Chapter Text
It’s near dark, and the sharpness of brisk autumn air seeping through Will’s jacket only encourages his want to go back inside.
Dimly, he can make out noises coming from the house—six o’clock is usually when the Wheelers have dinner—and he hates how much sooner the sun falls during the colder season. A sudden hunger pang hits him, but he can’t force himself off the porch and back into the warm house, no matter how much he longs for Karen’s cooking.
He’s been living with the Wheelers for a couple of months now, and the ache in his chest only grows like a malignant tumor, slowly encircling his swollen heart. Will thought it would get easier to be around Mike, but every time they share a casual conversation he thinks he might combust, and become a mess of innards and tainted blood on Mike’s carpet.
The front door opens, and Will slowly raises his head, expecting Joyce or Jonathan. Instead, he’s met with the sensory nightmare that is Mike, his black hair in loose curls, his paper-thin, deep blue sweater and a jacket wrapped around his waist, and his sharp, angular face that makes cupping his jaw such an interesting experience and-
Oh Lord. Will needs to breathe.
Mike speaks first, slightly hesitant and always confused. “You alright, Will? It’s almost time for dessert.”
Will musters a slight turn up of his lips, “Yeah, I’m fine, I just needed a breather or something, and the weather’s not too bad.”
Judgmentally, Mike lowers his eyes down at him, gazing in the intense way only he can, “Will, it’s like 42 fucking degrees outside and I know you hate the cold”
“It doesn’t feel that cold,” Will halfheartedly argues.
Now, Mike raises an eyebrow, “I can visibly see you shaking through your bomber jacket. You’re clutching it like an old lady and her knitting needle, and you’re telling me it’s not that cold?”
Shuffling away from the door, Mike takes a seat next to Will, wincing as he makes contact with the chilled concrete. He sits far too close, his knees almost brushing against Wills, and Will suddenly wishes his friend would have a better perception of personal space, and then he also wishes his heart wouldn’t race as much as it does.
“So, are you gonna tell me the truth as to why you’re out here, or are we going to keep beating around the bush?” Mike gazes expectantly at Will.
Will makes eye contact, “It wasn’t really anything to be honest, I just got overwhelmed with all the noise and how many people there were.”
Mike laughs, “Yeah, it sure is a full house now.”
There were eight of them inhabiting the Wheeler home, and although Will’s old house was cramped, he’s never been so robbed of privacy since his Vecna-induced hospital stay. Nearly every room was occupied, and he no longer even had a bed of his own. The basement wasn’t a bad place to sleep, but it felt weird not having a wall separating his Jonathan’s and Joyce’s sleeping quarters, even if his Mom usually spent her nights with Hopper.
It also felt weird not living with El anymore, and he kind of missed it. She was his sister in one way or another, and he loved her, even with her being the main catalyst for his terrible love life and the girlfriend of the love of his life.
Will jutted when he felt Mike shimmy besides him. It seemed to be Mike just adjusting positions, until Will felt another layer of clothing drape him.
“I kinda forgot I had this jacket around my waist, and I’m not too cold, but you look like you need it.” Mike awkwardly chuckles, hand moving to tussle his curls.
Will tries not to cry of sheer inner-embarrassment at the feeling of adoration and dopamine pooling in his mind, and attempts to keep his face neutral , “Oh, thanks…I guess I was colder than I thought.”
A pause.
“Do...do you want to talk about anything? Are you sure you’re only out here because you’re overwhelmed? You know I’m here for you, Will.”
Yeah. Will thinks internally. Here for me. Especially in Lenora, and here, only when El's not around.
He pauses for a second, and then lies, “Yeah, pretty much. I just wanted some fresh air."
Will had begun feeling uncomfortable when Ted began his usual spiel on politics, and then left after he began to voice his thoughts on the AIDS Epidemic and how it was rooting out the faggots in society. God, He had tried to keep his reaction plain, but he felt targeted with each icy word Ted lazily threw out, a deeper pit of self-hatred and terror forming in his stomach.
Mike had looked abnormally nauseous and uncomfortable too, and Will had abruptly excused himself for a stupid reason he couldn’t even remember.
Mike, tilting his head towards the door, breaks the silence, “Umm, well, I think dessert’s out by now, and I am still starving, you know, since my metabolism is like crazy and I’ve grown a lot, and I don’t wanna head inside without you, so are you-”
Will, cutting off Mike’s rambling, gets up and nods, “Yeah, sure. I guess dessert doesn’t sound too bad.”
Mike opens the door for both of them and Will is immediately greeted by artificial warmth. He then dimly remembers the extra weight on his shoulders and removes Mike’s jacket.
“Hey, Mike?”
Mike is a pace ahead of him towards the dining room and swivels his head to face Will.
“Yeah?”
“Your jacket, it's way warmer inside so I don't really need it.”
Mike looks devastatingly sad taking back the article of clothing, and suddenly Will wishes he had just kept it on, but then he remembers his mother and brother would immediately notice, and he really doesn’t want to deal with their calculatory glances.
Dessert is out by now, and from the looks of it, chocolate cake is on the menu tonight.
Will and Mike take their respective places at the crowded table and Karen passes out slices of oozing brown sugar. Jonathan sends a slight smile to Will, and Will returns it, before focusing on the food in front of him.
Halfway through his meal, Will feels eyes on him, and glances up to make eye contact with Mike, who quickly adverts his eyes. Everyone seems too engrossed in their dessert to acknowledge the awkward encounter, and Will wonders why Mike was so intently staring at him.
Did he have food on his face? Was he chewing with his mouth open?
Self consciously, he rubs at his face, and thankfully his hand only meets skin.
The end of dinner passes by without further issue, and soon everyone is bringing their plates to the sink and saying goodnight. Joyce is staying at the Hopper Cabin, per usual, and Will asks her to say hi to Eleven for him, to which she agrees and ruffles his hair.
Will feels bad for missing most of Karen’s meal, and offers to do the dishes for her, to which she painstakingly gives up the duty, and he bids her goodnight.
Jonathan makes his way towards the basement, and then it’s just Mike and Will. Will and Mike. In the silence of the sleeping household.
Mike speaks first, “Here, let me help with the dishes.”
He begins dutifully picking up plates and silverware and returning them to their God-given positions in the cupboards.
Will jokes, “Whoa, look at you being so helpful with domestic chores without being asked. Who knew you could be so benevolent?”
Mike looks at Will, one hand on his hip, the other holding bright red Tupperware “What exactly are you implying William Byers?”
“For as long as I’ve known you, Mike, you have tried to weasel your way out of every and any household chore. Now, you’re helping me with the dishes on your own volition, even though the duty wasn’t bestowed upon you!”
Mike squawks, “I help people on my own volition all the time! It just so happens I hate helping people with chores!”
“But you’re helping me..?” Will questions.
Mike sputters, “Well, I know tonight was maybe a tad bit rough for you, and you do look really tired—Jesus Will, have you seen your eye-bags?—and I guess I just wanted to help.”
Will smiles, and turns back to scrubbing dishes, “Thanks then, I guess. I appreciate it.”
They make quick work, and Will begins to make his descent towards the basement. He’s nearly a step down before Mike calls out.
“Hey, Will!”
Will swivels, “Yeah, Mike?”
For some reason, Mike appears fidgety, twisting his wrists nervously, “So, I can assume you haven’t been getting the best of sleep down there, and I was wondering if umm…if—if you wanted to maybe sleep with me!—in my room?”
The basement is plenty comfortable, and Will’s main issue with sleep is that every second of it is either a fitful nightmare or a traumatic flashback. But he doesn’t want to tell Mike that, and some selfish, wrong, part of him desires to sleep just in the near vicinity of Mike.
Mike appears to be gauging his reaction, and seems to assume Will is leading on the no, so he backtracks, “Like, it’ll be just like our sleepovers or something! And, it’s like totally fine if you don’t want too, but you always seem so tired, and I’m pretty sure my room is better ventilated than the basement, and I just assumed you might want to—”
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Will cuts off Mike with a nervous smile.
“Should I grab my sleeping bag?”
Mike is slightly giddy, but tries to play it off, “Nah, you can if you want, but I have so many extra blankets and pillows I was just thinking we could throw a bed of some sorts together on the floor.”
“Oh, okay then.”
Their walk up the stairs is incredibly awkward and the tension is tangible. By the time they make it to Mike’s room, the sheer amount of shared self-consciousness is enough to cut with knife.
Mike hastily kicks away stray clothes and items from the ground in an attempt to neaten his room.
He traverses through his bedroom to get to his wardrobe, and haphazardly pulls out a random t-shirt and pajama pants. It seems he’s caught in his own head, and Mike begins to pull off his sweater to change, abruptly pausing when Will makes a choked out noise.
Will is beyond embarrassed and wishes he would just drop dead.
Mike quickly changes his top and mutters a sheepish, “Sorry!”
Then, in a brief flicker of enlightenment, remembers Will’s nightclothes are in the basement, and dives into his closet once more.
“Here,” he hands Will a Stars Wars T-shirt and green plaid pajamas, “I forgot your clothes are in the basement and we probably don’t want to wake Jonathan up. You can change here, lemme just turn around.”
Will accepts the pajamas with a brief thanks and dons on the clothing as fast as possible.
Mike isn’t much larger than Will, but the shirt collar has seemingly been stretched to the max and hangs abnormally loose. However, Mike has legs for days and the pajama pants are obnoxiously big on Will and pool at his feet. The fabric is soft with countless washes and smells like Mike’s laundry detergent, a mix of lavender and sandalwood.
When Mike gauges it safe to turn around, Will watches utterly confused as Mike essentially stares at him like a cat to a fish in a fishbowl. Will feels trapped in his gaze and self-consciously wonders why in the hell Mike is looking at him like that.
Mike finally seems to notice what he's doing, and broken out of his reverie or whatever the fuck was making him malfunction, begins forming what resembles a birds nest of pillows and blankets on the floor next to him.
Will wants to help, but he fears he’ll make the tornado in Mike's room worse, so he just waits for Mike to finish his…artistic interpretation of a bed.
Finally, Mike considers his job done and flashes a beam of a smile at Will, clearly self-satisfied.
Will thinks Mike resembles a proud, male bird with puffed up feathers, preening for acknowledgment.
He doesn’t tell Mike that.
“Looks sustainable, Mike, thanks.”
Mike immediately loses all confidence and sheepishly grins,
“Thanks.”
Will dive bombs into the nest and gets comfortable in the mess of blankets and pillows on the floor, and Mike turns off the lights and heads to his respective bed.
Belatedly, Mike rolls around to face Will, who is two feet below him and makes eye contact, brown gazing intently into green.
“Goodnight, Will.” Mike mutters.
“G’night, Mike.”
Consciousness fades, and Will belatedly remembers his habitual occurrence of nightmares that involve him waking up, shaking in cold sweats and silent tears.
This time, Will wakes up screaming.