Work Text:
Michael Wheeler was, once again, gravitating towards Will Byers.
It was.. normal.
Totally normal.
Or so he told himself.
He knew there must be a reason he kept coming back, kept holding on, tighter and tighter, to Will- his best friend of eleven and a half years and possibly the most patient and forgiving person to ever walk planet Earth, he just.. Urgh.
It could be that Mike was just stupidly infatuated with him, but Mike already understood perfectly well why he loved Will- He could name a thousand reasons right now, if you asked him, that Will deserved to be loved, so that couldn't be the sole cause of his sudden desire to never let him out of his line of sight.
(...
Probably.)
It was just that.
Well, anyone who had seen the stupid adorable bowl cut Will he’d had ever since Mike can remember, that had been lucky enough to have witnessed the light he got in his eyes and matching little smirk when he found something particularly amusing or after delivering a random, unexpected piece of bitchy-ness to bite back at one member of the party or another (who, in fairness, usually deserved it), or the little mole right above his mouth, and the way he seemed to illuminate in the sunlight, would be forced to love him.
This fact would only be enforced if they then knew of his love for that one specific pair of yellow socks El knitted him last year, and his strange affection for Reece’s Pieces, and his excitement and energy as he acted out Will the Wise’s adventures, calling Mike “Michael” and “My Paladin'', and the way he scrunched his nose up sometimes when he was more disgusted by Mike and Lucas and Dustin than usual. Not to mention his downright snobby music taste, inherited from Jonathon, he loved to lord over the Party’s heads, and his only-slight possessiveness over his old dog Chester, and his simultaneously reassuring and nerve wracking way of looking at Mike as if he was seeing straight through his chest and into his very floppy heart.
But on top of all of Wills easy-to-love demeanour, he also possessed the willingness to listen to Mike and his ideas, that were admittedly usually edging on shitty, despite knowing they were most likely going to be pathetic and/or horrific, and his unwavering ability to then also trust Mike and try to understand what he meant with peanut butter and cheese on one piece of bread when no one else would give him the time of day- even if he then spat it out immediately after putting it in his mouth and called him an idiot, half-choking on his own spit.
Truly, Mike thought, anyone would be forced to love him if they got to know him. He didn’t understand how they couldn’t.
He had known Will for a long time, and they had always been so caught up in each other, that to be honest feeling such deep romantic love for him seemed only natural. It had been a long time coming.
What Mike was having trouble comprehend was why recently, that love had to ache so much when it was so simple in context and theory, and why Mike was so addicted to it, to even the simple concept of Will’s love.
This obsession is what led Mike to make up his mind that there must be some other, mysterious force in Will's possession and all-consuming demeanour that made him like a magnet, forever drawing Mike forwards.
Every look, every spared glance, every blink of Mike's eye; it all seemed like it was wasted without Will being the one looking, the one glancing, the one Mike would open his eyes to, some day.
The want to be near to Will almost constantly was always there, tugging at him.
Call him dramatic, but the statement was true to his feelings, and as a writer of occasionally dramatised imagery, no, Mike was not open to criticism, thanks.
Will didn't know- didn’t know anything about Mike’s weird dependency on him, of the reason Mike always seemed to be dragged back into his best friend’s orbit no matter what, probably.
Probably. At least, Mike hadn't told him anything.
Unless Max or Lucas or Dustin or, Jesus alive, El- who was still yet to give the party a straight answer on whether or not she was psychic and hypothetically able to get into his mind and see his many, many incriminating thoughts if she only desired and who would absolutely side with Will on this- had let anything slip.
Which, actually. Oh God, the more that Mike thought about it, the more he realised he should probably be more concerned about this possibility.
He frowned at the thought, mentally noting to have this very vital conversation about his own super, super important (for entirely unrelated reasons), confidentiality with all of them, but particularly El, later.
For now, he was biking over to see Will, for what was the first time in ages, if the eternally yearning pit in his chest could be trusted to act as his internal clock.
He dug his heel down into his bike pedals, inhaling the sharp Hawkins winter air as if it could ground him.
Christmas lights glistened over stretching titled rooftops, and the cold needled, not quite pushy yet, just-pleasantly at his skin, protruding through the thick coat he had bought last season.
The coat was yellow, and a little large for him in the shoulders, which, when he had gotten it, had just seemed too irresistible to pass up. For reasons.
Realistically, it was a little itchy and maybe a touch too warm, but it was yellow , which everyone knew was Will’s colour, and it was totally worth being a bit itchy so that sometimes Mike could indulge himself in pretending Will had lent it to him, held it out draped over his arm and insisted Mike take it, no really, he didn't mind, not one bit, not at all.. it was Mike wearing it, and honestly maybe Mike should just keep it, and he loved him with his whole heart, and then they’d kiss in the doorway to Mike's house, and-
…
So possibly, just maybe, Mike was a bit of a daydreamer.
Sue him.
Besides, Mike hadn't seen Will in like, half a week, (which was practically forever, as he, his feelings and Will all agreed over the phone last night,) so he was justified to want to come over.
Besides, they always saw each other on Christmas- it wasn't like Mike was being Weird, coming to see him unannounced or anything. (Not that the unannounced part would be a problem, probably.)
(Mike tried to remember what the normal human amount of time usually passed before it merited someone getting a proper wave of nausea in their stomach from being separated from someone. He wasn’t sure anymore.)
At least he knew he mustn’t have been behaving any weirder than he usually was, as Max (affectionately, but with malice in her eyes,) regularly made sure to assure him that that was hard to top in general.
Mike and Max had grown closer after over the years. They were good friends, even. But sometimes, Mike swore.
Mike turned the last memorised curve into Will’s drive and ditched his bike next to the mailbox unceremoniously, fumbling with his helmet a little in his rush to escape the cold. He could practically feel his nose going pink at the tip.
He jumped the second step out of three, a habit from younger years passed which he’d never quite parted with, but stopped at the all-too familiar welcome mat to steel himself for a short moment.
Possibly mainly (definitely) to remind himself that Hop and Jon did NOT possess the ability to physically kill with their spiteful glares. Granted, Mike knew they really didn’t hate him, and he and Jonathon had had some good conversations recently about their relationship, and even hugged, but sometimes the old feelings still arose. They wouldn’t be allowed to, with Will, Joyce and El home anyways. That was important to note and keep in mind, he decided.
He blew out a singular anticipating breath, waiting two additional seconds and watching the puff of air he let out fog up in front of him, before he knocked, still slightly breathless from the bike ride from his house and the prospect of Will’s face in the yellow porch light, on the Byers-Hopper door.
(Please let Will be behind the other side of the turning handle.)
Just like all the seasons before.
A little more loving with each one passed.
-----
Will opened the door laughing.
His eyes sparkled and he was wearing a smile that made Mike want to crawl into a hole, projectile vomit pure love-sickness and then curl up, shrivel and die.
As it followed, Mike's heart was thumping violently inside his rib cage- so much so that he was almost worried it would be audible to Will, standing a few feet away.
(Which was stupid, obviously, because that wouldn’t/couldn't logically, physically happen.
Right?)
Ignoring this alarming trail of thought, he tried to communicate the fuzzy feeling quickly and peacefully spreading all over his gut at the greeting the best he could with a wide, genuine grin, which always seemed to come easier to him when he was around Will.
(A fact which did not go unnoticed by pretty much anyone, and which the party openly exploited in situations when photo opportunities arose.
Personally, Mike thought the amount of teasing/off hand comments he faced for it in between the short periods while Will had his back turned from him or had gone to go to the bathroom, or whatever else caused him to be away from Mike long enough for the rest of his general list of connections to pounce on his poor, undefended facial expressions, was ridiculous. He smiled all the time without Will there! He just got a bit moody without him, sometimes, was all. Maybe a bit glum. But, usually, he was perfectly capable, and depended on Will a completely normal amount.
But, whatever, it wasn’t relevant or important right now, because Will was right here for the first time in ages, smiling at him all content and soft like that , inspiring his best lopsided flash of teeth, in response to Will's crinkly eyes and sweetly curved lip.)
"Hey." Will said happily.
Mike felt a little giddy.
(Which was also normal.)
"Hey," He replied, trying not to let his chest’s cardiovascular problems show on his face. He mentally kicked his breathy voice.
Something else must have lingered in his expression anyways, however, and Will laughed half-breezily again, ( damn it, Will, ) and invited him inside with a small gesture of his hand.
"Merry Christmas Eve," Will managed, still a-light with a smile.
"Yeah." Mike agreed, squeezing inside quickly, pushing past Will as he did so, and pointedly ignoring, (IGNORING), the brush of Will's warm arm (because of-fcking-course Will was like a human sun as well as being the most amazing, very flawed being in existence,) against his yellow sleeve. He turned to look at Will where he stood in the hall.
"Yeah..” He paused, watching Will shut the door behind him, suddenly affected by another, somehow larger, wash of unwarranted warmth in tone and feeling. “Merry Christmas, Will."
(And if that second part came out more tender than originally anticipated, then, well.)
Will gave him a slightly more questioning amused look.
"Okay," he said, not further questioning his random appearance at his door, turning away down the hallway and waving vaguely for Mike to leave his shoes at the wooden rack the Byers had brought home after the second move when they came back from Lenora, simply trusting he would know what he meant after so many visits.
Mike ignored this (also normal) flushed feeling of familiarity, removing his shoes hastily and leaving them haphazard next to Will's own neatly-placed pair of snowshoes, and trailed the sound of Will's footsteps into the brightly lit kitchen.
-----
Mike almost didn't look twice at the strands of Christmas lights completely covering the entire dining room and living space ceilings.
The key word being almost.
He supposed the looming, only slightly intimidating mass of coloured strings and lightbulbs tangled over the ceiling would hypothetically be the first sign of someone going off the deep-end in relation to anyone else, who didn't.. know.
Know what had happened, not so long ago. The hidden meaning the lightbulbs carried with them.
Somehow the pain felt so far away from the past few years of vaguely re-shaped normalcy that they had fallen into. So far away from where they had come to be.
Not for the first time, Mike found himself pondering how so many people didn't understand, had never heard and would almost certainly never believe the full truth if it was ever told to them- the actual story behind how so many people were lost and everyone who wasn’t was threatened- of how Will was almost taken for real this time, a little sadly, it took him a minute to realise that the said Will was speaking to him.
"-ike? Mike?? Anyone home?"
Will waved a hand in front of Mike’s face, sighed when he got no response, and then seemed to give up, leaning back into the edge of the counter slightly, and just looked at him, obviously content and/or resigned to waiting until Mike snapped out of it, which made Mike wonder how long he had been zoned out for.
"Oh," Mike said, pulled from his stupor by Will's worry-furrowed brow. He shook his head ever-so-slightly to rid himself of the lingering memories.
"Sorry, were you saying something?"
He watched Will sigh in faux-exasperation, and laughed, quick to give something by the way of a defence.
“Hey, it wasn't completely my fault!"
(In retrospect, that response could be taken as a little incriminating, but in the moment he didn’t have the energy to waste on being mortified or to overthink/backtrack, as he undoubtedly would any other day, and watched Will's small smile and his flushed cheeks.)
It had been a long year, but a good one. Will looked happy.
The pain was far away now, he thought. He let himself get lost in the big eyes that Will never seemed to outgrow, just a little. Drown a bit in his easy smile, because it was becoming a more and more frequent sight to see, and in this moment that it was there. No suffering allowed.
As it emptied of post-traumatic, mildly depressing thoughts, his brain began a bit of running commentary for him.
Mainly the dialogue consisted of ‘ Wait the floppy sleeve is dangling off his hand a bit. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.. And Mike is punched in the gut by the little tongue-poke-out. Too genuine, too sweet.. Too Will!!’ And just a lot more adoring thoughts, and it felt good to be able to just be. To be in love, if he was going to say the sentence in its entirety.
Everything just was. It was a lot of everything Mike loved most, hitting him at his weakest; standing in the middle of the Byers-Hopper kitchen, wrapped in a warm yellow sweater and under the glow of the Christmas season, which has always seemed to feel more forgiving and easy to him, as well as the homeliness of being with his best friend through it all, making him feel soft and safe and raw on top of it.
He was down bad. His own brain scoffed at his weakness. (He couldn't find it in himself to care.)
He knew, as Will finished repeating the question, and Mike once again heard none of it, (which earned him a light smack on his arm), that even if Will didn’t know how how very horribly, psychotically in-love with him Mike was yet , and it might take some time for the day when Mike would suck it up and tell him to come, that Mike would be okay for now, laughing with his best friend on Christmas Eve and eating cookies out of the jar, fresh made this morning.
Until then, he could live with this double-vision rose blush glow. He could co-exist with being desperately, gaspingly, in love with Will Byers, who apparently possessed magic magnetism powers, for no discernible reason, if he could see him again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and get the chance to love him even from afar, more a-glow than he would have thought Mike Wheeler could be only a little while ago now.
(As a closet sap, he was also not open to comments here, either.)
Will would let him gravitate with him for now, he thought.