his heart. Dark thoughts, swirling around his head. You can’t tell them. They can’t know. They wouldn’t treat you the same, if they knew.
But Jonathan’s here. He’s here, and he loves him, and he’s not going anywhere.
“Jonathan,” Will starts, sitting back up. He takes another deep breath, already feeling the heat prickle behind his eyes. “Jonathan, I’m—um.”
He pauses, half-expecting Jonathan to cut him off. To say, it’s okay, Will, or I already know.
But he’s silent. Completely silent, body language as open and non-threatening as possible, giving Will the entire floor and then some. He doesn’t say a word.
Will closes his eyes. “Jonathan, I’m gay,” he confesses, so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. “And—I know you already knew, but I just—”
He’s cut off, finally, but not with words. All the breath leaves his lungs in a punched-out oof as Jonathan sweeps him into a bone-crushing hug, tucking Will’s face into the curve of his shoulder. “Shit, Will,” he murmurs, voice unbelievably soft. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
That’s all it takes for Will to break down, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, breath hitching in tiny sobs. Jonathan just holds him tighter, hugging him through it. Murmuring into his hair, saying things like you’re alright and I’ve got you and I love you, man.
Still, Will can’t help himself. He pulls away, rubbing hard at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he blurts, already embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t—I mean, I know it’s not, like, some big thing, but—”
“Will,” Jonathan says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me, okay? I told you before—you’re my brother, and I fucking love you. No matter what. I love you for exactly who you are, Will.”
Will sniffles again, and pulls Jonathan into another hug. “I love you too,” he murmurs, thinking of soft sunlit nights in Jonathan’s bedroom, the record player spinning lazily by the window. Of I’d rather be friends with Zombie Boy than with a boring nobody. Of you can talk to me and you’re my brother and I love you.
Unconditional.
Will sits back against the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother, warm and comfortable and supported. “Thank you,” he murmurs, leaning against Jonathan’s side. “You’re—you’re the best brother ever, you know that?”
Jonathan hums teasingly, slinging an arm around Will. “I know.”
Will rolls his eyes, biting down on a smile. “Humble,” he remarks, but leans closer all the same.
Jonathan rubs gently at Will’s shoulder. “Always,” he shoots back. Then, after a thoughtful pause: “So. Mike.”
Will groans, tilting his head back against the couch. “I know, I know,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “You don’t like him.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Jonathan protests, holding his hands up. “I never said that. I just—he’s messed you up a lot, and I worry, you know? That’s all.”
Will sighs, staring up at the ceiling. At the boarded-up patch of wood where the Mind Flayer attacked, that summer.
“I know,” he repeats, softer this time. “I know. It’s just…”
“It’s just?” Jonathan repeats, a gentle nudge in his voice.
“He,” Will tries, and his cheeks color a little bit. He’s realizing, just now, that he’s never done this before. He’s never had anyone to talk to about boys, about Mike, because it’s always been such a heavy subject. A loaded gun, shoved in the back of the closet, just waiting for its chance to go off.
Will takes a deep breath, and pulls the trigger. Just like Jonathan taught him—squeeze, hold, release. “He’s everything, Jonathan,” he exhales, head still tipped back against the top edge of the couch. The nape of his neck prickles with heat, but not for supernatural reasons. “I mean, I don’t even know where to start.”
In his peripheral version, he sees Jonathan’s mouth curve up. “Yeah?” he murmurs, tilting his head sideways to meet Will’s eye. “That’s really sweet, Will.”
Will bites at his lip, shifting to sit up, then leans his elbows on his knees. He looks down at the boarded-up floor, kicks a stray candy wrapper under the couch. “It doesn’t always feel sweet,” he mutters, low and ashamed. “It feels—” He gestures loosely with his hands. “Like some huge thing that’s about to boil over, way down inside of me. I mean, it’s… it’s a lot, you know?” Hesitantly, he glances up, to where Jonathan is watching him with careful, attentive eyes. “Is that… I mean, is that normal?” Will asks, voice trembling a little bit. He’s not sure why he’s asking, when he already knows the answer. “Is that how you feel about Nancy?”
But instead of the wary judgment Will expects to see in his brother’s expression, there’s a flicker of surprise, then uncertainty. He’s actually thinking about it.
“When Nancy and I met,” Jonathan says finally, his throat working as he swallows. “I was… I was taking pictures of her. Without her permission.”
Will blinks, completely thrown off-guard. “What?”
Jonathan flushes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I mean, I wasn’t trying to,” he defends. “I was out in the woods, looking for you. Trying to find clues, you know? And without even thinking about it, I went to Steve’s house.” They’re both quiet for a moment, the mention of Will’s disappearance instantly darkening the mood. “And… Nancy was there. With him. And she was so…”
Jonathan looks lost in thought for a moment, eyes nearly glazed over, fingers scratching nervously along the fabric of his jeans. “She was so beautiful,” he says quietly, still engrossed in the memory. “But I could tell that she was hiding something. That she was… pretending to be someone she wasn’t. That’s part of why I took her picture.”
“Part?” Will asks, and Jonathan jumps a little, like he’d forgotten he was there. But after that, he shrugs, sheepish.
“Well, she was also really fucking pretty,” he allows, with an embarrassed laugh. “But it was like—looking at a piece of art, you know? Like, just looking at someone and thinking, how do they even exist? That level of… awe, almost.”
Will thinks about Mike in the back of Argyle’s van. About the jut of his cheekbone, the glimmer in his eye. The curve of his lips. Still, even through all that— hiding something. Just like Jonathan said. A beautiful mystery, wrapped up in one of the most complicated packages Will’s ever seen. “Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his chin in his palm. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Wheelers, huh?” Jonathan murmurs, with a slight smile. “Got some kinda spell over us, man.”
“God, tell me about it,” Will groans, flushing.
Jonathan laughs, off-hand, then sobers again. “But—I mean, I know what you mean. About feeling—dark, sometimes, or messed-up. Like your emotions are too intense to handle.” He places a hand low on his stomach. “Like you’re burning up, right here.”
“Yeah,” Will agrees, looking down at the floor.
“And that’s the feeling that led me to take Nancy’s picture, you know? I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. And that same feeling followed me around, while she was dating Steve. While we were friends.”
Will swallows over the thick lump in his throat. “I almost forgot about that,” he admits, small. “That must have been really hard.”
“It was,” Jonathan agrees, leaning over to put a comforting hand on Will’s shoulder. “Which is why—I mean, when I say I get it, I really get it, you know? I’m not just saying that. And it was hard for me, but there was so much more going on for you, and I can imagine that it was a hell of a lot harder.” He pauses, eyes flickering down in shame. “Especially since you were doing it alone.”
Will leans into his brother’s palm, a little nudge into his side. “Not anymore,” he reminds him.
Jonathan shoots him a shaky smile. “Yeah. Not anymore.” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, then straightens up. “Which is why,” he says, with a distinct change in tone, “as your older brother, I need to give you some advice.”
Will squints warily at him. “Jonathan, I don’t—”
“No, listen,” Jonathan interrupts, holding his palms out. “This is gonna be good, I promise. I’ve been thinking about it.”
Will raises one eyebrow. “So it’s not gonna be a repeat of the Lego incident?”
Jonathan’s startled into a sharp laugh, loud and abrupt. “No, no, I promise,” he grins. “No Legos up noses this time.”
“Okay, okay,” Will allows, settling back into the couch. “So what’s this great advice of yours, then?”
“Alright, so—that feeling,” Jonathan starts, putting his hand on his stomach again for reference. “That really intense one. It’s not always bad, okay? Like—yeah, that’s what led to me taking Nance’s picture. But it’s also what gave me the courage to kiss her for the first time. It’s what led to—our whole relationship, you know? To everything.”
Will listens silently, a strange bubbling feeling growing in his gut. Is Jonathan saying—is he—
“But, Jonathan,” he interrupts, and Jonathan waves him off.
“No, I know,” his brother says, expression going serious. “I know it’s scary, and I know you have plenty of reasons to be scared, okay? Trust me, I get it. But, Will—I’ve seen him. I’ve seen how he acts with you. And I’ve seen it for my whole life. That boy adores you, Will.”
“But he—”
“He adores you,” Jonathan repeats, tone leaving no room for argument. “He’s fucked it up, for sure. But I think—I think he’s come a long way. I think if you’re ready to take the chance, he might surprise you.”
Will picks at a stray hangnail, thinking that over. “I need more than might, Jonathan,” he says hoarsely. “I can’t—ruin our whole friendship over a might.”
“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” Jonathan dismisses, shaking his head. “And if you do, then I’ll kick his ass myself, okay? He’s a scrawny kid. I think I could take him.”
“Jonathan,” Will protests, but he’s fighting off a smile. “Come on, don’t do that.”
“I don’t think I’ll have to,” Jonathan allows, smiling back. “And—listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but all relationships start because of a might, okay? No one’s ever sure about this stuff, not all the way. It’s always a might, or a maybe, or an if. You gotta take that little leap of faith, you know? You gotta trust that they’ll be there to catch you afterwards.”
Will sucks in a sharp breath. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I will,” Jonathan promises, like an oath. “Okay? I swear, Will. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. And—it might be the apocalypse, okay, but I’m sure we can still find ice cream and a shitty Hallmark movie somewhere. We’ll figure it out.”
Will sniffles, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “Thanks,” he manages, garbled, and Jonathan’s whole expression melts. He raises an arm in clear invitation, and Will takes it without hesitation, tucking himself neatly into his brother’s chest. He feels smaller, this way. Like he’s a little kid again.
He hasn’t been a little kid in a really long time.
Jonathan smooths a hand over his back, resting his chin on top of Will’s head. “You wanna go make fun of Mike and Steve?” he mumbles, the words muffled by Will’s hair.
Will laughs, watery and bright. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go,” he murmurs, giving Jonathan one last squeeze.
Out in the open, then. For real, this time. It feels… It feels really nice.
Together, they make their way around the outside of the cabin, to the loosely-designated practice yard in the back. There’s some makeshift targets for shooting, some cans for El to zap with her powers, and a wide array of weapons racked neatly on the side of Hopper’s shed. In the middle of it all, Steve’s teaching Mike how to swing a bat.
It doesn’t look like it’s going too well.
“Wheeler, if you would just shift your stance—”
“I’m shifting, I’m shifting! You can’t—you can’t just tell me to shift my stance and then not give me any specifics, okay? I’m trying to focus—”
“Well, try harder! Jeez, what’s up with you today? Head in the clouds, or what?”
“I’m—”
Mike trails off, hands going lax on the bat, as the two of them finally notice their audience. Mike’s cheeks bloom pink, and he bites nervously at his lip. “Will,” he blurts. “Um. Hey.”
“Hi,” Will returns, with a badly-suppressed smile of amusement, and tries to ignore the pointed eyeballing that Jonathan’s doing in his direction.
“Byers,” Steve greets, with a nod at Jonathan. Then, to Will, “Little Byers.”
Will narrows his eyes.
Steve coughs. “Uh—Will,” he corrects. “Grown… Big… Will.”
“Big Will,” Will repeats flatly.
Steve drags a hand down his face, groaning. “First him, then you,” he mutters, flopping an arm in Mike’s direction. “When did kids get so snarky, huh? I swear, when I was your age—”
“We’re four years apart, Steve,” Will remarks, snorting. He makes his way over to Mike, sticking his hands in his pockets. “How’s it going out here? Hit any Demodogs yet?”
“Um—not exactly,” Mike says, still blushing. Will has the sudden, inane urge to poke his cheek with his finger, just to see how hot it is. “But I’m working on it.”
Will, with a dizzying rush of confidence, steps a little closer, looking Mike up and down. “Well, not with that stance,” he murmurs. “It’s all wrong.”
“Told ya!” Steve calls, from where he’s chatting with Jonathan.
Without taking his eyes off Will, Mike flips Steve off. Then he swallows, lowering his voice a little. “Show me how to do it, then?” he suggests, sounding nervous in a way that Will’s never quite heard from him.
Will’s ears ring, white noise filling his brain as he takes in Mike’s shy expression. The shuffle of his feet. The tone of his voice.
He adores you, Will.
Distantly, he hears Jonathan’s voice: “Hey, Steve, why don’t we—”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah, you had to show me that… that thing. Uh huh.”
“Totally. The thing.”
The grass rustles, and then Will and Mike are completely alone. Mike’s still looking at him with that hopeful sort of openness, a clear invitation. Show me how to do it.
Will takes a few slow, deliberate steps, until he’s standing right behind Mike, chest nearly touching his shoulders. It feels like every muscle in his body is shaking.
He clears his throat, hovering a hand over Mike’s shoulder. “Um, is it okay if I…”
“Mhm,” Mike replies, a little high-pitched. “Yep. Go for it.”
Will lets out a long breath, gathers all the measly shreds of confidence he possesses, and runs his hand down the length of Mike’s arm. “Okay,” he says, soft and in Mike’s ear. “You’re gonna want to pull your shoulder back, right here.”
Mike’s shoulder shifts backwards, until he’s almost cuddling into Will’s chest, Will’s arms wrapped around him protectively. “Like this?”
“Mhm,” Will hums, blinking rapidly. “Um—great. Perfect. And then with your other arm, you’ll just…”
Mike’s arm starts moving automatically, like he already knows how to make the adjustment, but then he pauses. Calculated. Waiting for Will to do it for him.
Leap of faith, Will reminds himself, trying to hold steady and not explode into a million little overheated pieces. That probably wouldn’t be very attractive.
Instead, he trails his fingertips down Mike’s forearm, electricity sparking the whole way. Hand overlaid on top of Mike’s, he guides it to the bottom of the bat. “Like this,” he says quietly, chin brushing the top of Mike’s shoulder as he talks. A breath shudders out of Mike, and Will practically feels it.
Their fingers are clumsily intertwined, holding the bat together. Will slots his knuckles in-between Mike’s, carefully ghosting a thumb over the back of his hand. There’s no denying it anymore—Mike clearly doesn’t need this much help to hold a baseball bat. Still, he lets Will cover every inch of him, tangling their fingers together over the wooden handle.
There’s a moment of silence, birds singing in the trees and steam rising from the forest. A second passes, then another, and then Mike’s leaning back against Will, lining up their bodies from head to toe, like they’re spooning standing up. Will’s face flushes bright red, and when he chances a glance sideways, Mike doesn’t look much better.
“Mike?” Will asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The air feels delicate, somehow. Like it might shatter if he talks too loud.
Mike swallows, the sound noticeable in the quiet. “Yeah?” he whispers back.
Will has no idea where to go from here, he’s realizing. Even in his wildest dreams, this was about as far as his plan went. “Um.”
Mike’s fingers twitch against his own. Nervous.
He’s nervous.
That makes Will feel better, actually, not being the only one completely out of his depth. They’re testing each other, he thinks, pushing at the line to see who’ll cross it first.
Well, Will thinks that’s bullshit. They do all their best work together.
“Drop the bat,” he suggests, except it comes out a little more bossy than he wanted it to.
Mike’s eyes widen, his breath catching audibly. “Uh. But—but what if a monster comes?”
Will hides his smile in the curve of Mike’s shoulder. “I’ll protect you,” he murmurs. “C’mon, just do it.”
It’s almost comical, how quickly Mike drops the bat after that. Will wastes no time, tangling their fingers together properly and tugging Mike around to face him. “C’mere,” he says softly, grinning. “You’re so far away.”
Mike actually laughs out loud at that one, considering the actual zero inches of space between their bodies at the moment. By the time Will spins him around, Mike’s blushing so hard that he has to let go of Will’s hands to cover his face, still giggling softly into his palms. “Oh my god, don’t look at me,” he complains, voice muffled and embarrassed.
Will pokes at Mike’s tomato-red cheek, grinning so hard that his jaw feels a little sore. Mike’s skin is, in fact, very warm. “What if I want to, though?” he teases.
“Will,” Mike whines.
“Mike,” Will parrots, then softens, curving a hand around Mike’s neck. He strokes at a tendon with his thumb, slow and soothing, waiting for Mike’s breathing to even out. “Hey. It’s just me.”
“Just—” Mike repeats, strangled, and cuts himself off. “Oh my god,” he mutters. “Oh, god.”
Will lets out a shaky breath, a bit of his confidence waning away. “I know,” he says thickly. “Yeah, this is… um.”
“Scary,” Mike suggests, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Terrifying,” Will agrees readily, patting his shoulder in conciliation. “Also, I’m pretty sure Jonathan and Steve are spying on us.”
“Fuck off!” Mike calls instantly, lifting one hand to shoo them away. “Private moment here, assholes!”
Two heads disappear around the edge of the cabin, like some scripted bit in a slapstick comedy. Will rolls his eyes.
Turning back to Mike, he asks, “Private moment, huh?”
“Oh, shut up,” Mike grumbles, cheeks still burning. “What’s your brother got against me, huh? Always sticking his nose into our business.”
Will looks down at his feet, letting out a breath, valiantly ignoring the thrill that zips up his spine at the word our. “He’s just, uh. Protective, I think.”
“Oh,” Mike says, with glum realization. “Yeah, that… that makes sense.”
Will frowns up at him, taking in the sad furrow of his eyebrows. “Mike,” he chides, reaching down to tangle their fingers together again. “Hey, it’s alright.”
“It’s not,” Mike argues softly, shaking his head. “I… I hurt you.” He peers down at Will. “Didn’t I.”
Will hedges, biting at his bottom lip. “Well, I—”
“No,” Mike interrupts, squeezing his hand. “Don’t do that, alright? Don’t take the blame. I was… I was scared, alright, and I was a dick about it. I hurt you, and I hurt El, and it’s my fault.” He swallows, deliberately looking Will in the eye. “And I’m sorry.”
Will nods, cataloguing the depth of emotion in Mike’s eyes. The glinting reflection when the light hits them just right. “Apology accepted,” he says quietly, allowing his gaze to flicker down to Mike’s lips. Heart in his throat, he continues: “You could make it up to me, though.”
Mike stops breathing. His eyes track all over Will’s face, searching desperately, and his fingers flex against Will’s own. A second passes, an infinite, horrible second where Will begins to think he’s misread everything and Jonathan was just fucking with him, actually, and Will’s gonna have to move to Russia and change his name and—
Mike pitches forward, cups a hand around Will’s jaw, and presses their lips together.
It’s over before Will can even begin to enjoy it, with Mike exhaling nervously and saying, wide-eyed, “Was that oka—”
Will doesn’t let him finish.
He doesn’t just lean in, he pounces. It’s like everything that was coiled up in his gut, that deep burning feeling that usually simmers on low heat, has sprung up and out of his throat, scorching everything in its wake. Will’s got a hand tangled in Mike’s hair, another desperately clutching at the back of his shirt. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, but he knows that it feels good, and Mike’s kissing back, and this is already so much more than he ever could have imagined.
“Will,” Mike murmurs against his lips, winding a hand around his neck to hold him steady. “God, Will.”
Will opens his lips to answer, and Mike swallows his response. They push at each other for a moment, each of them overeager and bursting with energy, finally giving in to the feeling that’s been following them around since Mike said they’d go crazy together.
And now, together, they get as close as they can, and then even closer, licking into each other’s mouths, tugging at each other’s belt loops, giggling against each other’s lips. Melting all their atoms together, one by one. And yeah, Will has to admit—it’s a little crazy. It’s a lot crazy.
But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
It feels like a freefall. It feels like he’s jumped off the quarry, like all the gravity in the world has been turned off, like everything’s upside-down and right-side-up at the same time.
And Mike’s there to catch him. He’s here, cradling Will’s face like he’s some sort of precious cargo—not like he’s breakable, but like he matters. Like he’s important.
It’s everything.
Will slows down, taking his time: tracing the sharp line of Mike’s jaw, mapping the contours of his cheekbone. He disconnects their lips, just for a second, and at Mike’s resulting whine, he gives him a featherlight kiss on the nose.
Mike giggles in surprise, eyes flying open. “Will.”
“Mike,” Will returns, bopping their noses together playfully. He grins at him. “You know, Party policy is a handshake, I’m pretty sure. But that works too.”
Mike blinks at him, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, you asshole,” he chides, shoving Will on the shoulder. “You—you—”
“Yeah?” Will goads, stepping back into his space. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
Mike takes the bait, looping his arms around Will’s neck to kiss him again. “You’re—so—annoying,” he manages, between kisses.
“Sure,” Will agrees, and mouths gently at his jaw.
“Oh, fuck,” Mike groans, closing his eyes. “Shit, you’re really good at this.”
Will grins into the side of his face, pressing a kiss right behind his ear. His hair smells really good. And suspiciously like Steve’s mango-scented shampoo. “Thanks. I don’t really know what I’m doing, though.”
“Well, whatever it is, keep doing it,” Mike mumbles, his fingers playing with the hem of Will’s shirt, resting just above his hipbone. Suddenly, his eyes fly open, a look of horror crossing his face. “Oh my god. Do you think your brother’s still watching us?”
Will yanks away immediately, face flushed, and whips around to face the cabin. Sure enough, the curtains of the side window rustle with movement, like somebody just ducked down below it. “Steve, I can still see you!” Will calls, and the top of Steve’s head disappears the rest of the way, Jonathan’s hand shooting up to pull him down. “Jesus Christ,” Will grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking nosy.”
“Protective,” Mike corrects, with thinly-veiled fondness. He reaches down and tangles their fingers together, then steps into Will’s space, resting his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes. Automatically, Will uses his free hand to rake through Mike’s hair, de-tangling the soft strands. Mike hums in contentment, nuzzling his face into Will’s shoulder.
Will rests his cheek on top of Mike’s head. “Hey, Mike?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you been using Steve’s shampoo?”
There’s a long silence, before Mike blurts: “I ran out of my own, okay? Not many options in the apocalypse. Fucking—sue me.”
Will giggles, using their combined leverage to sway them back and forth. “I wasn’t judging,” he says. “Just asking a question.”
“Sure,” Mike mutters, entirely unconvinced.
“You know, I was talking to Jonathan,” Will continues idly, tracing his fingertips down Mike’s spine.
Mike stills. “Yeah? What’d he say?”
Will pulls back a little, smiling at him. “That you adore me,” he teases softly, thumbing over Mike’s cheek. “And that I should go for it.”
Predictably, Mike blushes. “Oh,” he says, leaning into Will’s hand. “I thought he hated me.”
Will scrunches his nose. “Nah. Just—”
“Protective,” they finish together, Mike tacking on an extra eye-roll.
It’s quiet for a moment. Peaceful, almost, if you ignore the whole end-of-the-world thing. They’ll probably have to go back inside soon—the toxic spores rain down pretty regularly, and it’s been clear for too long.
But for now, Will stays right where he is. He swallows over any remaining nerves, because there’s nothing to be nervous about. Not while Mike’s here. He cups Mike’s face in his palm, and asks him: “Well, was he right?”
Mike grins, turning sideways to kiss the middle of Will’s palm. “What do you think?” he says.
In lieu of an answer, Will leans in for a kiss.
And if his eyes were open (which they aren’t, duh), he’d see his brother in the window of Hopper’s cabin, grinning proudly back at him.
Maybe, every once in a while, Jonathan gives pretty good advice.
—
“Jesus. Took them long enough.”
“They were going through shit, Steve. Don’t be a dick.”
“It’s just a statement! What, I can’t make statements now? I can’t say things?”
“Don’t be a dick— oh, wow, they’re really going for it.”
“Christ, don’t watch— oh, wow. Wow. That’s… Your brother’s got game, Byers.”
“Gross. Don’t talk about him like that.”
“You’re the one that said—! Oh, jeez, I didn’t even know tongues could do that.”
“...”
“What.”
“You. You didn’t know tongues could… Okay, I’m done with this conversation.”
“Fine by me. You wanna go watch Back to the Future?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well, would you rather stay here and watch your brother—”
“Okay, yeah, yeah. I’m going.”
“That’s what I thought, Byers.”
—
Under the red sky, Will smiles. Sometimes, this end-of-the-world thing isn’t so bad.