Chapter Text
Will Byers's arms were often freckled with little angry red marks—faint half moons left behind by his own fingers. Pinching himself had become something of a habit in the last few months, every time Mike Wheeler smiled at him for too long, or reached for his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes it was the only way he could convince himself that this hadn't all been a wonderful, hazy dream, and that he would soon wake up alone in his bed.
The last few months had been a blur of whispered conversations, stolen kisses in closets and bathroom stalls, holding hands under blankets during group movie nights. The kind of things that thirteen-year-old Will thought didn't exist for people like him. And now, eighteen-year-old Will was living them.
Will caught sight of himself in the mirror a couple of minutes before leaving for his graduation dinner and lightly pinched the inside of his arm. The suit Joyce had found for him, last minute and thrifted, fit better than he'd expected. It was a little worn at the cuffs, but neat, and unmistakably his. Graduation itself had been a long and overwhelming affair, full of speeches that blurred together and the constant buzz of anticipation as names were called.
Being seated alphabetically meant that Mike and Will had been separated for nearly the entire ceremony—about as far apart as possible—which was almost unbearable. But when Will had finally crossed the stage, heart pounding as he accepted his diploma, he'd glanced out at the crowd just as the camera flashed.
Mike's grin had been wide, unabashed. He was clapping harder than anyone else. It had nearly undone him.
After the final speech and the turning of tassels, Will had found the others in the crowd—Dustin, Lucas, Max, Jane, and, of course, Mike. They'd thrown their caps into the bright blue sky, laughing as they'd landed, scattered at their feet. Their dinner plans had been confirmed in a tangle of excited voices.
Somehow, though, Will felt more nervous now than he had stepping onto that stage earlier.
He and Mike were going together—Mike was picking him imminently—and that knowledge made Will's chest flutter erratically. Being alone with Mike still gave him that dizzy, electric feeling it had since their first kiss. Will ran his hands through his hair, messing up the way Joyce had styled his curls that morning, and then desperately tried to flatten it again, exhaling shakily.
He'd faced monsters. He'd looked death in the face more than once this year.
And yet, the thought of his boyfriend knocking on his door any minute now was enough to bring a nervous tremor to his hands.
It wasn't a date—not with everyone else coming—but it felt close enough to one that butterflies swarmed wildly in his stomach.
"Will!" He heard Joyce's voice calling from the kitchen. "Mike's driving up!"
Will squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the back of his hand, grounding himself. This is real, he told himself. Mike is here. To pick you up.
His boyfriend. It still felt insane to be able to refer to Mike that way, even in his head.
The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. Will hurried before Joyce could call him again, pausing only to smooth down his jacket one last time. He opened the door.
"Hey," Mike said, grinning.
He looked good—his suit was a little rumpled, tie slightly crooked. It was oddly endearing—Mike's perpetual untidiness.
"Hey," Will echoed, his voice softer than he meant it to be.
"You ready?" Mike asked, nodding towards the driveway, where his Toyota Camry sat in the driveway, wedged awkwardly next to Joyce and Jonathan's cars.
Before Will could answer, Joyce appeared in the doorway behind him. "Hi Mike, honey," she greeted warmly. "Let me get a picture of you boys before you go."
"Mom," Will groaned, mortified as she ushered them back inside, holding one of Jonathan's cameras.
Mike's arm slipped easily around Will's waist, pulling him close. Will leaned into him without thinking, smiling as the flash went off. Joyce fussed over their ties, told them to have fun, and be safe, before Will managed to steer them back toward the door.
Outside, the evening air felt light.
Will loved Mike's car.
It was on the older side, even though he knew Mike's parents could probably have afforded a newer model, and much like Mike's room, was eternally messy and cluttered. Often, Will thought Mike was lucky he wasn't bothered by how much of a slob he was. He slid into the passenger's seat, grateful to finally have him alone, even if was only for a few minutes.
Mike dropped into the drivers seat next to him, shutting the door and leaning across the center console to press and soft kiss to Will's lips before he'd even buckled his seatbelt. Will felt Mike's hand move to cup the back of his neck gently, as if Will was going anywhere, his thumb gently brushing over the baby hairs on the nape of his neck.
After a few seconds, Mike pulled back, observing Will with a smile on his face. "Hi," he murmured a greeting again, this one more intimate.
"Hi," Will breathed back, feeling slightly bashful under Mike's gaze. Mike leaned in again, this kiss a little more rushed than this last, and Will responded enthusiastically, angling his head to deepen the connection and slipping a hand into Mike's dark, soft curls. His hair was starting to get long again—Will had been convincing him to grow it out—which made it a point of fixation for Will when they were together, the way it curled softly around his ears and the nape of his neck, all jet black and glossy.
"I missed you," Mike said between kisses, his hand moving between Will's neck and shoulder.
"You saw me earlier," Will replied, even though he'd missed Mike too in their few hours of separation between graduation and now. He'd always found Jonathan and Nancy's constant need to be with each other obnoxious—Lucas and Max too, honestly—but now, he understood. Ever since the Byers' had moved out of the Wheeler house, they'd each become increasingly frustrated with the constraints on their time spent together. Fortunately, the Byers' new house wasn't too far from the Wheelers, and was certainly closer than Will's childhood home had been. "And I saw you in the crowd when I was up there, clapping like an idiot."
Mike laughed. "I couldn't help it, I was proud." Before Will could answer, he leaned forward to kiss him again, as if the few hours been apart had been actually been years.
"Mike," Will mumbled against his lips; "Dinner. We have to go."
Mike groaned, dramatic and expressive as ever. "I'd rather kiss you."
"Well, too bad," Will said, pushing Mike's forehead lightly with the tips of his fingers, but he replied, "later." Mike, satisfied with this promise, pulled out of the driveway.
Once they were out on the road, Mike took Will's hand, resting together on the center console, and Will could pass away on the spot in a death of pathetic, shy giddiness. Out of all the physical intimacies they shared, holding Mike's hand might've been his favorite. He loved Mike's hands—his long fingers, soft pale skin and scars from years of falling off his bike and fighting the supernatural—loved the way Mike's thumb would trace gentle circles on the back of his hand, how their fingers would intertwine inconspicuously under blankets or tables. At least, Will hoped it was inconspicuous.
The bubble of people who knew about the two of them was relatively small—Joyce, because neither of them could keep anything from her, Robin, as she'd been the catalyst for them getting together, and Jonathan, as he'd walked in on them kissing once, which left Will embarrassed for weeks, although his brother insisted he'd already figured it out, which was probably true. Jonathan had always been onto them, Will supposed. They fully intended to tell Lucas, Dustin, Max, and Jane soon enough, but it was a difficult, scary conversation that neither of them wanted to have with the rest of the party just yet.
The restaurant was already buzzing when they arrived, voices overlapping and silverware clinking in a steady rhythm. Warm light spilled from the hanging fixtures, casting everything in a golden glow. The rest of their friends awaited them by the host stand.
"Took you two long enough," Lucas said as soon as he spotted them, mock annoyed, arms crossed.
Mike only smirked. "Hey I made the reservation. That buys me at least five minutes of grace."
He gave his name to the host, who checked the list, and led them through the restaurant, past crowded tables and laughing strangers, all the way to the quieter corner in the back. As soon as they reached the table, Mike slid into the seat beside Will that Dustin had obviously intended to take.
"Wow. No shame." Dustin shook his head, raising an eyebrow.
"This one has the best feng shui," Mike replied easily, nodding towards the corner like that settled it.
"Since when do you care about feng shui?" Max asked skeptically.
"Since right now," Mike was unfazed.
Will bit back a smile, feeling Mike's knee brush his own under the table.
Once everyone was seated and the menus distributed, the energy settled into something warm and familiar. Their drinks arrived—sodas and ice tea, ice rattling in the cups—and Lucas raised his glass first.
"Okay," He said, beaming, "here's to graduation."
"And to summer break," Max added quickly.
They laughed, glasses clinking together in a chorus of cheers. Will set his down carefully on the tablecloth, suddenly very aware of how real this all felt. Mike's elbow nudged his own again, gently reassuring.
Conversation flowed easily onward after that—talk of ceremony mishaps, jokes about the droning speeches, Dustin reenacting the story of almost forgetting to wear his cap. Will found himself drifting in and out of it, smiling and listening, the words washing over him as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that he had actually graduated high school.
The food arrived in a flurry of plates and polite interruptions. Will barely noticed what he ordered, too caught up in the feeling of it all—the hum of the restaurant, the warmth of Mike at his side, the knowledge that this day marked a beginning and an end at the same time.
It was strange. He'd helped save the world. He'd survived things most people never would.
And yet, sitting there with his friends, celebrating something so ordinary yet monumental at the same time, it felt like he'd climbed Mount Everest.
"Okay, but I'm just saying," Dustin gestured with his fork, as if to accentuate his words, "MIT has actual underground tunnels. How cool is that?"
"You're going to get lost in one of those and never come back," Max's voice was dry. "Then we'll have to tell people you were defeated by architecture."
Dustin scoffed. "Please. I'll have a map! Multiple maps. And probably a spreadsheet."
Lucas shook his head, laughing. "I still can't believe you're actually going there, man. MIT. That's insane."
"Insanely earned," Dustin shot back, but there was a grin on his face. "Don't think I didn't notice you dodging talking about Howard again."
Lucas tried to shrug it off, but his smile gave it away. "I'm not dodging! It's just—D.C., you know? The campus, the history, everything. And the scholarship?" His voice softened for a moment as he appeared to recall something. "Mom cried for like, a week."
"Yeah, yeah," Max bumped him with her shoulder, "Don't forget about us little people when you're there."
"As if," Lucas retorted, "I'll be flying out to San Diego every chance I get."
Max smiled. "And we'll both be back here for Thanksgiving, and Christmas."
"And Will," Lucas nodded to him across the table, "RISD. Art school. You ready?"
Will nodded, slightly surprised at the sudden shift in attention towards him. "Yeah, I mean—terrified, but ready. It still doesn't feel real, you know?" Will's mom, much like Lucas's, had also cried when he was accepted, with a scholarship at that.
"That's not too far from Brown, is it?" Dustin asked, brow furrowing as he sipped his drink.
Will nodded again, fighting to keep the excited grin off his face. "Yeah, it's a quick bus ride."
"Or bike, if you're feeling ambitious," Mike added. Will could feel him looking at him out of the corner of his eye, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. While they hadn't planned to commit to colleges in the same city, Will couldn't pretend that the proximity to Mike hadn't played a part in his decision.
As the conversation turned to Jane's plans to travel with Kali, Will felt Mike's hand settle on his knee beneath the tablecloth. It was an unassuming touch—casual and covert enough to go unnoticed by anyone else—but it sent a rush of warmth through him all the same. The warmth of Mike's palm seemed to seep through fabric and bone alike, spreading through his veins in a soft, electric pulse. He glanced over at him, heart thudding. Mike appeared to be completely absorbed in the conversation, nodding along as Jane talked, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It made Will's chest ache in the best way.
He tried to remain focused on the discussion, but his thoughts kept drifting as Mike's thumb moved, gently tracing back and forth across the fabric over Will's knee. The steady presence felt both thrilling and impossibly comforting. He was at his graduation dinner, surrounded by his friends, celebrating the end of something huge—and all he could think about was the quiet intimacy of a hand resting on his knee, soft, steady, almost too good to be real.
...
When the bill was paid and the dishes were cleared away, the party made their way to their respective vehicles, calling goodnight to each other as the doors slammed shut. There was a strange sense of finality in the air that Will couldn't shake. Maybe it was the very real possibility that they wouldn't all be in the same room again for a while. But he pushed this thought from his mind. The six of them would find their way back to each other, for the holidays, for the summers, for each others next graduation. They always did.
Plus, Will found it difficult to be solemn when he had a few more minutes alone with Mike on the drive home. Once they'd slid into the front two seats, Mike hesitated to start the car, glancing over at Will instead.
"So," he asked, grinning, "Are you ready?"
"For RISD?" Will's smile was just as wide. "Oh yeah. No dorms though. I could never have some random roommate."
"Oh for sure," Mike nodded seriously. "Apartments only. Somewhere small, quiet. Which reminds me," he said, rummaging for something in his coat pocket. "Remember last weekend when I said I was going to visit my aunt in Massachussetts?"
"You made that up, didn't you?" Mike was a terrible liar.
Mike hesitated. "...yes. But," he held up his hands in surrender. One of them held a small, folded piece of paper, edges worn like it had been handled more than once. "It was for a good cause. I couldn't ruin the surprise."
Will eyed him skeptically. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Look, I actually drove up to Providence with my parents. Just to...you know. Look around."
Will's breath stilled. "You did?"
Mike nodded, unfolding the paper carefully. It turned out to be a printed photo of an apartment building—brick, modest, sunlight spilling across the front steps. He smoothed it out on the center console between them, fingers lingering there as if it might disappear.
"I found something perfect," he said softly. "It's not huge, but it's affordable. And it's close enough to both Brown and RISD that we could take the bus." He glanced at Will, as if gauging his reaction, then hurried on. "It's two bedrooms—because, well, you know how my dad is—but we could use one as a studio. Or a writing space. Whatever you want."
Will leaned closer, studying the photo even though his vision had gone a little blurry. The idea of it—their own place, a real one—felt too big to hold all at once.
Mike swallowed. "I just...I wanted us to have something. Together."
His words were cut off by a kiss from Will. Mike froze for a half second, then melted into it, his hand curling lightly around the fabric of Will's sleeve. The kiss twisted between them, shape-shifted, sometimes soft and sweet, sometimes eager and desperate, but they matched each other's pace perfectly. Will mentally took back his sentiment from earlier about holding Mike's hand being his favorite. Nothing compared to Mike's kisses. He ran his hands through Mike's soft curls, tugging a little bit, and it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.
When they pulled apart, both of them were smiling, a little breathless.
"You're unbelievable." Will said quietly.
Mike laughed, his forehead resting against Will's. "Is that a yes?"
Will nodded, eyes shining. "Yes. Of course."
Mike pressed another kiss to his lips, soft and quick.
They'd agreed on living together as soon as they'd gotten their acceptance letters, but it hadn't felt real until Will saw the picture. It was confirmation—that this was actually his future, that this would be his reality in just a few short months. Spending every day with the love of his life.
When they both pulled away, Mike took Will's hand, raising it to brush his knuckles with his lips.
"We'll cook dinner," Will said, almost to himself. "And you'll leave your notebooks everywhere. And I'll get paint smudges all over the walls."
"I absolutely will," Mike nodded, smiling. "But I'll still fall asleep next to you every night."
Summer stretched out in front of them, long and sunlit, full of goodbyes Will wasn't quite ready to say yet. Still, for the first time, the future didn't feel like something that was looming over him. It was a little scary, sure, but the good kind. The kind that came with open roads and packed boxes, plans whispered late a night. It felt like something he was running toward, not away from.
And Mike would be there with him, reaching for his hand without hesitation.
The certainty of it all settled in Will's chest, warm and steady. He didn't need to pinch himself anymore. There was no haze to cut through, no dream threatening to dissolve when he blinked. The way Mike looked at him—open, unwavering, real—was proof enough.
As the car idled and the night hummed softly around them, Will let himself breathe it in; the end of one chapter, the beginning of another, and the knowledge that he wasn't facing it alone.
For once, that was enough.