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There are many things in life that are, more or less, a mystery to Mike Wheeler – how does the TV work? Or Walkmans? Why do people yawn? Who invented the microwave? Why does he possess the uncanny ability to burn the popcorn in it every single time without fail?
These are just a few of the questions that idly wander around his brain on the daily. The biggest, yet to be explained mystery of them all, though, is the question of how he, Michael Wheeler, got so fucking lucky. He’s thought about it long and hard, but so far, no answer has presented itself to him, and so he continues to ponder the thought with a childlike wonder, an amazed puzzlement.
It’s Sunday Night, and he’s standing in the small kitchen of his and Will’s tiny apartment – full stop there, already. He’s standing in his and Will’s apartment. A few years ago, this would’ve sounded like something straight out of his wildest, most secret dreams; a place of their own, a place to call their home. But here he is, and the apartment really is tiny, more a shoebox than anything else, really, but it’s got green tiles in the kitchen and a teeny tiny bathtub and a bedroom with a window that faces the street and has a tiny fire escape, and a living room with a couch that’s probably older than the two of them combined but that was so cheap and comfortable they just had to buy it in the second hand store down the block. Mike loves it, all of it, down to the tiny cracks in the wall above the bathroom mirror, even though Will keeps stressing out about the possibility of a pipe burst, no matter how hard Mike tries to reassure him there’s no way that’s going to happen (with no evidence whatsoever to back up his claims). It’s comfortable, it’s home, it’s all he’s ever wanted and more, and the best thing about it is the fact that it’s theirs, Mike and Will’s, a fact that Mike is reminded of every day when he sees their shoes tossed by the door side by side, sees Will’s jacket hang from the back of his designated seat at the kitchen table, their unwashed mugs in the sink, the smudge of blue paint on their coffeetable from when Will dropped his paint brush once. His own shirts strewn across the floor of Will’s bedroom that really is more of their bedroom by now, Mike’s own room deemed as a strictly working space, with Will’s easel standing by the big window where the afternoon sun paints his hair golden brown whenever he’s sitting criss-crossed in front of it, tongue poking out with concentration and some abstruse indie rock band playing softly in the background. It’s the polaroids tacked to the fridge with Mike’s own messy handwriting sprawled over it. It’s the shitty microwave that he’s currently burning the popcorn in.
It’s Sunday night, which means it’s designated movie night with the entire party, and that is another thing that makes him wonder every single time Mike thinks about it. How did they get so lucky? How did they manage to overcome every single evil the universe threw at them – alternate dimensions, military bad guys, supernatural villains that could make minds explode with a snip of their fingers – just to end up here, in this apartment, arguing about what movie to watch, even though the options are Star Wars: The Empire strikes back; Alien, and Ghost, movies they have all watched a thousand times over, and even though they all know they’re going to end up watching Ghost again, simply because El really wants to watch it, and what El wants, Max votes for, and then Will is the next one to give in (not, as Mike is convinced, entirely selflessly, because even though Will denies it within an inch of his life, he is convinced Will actually likes the stupid movie), which normally would mean it’s three against three, and they could flip a coin and hope for the best; but, in a recent development Mike has been watching with growing interest (alright, maybe only after Will spelled it out for him – he’s unfortunately still as oblivious as ever), Dustin has taken to always voting in El’s favour, no matter the argument.
So, when Mike walks out with the bowl of burnt popcorn, he finds his friends already settled around the TV, the opening credits of Ghost just rolling in. “Wait” he protests, “We watched Ghost last week, that’s unfair!”
“Literally how is that unfair, Michael?” Max asks him from her spot bracketed between Lucas’ legs on the floor. “We voted. Like the true democracy that we are.”
“I wasn’t even here for the vote, clearly it was rigged” Mike keeps complaining as he carefully climbs over El’s outstreched legs to get to the couch, but he knows it’s a doomed mission. El shoots him a look. “It was five votes for Ghost” she says, making no attempt whatsoever to make room for Mike. “So your vote did not matter.”
“Five??” Mike yelps, indignant. His right foot catches on the abnormally large pillow propped against the coffeetable, and he stumbles, only just managing to catch himself before falling down face first into the couch cushions. A hand wraps around his biceps to steady him, warm and steady, and it’s Will who laughs right in his face as he says “Easy”.
Mike forgets all about rigged votes and bad movie choices and alliance partners stabbing him right in the back at this very second, which, okay, his attention span probably could be considered a very serious problem when viewed from a clinical standpoint, but when Will is right there in front of him, all wrapped up in his old ratty throw blanket he’s owned since he was literally seven years old, his hair sticking up at odd angles and his dimples showing just so, how is Mike supposed to be mad at the small injustices of the world?
Max uses this moment of inattention to snatch the bowl of popcorn from him, and Will tugs a his arm just slightly, but Mike goes willingly, like he always does, and tumbles down next to Will in his designated spot. It takes a second to properly seat himself, sort his long legs and arms until he’s leaned back against the recliner, one arm slung across Will’s shoulder, hand automatically settling in the nape of his neck, making Will sigh and cuddle closer, head pressed against Mike’s shoulder. Call him dramatic, but Mike would singlehandedly fight Vecna a thousand times over if this is the reward he has to look forward to. He presses a kiss to Will’s temple, and than maybe a second and third one just to make it stick and get the message across, and all in all it’s a very nice moment, even with the smell of something burned in the air and Max making retching noises on the floor when she catches Mike pressing a fourth and fifth kiss to Will’s temple (sue him). It’s still a nice moment when Mike in retaliation kicks out at Max and misses, accidentally kicking Dustin in the back, who grabs the abnormally large pillow to whack back at Mike, in the process elbowing Max in the ribs – ha! Justice! Unfortunately, that is followed by a not so nice moment where the pillow is flying towards Mike’s face, and he only just manages to bring up a protective hand in front of Will’s head still pillowed on his chest; and just as he is about to be actively suffocated on his own couch with his very own pillow, he can hear Dustin let out a yelp and than he’s being yanked back down and tackled by Max, who, in an unusual turn of events, becomes Mike’s instant saviour and hero.
“Yes, Madmax!” he whoops as Max bores down on Dustin, poking him in the ribs relentlessly - a mistake, as he would’ve known if he wasn’t so caught up in the feeling of the unexpected victory of being able to breathe.
Max lets a teary eyed Dustin crawl out of her hold and into the safety of El’s arms (aha! Will really is onto something here!) and instead throws Mike a look that’s not only bordering on murderous but actually promising him a long and painful death. “You’re next, Wheeler” she promises, proceeding to throw herself at the couch, a threat that makes Mike let out a roaring war cry (it’s not a shriek. It’s not!). Luckily, Mike has the highground here, and he kicks out wildly in front of him, keeping Max at a distance – “Nooo” Lucas cries out, “The Popcorn!!”, and then Mike’s leg hits the sharp edge of the coffeetable and he lets out a real cry this time. Max, unfortunately, probably wouldn’t know mercy if it hit her in the head, and is about to launch herself at Mike with a mad twinkle in her eyes, when suddenly, the world freezes.
Blinded with pain, clutching at his shin, it takes a second for Mike to realise that it’s not actually the world that’s frozen, it’s just Max, who’s hanging in the air over Mike at an angle that is almost comical to observe. Mike’s eyes snap to El, but she’s apparently totally hung up on the story of Ghost, which makes no fucking sense, okay, Mike was about to be butchered alive here and all she cares about is this dumb fucking movie she’s watched a thousand times already and, honestly, isn’t even that interesting; but her inattention to the chaos around her can only mean one thing, which – Mike’s glance slides down to Will, who somehow managed to remain stuck to Mike’s side throughout all of this, and finds him fixing Max with an intense stare.
And fuck, if Mike doesn’t forget about the pain piercing through his leg right this second.
“Byers!” Max growls, “Put. Me. Down!”
Will hums, contemplative. “Only if you don’t kill Mike,” he says. “He makes much too good a pillow to sacrifice”, which, ouch, Mike’s more than this banging hot body and otherworldly cuddle skills, thank you, and he’d maybe start complaining now if only he wasn’t so completely and utterly entranced watching the faintest trickle of blood escaping Will’s nose and catching on his cupid’s bow. Mike sort of wants to lick it off.
Max is still grumbling as she takes her seat between Lucas’ spread legs again, but Mike isn’t really listening; why would he be, when there’s so many much more interesting things to pay attention to, and they’ve all got to do with Will, who now turns his head up toward him, tongue darting out to catch the droplets of blood pooling on his upper lip. Mike swallows.
Listen. Mike - is only a guy. A very normal, twenty-something year old guy with very active hormones and a very attractive boyfriend who also happens to possess psychic powers he sometimes uses to protect Mike from certain death. Fuck Sunday movie nights, Mike is about to throw all of his friends out of the apartment this very second, because he’s nothing but selfish and wants Will all to himself with no one to share, when Will squeezes his biceps again, grinning up at him and quirking his eyebrow in a way that tells Mike he knows exactly what he’s doing.
It’s a good thing he’s already seated, because Mike swears he feels himself go weak in the knees. Forget throwing his friends out; he’s about to traumatize them seven ways from Sunday, and he finds his hand grabbing at Will’s waist, almost a bit helplessly, finds himself leaning in a tiny bit closer, eyes zeroing in on the blood on Will’s lips, wondering if Will would let him get away with it, kissing him now, touching him; showing him exactly how much Mike appreciates him for saving him in all these little ways. Will swears his abilities don’t include mind-reading; Mike himself isn’t so sure sometimes, in moments like these when Will looks at him and his breath hitches slightly, like he can tell exactly what Mike is thinking about. Then again, most of the time Mike probably is doing a piss poor job of pretending he’s thinking about anything other than Will naked and moaning underneath him, and almost all of the time he isn’t even trying to pretend, not when it so often gets him rewarded like this; with Will’s hand on his biceps, grip getting tighter and tighter, lips parting ever so slightly, eyes going wide and dark and getting that far away look in them, like he actually can look inside Mike’s mind, like he can see all of Mike’s most depraved fantasies, all involving Will, like he’s right there with him.
Mike can’t help a small grin of his own when he feels Will’s breath ghost over his own lips, when he gets to watch the rosy blush spread high on his cheeks from where Mike is sure it will rush all the way to the tips of his ears, when he feels Will lean in that tiny bit closer until their noses are brushing.
Then – “Mike” El says. “You spilled the popcorn.”
Mike blinks. “Huh?” he says, ever the man of sophisticated words and writer of high prose. His eyes are glued to Will’s face, who blinks a few times, like waking up from a dream, and draws back ever so slightly, shooting Mike a small smile. Mike mourns the loss of his breath on his cheeks like physical contact, because he is in love and disgusting.
“You burned the popcorn,” El says, explaining nothing: as already established, Mike always burns the popcorn. “And now you’ve spilled it.”
Mike finally manages to drag away his face from Will enough to see that there is indeed burned popcorn all over the floor. Huh. El is looking at him somewhat expectantly, but Mike meets her gaze with his own mind completely blank; a typical aftereffect of Will’s vicinity that Mike – sorry – has yet to get a grip on.
“Okay?” he asks carefully. Max huffs out an annoyed sigh which probably would come off as more authoritative if she wasn’t swaddled in a throw blanket and sandwiched between Lucas’ legs, cuddling back against his chest. It’s inconceivable how she can look so utterly – innocent, when mere moments ago, she was about to fully murder Mike without a single regret. “Go make some more popcorn, Wheeler, Jesus Christ, it’s like you’re trying to be the dumbest person alive -”
As she rants on, Mike is half tempted to kick out at her again, but seeing as that is what landed them in this mess in the first place, he refrains (on the other hand, it earned him Will looking at him like that, with blood trickling from his nose from protecting Mike, so really, maybe he should kick Max again).
“I can’t” he says, pouting and clutching his shin, which in all honestly, he had forgotten all about in the last few minutes. “I’m gravely injured”
“Oh no” Lucas says dryly. “However will you survive? They’ll have to take it off this time”
Mike glares at him in a way that he hopes conveys that he thinks Lucas is little backstabbing bitch with no sense of loyalty. First the vote for Ghost and now this? It’s about time Mike finds a new best friend, honest to God.
El, too, seems to have no loyalties to anyone or anything besides the movie playing dimly on the TV and a fresh bowl of popcorn, because she pokes Mike in the shin – his hurt shin! Right where there’s sure to be the biggest bluest bruise of all time tomorrow – and says: “You’re fine, Mike. But you won’t be any longer if you do not go make new popcorn.”
Mike blinks at her, unbelieving. “Is that a threat? Are you threatening me in my own home?!” He turns to Will for aid just to find him already laughing at him.
“Come on, my brave Paladin” Will grins at him. “I’ll come help you. Otherwise you’re just gonna burn all the popcorn again”
And okay, maybe Mike can manage being tugged along to the kitchen by Will, desperately trying to act as if Will calling him Paladin doesn’t make his heart flutter like a thirteen year old nerd loser (and probably failing, if he’s being honest here), and showing real growth when he refrains from kicking Max again when she makes retching noises at them, again, which is really unfair of her, because they’re not even doing anything, Jesus Christ. Instead, like a real grown up, he only sticks his tongue out at her and disappears into the kitchen, where all thoughts of Max and her barely hidden homophobia are immediately forgotten.
It’s dark in here, the only light coming from the streetlights outside and the golden glow emanating from the living room through the open kitchen door. Will is standing with his back to him, bend over the running tap, rubbing at the blood on his lip, and it’s stupid, because after all this time, Mike probably should be used to this, but he isn’t, and his stomach swoops all over every time he gets to see Will like this, angelic in the dim light and with his defences down, like he really still is a thirteen year old nerd loser.
Reaching for Will is a habit by now; sliding his arms around him, letting his hands slip under his shirt, fingers grazing over the impossibly soft skin right over the waistband of his boxers. Feeling Will let out a breath, pressing just that tiny bit closer back at him. Mike can’t help but grin, hiding it in the unruly hair on the crown of Will’s head. Will might know how to push Mike’s buttons, but two can play a game, and Mike has all of Will’s buttons memorized by heart, has a fucking mental drawer dedicated solely to each and every one of them, carefully labelled and stored away and ready to be pushed with delicate fingers.
“Hey” he murmurs, low, right into the shell of Will’s ear, nosing at it, and okay, he might be playing a bit dirty here, but all’s fair in love and war, right? “Thank you for saving me” he whispers against Will’s skin, pressing a careful kiss to his jaw, a second one for good measure, and a third one because fuck it, he’s greedy.
Will hums low in his arms, and Mike can’t really see his face from here, which is a damn shame, but he can still picture it so clearly; Will’s eyes falling shut, his slight smile as he drops his head back against Mike’s shoulder and murmurs: “’Course”. He hums again when Mike presses another kiss into his skin, this time to his neck – greedy, remember? - and then says: “You really do make way too good a pillow”
Mike laughs, quiet and low, and watches the goosebumps raise on Will’s neck with a quiet satisfaction he only ever feels in moments like these. “Good to know you only want me for my body” he says as Will wriggles a bit in his arms to turn around and face him.
“I want you for many things” Will says, tone light, teasing. His arms slide around the sides of Mike’s neck, fingers curling lightly in his hair, and they’re so close, with Will blinking up at him like this. “But you’re body is like, top five”
Mike – is a little breathless, a little brainless, too, maybe. “Top three” he says, hands sliding down Will’s waist to grab at his ass instead, because sue him, it’s by far the most perfect ass Mike has ever had the honour of seeing, and it’d basically be a crime to not make daily use of his incredible privilege of being allowed to touch it. Will shoots him a look that clearly calls him a hypocrite, but still shrugs a little, all coy; eyes crinkling in a smile.”Top Two” he says.
“Top One” Mike says, stupidly, and Will laughs against his lips. “Shut up” he murmurs, and then Mike does, because, finally, they’re kissing. It’s slow, unhurried, Mike pulling Will impossibly closer; Will rising up ever so slightly on his tiptoes, something that never fails to make Mike feel insane, wild with love and desire and more possessiveness than is probably strictly good. He bites at Will’s lower lip, gently; revels in the breath that escapes Will, can’t resist biting down again, not so gently; soothes it with a small kiss, a swipe of tongue, and Will opens up willingly for him; and then they’re properly kissing, tongues tangling languidly. Mike lets his hand climb up Will’s spine until Will melts in his arms, letting out another breath that teeters more into the territory of a moan than is probably appropriate with all their friends in the next room, but Mike is not about to let that stop him, not when Will is so warm and pliant and smiling against his lips and tugging ever so slightly at Mike’s hair.
Buttons. Will is pushing all of his right now.
He honestly can’t say how much time passes, lost in this very nice moment with Will, when suddenly there’s a shout from next door.
“Wheeler, stop groping Will and get the fucking popcorn going” Max yells. Will breaks away in a giggle, and once again Mike is left mourning his touch because his group of imbecile friends apparently have no other hobbies than cockblocking him in his own apartment. Someday, he will simply lock them all out on the streets. Let them starve, see if he cares, honestly.
Much to his chagrin, Will seems to take Max’s orders to heart, because he presses one last kiss to Mike’s lips before turning around again, reaching for a new bag of popcorn. “Come on” he laughs, “before El breaks your neck for ruining her movie night”
Mike manages to burn only half of the popcorn with the steadfast help of Will (the burned half courtesy of the second make out session Mike proudly manages to lure Will into), and when they sneak back into the living room like bumbling, giggling teenagers, Max only takes one glance at them before rolling her eyes murmuring “Pathetic”, while El snatches the popcorn bowl from Will’s hands.
“You really are homophobic, Maxine” Mike remarks, making Dustin choke on a handful of burned popcorn.
“I’m really not” Max responds evenly. “You’re just really, really pathetic, Michael”
Max may be right, Mike thinks as he tumbles down onto the couch, pulling Will into him. But how could he ever bring himself to care, when he and Will spend the rest of the movie giggling and making eyes at each other while Lucas and Dustin bicker about nonsense and Max falls asleep halfway through the movie, making El the only one once again fully absorbed in the world of Ghost?
It’s a nice moment. They’ve earned the right to be a little pathetic about it.
College, sometimes, seems to be way harder than the whole saving the world business, in Mike’s humble opinion; a fact he is reminded of when it’s Monday night, the clock is steadily reaching eleven p.m., and Mike has to finish his fucking paper that is due tomorrow, a fact he had happily forgotten all about until approximately ten hours ago.
Listen. Mike is somewhat of an expert of working under pressure, and it’s not the first time (and unfortunately, probably not the last, either) he’s had to freestyle a paper like this, but, in a rather tragic turn of events, this particular paper will make up 30 percent of his final note, so.
So, Mike finds himself hunched over his desk, manically scribbling away about a Freudian approach to reading On the Road, a topic he imagines he’d actually be rather interested in if it weren’t for the, you know, sort of tight time aspect of it all. So far, he’s got eight pages of absolutely trash talking the novel, which he’s pretty sure his professor is not going to be very impressed by, seeing as he seems to be a rather big fan himself; but at this point, Mike is running on pure hatred and spite and also the three cups of coffee he’s had in the last five hours. On a totally unrelated note, his chest is feeling sort of funny in a way that makes him wonder, absentmindedly, as he’s ploughing through yet another chapter made up entirely of endless, non-sensical rambling, if he’s maybe having a heart attack and should wake Will, or call an ambulance or something. Having a heart attack at least would have the nice side effect of getting him out of this stupid assignment, but Mike can almost feel the glare Will would fix him with for such thoughts, and so he accepts that it’s probably just the caffeine shock mixed with a ten hour slouch that is spectacularly bad even for Mike’s fucked up posture standards.
Will, bless his sweet angel soul, had insisted on keeping him company until about an hour ago; bringing him food and water and encouraging kisses whenever Mike felt like throwing himself out of the window headfirst. In contrast to Mike, though, Will is perfectly organized and also a functioning member of society, which means he usually gets up at seven in the morning the latest and works all throughout the day, and so by the time the clock had struck ten p.m., his eyes had been dropping so badly Mike couldn’t even properly make out the hazel in them anymore, and so he had gently forced him into bed. Privately, Mike thinks he deserves a 100% on this grade and at least a medal of honour for being strong enough for tucking a sleepy Will into bed without tucking himself in right next to him, instead leaving him basked in the soft glow of their night light, soft and warm from sleep.
At least Mike can see the light at the end of the tunnel now that he only has about three and a half pages left of shitting on Kerouac’s writing, and then he’ll only have to half-heartedly finish up his sources, and he’ll be good to go. Well, somewhat good to go. Better than having nothing written at all, at the very least.
Mike doesn’t know how he always ends up in these situations, honestly; all of their friends make fun of his bad time management all the time, and even his new uni friends have caught onto the fact pretty quickly and have therefore fortunately started to remind him of deathlines and exams and presentation dates. He knows it bugs the party when he forgets they’re supposed to hang out, forgets about the party they planned to attend or the movie they wanted to watch together; and if he’s completely honest, he’d probably forget most of everyone’s birthdays if he hadn’t Will to remind him. It makes him feel like a bad friend, and a bad student, a bad brother when he forgets to call Holly at home; he doesn’t know what it is that makes times and dates and plans all jumbled up in his mind. Time passes in a weird way, sometimes, something that Mike has trouble explaining, because it’s a vague feeling he can’t really decipher himself.
That’s the case with many of his emotions, still, after all the trouble they’ve been through, after all the years of pushing it all down further and further, the terror and fear as well as heartbreak, the love, the desire for things to be different - he does feel them now, but even after the relative peace of the last few years, the pure happiness of being able to live out the life he never even dared to imagine for himself, it sometimes gets hard; knowing what it is exactly he’s feeling, putting a label on it, describing it to others.
Will seems to understand him either way, even when Mike is rough around the edges and sailing through space, taciturn and childishly sulking; manages to anchor him enough to keep him from floating away into the clouds of his mind completely. It’s one of the many thing Mike doesn’t understand and never will; and though he doesn’t like to dwell on it, sometimes in the dark of the night it can’t be helped and his head is filled with questions after questions of how he could ever be deserving of someone as loving as Will, how Will can stick around after everything Mike has put him through, after the years of heartache and silence and misunderstandings. He can’t help hating himself a bit every time he thinks about it; and sometimes feels he has no right to be so goddamn lucky, but if there is one thing Mike knows in the core of his heart, still beating and bleeding despite all odds, it’s that he will spend a lifetime trying to make up for it, trying to be the best version he can be, for Will and for himself.
Granted, being the best version of himself probably involves not finishing his essay at two in the morning, but hey, what’s life without a little room to grow?
He sorts the papers together haphazardly and stumbles his way through the dark apartment to the kitchen. The streetlights outside the window illuminate enough of the room to be able to find a glass of water without actually turning on the fluorescent overhead light that Mike hates because it makes his eyes hurt, and for a moment, he just slumps over the counter, sipping his water and feeling like has just finished a fucking marathon or something (Mike obviously hasn’t done something as crazy as that before, nor would he ever consider doing it in the future, but he has been known to run from a few interdimensional monsters during his time, okay, so he feels like he has a pretty good idea about what running a marathon would feel like). Despite the late hour, he isn’t feeling that tired, the result of the aforementioned coffee overdose and also a generally fucked sleeping schedule. And so, because the entire day is fucked already and because he feels like he deserves a little treat for powering through the entirety of On the Road in a grand total of maybe seven hours - something he is pretty, pretty sure has cost him more brain cells than any hits he has ever taken in fights with the aforementioned interdimensional monsters, by the way – he grabs the pack of cigarettes stashed between the wall and the pot of a plant that was probably last watered when it was still for sale in the store Will had grabbed it from.
And it’s not like he or Will are like, proper smokers, not really; it’s a habit Will had picked up during highschool, sneaking out of hangovers with Max, tiptoeing in front of the basement door during sleepovers, huddling with other smokers at parties they somehow, miraculously got invited to their senior year. He didn’t do it too often, if only to avoid Joyce freaking out in case she found out (the absolute hypocrite); and so it took Mike a while to catch onto what was going on. But then he’d found Will one night when they were all having a big sleepover at the cabin, back when they would spend every free minute there, repairing and renovating it, and in El’s case, doing a lot of redecorating; found him sitting on the veranda out the back, legs dangling from the edge and cigarette dangling from his charcoal smudged fingers. And listen, for some reason Mike had always been particularly susceptible of the whole anti-smoking propaganda they were taught at school, but any thought of lung cancer had flown out of the window the second he saw Will blow out smoke into the starry night sky with a guilty grin on his face. Next thing Mike knew, he found himself pressed next to Will, hacking up his lungs and relishing the way Will laughed straight into his face for it.
They don’t make a habit out of it, but they have a fire escape that basically begs to be used as a tiny balcony, and a shitload of trauma to cope with, and besides, they’re in college, and sometimes, after days like this, they deserve a little treat. Mike figures it’s no use worrying about cigarettes giving him lung cancer when he’s spend his teen years running around potentially toxic alternative realities.
And so he finds himself perched on their fire escape, watching the city lights blink from up here. It’s a warm night, just a slight breeze going, and it’s nice, the way the city is still bustling in front of him, despite the late hour. It’s so different from Hawkins, in almost every way possible, and at first Mike had been sort of afraid to let go of the quiet stillness that normally accompanied their hometown, at least when, you know, there wasn’t some sort of interdimensional murder invasion going on, which seemingly happened more often than you were led to believe.
Either way, Mike had found pretty quickly that here in the city, he could find almost everything that had made him reluctant to leave Hawkins behind in the first place minus the trauma, so that is definitely an added bonus. He still gets to annoy Max on almost a daily business, still gets to plan out and play D’n’D campaigns with his party, gets to listen to Dustin and Lucas bicker about nonsense over lunch – gets to watch El slowly bloom into a version of herself she never thought she could be. Most of all, though, he gets to live with Will, gets to watch him sleep in the night, to kiss him awake in the morning; to walk him across campus to class even though Will has told him he doesn’t need to do that a thousand times. Gets to kiss him silly in their own kitchen and fuck him in their bed and shower together until all the warm water is used up. There’s not much to complain about.
There’s a quiet creak on the floorboards inside that drags Mike out of his thoughts; when he peeks inside, he can barely make the shape of Will out before he is already climbing onto the fire escape himself, silent and nimble as a cat. It’s one of the many things Mike envies about Will, how graceful he always appears, a stark contrast to Mike’s own noodley limbs.
Will perches down in front of him, rubbing at his eyes, and apparently, the caffeine in Mike’s system has not let off at all, not even a little bit, because he feels like his heart is about to burst for real this time.
“Hey, baby” he says, softly. “Did I wake you?”
Will shakes his head, making himself a bit more comfortable. His bare legs knock against Mike’s. It’s cool.
“Just woke up” Will mumbles. “Wanted to see when you were coming to bed”
“I just finished up” Mike murmurs. His hand reach out on their own accord, wrapping around Will’s ankle, drawing idle circles with his thumb. He’s rewarded with a quiet hum. “Was feeling a bit too wound up for bed still”
Will smiles slyly at the cigarette pinched between his fingers. “So you thought you’d add nicotine to the caffeine shock?”
“Yeah, well” Mike says, trying his best to keep his face serious. “You know they cancel each other out, right? That’s, like, basic science”
t’s always a small wonder when Mike can get Will to laugh like this, a small huff like he is trying to press the smile away from his face, an unbelieving little sound, reserved for Mike’s more stupid jokes. “I don’t think that’s how science works, Mike” he says, but Mike is undeterred, grinning openly now. “I’m pretty sure it does”
Will scoffs at him, but the sound gets lost in the night, and the smile lines around his eyes give him away either way, so. “You’re such an idiot” he says.
And that might definitely be true, but Michael Wheeler is even more of a sap than he is an idiot (which, honestly, means he’s quite the sap), so he says: “Your idiot, though”
It’s all worth it for the quiet smile Will looks at him with. “All mine” he says softly, and maybe Mike isn’t the only sap around here, after all. He squeezes Will’s ankle three times and Will taps his foot against Mike’s thigh three times. It’s good.
They sit in silence for a moment, Mike smoking his cigarette and watching Will watch the city. He doesn’t think he will ever get entirely used to it, these small moments of intimacy, vulnerability. He wishes he could draw like Will so he could catch them better, make them last into infinity; and he’s tried to write about it before, but always came up feeling inadequate. It’s hard to put this feeling into words, but Mike privately thinks that if he tries hard enough, one day he will get close enough.
When Will turns his face back to him, Mike is reminded of all the countless times he’s had to pretend not to be starring when Will caught him doing exactly that. He’s an idiot, alright.
“What’re you thinking about?” Will whispers. Mike draws a heart shape on his ankle with his index finger. It’s a bit wonky.
“You” he says, truthfully, and watches Will’s face light up with a smile. “Mee?” he feigns, blinking at Mike with an innocence Mike knows all too well is false pretence. “What about me?”
Mike hums lightly, stubs the cigarette out. Leans a bit closer. “I was thinking…” he says, watching, mesmerized, as Will’s eyes flutter to his lips. “That it’s too cold for you to be out here. And that we should definitely get you to bed.” It’s the truth, too – it might be a nice spring night, but Will is only dressed in his boxers and a sleeping shirt – Mike’s shirt, as he notices now – and he’s shivered enough during the last few minutes that Mike knows he must be starting to freeze.
Will huffs and shivers and only half manages to hide a small yearn. “You just want to get me into bed”
Mike smiles at that. “Of course” he agrees. “I always want you in bed. Let’s go”
They crawl through the small window again, and Mike manages to only curse a bit when he hits his elbow on the frame. Will laughs a bit at him, but then he places a small kiss on Mike’s arm, and another one on his lips, “for good measure”, so it’s alright. Mike still has to go brush his teeth, but he tells Will to go ahead to bed, because he really does need to warm up. It takes Mike all of five minutes to get ready for bed, but when he tiptoes into their bedroom, their small nighttime light shows only the top of Will’s hair barely sticking out from under the blankets, and Mike can’t help smiling like a lovesick idiot to himself as he crawls under the covers next to him. Will is already more than halfway asleep when Mike tugs him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead; and he does that thing he always does when only partly awake – presses himself even closer, and mumbles something incoherent into the skin on Mike’s neck, fingers balling into a fist in the fabric of Mike’s shirt.
Mike is irredeemably, irrevocably, insanely and so so in love.
If there is a God, he definitely, absolutely loathes Mike, a fact that may have been hinted at in the past, what with all the monsters set on killing him and every person he’s ever loved, and is confirmed on Tuesday morning when his alarm goes off when it feels like Mike has gone to sleep two fucking seconds ago.
He isn’t what you would call a morning person, per say – okay, more like an absolute morning grouch, and it’s hard enough getting out of this warm and cosy bed on a normal day, but today, Mike is about to take the fucking alarm and throw it out of the window.
Eyes still closed, he feels a small shuffle next to him, and then, mercifully, Will seems to succeed in hitting the alarm, because it finally shuts up. Mike sighs, content, and cuddles closer to the source of warmth next to him, throwing one arm over Will’s waist, pulling him back into his chest until he can bury his face in Will’s soft hair.
“Mike” Will laughs, quietly, voice still rough with sleep, “let me go, we need to get up.”
And that – that might be the worst idea Will’s ever had, actually, because why in God’s name would Mike ever want to get up when he could simply stay right where he is, warm and content and sleepy and best of all, with an armful of Will Byers? Words seem to still desert him this early in the morning, though, and so he only manages a vague grumble, pressing even closer to Will’s back, nosing at his neck and feeling pretty proud when that gets him a low hum. But still – “I’m serious, Mikey, you’re gonna be late for your class-”
As if Mike gives one single fuck about class right now (okay, he would, if he were just slightly more awake, a fact that’s proven by the fact that he worked his ass of for that exact class for, like, twelve hours yesterday and would be pretty pissed at himself if all that work would turn out to be in vain due to something as stupid as oversleeping), really, and he’s about to tell Will exactly that, if only he could manage to open his mouth, but oh, he’s so warm and comfortable -
And apparently, he’s drifted off again, because the next time he comes to, sleepily blinking into morning light filtering through their blinds, Will’s side of the bed is deserted and cold, and instead, there’s the steady hum of the coffee machine coming from the kitchen, and the sound of Will moving around and quietly singing along to the radio over that.
And it might be Tuesday morning, and Mike might’ve only slept, like, three hours, and yes, God probably still hates him, but Mike can’t help but press into a smile into his pillow, the same pillow that always smells faintly like Will’s fancy shampoo, and feel so completely and utterly happy.
He takes a few moments to wake up properly, or as properly as is physically possible for him, and then he barely manages to pull on a shirt before tiptoeing to the kitchen himself.
It’s not that he wants to scare Will, that’s really not it, but he just can’t help but love catching him like this: barefoot in their kitchen, with the windows open to let in the cool summer morning air, the radio turned on; and Will is still wearing Mike’s shirt from the nights before, and swaying his hips while he sings along to that one The Cure song that is so popular that even Mike knows all the words to it, while leaning over a pan that is sure to hold scrambled eggs, and all of his guards completely let down.
“Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart.. Thursday, I don’t care bout you, it’s Friday, I’m in love” Will hums, and Mike can’t help himself when he steps closer, into the kitchen, saying: “Only Friday?”; grinning when Will lets out a quiet shriek.
“Mike!” he scolds once he’s turned around to see Mike leaning against the fridge. “Stop doing that!”
Mike grins, not sorry at all, and says “I’m sorry, baby, I wasn’t trying to”, trying his hardest not to laugh at the little pout Will is wearing, the way he is shaking their spatula at Mike, the rosy blush creeping up on his cheeks at the petname every single time, without fail, no matter how often Mike uses it (and you best believe he uses it, alright). It’s probably the most endearing sight in the whole entire world, Mike muses to himself, a sight he never quite believes he gets to witness, and only him, every day and forever.
Will rolls his eyes at him, but the effect is lost with his ears so prettily pink, something that Mike absolutely does not point out due to his still intact survival instincts, thank you very much. “You always say that” Will says, but it comes out a bit weakly as he eyes Mike more closely, still leaned up against the fridge, hands behind his back, and, oh yeah – wearing his old Hellfire shirt, which he didn’t do on purpose, really, but is now feeling rather smug about. You see, this particular shirt always seems to have a certain – effect on Will, and lately, the effect seems to be fortified by the fact that it’s getting a little tight around his shoulders, actually, one of the nice side effects of letting Lucas rope him into basketball a bit (there are other, very very nice side effects of that, as well, but Mike absolutely cannot think about those right now or he’ll lose the high ground in one millisecond).
“It’s always true” he hums, not even trying to hide his probably rather smug grin anymore as Will steps a bit closer, like he’s doing it unconsciously, like he’s doing it against his will.
“You’re so annoying” Will breathes, but he’s still eyeing Mike’s shoulders, and he’s still inching closer, so Mike feels pretty confident his being annoying is working out pretty well, actually. He cocks his head a bit to the side, raising an eyebrow.
“Is that why you only love me Fridays?” he asks as Will comes to a stop before him, blinking up at him through thick eyelashes and biting at his lower lip, and oh, Mike could eat him right up. God better give him some strength, or he will not make it to his fucking class, or anywhere at all today, to be exact. “Cause I love you every day”
And Will smiles up at him at that like Mike has just said his favourite words (which, he thinks absentmindedly, they might just be – they’re definitely Mike’s), and reaches for Mike’s biceps, squeezing. “I love you every day, too” he says, more music in Mike’s ears than any The Cure song could ever be, and then he gets up on his toes to press a kiss to Mike’s lips, warm and soft.
Has Mike mentioned that he is in love?
Will hums against his lips, a content sound, then pulls away only to lean back in and press a kiss to Mike’s cheek, something that probably shouldn’t feel as nerve-wreckingly good as it does every single time.
“I made you some coffee” Will says, turning back to the stove, and oh, has Mike mentioned he’s in looove?
“You’re literally an angel on earth” Mike declares, unceremoniously slumping down on one of the tiny kitchen chairs. “Whatever would I do without you?”
Will smiles over his shoulder at him. “Oversleep, probably”
One cup of coffee, a plate of scrambled eggs, an outfit change and about onehundred encouraging kisses later, Mike feels more or less ready to tackle the day. It’s a nice day, warm despite the early hour – “It’s like, nine am, Mike” Will laughs, like that’s not an early fucking hour – and Mike grabs Will’s hand and tangles their fingers together lazily on their way to Campus. Will tells him about the atelier session he has planned for today, the kind of drawing he is planning on doing, what sort of colours he wants to use, and Mike is really excited for him, excited to see it, once it’s finished. Mike has a few minutes to spare, it’s not far between their buildings, and so it is Mike’s great joy to walk Will to his building every Tuesday (okay, maybe he has to sprint across Campus after kissing him goodbye, but Will doesn’t need to know that, because despite his protests, Mike knows Will likes it, too, being claimed in this particular way). Mike carries his own backpack, and Will’s, too, because after countless pointless arguments from Will, he has finally come to the realisation that even though it’s a really close call, Mike definitely can be the more stubborn out of the both of them, and if there’s one thing he has been really, really stubborn about these past months, it’s being the best boyfriend Will could ask for. And that simply includes carrying his backpack and holding his hand on their way to class, and making plans to pick him up from work later, and kissing him goodbye, because this is the arts department and nobody really gives a shit.
And yeah, he is, like, five-ish minutes late to class, but it’s totally worth it, and anyway, Mike doesn’t really give a fuck, because, as he realises when he scans over the first page of yesterday’s essay again, he is totally going to fail, either way. So he decides to fuck it, really, hands in his essay and leaves, making his way over to the science building instead, where he finds Dustin in one of the labs, bend over something that looks like it probably shouldn’t exist. They happily chatter away about whatever new project it is Dustin is working on, and Mike might only get about 75% of what’s being said, but in his opinion, that’s a pretty good quote of keeping up with Dustin’s genius. At lunch time, they make their way to the cafeteria to meet the rest of the Party minus Will, who’s already headed to work.
It’s lentil curry on the menu today, either way, which sounds rather nice but in reality is just a sad, sad slimy broth with a few undercooked lentils and potatoes, and for some reason, pieces of overcooked meat in it, so it’s not as if Will is missing much.
As he tries to choke down at least a few spoonfulls of this supposed lunch, listening to Lucas whine about his Med Lab that he is actually fully voluntarily doing for extra credits, the suck up, Max drops down next to him, slamming down her tablet a bit too hard.
“I swear if this guy from my psych class opens his mouth to ask one more stupid fucking question, I’m going to fucking stab him in the throat with a pencil” she says instead of a greeting. El slides next to her, nodding gravely.
“He is very stupid” she agrees, though how she should know, Mike doesn’t know, since she doesn’t even take that class. “I could always make him piss his pants, you know”
Max grins and grabs El’s hand, squeezing. “And that is why you’re my best friend”
Lucas snorts across from Mike, clearly about to cut into the conversation, when Mike notices something on Max’s tablet, something decidedly not slimy lentil curry shaped. “Hey, what’s that?!” he exclaims, pointing at the perfectly good sandwiches Max is now devouring in a way that can only be described as neanderthaleresque, in Mike’s humble opinion. “Sandwiches” Max says, though it sounds more like “Sahwihs”, what with her mouth being stuffed past the point of coherence.
“Are you having trouble with your eyes, Mike?” El asks, faux concerned as she picks up her own sandwiches, and really, she is spending far too much time with Max. Mike glowers at her, but she remains clearly unimpressed as Max snorts next to him.
“I see that they’re sandwiches” Mike says, “but how come you get those and we get this??” He lets a bit of curry drip from his spoon in demonstration, making everyone’s faces scrunch up in disgust.
“It sort of looks like Demogorgon slime” Dustin remarks, leaning a bit closer. “I bet if I were to dissect it in the lab, I wouldn’t even find one particle of Curry in that. How is that supposed to be Curry? How?”
El giggles a bit. “We’d rather have sandwiches than Demogorgon slime for lunch” she says, glancing at Max consiprationally. “So we got the Veggie Option instead”
“You can do that?” Lucas asks, sceptical.
“You can if you’re a Vegetarian” Max says, swallowing what must be at least half a sandwich in one bite. “I mean, it’s not even a warm lunch, which is a total scam, if you ask me, but it’s definitely better than Demogorgon soup here”
“But you’re not even Vegetarian” Mike protests. Max fixes him with a laser stare. “Maybe we are, Micheal. How would you know?”
“Uhhh, maybe because we’ve been friends for, like, ten years and see each other every fucking day??” Mike says, disbelieving.
“No need to sound so angry about that” Max says, as Lucas grins at Mike from across the table and says “You just called Max your friend, you realise that, right?”
Mike scoffs, but before he can say anything, Max shoves the other half of her sandwich across the table at Lucas. “I’m taking pity on you, we can share mine” she announces.
“Oh, yeah” El says excitedly next to her. “Dustin, want to share mine?”
And this. This is just pure, straight up disrespect. “What about me?!” Mike exclaims, indignant. El is laughing openly in his face now, as Max shrugs her shoulder, biting back a grin. “You could always finish your delicious lentil curry you paid three dollars for, you know. We’re certainly not stopping you”
Across the table, Dustin and Lucas have the nerve – the absolute nerve!- to laugh, and when Mike looks at them in disbelief, they don’t even have the decency to look ashamed about it.
“Dirty traitors, the bunch of you” Mike mutters, throwing his spoon down.
The breeze is still warm when Mike makes his way over to the Gallery to pick Will up at five in the afternoon. Now that summer is starting to set in slowly, and Mike does not have to swaddle himself in three layers of clothing whenever he so much as steps a foot outside, he appreciates the warmth even more, and everything that comes with it; wearing the cool vintage sunglasses he found at a fleamarket a few months back (Dustin says they look hideous. So does Lucas. And well, Max, but that doesn’t really count, she finds everything Mike says/does/wears hideous. El has his back, though, and listen, she studies fashion. Most importantly, Will thinks they’re cool. At least that’s what he says to Mike’s face), arms bare, whistling along to the music on his walkman. A few years back, moments like these had been almost unthinkable, and it makes Mike appreciate them even more now. The earth isn’t splitting open, they’re not being hunted for sport by Monsters or Military, the leaves of the trees on the side of the road are green, and Mike is on his way to pick his boyfriend up from his very very cool job interning at a Gallery, something that fills him with so much pride every time he thinks about it he feels as if he’s about to burst. Life could be worse, even with his no-good band of traitorous friends (honestly, let’s see how Max feels about the whole Vegetarian ordeal the next time they order in pizza. As if she would ever miss the opportunity to absolutely devour a prosciutto pizza. As if!)
Mike’s a bit early, as he usually is, and so steps into a café on his way to get Will’s favourite order – iced moccachino, in case you were wondering – to go. Then he waits on front of the building, which has the absolute perk of getting to watch Will’s entire face light up like the sun the second he spots Mike standing there with his hideous sunglasses and coffee order.
Will basically skips the last steps down to him and throws himself at Mike in a hug, startling a laugh out of him. “Hi there” Mike grins, pressing a kiss to Will’s temple. “Good day?”
Will dislodges himself from Mike just enough to peer up at him, smiling like crazy. “Yeah, it was good. How was yours?
Mike shrugs with one shoulder, because it’s really not important right now. “Normal. Tell me about yours?”
As Will excitedly starts recounting his day, Mike silently beckons for him to take off his backpack, slinging it over his own shoulder instead and hands Will his coffee instead, which he is thanked for by Will grabbing onto his hand, and holding on all the way home.
Wednesdays are Mike’s least favourite day out of the whole week, and maybe always have been. This term, this fact is solidified by the fact that he has classes the entire day, starting at 8 am and lasting right up till six pm without more than half an hour of break in between, which means he can’t even get lunch with the others and instead has to manage the entire day simply on whatever breakfast bars he manages to grab in the morning, because no, he will not get up ten minutes earlier than he absolutely has to just to make himself a proper meal to take with. You see, Will’s classes only start at ten am on Wednesday, a fact that Mike is endlessly envious of, and which also poses as a severe challenge for his willpower every single week when his alarm rings at seven on the dot. As always, he awakes with a frown already etched onto his face from the unwelcome interruption rousing him from sleep, and unlike the other days of the week, he actually has to turn off the damn thing himself before Will is properly woken up. As his fingers fumble for the alarm clock, eyes squeezing against the bright light filtering in through their blinds that are always only halfway shut, he can feel Will shuffling closer, pressing his face between Mike’s shoulderblades, where he lets out a deep sigh and mumbles something intelligible. “Sorry, sorry” Mike whispers as he finally finds the “Off” Button, returning the room to blissful silence. He looks over at his shoulder at Will, all cuddled up against him, now breathing evenly again, hair sticking up at odd angles.
Listen – listen. Mike is but a mere man. A sleepy, comfortable man being cuddled by his sweet angel of a boyfriend. How is he supposed to get up and leave this behind for classes, of all things? It simply won’t do. It’d be cruel to just leave Will here, wouldn’t it, what with him needing Mike as his personal heater and pillow and everything. See, Mike is only going to close his eyes for five more minutes, only five …
"Mike” someone rasps over him. “Fuck, Mike, you’re so late”
“Mhhh” Mike mumbles rather intelligently, blinking his eyes open sleepily. When they come into focus, he’s greeted by the best sight a man could possibly ask for, in his opinion; Will, up on one elbow hovering over him, haloed by the morning light, blinking down at him a bit owlishly,
“You’re so late” Will repeats, and oh – oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck – a glance at the stupid fucking alarm clock shows it’s twenty to eight, which means Mike has to be in class in, yeah, approximately twenty minutes. In a building that is fifteen minutes on foot from their home.
He shoots up in bed, startling Will and making him fall on his back. “I’m so late” Mike exclaims, already out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom, reaching for his toothbrush and his hairbrush at the same time.
See, this is exactly what happens when you confront Mike Wheeler with his biggest achilles heel every week: he will fail to rise to the challenge every single time, without fail.
Cursing himself and this stupid fucking class and stupid fucking university and his stupid fucking alarm clock (which, he is dimly aware, is entirely faultless in this whole affair) and also God, a bit, he rushes through the motions of getting ready until he’s somewhat decent, and then out of the bathroom into the kitchen, where he finds Will bend tiredly over the coffeemaker.
“What are you doing up, baby?” Mike asks, and fuck it, he might be in a hurry, but he will always have enough time to sidle up to Will, sliding his arms around his waist.
Will nods into the direction of the fridge. “Packed you lunch for today yesterday” he says, voice a sleepy rumble. “Wanna make you coffee, too”
Oh. Oh, his sweet perfect angel baby. Mike tugs at Will’s shirt until he turns around and slides his arms around Mike’s neck instead. “You’re late” Will says, but if he means for it to come out as protest, he fails terribly with the way his fingers tangle and tug on the hair on Mike’s nape, making him hum with contentment.
“Coffee take another two or three minutes, yeah?” he asks, hands sliding lower until they’re very comfortably settled over the curve of Will’s ass, pulling him even closer, and it’s Will’s turn to hum, now.
“You’re terrible” he says, but then his lips are on Mike’s, warm and slow, and so Mike secretly thinks he can’t be all that bad, really. Either way, he won’t waste precious time arguing, when he can have this instead: Will, warm and pliant in his arms, one hand sliding down slowly to squeeze his biceps instead, kissing him slow and unhurried in spite of his words. Mike – wants him so much, wants to carve out a place in his chest for Will to crawl into, wants to only breathe the air Will is breathing, too, even if that is maybe a bit disgusting. Wants to pick him up and carry him back to bed and forget all about coffee and classes and instead get Will naked and humming and moaning in the soft morning light, wants to mess his hair up even more, to take him apart with careful fingers until the only words Will can remember are “Mike” and “Please”. He is halfway ready to officially cancel all of his duties today, and halfway hard, too, when Will pulls away, panting just enough to make Mike feel insane with it.
“Coffee” Will breathes, sounding disorientated. “Classes.” He pecks Mike one last time before pulling away completely, leaving him to mourn the loss.
“I don’t wanna” Mike complains (it totally doesn’t come out as a whine. It doesn’t!)
Will hums sympathetically. “I know, Mike, but I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think it’ll be”
“No” Mike agrees glumly. “It’ll be worse”
Will lets out a small chuckle at his dramatics reaches over to card his hand through Mike’s hair, making him melt despite his resolution to remain grim the entirety of the day. He pours Mike’s coffee into a thermos with the other before pushing it at him and opening the fridge to retrieve his lunch box. “You’re the best in the entire world, you know that?” Mike says as he puts everything into his backpack, stumbling to retrieve his chucks by the door. Will leans against the kitchen door frame, arms crossed over his chest and grinning down at his antics as Mike trips over his shoelaces and almost crashes head first into the wall. Wednesdays are cursed. “Well, my boyfriend tells me so from time to time”
“Must be one lucky dude” Mike mutters as he rights himself again.
“He’s not all that bad himself” Will says as he reaches for Mike one last time, a silent request Mike is all too happy to fulfil. “Riveting review” he grins as Will slides an arm around his waist and tugs on the front of Mike’s shirt with the other. Will hums into the kiss, quick and short.
“You know” he says as he pulls away, eyes twinkling a bit too much to really sell the innocence painted onto his face, “if it gets really bad, just think about how I’ll be right here, all alone, waiting for you to get back …”
Will. All alone. In their big fluffy bed. Waiting for him. Mike lets out a deep breath. “How exactly is that supposed to help?” he asks weakly, making Will’s eyes twinkle impossibly brighter. “Just giving you something to look forward to” he says, pecks Mike’s cheek once more and then turns around to leave for the bedroom again. It literally takes every single ounce of a self-control Mike didn’t even think he could ever possess not to drop everything right there and then and follow him. “You better wait for me!” he shouts after Will, who replies with a “Yes, sir” and a laugh that makes Mike more than a little weak in the knees.
“Menace” he whispers to himself, and then, at five to eight, finally leaves the apartment.
As it turns out, Mike absolutely needs something to look forward to. At eleven am, with five hours still in front of him, he is more than ready to just call it a day and crawl back into bed, possibly never get out of it again. He was about fifteen minutes late to his first class, and had to read out his homework as a sort of redemption chance, which he miserably failed to take because, as it turns out, Mike from the past had abandoned that assignment after only doing one third of it, and, as it furthermore turns out, that third is complete and utter shit, earning him a lecture about having to take things more seriously in front of the entire class. The class after that, they have to work in groups on a work sheet that could just as well have Egyptian hieroglyphics on it as far as Mike is concerned, while everyone else in his group acts like this is all perfectly understandable and trivial stuff. The only thing stopping him from throwing himself headfirst out of the nearest window is the piece of folded up paper he finds in his lunch box, containing a rough sketch of Will and Mike cuddled up on their sofa together, with three X’s crawled beneath it. It makes Mike smile like an idiot for the entirety of lunch break – Will very rarely draws himself, and so every small sketch of him that Mike manages to get his hands on is a prized possession of his.
The afternoon drags on impossibly long – he almost falls asleep, twice, and spends most of his time doodling in the margins of his college block instead of, you know, taking actual notes, which is something he will a thousand percent kick himself in his bony arse over later; but he can’t make himself listen, no matter how much he tries to. When he started decided on pursuing an English degree, he hadn’t been quite so aware of the fact that this didn’t exclusively include writing cool stories and talking about cool stories and sometimes listening to other’s cool stories. As it turns out, though, cool stories play a very minor part in a degree that promises to be about exactly that; and instead, Mike finds himself battling with the history and evolution of the English language and other, similarly thrilling stuff. More often than not, he loses this battle; as is the case today. To top of his bad day, his favourite class – the one class where they usually talk about cool stories – is spent talking about requirements for the paper they have to write for it. When doing a round about possible ideas for topics, it seems that everyone has already thought plenty about what they’d like to write about, or worse: have already started, when Mike has once again more or less successfully repressed the fact that he has to write this paper at all. College, in his humble opinion, is miserable. He wonders why the fuck so many people, including him, feel compelled to do it (but maybe everybody else has their own personal Ted Wheeler breathing down their necks about it, too).
When he finally trots back home, his head is nearly splitting in two with a headache that’s been bothering him for no less than three fucking hours, his back is hurting from crouching unnaturally on these tiny fucking chairs all day long, and he’s fucking exhausted. The breeze is just on the wrong side of cool today, and the cold is just adding to his grouchy mood.
Listen. Mike really would like to say that as time went by and he grew older, he’d gotten better at handling his emotions, he really, really would. He’d love to say that he absolutely does not revert back into his annoying, grumpy thirteen-year-old self when things don’t go his way; that he’s been on a journey heading straight to emotional maturity these past few years. Unfortunately, Michael Wheeler does decidedly not do things half-heartedly, and that, sadly, includes being in a bad mood. As Lucas once so lovingly put it: Mike in a truly bad mood makes Vecna appear like an innocent puppy.
And he knows he’s bad, he does, and he really really tries to be better, not let it show so much, to not snap at Lucas for chewing too loud, or roll his eyes at Dustin for a joke that he’d normally find funny as hell, or make a cutting remark at Max with too sharp an edge, accidentality drawing real blood. But see, the thing is – when everything is shit, everything is shit. It’s like Mike’s own little personal dark cloud hanging over his head, painting everything black, dredging up his worst memories, his worst thoughts.
And so when he finally throws open to their apartment again, he is ready to head to bed and just stew in his own misery until tomorrow, without involving anyone else in it. He kicks his shoes of at the door carelessly, dumping his jacket on the floor in a way that is sure to annoy the hell out of Will, before slumping into the kitchen, getting a glass of water. His head really is about to kill him. He barely registers Will’s footsteps in the hallway until he hears his accusatory “Miike”, followed by a quiet shuffle. Mike squeezes his eyes shut. “Mike, can’t you at least hang your jacket on the – oh” Will stops himself with a small noise.
Mike peeks one eye open to find him standing in the doorway, Mike’s jacket in hand, taking in the scene in front of him. And okay – Mike knows better to involve anyone in his bad moods, but maybe Will can be the one exception to this rule. Wordlessly, he spreads his arm slightly, eyes falling shut again so he only hears Will crossing the kitchen in two big steps, feels the heat radiating off of him when he comes to a stop right in front of Mike, slinging his arms around his waist. “Hey” Will murmurs. “Bad day?”
Mike nods, slinging his arms around Will’s middle, clinging to his back, resting his cheek against his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck; the way he used to as a child, too. A deep breath in leaves him with the scent of paint, and the aftershave that Joyce has bought him for his last birthday that makes Mike more than a little crazy, and most importantly; something that is so uniquely and undeniably Will, the same smell that used to greet Mike in the morning after sleepovers at the Byers, the same smell clinging to all of Will’s laundry, the same smell Mike breathes in every morning, every night from their pillows. Will has his arms hugged tightly around his waist, drawing small circles onto Mike’s back with his thumb, humming and cooing like he’s talking to a wounded animal, something precious, and it’s all it takes for the tension in Mike’s shoulders to slowly start fading.
They stay like that for a few luxurious minutes, with Will rubbing soothing motions into Mike’s lower back and Mike nuzzling into his neck, until Mike draws back just enough to press a kiss to Will’s temple and mutter: “Sorry about the mess”, by which he means the shoes and the jacket, and himself, a little bit.
And Will understands, of course, because he is Mike’s own angel come to earth, and also his bestest bestest friend, and has been putting up with his shit for longer than either of them can count; and so he shrugs and smiles and says “It’s okay”.
What has Mike ever done to deserve this easy forgiveness, Will’s unconditional love? He presses his eyes shut again as memories rush in, the worst kind; of rainy nights in front of his garage at home, of letters unsent under his bed, of airports and rollerskate rinks and vans and all the little and big ways Mike has spent his youth hurting Will, again and again; while Will somehow spent his forgiving him for it, and loving him despite it all. This is exactly what happens on bad days; it all comes rushing in until Mike is so mad at himself, so aflame with shame and the pain of past days he can barely breathe.
“Mikey” Will says softly; tugs at his shirt until Mike peeks open his eyes again. “Stop worrying. Look, I’ve got it”. He looks over to the door where Mike’s jacket lies on the floor, discarded – Will must’ve dropped it when coming to comfort him, Mike realises, and watches in amazement as the jacket ever so slowly lifts off of the floor and onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “See?” Will murmurs, smiling up at Mike. “Everything’s okay now”
Mike’s heart does a complicated thing inside his chest. He reaches up to wipe the trickle of blood from Will’s nose and whispers: “Aren’t you getting sick of cleaning up my messes?”
It’s thinly veiled, too thinly, perhaps, but with the way Will is looking up at him right now, eyes blazing and somehow still so incredibly loving, soft and vulnerable in a way that only Mike ever gets too see, he can’t even begin to care.
“I’ll always be here to gladly clean up after your messes” Will says, tone light and at contrast with the way he’s firmly holding Mike’s gaze. “I’ve got too much experience at it now, you know? So don’t even think about replacing me.”
Mike scoffs quietly. “As if I’d ever” he says, and means it.
Will nods “Good”, and sneaks his arms up until they’re resting on Mike’s shoulders, fingers tangling into his hair. “Wanna talk about it?”
Mike hums and shrugs, which means Maybe later in Mike speak, a language Will thankfully is fluent in, and so he nods again. “Idea” he says, tugging lightly at Mike’s hair in a way that makes the last furrow between his eyebrows disappear. “You go take a nice hot shower, and I’ll order us some food and put on The Empire Strikes Back. Sound okay?”
Mike – loves him, loves him so much it hurts him, standing right here in their tiny kitchen, the sunlight making Will’s hair honeycoloured and his eyes a deep shade of green, with his hands in Mike’s hair like they belong there, making everything so much better by simply being here; making Mike’s dark cloud turn fluffy, white. Making it disappear entirely.
He hums contemplatively. “Counter Idea” he says, letting his hands travel freely until they’re tugged snugly in the back pockets of Will’s jeans. “Shower together, then I order us some food while you put on the movie. You know, fair division of labour, and everything”
He’s definitely not slick, but how could he ever care with the way Will is grinning up at him? “You know what, Michael” Will muses. “I really love that creative mind of yours”
And just like that, he’s got Mike grinning again. “Why, thank you, William” he murmurs, leaning in to nose at Will’s jaw a bit, just to get him shivering a bit – that hot shower has to be justified, after all. “I’ve got a few ideas that you might be interested in”
“Is that so?” Will hums, distracted, as Mike finds that spot right beneath his earlobe that is sure to render him wordless; pressing two, three feathery kisses there. When Mike hums, it’s right against Will’s pulse point, which has the delicious effect of being able to watch it pick up. His own heart thrums in time with it, and he feels it all the way down to his toes, feels the want like a fire in his stomach. It’s Wednesday, and it’s been a shitty day, but it’s also quiet, it’s late, and they’ve got time, and that is Mike’s favourite thing in world to have.
Will’s hands are travelling down to Mike’s biceps again, grip getting tighter, breaths getting lighter, and it’s literal music to Mike’s ears, makes his blood rush like a wild river. He presses another kiss right to where Will’s jaw meets his neck, nosing at the slight scratchy stubble that sometimes peaks out there, making him insane, and he knows he’s getting sloppy with it, knows it from the way Will’s jaw goes a little slack, turning his head a little, like he’s doing it unconsciously, giving Mike better access; and he can’t help himself when he runs his tongue over the sharp edge of Will’s jaw, before finally finding his way back to Will’s lips, so open and welcoming for him. Will licks into his mouth, runs his tongue slowly behind his teeth, moaning a little into it, but that’s all Mike needs to feel like he’s literally been set ablaze; needs to be closer and closer and closer until all he feels is Will pressed up to him, safe and needy; and he grabs at Will, pulls him impossibly closer into his chest, guiding him until Will is the one pressed up against the counters. Still, it’s not enough, and Mike isn’t thinking anymore, at least not anything that isn’t Will Will Will and fuck fuck fuck or any combination of the two; as he bends down slights, clasps Will thighs, and hoists him up onto the kitchen counter, leaning in to happily, dazedly continue making out, when Will breaks away with a little gasp. Mike follows with a quit discontent hum, chasing after him, but Will grabs onto his face, keeping him a hair’s length away, noses brushing ever so slightly. Mike – is momentarily rendered entirely stupid by Will’s hooded eyes fixing him in place, the breath escaping his spit-slick lips in hot heaves. “Did you just -” Will says, sounding a bit stupid himself. Mike blinks. “Oh” he says. “Sorry, did I hurt- “
Will’s hands tighten ever so slightly around his face, effectively getting him to shut the fuck up. “Mike” he says, sounding more than a little breathless. “Mike, oh my god -”
And frankly, Mike really can’t wait for that sentence to be finished, even if he really doesn’t want to be rude, but he really really wants, needs to kiss Will right now or he will honest to God die. Luckily, Will seems to agree, because he slides his hands back into Mike’s hair just as he crashes into him again, pulling him even closer, making their teeth clack, which is probably a bit messy and disgusting but never ever fails to turn Mike the fuck on, and at the feeling of Will tugging ever so slightly at his hair, something he knows makes Mike wild, he can’t help the little groan he presses right into Will’s mouth. Will’s legs wrap around his middle, pulling him closer and closer, and it hurts a bit where Mike’s hip bones press into the edge of the counter, but how could he ever give a shit about that right now. In this position, Mike is the one who has to lean up a bit, and he didn’t think he’d like this so much, feel so insanely crazy with it, the way Will is bending down his head to properly reach him; breaking the kiss only to suck a kiss into Mike’s neck, making his knees go all weak. “Will” he breathes, teetering dangerously close to serious moaning territory, hands scrambling to press into Will’s hips, pulling him flush against his own hips. Will makes a happy noise, somewhere above his ear, as Mike noses at his throat in turn, breathing him in as deep as he can, that scent of paint and sandalwood and something sweeter, something so inherently Will that it makes his own head turn, hazy with desire and more possessiveness than he’d like to admit.
When he bites down at Will’s jugular, lightly, Will lets out a strangled sound, and Mike is about to pull back, to ask him if he’s hurt him, when Will shoves at his shoulders lightly only to immediately wrap a hand around his biceps, pulling him closer. “Mike” he says, still in that strangled voice. “Bedroom. Now”
How they actually make it to the bedroom, Mike doesn’t remember all that clearly. He did his best trying to complete the mission as quickly and efficiently as possible, he really did, but somehow he did end up pushing Will up against the wall of their living room, and then about three minutes later, against the doorframe to their bedroom, but come on. He is but a man. How is he supposed to keep a clear head when Will is literally melting in his arms, following willingly wherever Mike tucks him to, something that never fails to make him feel more than a little heady; when he wraps his arms around Mike’s neck like that, tugging at his hair, sighing and moaning right into Mike’s mouth?
Will, as Mike happens to know all to well, is a master at getting exactly what he wants, especially when that something happens to involve Mike. And so, Will must feel the particular need to be pressed up against any and all surfaces of their apartment tonight; which Mike dazedly deduces as they somehow end up against the wall right next to the bed. Will is still fingering at his shoulders, his biceps, hands moving delicately, desperately, and with a flash of near brilliance, Mike realises what it is that’s got Will so worked up, so putty in his arms. He can’t help but grin a bit against Will’s lips, and, just as Will lets out a confused hum, he wraps his arms around Will’s legs again, sends up a quick prayer that he isn’t being overly confident about this, and lifts him. Will – does a very surprising thing, turning his questioning hum into a little squeal before sliding into a deep groan, locking his legs behind Mike’s hips, pressing himself into Mike fully; and Mike is set ablaze all over. Got you, he thinks, except maybe he actually says it out loud, because Will tightens his grip in Mike’s hair, as if in retaliation, effectively wiping out any and all thought that might be formed in the next few hours.
When they finally break away to breathe, Will lingers, like he can’t bear to be further apart than this, noses still pressed together. “You..” he starts, a bit helplessly, but doesn’t finish the thought.
Mike can’t help the grin returning to his face. “You into jocks now, Byers, really?” He knows he’s way too cocky about this, and he isn’t even a real jock, but how could he not feel cocky, or more accurately – literally insane with the feeling of pressing Will up against the wall like this, of watching him fall apart at it, just being held like this; at the way Will trembles ever so slightly at the comment, the way he is looking at him and grabbing at him in such obvious ways (is this the real reason people try to get fit? Because Mike is starting to really get behind that notion). Will huffs a little, embarrassed, but holds his gaze. “So you’re a jock now, Michael, really?”
Mike tries not to show how much the name affects him, how it literally makes his insides melt, but judging from the way Will is now grinning down at him, he is failing more or less spectacularly. “Well…” he drags the word out, but Will is already laughing and pulling him back in.
Unfortunately, Mike is only, like, one quarter jock, if anything, and so he sadly realises he can’t hold Will up like this forever, even though it’s literally the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he still relents before his arms can start to violently tremble, which wouldn’t be as sexy and suave but rather terribly embarrassing; but he does end up finally manoeuvring them over to the bed, the entire three steps, and pushes Will gently until he falls back against the mattress. So when Will leans back on his elbows, staring up at him with a slightly dazed expression, Mike feels like this is still a pretty big win.
Because this is where everything gets so easy, so natural all of a sudden. See, Mike knows he normally can be awkward about a lot of things, make a lot of lame jokes, act pretty weird sometimes; but here, locked away in their bedroom all alone, just the two of them, with Will flushed and needy beneath him; this is where all the noise in his head turns off, and he somehow, inexplicably knows exactly just what to say, to do. Knows to lean over Will, kiss him once, twice, light, feathery kisses, barely a touch to the lips. Knows to tell Will to get rid of his shirt for him, please, stepping between his legs to let him undo his belt for him, watching the way Will’s eyelashes flutter up at him with a precise attention he can’t seem to gather for anything else on this planet. Knows to climb under the covers with Will, letting their legs tangle and their chests brush when he leans over him take him apart all over again.
Will, naturally, knows exactly what he’s doing, curling his fingers in Mike’s hair, tugging him so close, letting himself be kissed so willingly, openly; stretching, arching his back, dragging himself against Mike in a way that makes him feel like a teenager again; sighing, moaning, right into Mike’s ear, who’s selfish and wants to keep these sounds all to himself and himself alone.
He’s got his hands tangled in Will’s hair, pinky brushing over the back of his neck ever so often, making him hum and melt and press up even closer to Mike every time he does it, making Mike go insane with it, with the way Will slips his fingers beneath his shirt, raking his fingers up and down his back softly, a promise of what’s to come later, if Mike does his job right.
From the way Will is starting to writhe underneath him, Mike is pretty sure he will do his job right. On the other hand, he might come into his underwear any second if Will keeps this up, so he pulls back just slightly, and is immediately mesmerized by the sight that greets him; Will, shirtless, spread out beneath him, legs falling open easily to make room for him, and him alone; fire blazing so bright in his half shut eyes.
Mike traces his jaw with his index finger, his cheek, his eyebrows, brushing a stray piece of hair back.
“You’re … the prettiest person I’ve ever seen” he whispers, and watches the flush spread over Will’s cheek, pressing a kiss there, and another to bring the message across.
“Mike” Will breathes, and it comes out so dangerously close to a whine that Mike’s entire stomach clenches. How can you want one person so much, body, mind, soul? Will tugs at his shirt, impatient, not subtle at all.
“Want me to take that off, baby?” Mike says, hot breath ghosting over Will’s collarbones, watching the goosebumps rise, and he’s got Will nodding before he’s even done talking, desperate, humming, pressing closer to his neck, whispering right in his ear. “Wanna be naked with you, wanna feel you close”
Mike – has to briefly close his eyes at that before practically tearing his shirt off, almost ripping the fabric, but it’s so worth it for the appreciative hum Will lets out, dragging his hand down Mike’s chest, right over his thundering heart, before climbing back up, hooking his fingers in the fine chain of the necklace he always wears, the one he got Mike himself for their one year anniversary, with a tiny delicate wizard staff attached as a pendant. “Love it so much you’re always wearing this” Will breathes out, like a confession, like a secret. “Makes me feel like I’m yours”
Mike can’t do anything but stare down at him, feeling dizzy. Sometimes he is convinced he dreamed it right up, this life with Will, hell, even Will himself. How can he be allowed to have this? “You are mine” he breathes back. “And I’m yours. Only ever yours”
Will’s mouth twists into a smile, and then he’s using his hold on Mike’s necklace to tug him right back down, and that is by far the hottest thing Mike’s ever seen, and the kiss he meant to be promising, soft, turns open and wet and desperate, and when Will’s fingers steal away, drag a path down Mike’s chest, his long stomach, to lightly tuck into the waistband of his underwear, he can’t help the moan that escapes him for real this time; and he’s panting a bit into Will’s neck, but Will doesn’t seem to mind one bit, only spurring him on when he thrusts his hips up the tiniest bit, and this is probably the moment Mike loses his mind once and for all.
“Needy today, hm?” he breathes into Will’s ear, rewarded with a small moan and a tug at his underwear that is sure to be all ruined already.
“Waited for you all day, Mike” Will’s voice is just as breathy, a little bit higher than usual. Desperate, for Mike, only ever for him. Mike’s head swims and swims with the knowledge, the feeling.
“Yeah?” he asks, pressing open mouthed kisses to the side of Will’s neck distractedly, and Will nods into his cheek, eager. “Couldn’t think about anything else. Just you”
“Mhhh” Mike muses, fingers wandering over Will’s torso now, fascinated by the way Will arches his back into it, like he can’t help it all, like he only ever wants to be closer to him. “And what did you think about me?” Will turns his head to look at him, locking eyes, grabbing at the hairs just above Mike’s neck. “You” he breathes, “you.. touching me. Fucking me. Being so good to me”
Mike can’t breathe, but who the fuck needs oxygen anyway. “You know I’m gonna be so good to you” he promises in a low voice, eyes focused on Will’s face, watching the heat radiate off of his skin. “Gonna take such good care of you, baby. Gonna make you come until you can’t think of anything but me, promise”
Will smiles lazily up at him. “I know” he says, “if you ever get your hand in my fucking pants”
And ooohh, Mike is gonna wipe that smile off of his face, alright. He bends over Will, letting his necklace dangle right over his pretty pretty face. “Have somewhere to be?” he asks, and at Will’s confused look adds: “Mhh, me neither”
Slowly, ever so slowly, he bends down, pressing feathery kisses to Will’s chest. “Let me take my time with you, yeah?”
Will exhales, hard, hands coming up to tangle in Mike’s hair all over, and Mike can tell he is trying to be good, to stay still as Mike makes his way down excruciatingly slow, placing small kisses at every inch of skin reachable to him; but his hips are twitching, fingers twitching and pulling at his hair in a way that just makes Mike want to drag this out longer, into all infinity, until Will is breathless and begging underneath him; and so he does, noses at the seam of Will’s underwear, smug all over at the wet patch on its front, even though his own pair is sure to look at least as destroyed as Will’s. Pressing kisses in the crease between Will’s hips and leg, biting lightly into the soft flesh of his thigh – Mike could spend an eternity just like this, and he’s not exaggerating even the tiniest bit. Blinking up, he’s met with a sight painted by the gods; Will, head thrown back a bit, openly whining into the soft light of their bedroom. Mike can hardly resist the temptation to suck him off right there and then, make him come in his mouth, swallow it all down, but fortunately (or maybe unfortunately?) and contrary to popular belief, he does possess some self-control, especially when it comes to making Will come undone.
Will groans when he kisses his way back up to his face, and Mike presses a soothing kiss to his jaw. “ ‘s okay, baby” he murmurs, “Gonna take care of you, remember?”
Will kisses him in answer, but doesn’t lose track of his goal to get them properly naked, tugging at Mike’s underwear again, and Mike laughs a little against his lips, but Will’s blinking up at him, all faux innocence, and playing dirty dirty tricks when he whines a little, right in Mike’s face, stretching and scratching and breathing “Please, Please, Mikey, need you so bad -” Everything goes a little hazy after that, admittedly, and the next thing Mike knows they’re both naked, tangled under the covers, and Mike is biting at Will again and wrapping a hand around him and Will is sighing and moaning so prettily – he loses track of time, no other feeling in the world but this all encompassing need to give this to Will, give him what he needs and more, show him how much he needs him, loves him, desires him; in a way that is almost eating him alive sometimes. Will slings his leg around Mike’s hips, pressing in his heel and dragging him closer, losing coherence when he says “Mike, Mike, Mike”, moving his hips in time with Mike’s strokes. “I’m – I’m, wait, baby, I need -”
Mike – melts a little at the rare nickname, okay, and glows a bit with pride, probably, at being able to reduce Will to this blabbering mess, at doing exactly what he’s said he’d do, taking care of his baby; and of course he knows what Will is trying – and failing – to say so him, so he pulls his hand away, a little mournfully, but not letting it stray far. Will is trying to catch his breath and kiss him senseless all at once, but when Mike’s fingers brush lower, he lets out an impatient noise against his mouth, using the leg still wrapped around his hips to drag him closer, closer, clear in his command. “Gotta prep you first, baby” Mike murmurs against his lips, but Will shakes his head fervently, mouthing at Mike’s jaw, mumbling something Mike can’t make out, so he pulls back a bit, just enough to be able to look at him. “What’s that” he asks, and Will turns his head away in an unusual show of shyness. Mike doesn’t let him escape, hooks a finger under his chin to bring him back, and so gets to see the beautiful blush spreading all over Will’s glowing face as he mumbles “Took care of that. Before you got home”
Mike’s pretty sure his brain stops working there, for a second. All he can do is stare down stupidly at Will, who’s squirming a bit under a gaze. “Oh” he breathes out, as all sorts of pictures fill his head – Will, spread out right here, or maybe in the shower, getting ready for Mike, waiting for him to get home and take care of him properly.
Will seems to catch on to what this information is doing to Mike, because he blinks up at him with his doe eyes, tugging lightly on Mike’s necklace. “Waited all day for you” he whispers. “Thought about it the entire time”
The blood rushing in his ears is making its way south in record time. Mike doesn’t think he’s ever been this horny in his entire life and that – that really means something when your boyfriend is Will fucking Byers, a literal menace. “You’re – you’re so fucking hot” he breathes, words slipping out without his permission, “Such a slut for me”
The words hang between them for a second, and Mike feels terrified for a second, ready to apologize, take them back, say he doesn’t know where they came from – but then a heartbeat later, Will’s eyes flutter shut, and he moans, load. “Only for you” he murmurs, and drags his hips against Mike’s, and Mike is about one second away from dying. “Baby, oh my God” he mumbles, chasing after Will, breathing in his answering whine. “You make me so crazy, I swear -’ And Will is grabbing at his shoulders again, inpatient, biting at his lip so hard it almost hurts, mumbling incoherent nothings. Mike, of course, knows what he wants, needs, but he sneaks his hand down again, just to make sure, and maybe to be a little mean, okay, sue him for wanting to drag this out as long as he can. Will all but cries out when Mike slips a finger inside; slow, cautious in a way that is not needed, because Will really is ready. “God, Will” Mike murmurs, not trying to keep the awe out of his voice, “you’re still – you’re still wet, baby, you -”
Will squirms again, trying to get closer. “Told you” he pants, “now can you please fuck me?”
But Mike has promised him something, and he’s gonna keep that promise if it’s the last thing he does, and so he hums, pretending to consider this as he adds a second finger, making Will swear. “Lemme make sure you’re ready, sweetheart” he murmurs, nosing at Will’s jaw, even though that is a thin white lie and they both know it; but judging from the way Will shivers at the nickname, throws his head back when Mike crooks his fingers just so, he can’t mind that much, even when he whines a bit, telling Mike that he’s “ready, Mike, I swear -”
And Mike doesn’t really know what makes him do it, really – maybe it’s the drunk feeling of getting to spread Will out like this, getting him so desperate and moaning, and maybe – probably – it’s the burning wonder at Will liking it when Mike called him – called him his slut, and the implications of everything that might follow, but either way, Mike feels possessive in a way that’s new even to him, and so he pulls back, watches Will writhing beneath him for a second, two, before hooking his fingers under his chin, making him look at him, holding him in place. His voice so deep he almost doesn’t recognize himself, and more than a little breathless when he says “Say please”
Will’s jaw goes slack under his fingertips, eyes drooping. He licks his lips. Mike watches, hypnotized.
“Please, Mike” Will says, and his voice is already rough, and a little bit strained, like he’s doing his best at keeping himself from whining. “Please” he says again, when he sees how affected Mike so clearly is by this, grip on Will’s chin tightening almost imperceptibly, eyes dropping down to Will’s mouth like he’s casting a spell on him. “Please” Will whispers, fingers caressing Mike’s biceps, drawing light circles, hearts. “Want you to fuck me. Need you in me so bad”
Mike swallows. If there ever was a thought in his head – well, now there will never be anything else than this moment on repeat. “You look so pretty begging for me” he says, hoarse, and Will blinks up at him, mouth open. He fumbles with something wedged between the wall and the bedframe, then presses their lube bottle against Mike’s chest, and well – how could he ever refuse anything when Will is asking so nicely?
When Mike finally, slowly, carefully presses in, Will sighs, deeply, slings his arms around Mike’s neck, pulls him down, kisses him. Mike takes his time, always afraid to hurt Will, trying to savour the moment, and this is maybe probably his favourite part of this; the way Will always kisses him as he’s sliding inside, like he’s trying to say a thousand things without uttering a sound, and Mike understanding him perfectly. “Good?” he mumbles after a few moments, and Will nods, clashing their noses together. “Move, please”
Mike – has a feeling this isn’t gonna last nearly as long as he would like it to, judging from the way a thousand little electric shocks are zapping up and down his spine with every little movement, turning his insides to molten lava. “Fuck, you feel so good” he murmurs, and Will moans quietly against his lips. “This what you wanted, baby?” Will is nodding and humming and biting at Mike’s lip all at once, and then he pulls back enough to pant “Yes, yes, yes” right into his mouth. “Thought about this before. When I was – when I was touching myself”
Mike groans, letting his forehead fall against Will’s. “Bet you looked so pretty” he mumbles.
Will nods fervently. “Always wanna look pretty for you” he breathes, like spilling a secret.
There are no words in any language that could describe the absolute and unshakable devotion Mike feels for this man, and so he only nods and nods and kisses Will behind his ear and says “You always do, baby, so pretty -”
And then Will is groaning into the side of his neck and finally, finally scratching at Mike’s back like he loves him to; whiny and demanding “Mike – Mike, please, faster -” and Mike can feel that this is coming to an end rather sooner than later, but he’s determined to make good of his promise, and so he hitches Will closer to him, hiking his legs over his shoulders, changing the angle and reaching down to wrap a hand around him again, and then there is nothing but the feeling of Will all around him, the filthy filthy noises he makes as he murmurs nonsense into his ear, losing all coherence, the sound of skin on skin that only turns Mike on impossibly more. Will is singing sweet little oh’s beneath him, eyebrows scrunching together, so Mike knows he close, drives in with new determination. “Come for me, baby, I know you can do it” he babbles a bit mindlessly, and Will twists his hands into his hair. “Fuck – oh, you’re gonna -”
But then everything whites out as Will tightens around him, coming on his hand, and Mike knows exactly that the blissed out expression on Will’s face is enough to get him there too; tries to pull out, but Will digs his heels in, holds him in place and breathes “Please, please, in me” and then he’s tipping over the edge, too, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through him.
When he comes to, he opens his eyes to find Will blinking up at him, a smile radiating off of his face. “Hi” he whispers, and Mike smiles back, like the silly lovesick idiot he is. “Hi, beautiful”
Will pulls him into a kiss, slow and sweet, and maybe this is Mike’s favourite part, too, the gentle afterglow, the content satisfaction rolling off of Will. “Love you so much” he whispers against Will’s lips, and Will immediately replies “Love you so much”, because that’s how sappy they are. Mike pulls back after a they’ve traded a few kisses, wipes the hair back from Will’s forehead. Places another kiss there for good measure. “Let me get you cleaned up” he says, but Will grabs at his shoulders, holding him in place before he can pull out. “Stay with me for a minute, please?” How could Mike deny him anything, ever? “’course” he mumbles. “Do you want me to -”, but Will is already shaking his head no before Mike’s even done asking, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Stay” he mumbles, his eyes falling closed. Mike watches him breathe, the way the soft light is making his hair appear so shiny, his long eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. He really is the most beautiful person Mike has ever seen, and he will never get over the fact that Will wants him like this, wants him as much as Mike wants him. His fingers are tracing little shapes into the side of Will’s neck, mindless patterns, when Will lazily blinks his eyes open. “Did you know- you have a serious staring problem” he says, smiling.
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, per say” Mike says, twirling a strand of Will’s hair around his index finger. It’s getting so long again. “It has loads of benefits, actually”
“Charmer” Will smirks up at him, then makes a little frowny face that tells Mike he really wants to be kissed right now, and what sort of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t comply?
When he pulls back again, Will’s eyes stay closed, fingers wandering the plane of Mike’s shoulders, like he’s tracing the freckles there. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, a bit of uncertainty slipping into his voice, and that just won’t do. “Oh my God, no” Mike protests. Waits a beat, feels the words sit on his tongue. Decides to let them out tonight, here where everything is so safe and private. “I like it. When you scratch me, I mean. Shows me I’m doing something right”
Will still has his eyes closed, but there’s a smile spreading across his face in beat to his flush. “You do a lot of things right” he says. Mike can hear the hesitation in his voice, nudges his cheek against Will’s cheek in a silent show of encouragement. “I liked … I liked it when you called me your slut” Will whispers, setting the fire in Mike’s stomach ablaze all over, effortlessly. Mike takes a deep breath. “I liked you begging for it” he whispers back, and Will smiles, a bit bashful. “I liked that, too”
“I liked everything about tonight” Mike says. “Sorry I didn’t last longer”
Will laughs at that, loud, opening his eyes. “I came first, remember?” Mike grins down at him.
“Oh yeah, I do remember” he says, aware he is sounding all to self- complacent, but Will is forgiving as always, tucking a stray curl behind Mike’s ear. “Either way, the night’s still long” he says, all faux-innocent, and laughs a little at the expression undoubtedly crossing Mike’s face at that. “But only if you get me some food”
“Your wish is my command, my beautiful sorcerer” Mike says solemnly, bending down to kiss Will’s cupid bow. “How about a shower first, hm?”
They eventually do end up cuddled up on the couch with two boxes of Thai take out secured, and okay, Mike might have gotten distracted a little bit in the shower and ended up getting Will off again with his hand, sue him, literally what else was he supposed to do? But they made it, didn’t they, and Star Wars is playing, Will humming along to the title music, shoving his feet between Mike’s thighs, entirely ignoring his protests, because “it’s cold, Michael, do you want me to freeze?”, as if he literally isn’t wrapped in the big blanket Mike dragged over from the bedroom just for him. And so of course Mike ends up rubbing Will’s feet, receiving a not so gentle nudge every time he is momentarily distracted by the movie, how dare he, because Will is his literal princess.
But it’s all worth it a thousand times over for the way he gets to watch Will’s hair sticking up at odd angles at the back of his head, the way he is slouching deeper and deeper into his assortment of pillows, swearing up and down he is not gonna fall asleep, he’s only gonna rest his eyes a second, okay, only to fall fast asleep barely ten minutes into the movie. Mike loves him.
(Will wakes up alright later, though. The night’s still young, after all.)
Thursday mornings are a blessing, because they both get to sleep in. This Thursday morning, in particular – well, let’s just say, if there is something like Heaven, then it definitely looks like this. Mike wakes up not to an annoyingly blaring alarm, no. He wakes up to the light filtering in through the curtains, the noise of cars passing by under their window, and an armful of Will, warm and sleepy. This is, undoubtedly, the prettiest view a man could ever dream of waking up to, and it immediately makes a smile spread across Mike’s face. Will is still naked, the sheets tangled around his hips, and the sight of the marks Mike left across Will’s upper body so lovingly only hours ago makes him blush despite himself. Will twists a bit as Mike watches, as if he can feel his stare on him; snuggling a bit closer, mumbling nonsense under his breath. See, normally, Will is a really light sleeper, waking at the slightest bit of movement on Mike’s side, but right now, he seems really passed out, breathing deeply and face evened out. Mike glances over at the bedside table to check the time – just past half nine, which means there’s still loads of time before Will actually has to get up. Which is a good thing, Mike muses to himself, seeing as he really needs to recuperate from their – ahem – late night activities. And that thought makes him grin like an idiot all over again, floods his veins with so much giddy pride that he hardly knows what to do with it; but looking over at Will, who looks so peaceful spread out like this, he gets an idea, and slowly and as quietly as he can slips out of bed. There’s a moment when he thinks Will’s going to wake up, where his brows furrow and he murmurs something that suspiciously sounds like Mike’s name, but then he turns around to face the wall and his breaths even out once again. Mike takes his chances and tiptoes out of the bedroom, tugging on boxershorts as he goes, a challenge for someone so coordinatedly challenged as himself, but this is a magical morning, he is sure, and so he manages to not fall on his face, break his nose and worst of all – wake Will.
In the kitchen he turns the coffee machine on first, then scavenges their fridge for something edible. Man, they really have to go grocery shopping today – living off of take out food and meals in the cafeteria does have the not so nice side effect of them never having anything at home to prepare like, a proper meal. Which, Mike has to admit, neither of them know how to do, either way, seeing as Joyce is awful at cooking and couldn’t teach Will more than how to make a cheese sandwich (but a mean one, at that!) and Karen can cook, but mind you, Mike burns popcorn in the microwave, so there’s not much to be won on that front. At the very least, though, he knows how to make scrambled eggs – well, he feels confident he knows how to make them, and he wants to do something really nice for Will, because it’s Thursday and Mike loves him so awfully much. So he optimistically slaps a glob of butter into the pan, and cracks an egg – oh, there goes a bit of eggshell, nevermind -
Only ten minutes later, Mike seems well on his way to add eggs to his list of things he can undoubtedly burn. He honestly doesn’t know how he ended up here, but the kitchen is getting sort of smokey, and the coffee machine’s been beeping for a good thirty seconds, which means coffee might also be added to his infamous list any time now, but he has to stop the eggs from sticking to the pan so much, goddamn, where is the oil?
“Mike?” a voice sounds from the door. “What are you doing?”
Mike whips around to find a sleepy Will standing in the door frame, rubbing at his eyes unbelievingly, wearing nothing a worn out shirt Mike is pretty sure once belonged to him before it was hogged forever. “You’re supposed to be sleeping” he says, a bit stupidly, and as if on cue, the fire alarm begins to beep.
Will – starts to laugh.
“I wanted to be nice!” Mike whines as he reaches up to turn off this incandescent beeping before they get a noise complaint; “I wanted to make you breakfast in bed!”
Will brushes past him to open up their window and fan the smoke out, turning off the stove on his way. “That’s very nice of you” he says, eyes twinkling. “You do know you’re supposed to put oil in the pan, don’t you?”
“I did!” Mike protests, and briefly buries his face in his hands with a surge of embarrassment – they both know Mike’s a shite cook, but eggs, really, Mike, how hard can it be -
“Hey” Will laughs as he slides an arm around Mike’s waist. “Don’t feel bad, Mike, this really is so sweet of you”
Mike knows he’s just sweet talking to make him feel better, seeing as there is nothing sweet about almost burning down their home; but he’s but a mere man, and so naturally, it’s working. Peeking through his fingers, he can make out Will’s dimples.
“Sorry” he mumbles. “I’m a shit housewife”
Predictably, this makes Will laugh enough for Mike to feel confident enough again to lower his hands from his face, promptly sneaking them under Will’s shirt again, settling around his ribs where he can feel the small vibrations of his laughter. “Good thing I don’t keep you around because of your housekeeping skills, then” Will smiles, all coy as he wraps his arm around Mike’s neck.
“Mhhh” Mike hums, letting his gaze drop to Will’s lips, “Whatever for do you keep me around, then?”
“You have very talented hands” Will says, and only blushes a bit around his smile. Mike might be on fire, too, actually. “Oh” he says, ever the man of eloquent words, but Will just laughs again, so it’s okay. And Mike might be feeling a bit ahead of himself, here, but can’t stop himself from asking “What about my talented mouth?”, can’t stop his face from stretching into a grin that might be on the side of cocky.
Will pretends to mull this over, swaying his head this way and that, but the blush now properly spreading is a dead giveaway, either way. “I might need a reminder” Will decides haughtily, and then pulls Mike in.
Breakfast – is forgotten about again for a few very nice minutes, before the coffee machine starts beeping again, with even more urgency than before.
“Shit shit shit” Mike swears as he pulls away, regretfully letting go of Will to stop it from, like, exploding, or whatever these awful noises are ominously announcing. Great. The only thing that can is going to be poured in is the sink, that much is sure. Mike groans.
“Here, let me help you” Will says, already opening the fridge to grab fresh eggs.
“This isn’t supposed to be how this works” Mike complains as he slinks back against the counter, defeated. “I’m supposed to be making you breakfast in bed”
“We can still eat it in bed, Mike” Will smiles at him, but Mike is not done sulking. “You know that’s not what I meant” he says, shrinking a bit in on himself. “I wanted to – I just wanted to do something nice for you”
“You do loads of nice stuff for me” Will says. “And like – I don’t want you to burn down down our kitchen”
Mike groans again, more deeply. Will smiles at him somewhat apologetic, then gently steers him out of the way. “You can make some more coffee” he decides, and not so successfully muffles a giggle. “I mean – if you’re able”
“Hey!” Mike exclaims, though Will very obviously is in the right here, but goddamn it, Mike will – Mike will make him the best fucking coffee Will’s ever had, just Will wait and see, and he tells him as much. “Sure” Will chuckles. “Tell me if you need my help” and then lets out a small laughing yelp as Mike launches a poorly aimed hit at him with the kitchen towel.
Mike does manage to make coffee all on his own, thank you very much – after all, the first burnt attempt was mainly Will’s fault, for distracting him so much. Inn the meantime, Will makes some scrambled eggs that are actually edible, and produces some toast from a hidden corner in one of their cabinets that probably hopefully should still be good, or at least somewhat decent.
When Will is about to put everything on plates, though, Mike pulls him away from the counter gently. Will makes a questioning noise, but when Mike tells him to get back in bed now, his eyes light up with understanding, and something else, and he presses a kiss to Mike’s jaw and disappears.
Mike takes his time to arrange everything as neatly as he can, and makes Will a bottle of water, too; puts an extra splash of milk to his coffee; a bit more marmalade on his toast, then puts everything on a tray he may or may not have stolen from the dining hall one time.
When he gets to the bedroom, Will has disappeared into a cocoon of blankets. The window is open, letting in the cool morning air, and the noise from the city already so alive beneath them when up here, everything is still so calm. It makes Mike feel happier than he can probably put into words.
Will has his back to him, and doesn’t stir even when Mike gently puts down the tray on their nighttime table and crawls onto the bed. There’s just a tuft of hair sticking out from beneath the cover, and when Mike leans over him, he can see that even though Will’s eyes are closed, his smile is lighting up his whole face. It’s probably one of the best sights a man could ask for.
He lowers himself and presses a gentle kiss to Will’s temple. “Hi beautiful” he whispers. “Sleep good?”
Will positively begins beaming, but plays along; blinking open his eyes, turning and stretching a bit until he’s comfortably snuggled up under Mike, his forehead pressed to his arm. “Mhhhh” he mumbles, reaching out a searching hand to wrap around Mike’s neck, tugging at the hairs on his nape in way that clearly demands a good morning kiss, and what sort of boyfriend would Mike be to deny this polite request?
“Love you” Will murmurs against his lips, knocking his nose gently against Mikes’, and, like, can we be absolutely sure it’s impossible to die from happiness? Because Mike feels like his heart might explode any moment now.
“I love you” he says, kissing the tip of Will’s nose, watching it turn pink, and grins, “Made you some breakfast”
Will’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Reeeally?” he singsongs, “for meee?”
“Mhhhmm” Mike nods solemnly, hand sneaking beneath the covers to wander along the knuckles of Will’s spine, to settle over this waist, thumb circling his hip bone idly. Will shivers slightly beneath him even with the covers still wrapped around him, making Mike frown.
“Want me to close the windows?” he asks, but Will only shakes his head no against the pillows, manages to snuggle even closer. “It’s just – you” he says, going a bit red around the nose. “Oh” Mike says, maybe a bit dumbstruck, and loses all train of thought when Will tugs at his hair.
“Is that coffee I smell, Michael?” he smiles, as if he hasn’t watched Mike bend desperately over the coffee machine mere minutes ago. “Oh yes” Mike nods, using the opportunity to inch a bit closer, burying his nose in Will’s temple, pressing a kiss against the shell of his ear; making Will squirm a bit. “Brought your water bottle, too” he whispers, “thought you might want to hydrate after all that -you know”, and that makes Will shiver all over again, makes him let out a breath like he maybe forgot to breathe a second, and okay, Mike might use the opportunity to squeeze his hand around Will’s hips lightly, to press another feathery light kiss behind his ear; but really, what else is he supposed to do?
Will hums lightly; wraps his arms around Mike’s neck, presses a kiss to it, and maybe Mike is now the one to shiver a teeny tiny bit, but you didn’t hear that from him. “You’re so good to me” Will breathes against his jaw, almost inaudible, but it’s enough to set Mike’s skin on fire. “You always do such nice things for me”
“Will” Mike breathes. When he pulls back, Will’s eyes are twinkling. “You-”
“Yeah?” Will asks all to innocently when Mike fails to finish his sentence, and there’s a barely held back grin on his face that makes Mike huff out an embarrassed laugh, drop his forehead against Will’s. “You make me a bit stupid” he admits, shivering all over again when Will drags light fingers against his scalp.
“Really” Will says, smiling so much Mike can hear it all too clearly in his voice. “And here I was, thinking you didn’t need my help with that”
“You-” Mike starts, again, raising his head in mock shock, shoving at Will a bit as the laughter pearls out of him, and really, how is Mike supposed to be even the tiniest bit mad when he has Will so happy beneath him, warm and safe, glowing in the morning sun? But he can’t let him get away with this, not entirely, so he pushes Will’s face away with a shake of his head. “You spent way too much time with Max” he grumbles, but he can never keep the laughter out of his tone when Will is like this, so it probably doesn’t have that much of an effect. Oh well. There are worse things than being made fun of like this, he decides as Will’s laughter vibrates in his own chest, if the coffee gets a bit cold because Will apologizes by pulling him in all over, then Mike – well, he can live with that.
Friday nights are mostly movie nights, as in actually going to the theatre movie nights, and have been ever since they sort of stopped the irrevocable rise of evil and consequently the world from ending, back when government first realised it was actually sort of a problem to have so many people running around who knew all about the alternate dimension thing and also the opening a gate to another dimension and being absolutely useless about it thing – so many people, in fact, that it would’ve been rather hard to get rid of all of them, and so they instead decided to pay those people a lot of hush money.
It’s a rather good deal since it pays for both college and also a lifetime of weekly Friday movie night at the theatre, so. Nothing to complain about, really.
Since attending college, Friday Theatre Movie Nights have been known to sometimes turn into Friday Going Out Nights, which, honestly, is more surprising to Mike than the concept of alternate dimensions being real. In fact, when they first started to get invited to these sort of things, Mike spend a short time contemplating and honestly feeling rather paranoid about maybe having slipped into one of them all over. But, as Max had so very helpfully pointed out to him, it was mostly her and El and also Lucas, “who’s, you know, actually cool and popular”, who got the actual invites and dragged along the entirety of the Party like they were some sort of stranded lost ducklings, because this apparently was something that happened in College. People went to parties. Easy.
And so on this particular Friday night, Mike finds himself crammed into the kitchen of some (Frat? Sorority? Just some random rich person’s?) gigantic house, holding onto his red cup full of some shitty cheap beer for dear life as he’s trying to locate literally any other person of his Party. So far, he’s failing fairly spectacularly, which might be due to the fact that he keeps getting stopped by people he sort of halfway knows from one class or another, who all seem to be set on talking to him, which is a rather difficult mission, taking into account the bass that is literally vibrating off the walls, and also the rising levels of alcohol.
Mike isn’t a big drinker himself, and so he hasn’t had enough to achieve more than a slight tipsy feeling, but that decidedly does not go for the majority of the people around him, which makes it infinitely harder to make his ways through the thickening crowd – and God, who even knows this many people?
He has barely made his way to the living room, which, by the way, is at least as big as the entirety of Mike and Will’s apartment, when all of a sudden, Max appears right in his face out of fucking nowhere in a whirlwind of red, shouting something at him he doesn’t understand even a single word of, grabbing his arm and dragging him along, which – rude! But even though he would never ever say it out loud, he is sort of glad to have found just someone out of the party, or, in this case, to have been found – either way, he more or less lets himself get dragged along willingly, shouting out apologies to everyone Max shoves out of the way, until they’re on the other side of the room near the big windows leading out to the veranda, and oh – Mike can see what the rush is all about. Beer pong tournament.
Max whirls around, beaming in his face, a sure sign she’s more than slightly inebriated, if not to say; drunk as fuck. “Mike!” She shouts, and that is his name, thanks for remembering. “Beer Pong!”
Max – is sort of a maniac when it comes to this, and though it pains Mike to admit this, she has fully managed to rope him into this obsession. Something about it brings out the competitive side of him, and weirdly enough, he is sort of good at it, which they had found out completely by accident many Friday nights ago when El had been too drunk to throw the ping pong ball in even the near vicinity of the other team’s cups, and with nobody else around, Max had given him puppy eyes until he had finally relented. After that – well, let’s just say it had been the start of a long and victorious run of them absolutely destroying every other team on campus at every chance they get. And so ...
“Madmax” Mike grins. “Let’s fucking go”
Their first opponents they destroy with practised ease. They’re so bad, they basically don’t even count as a win. The second round, their opponents manage to put up a decent fight, and Mike tips back enough beer that he is starting to feel more than a bit tipsy, a fact that catches up to him in their next round. They play against two frat guys that seem to be at least as experienced as them, and after ten minutes and half of the other team’s still standing, Mike sees no other choice but to call for a time out for a quick tactic session, a brilliant idea that is only slightly dampened by the fact that he is starting to feel really drunk and Max is, for lack of a better word, fucking sloshed.
“Max” he starts, but then – oops, the world tilts a bit, or maybe he is swaying a little, and he grabs the edge of the table to steady himself. “We have to focus. Talk tactic now”
Max nods, but when she looks at Mike, her eyes seem to be a crossed, which, in Mike’s opinion, should be the first step in their new brilliant tactic plan: uncross the eyes. “We have to try and take out the cups on the corners” she shouts back, as if Mike isn’t standing right in front of her and of clear hearing.
He shakes his head. “No, that’s – that’s not the best tactic, we have to – to take out the one on the front”
Max nods and then begins to giggle in a very Max-unlike way. “I just – Mike, I have to tell you something.”
She sways a bit closer, as if getting ready to whisper something to him, just to fully shout in his ear again: “I think I might be too drunk” And again she giggles, like this is the funniest thing to ever happen to her, as if their entire reputation is not on stake here!
He grabs her by the shoulders. “Maxine!” he shouts, “Get yourself together, Maxine! Think about our reputation! Think of our pride! Our victory streak!” Max, evidently, is doing nothing of the sort, just going even more cross eyed, probably from all the shaking Mike is doing to her, and that really is no good at all for the tactic, so Mike lets go of her. “El” Max says. He blinks at her. “No, it’s Mike” he says. Is Max really this far gone? Will he truly have to make the rest of this arduous journey without her? But she shakes her head, pointing at something over his shoulder. “No, stupid, El!”
Mike turns, and really – there is El, beaming and making her way over to them, closely followed by – Will. Oh, my.
Will looks so unbelievably good tonight that it makes Mike’s heart skip all over like he’s still a teenager (which, okay, he barely counts as an adult, in whichever way, but that is totally besides the point). A very horny one, at that, because woow – jeans like that should be illegal, honest to God. It makes Mike instantly mad at everyone who’s gotten to see Will like this tonight, and he knows that’s irrational, but he doesn’t give a shit, really.
Will grins at him, sly and cheeks pink. Mike wants to bite them, sort of. “Hi” Will says, slinking a bit closer still, wrapping light fingers around Mike’s biceps. And he knows they’re in public right now, but fuck that, how could Mike resist taking that one last step closer, when Will’s waist is right there, basically begging to be held? Will’s wearing a very nice dark blue long sleeve that is just the right amount of snug around the shoulders and a little bit too long, and he’s got it tucked into those goddamn dark Jeans. Mike’s fingers sneak into one of the belt loops on their own accord, without asking permission, and he tugs, once, twice.
“These are going to be the death of me” he mutters, and Will chuckles, breathless.
“Someone’s a bit drunk, hm?” he laughs, but does nothing to escape Mike’s grip – on the contrary, Mike could swear he can feel Will press back into his touch a bit more, and it almost makes him throw all caution to the wind – but then Max stumbles next to them, knocking into Mike’s arm a bit. It makes him regain his common sense enough to stop himself from snogging Will stupid in the middle of this very crowded living room, which, all things considered, might sadly not be the best idea. Instead, he tugs on Will’s belt loop again. “Drunk on loooove” he singsongs back. Will laughs out loud this time, and it’s the very best thing that has happened to Mike tonight.
Will hums again, and Mike sort of wishes he would stop that, because it makes his whole not-snogging-Will-right-on-the-spot mission really, really hard, but at the same time, he sort of wishes Will would never make another noise (well, now that he thinks about it, there are a few others he really likes -)
His train of thought is interrupted by Max tugging on his arm again, intentionally this time. “Beer Pong!” She declares, again, and Mike seriously starts to wonder if those are the only words she knows by now.
A glance back at the table shows that the two dudes they’re technically still up against are leaning against the table, shouting over at them.
Will knocks their shoulders together. “Win for me?” he asks, eyes twinkling up at Mike.
And not to be dramatic or anything, but Mike would literally lay his fucking life down if Will looked at him like that.
“Max” he says, before managing to pry his eyes from Will’s smile (okay, maybe he is was staring at Will’s lips a bit. Now what? Now what!?). “I need you in your very best form”.
Max grins at him with mischief in her eyes. Under normal circumstances, Mike decidedly does not like to be on the receiving end of that look, but this is not normal circumstances. No, this has just become the single most important matter in Mike’s life, and so for once, he leans in with excitement as Max says: “I’ve got a tactic plan”
Turns out, the plan is to let El steer the balls, however badly thrown, right into the cups, which, yeah, might technically be considered cheating, something that Mike normally is strictly against, but this is special circumstances, so screw that. It also has the nice effect of not having to sling back so many cups himself any more, since El can simply deflect those wherever, and soon enough, Max is a giggling mess next to him at their opponents cussing loudly and throwing accusing fingers at each other when yet another perfect shot misses its target (Mike is absolutely not giggling along. He isn’t!). The game doesn’t last long after that, and after long last, Mike and Max end up victorious yet again, a win thoroughly celebrated by the both of them, with a lot of jumping and squealing on Max’s part, and, let’s face it, maybe a tiny little bit of jumping along on Mike’s, making El keel over with laughter and Will roll his eyes affectionately at their antics. He’s not fooling anyone, though, is he, because when El and Max start dragging them them back toward the kitchen to get well deserved victory shots, Mike feels a light tug on his hand as Will hooks two fingers around Mike’s pinky, holding on to him amidst the tumult surrounding them. And there it is, this possessive, purring feeling in his chest, causing him to squeeze Will’s hand back as best as he can, staring and smiling at him over the red curls spilling from Max’s ponytail.
In the kitchen, Mike feels a bit like he’s suffering torture, watching Will take small sips of cheap wine, his cheeks turning pinker and pinker in turn with each sip; the way his fingers curl around his cup, the way he throws his head back laughing at something El whispers at him, eyes twinkling conspiratorially. The kitchen’s fucking stuffed, smelling like sticky weed, and maybe that is why Mike feels like he can hardly breathe all of a sudden, but he has the sneaky suspicion it has more to do with the way Will keeps his hand hooked around Mike’s pinky, or his pointer finger, or his biceps, trailing his shoulder, touching his waist. Mike- is definitely going insane, more than a bit, and from the way Will is smiling up at him, he definitely knows what he’s doing, and is not about to stop anytime soon, which is so absolutely fine by Mike but at the same might be the cause of his timely death.
They’re found by Lucas and Dustin a few minutes or hours later, it’s hard to say; and Max excitedly recounts their glorious beer pong victory, and Mike nods along stupidly around his cup of cheap beer that is starting to not taste so disgusting anymore, and feels intensely jealous when Lucas swoops Max up in his arm, pressing a kiss against her temple, more so than he ever wants to admit even to himself; but at the same time, so absolutely and entirely happy that they’re all here, still together, getting to enjoy being stupid, drunk almost-adults: and he gets to caught up in this thought, this cheesy sort of happiness that Will tugs on his shirt, asking what he’s thinking about. “Nothing” he says. “’m just really happy”.
Will smiles up at him so sweetly, eyes crinkling around the corners, that Mike almost decides, fuck it, and is about to pull Will in by the waistband of his stupidly hot jeans for the second time in one night, when Dustin thumps him on the shoulder excitedly, shouting something he can’t understand, and when he looks over at Will, he only shrugs his shoulder laughingly, too; and then they’re being dragged away yet again, toward the dancing floor, which turns out to be yet another room in this absolute labyrinth of a house.
Mike, truthfully, isn’t much of a dancer under any circumstances, and especially not in a house full of people that he barely knows, so even with the amount of beer sloshing in his veins right now that is sure to give him an absolute pain of a headache tomorrow, he does not feel inclined to awkwardly jimmy his limbs to whatever song is playing, thank you. El and Max seem enthusiastic, though, to say the least, and because Lucas will do absolutely any- and everything Max likes, the goner, he follows her with a laugh on his face – he’s got some moves, though, Mike has to admit, way better than Dustin, who might think he can make up for his lack of rhythm with his enthusiasm, but really can’t, if Mike can be so frank. He actually laughs out loud, watching Dustin sway his body like some sort of – hypnotized snake, or some shit, while waving his arms like crazy, but El is right there with him, moving her head in time with the beat, making her long hair sway and fly, twirling this way and that. And then, obviously, there is Will.
Will loves dancing, even if he never says so out loud; it’s so obvious from the literal light radiating off of him, the smile on his face, the twinkle in his eyes as his hips sway this way and that, twirling with Max, laughing at Dustin and then mimicking his moves anyway. There’s something to be said about the way Will dances, Mike thinks, and then immediately loses track of that thought when Will looks over at him, laughing, and it feels like time itself is holding its’ breath for a second.
Wow, Mike thinks, and pretty much nothing else, as he watches Will squeezing El’s hand and nodding over at where Mike is leaned up against the wall next to an overly huge house plant like a loser; and then Will is making his way over, the glittering light catching in his hair, the changing colours reflecting off of his face.
“Hi”, Will smiles up at him, and Mike might be a lot drunker than he thought, because he means to say “Hi” back, but what really comes out is “I can’t believe you’re mine”, but judging by the look of hunger crossing over Will’s face, this is really working out in Mike’s favour once again.
“You’re so drunk” Will is saying, stepping even closer, until he’s almost pressed up against Mike, as if that will do anything to make Mike’s head swim less – yeah, right.
“Drunk talk, sober thoughts or something, right?” Mike says a bit stupidly, and Will is laughing, shaking his head; but he’s also snaking his hand around Mike’s shoulder, so.
“I really need something else to drink” Will says, nodding over his shoulder, glancing at Mike with a glint in his eyes that he doesn’t entirely understand, but hey, who is he to complain?
He manages to catch Lucas’ eyes as they’re trying to find a way through the mass of people stuck in this room, and points at the beer bottle he’s holding in question, but Lucas shakes his head and gives a thumbs up, which Mike hopes means he doesn’t need another – talk about mixed signals here, Sinclair, really. The crowd is really closing in on them as they make their way towards the door – honestly, when did all these people even get here – and so Mike can’t fight the instinct to put a hand on the small of Will’s back, guiding him a bit, seeing as he’s taller and can actually see where they’re supposed to be going. But when they’ve almost reached the kitchen, Will seems to become confused with directions, because suddenly, he’s steering away from where people are crowding in the kitchen door, turning the other way down the hallway.
“What are you - “ Mike is half shouting, but Will pushes past a throng of people, opening a door on their left and squeezing in, pulling Mike with him.
Mike is barely able to register that they’re in a tiny bathroom before he’s pushed up against the door and kissed like he’s the oxygen Will needs to survive.
Will tastes like the pink wine he had earlier, and his back is sweaty where Mike pushes his hands under his shirts, and he can feel the bass vibrating against the door; Will buries his hands in Mike’s hair and honestly, Mike is starting to understand what the hype surrounding parties is all about. His hands slip down to slide into the backpockets of the very jeans that have been driving him insane all night, squeezing, and Will honest to God giggles - Mike can’t help laughing along, breaking the kiss but not straying far. “What” he asks, and Will shakes his head, knocking their noses together. “I feel like such a teenager” he laughs, and well, Mike knows that feeling all too well.
“I love being a teenager with you” Mike confesses with an embarrassed grin.
“Yeah?” Will breathes, pulling back a bit to blink up at him, eyes wide and glittering.
“Yes” Mike confirms, squeezing his hands. “What’s there not to love? Parties, booze, sneaking around with my sexy boyfriend -” Will starts laughing again as if Mike isn’t deadly serious. “You’re stupid”.
“Hey, you’re the one who kidnapped me to this bathroom” Mike protests, as if he isn’t literally exactly where he wants to be. Will, obviously, sees right through him, humming contemplatively, pushing away a bit as if he’s about to reach for the door knob – “Well, it it’s that inconvenient to you, I don’t want to keep you, Michael - “
But he doesn’t get far, with Mike’s hands still securely tucked into his jeans, pushing him right back up against him. “I could be convinced to stay” Mike grins down at him, “you know, Stockholm Syndrome and all that -”
“Shut up” Will laughs against his lips, and then Mike does.
He can’t tell if it’s Will or the alcohol making his knees so weak and his head spin with eyes closed, but he doesn’t really have the mental capacity to think too hard about it, does he, with the way Will is sighing into his mouth, barely a sound over the thrum of the music; and they really are lovesick teenagers, more than Mike ever felt like when he was an actual teen, running around flowery fields, and evidently, he’s not the only one that’s drunk, judging from the way Will is kissing along his jaw, scraping his teeth against his throat, sucking on his pulse hard enough to leave a mark in a rare show of possessiveness, making Mike’s insides melt and his head fall back against the door with a thump and a moan.
Through half hooded eyes, he can make out Will blinking up at him, eyes dark and full of hunger, and Mike can’t believe they’re about to hook up in this bathroom at this party, but it feels like the best idea ever, why have they never done this before -
There’s a thump on the other side of the door that feels like someone is trying to break the door, making them both jump.
“'s there someone in there?” A feminine voice slurs from outside, barely intelligible through the wood. “I need to pee!”
Mike peers down at Will, who’s blinking up at him with wide eyes. There’s a beat, and then his face stretches into a silent laugh, dropping his head until his forehead rests on Mike’s collarbone, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Shhh” Mike hushes, trying and failing to keep from laughing himself, the alcohol making everything seem so much sillier than it probably is, but any semblance of self-control is lost when the girl outside pounds on the door again, whining “I really need to pee, I don’t care who’s in there fucking -”
“Can’t even make out in peace anymore, honestly” Mike mutters as Will wheezes a breath against his neck. “This house is huge, there’s probably, like, a thousand other bathrooms here-”
He leans his head back against the door, listening out for the girl for a few minutes until he can’t hear her anymore, so she, too, must have come to the conclusion that it really is rather unlikely she is going to be let in to this bathroom any time soon. There’s just the dull thump of the music, and Will’s quiet breathing against his shoulder- hang on a minute.
“Are you – are you falling asleep?” Mike whispers, tightening his grip on Will, who hums vaguely.
“Oh my God, Will, you’re so drunk” Mike has to laugh a little, at the absurdity of all this – going from making out in a frat house bathroom to being yelled at by a drunk girl to Will literally falling asleep on his shoulder while standing up. He gently shakes Will. “Hey”
“’M not asleep” Will murmurs, actively falling asleep.
“I can’t believe you” Mike murmurs. He mournfully slides his hands out of the pockets of Will’s jeans, slinging one arm around his hips instead and using his free hand to gently lift Will’s face away from where it’s nuzzling Mike’s neck. “Hey – hey, baby, look at me a second”
Will’s eyes blink open, a slow smile spreading across his pink face. “Mikey” he whispers, like telling a secret. “’M – like, sooo drunk”
Mike laughs a little in his face for that, even though he’s honestly probably not much better off, but hey, at least he’s not the one falling asleep mid make-out session. “You feeling okay?” he asks, stroking back a strand of Will’s hair sticking to his forehead. Will nods heavily, eyes dropping again already. “Jus’ tired” he murmurs, making Mike’s heart do a complicated somersault. “That’s okay” he says softly. “I’m gonna get you home”
As it turns out, that feat is easier said than done. Mike succeeds in manoeuvring them out of the bathroom, and, with significantly more difficulty, through the masses out of the front door. He briefly thinks about going back to where they’ve left their friends, but immediately abandons that plan when he almost loses Will in the corridor right in front of the bathroom, and has to steer him the rest of the way with a hand around his hip – their friends will be fine without them, and besides, who knows where they have sneaked off to in the meantime?
The house isn’t too far from their own apartment; earlier, on their way there, it took them about twenty minutes of slow walking. Now, though, they’re both drunk, Will even more so than Mike, who is slowly but surely sobering up with the cold air in his face.
Will - is magical under the yellow glow of the streetlamps, cheeks rose coloured like the wine he had earlier, talking animatedly, stopping every ten metres to take a closer look at that tree or this car, as if they aren’t things he has seen a million times over; hair glowing softly. He holds on to Mike’s hand, trusting him to take him anywhere, but Mike isn’t in a rush, not when he gets Will like this, open, relaxed, and so, so beautiful. It feels unreal, walking with him here in this night, like something out of one of the movies El loves so much, or the books Mike used to steal from Nancy when they were younger. Mike never thought himself to be much of a romantic, but he was wrong, he thinks now, watching Will laugh in the fluorescent light; because he understands with a startling clarity what they’re all on about, the actors and writers and poets of the world, and Will is the sole reason why, is the breath of fresh air on a cool summer’s morning, the sound of Mike’s favourite song on the radio, the smell of fresh coffee, the feeling of being kissed awake in the morning, and being so completely and utterly safe.
Will is here, swaying besides Mike, and humming softly under his breath. “Did you know -” Will says, “that the lead singer of this band, the Cure – well, when he wrote this song that’s on the radio all the time, you know the one - “ And in what must be an attempt to make Mike’s heart explode once and for all, he sings the few verses of the refrain, the one that played in the kitchen in the morning just a few days ago – “well, when Smith – that’s the lead singer- when he wrote that song, he was really paranoid that he’d just – stolen the chords from somewhere”. Will laughs a little at that, delighted, like the thought is absolutely incredulous. “And he had to keep playing it to his friends, to make sure they didn’t know it. Imagine coming up with something so good you’re not even sure it’s, like, real”
Mike can relate, right here in this moment. He tugs a little on Will’s jacket, getting him to turn around from where’s he’s run of a little, gesturing animatedly with his hands like he always does when he gets to tell Mike about this sort of stuff; and then Will’s hands come to rest at Mike’s shoulders instead, when he pulls him in for a kiss.
When they break apart again, Will’s eyes are wide and green in the light of the lamppost they’re stood under, and he’s a little breathless as he asks: “What was that for?”
“Just to make sure you’re real” Mike answer, truthfully. Will lets out a surprised breath. “I’m real” he says.
“Good” Mike grins. “Me too”
They make it back to the apartment, and manage to scramble up the stairs while probably making as much noise as they humanly possible while sushing each other about it, and it’s so funny, everything is so warm and good and funny; Mike can’t stop laughing laughing laughing at the way Will trips over the steps and has to cling to his arm instead, and Will tries his hardest to be stern and make him “Shut up, Mike, you’re waking up – everyone”, but it’s hopeless and he’s laughing along, too, so Mike is not alone to blame for any noise complaints they might receive in the future.
When they get in the door, Mike is the one to stumble over a pair of shoes he’s left unattained on the floor earlier, and he almost falls flat on his face, only barely managing to grab onto Will, and so they’re even as Will doubles over with silent laughter.
They make it to the bathroom without any more incidents, and Mike hops into the shower first as Will brushes his teeth, still humming under his breath. The water washes away a good bit of the alcohol induced drowsiness, and by the time Mike is the one standing in front of the mirror and brushing his teeth, he feels mostly sober.
“Hey Will” he says thoughtfully, staring at himself in the mirror. “What would you think if I got an eyebrow piercing?”
There’s a short silence behind the shower curtain, only the sound of running water to be heard, and Mike is about to take it back, but then Will, sounding not very sober but very honest, says: “I’d probably think, like, oh my God, that’s so hot, please fuck me”
And, oh, wow, Mike – has to let out a heavy breath at that, and maybe he’s not as sober as he thought he was, because his head is spinning and his knees are very weak, like he just did five shots in a row, or something.
“Well, you’ll find me at the piercer’s tomorrow” he says, and listens to Will’s pearly laugh as if he isn’t fully serious right now.
Mike throws their clothes in the near vicinity of their hamper, to be dealt with tomorrow, and steps into the kitchen to fill up two big glasses with water. The city glistens beneath their window, and he can hear Will shuffle in the bedroom, and he thinks to himself that he wishes he could write a song about this, or a poem, something so true that he has to show it to Will to make sure he was actually the one who came up with it.
When he walks into their bedroom with the water in his hands, he’s greeted by the familiar sight of Will’s hair sticking out from under the covers, walls painted a soft golden in the glow of their nighttime light.
He sits down on the edge of the bed as carefully as he can, setting down his own glass at the nighttime table.
“Hey, Will” he murmurs, tucking back the covers a bit to reveal Will’s face, smoothed out and eyes closed. Mike has to suppress a smile at that, at the fact that Will always falls asleep so quickly when they’ve been out and drinking, like he’s absolutely battered from it. “Baby” he tries again when Will doesn’t move. “Drink this, okay, and I swear I’ll let you sleep”
Will grumbles something intelligible under his breath, but when Mike pokes him in the cheek a few times, he reluctantly opens his eyes, sitting up just enough to gulp down the water and then falling back onto the pillows again like he’s just managed a great feat. “Good job” Mike murmurs, only a little bit sarcastic, and Will lets it slide, lifting the edge of the blanket in an invitation.
Mike always need a bit to fall asleep after nights out, needs to give his body time to calm down, and so he reaches for the book on his nighttime table with one hand, the other scratching ever so lightly at Will’s back as he presses closer to Mike, resting his head on his chest. A few minutes pass like this, Mike reading and alternating between scratching Will’s back and the back of his head, and from the way Will is breathing so deeply, Mike is sure he must be asleep, until Will turns his head up ever so slightly. “Mike” he whispers, voice thick with sleep. “I love being a teenager with you, too”
Mike presses a smiling kiss to the crown of Will’s head.
Saturdays, obviously, are for the boys to play D’n’D. Okay, and El and Max, too, obviously, even though more often than not, the two of them spend their time huddled over Dustin’s Nintendo Game Boy, shouting at whatever Mario is doing wrong again (a lot, apparently).
When they first moved, the plan was to rotate apartments for this – one week at theirs, one week at El’s and Max’s, one week at Dustin’s, and one week at Lucas’s. Somehow, though, they ended up scrambling together in their tiny living room every week, just like Sunday Movie night. Lucas’s roommate doesn’t like having them over, though he doesn’t outright say it, but a dorm room really is too tiny for all of them, to be honest. Dustin’s apartment is tiny, too, but would fit them if it wasn’t in an absolute state of a mess at all times, no exceptions – how the man ever finds anything, Mike truly doesn’t how. El’s and Max’s place would be a great place to hang, really, it’s cosy and big enough to fit them, bigger even than his and Will’s, if only by a tiny bit, but after the first time they hosted D’n’D night there, the two of them claimed the neighbours had filed a noise complaint. Mike doesn’t believe one word of it – honestly, they absolutely were not that loud, and anyway, Max is the one always screaming at Mario, which Mike is pretty sure she’s also doing with them not around. No, this all sounds like a big conspiracy to get out of cleaning up and doing dishes after the hang – something he likes to remind them loudly he, Mike Wheeler, has to do not once, but twice every single weekend as a consequence. (“I thought our friendship meant more to you than dishes”, Max says when he goes on one of his tangents again. Mike throws her a look that is meant to convey that he’d rather not to talk to her ever again if it meant not having to do dishes all the time. Max clocks it as the lie it is).
And so they find themselves once again gathered in the living room around the coffee table, the smell of burnt popcorn in the air and the Rolling Stones spinning on the record player, a sort of middle ground; something they all like to listen to. They call it their D’n’D nights, but truthfully, with college kicking their asses on a regular basis, Mike as the designated storyteller often can’t squeeze in enough time to come up with a half decent campaign, and so they sometimes have to settle for regular board games instead. Which is how he finds himself on this particular Saturday evening, grinning at Dustin without a single ounce of regret as he throws his plus four on Lucas’.
“You dirty son of a bitch” Dustin squints his eyes at him. “You’re so lucky I have this” And he throws another plus four onto the colourful stack in the middle of the table, making Max next to him howl in agony.
“This is all your fault” she glowers at Mike as she draws 12 entire new cards, adding to the already impressive stack in her hand.
“Excuse me?!” Mike exclaims, positively indignant. “You do know it was your boyfriend who started all of this?”
“Yeah, so you’d draw four” Lucas interjects, raising his palms in defence. “Sort of is your fault.”
“Yeah, he’s basically on my team” Max says, sorting through all the new cards with a crease on her forehead.
“This is not how this works” Mike says, outraged. No wonder he still has almost all of his cards – they’ve been conspiring against him, the ungrateful rats, in his own living room, most of all, when he has been so gracious as to welcome them into his own home. “Uno is not a game that’s played in teams! I mean, Will’s not siding with me either”
“Nope” Will agrees. “But that’s because I’m about to destroy you”
“Uno” El says from across the table. Mike gapes at her, unbelieving. “What? You had, like, five cards left last turn – In fact, I think it’s not even your turn right now”
“So how come I’ve only one card left now” El says, unfazed, waving her one card as if that proves anything. Mike huffs. “Uhhh – because you cheated?”
“Wow, you’re such a sore loser, Wheeler” Max comments, still taking new cards up.
“I’m – You’re – El’s cheating!” Mike sputters, outraged that nobody else seems to be concerned about this very serious breach of rules.
“Uno Uno” Will quips in, throwing down his last card.
“I just saw you holding at least three cards” Mike says exasperated.
“Good game” Dustin says. “Mike, are there anymore M&M’s left?”
There aren’t any more M&M’s left. One would think this isn’t a big deal, really. There are plenty other snacks – popcorn that’s only a tiny baby bit burned, for one, and a half empty bag of chips, and that one bag of licorice that has been sitting in the back of their kitchen cabinet at least since they have moved in. None of them eat licorice.
And so Mike finds himself tumbling down the block in the midst of his friends, looking like they just left the world’s messiest sleepover party – which, honestly, they sort of did. For a while, it hadn’t looked too promising for Dustin and his M&M’s, since everybody had been way too comfortable to get themselves to leave the apartment, but when they found that Will and Mike’s snack cupboard had swindled drastically over the past two weeks, they had been quick to agree to an impromptu trip to the corner shop, with the exception of Mike and, surprisingly, Max, who still shows not the least sign of enthusiasm as they’re hauling down the pavement. “This is all your fault,” she repeats, the effect of her death stare slightly lost due to the fact that she is currently wearing one of Mike’s sweatshirts that are way too big on her, swallowing her a bit. The sun is setting, painting the sky pink and orange and making everyone shiver with the slow insetting breeze; but of course nobody thought to bring their own fucking jacket. Which is why half the party is now sporting one of Mike’s own sweatshirts, while Mike has resorted to wearing one of Will’s – fair distribution system, and all that.
“Literally how is this my fault?” Mike protests once again, sliding his hand into Will’s. His knuckles are cold. “You come to our home and steal everything away at least twice a week like – like -”
“Like little rats” Will supplies from beside him, smiling mildly.
“Like little rats!” Mike repeats enthusiastically. “Ungrateful little rats, might I add”
“You might not” Lucas pipes in. “You have half a bag of licorice, guys. That’s just sad”
“And half a bag of chips” El adds, throwing a look over her shoulder from where she’s hopping along in front of them. “Also very sad”
“I swear you’re not invited over ever again” Mike grumbles. Will squeezes his hand.
Secretly, Mike is very glad about this trip, because it means he can get himself those sour gummies he’s been sort of obsessed with lately and also a pack of Reese’s for Will and he can sneak in that cartoon of eggs he promised Will to buy yesterday and then promptly forgot all about. So far, Will hasn’t noticed, and so this is working out pretty much in favour of him, even if he will probably pay double than what he’d have to in the normal grocery store, but oh well. Will likes to make pancakes Sunday morning, and Mike likes to eat them, so there’s nothing to be done about that.
The corner store is little more than just one literal corner, but they all squeeze in there just fine. “Hey, Jerry” Will shouts out over to the counter where the owner of this place is perched over today’s newspaper, attempting the crossword. He looks up as they enter, beaming at them, waving them in. Mike supposes they’re his most faithful customers, seeing as their little impromptu shopping trip is something that happens, like, every two weeks. Also, Mike forgets to buy stuff a lot, so.
“What’s up?” Jerry smiles cheerfully at them. “Out of Reese’s again?”
“M&M’s this time, actually” Dustin chimes, bend over the rows and rows stuffed with different types of chocolate, brows furrowed in concentration. “Or rather out of everything”
“Everything but licorice” Lucas says, leaned up against the counter, letting them do all the damage. “Can you believe the absolute heathens?”
Mike leaves them to their chatter to roam one of the three aisles in total, trying to look inconspicuous as he approaches the egg section. For a second, he believes he has been successful in his attempt at sneaking away, but then Will turns the corner, grinning at them. “What are you looking for?” he asks, all too innocently.
“Oh, you know” Mike says, trying to sound suave. He has a vague feeling he does not succeed. “Just getting our nighttime snack”
Will raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah, my favourite snack” he deadpans. “Eggs”
Well. Mike knows when to admit defeat. “They were out at the store yesterday?” Okay, so Mike does not know when to admit defeat. But it’s working out for him either way when Will shoves lightly at his shoulder with a huffed laugh, walking past him to get back to the actual snacks, but not without letting his fingers graze Mike’s thigh. It’s a win in his books.
They pile their stuff onto the counter. Lucas looks comical in Mike’s sweater that’s somehow to short even though Mike is literally taller than him, but the sleeves barely grace his wrists, and once Max points it out, they can’t stop laughing about it. They spill back out onto the streets and make Lucas and Will carry everything, and El loops her arm through Dustin’s and make him skip down the street with her, everyone laughing at the way their curls bounce in unisono, and Mike feels free, and happy. He falls back in step with Will and takes one of the bag’s straps, even though Will was completely fine, and Will smiles at him oh so sweetly and stumbles into Mike on his next step, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. Mike feels it sit there all the way home and up the stairs, and when they rearrange themselves in the living room, he makes sure to return the favour.
Now that they’re fully equipped with high quality snacks (and eggs that Mike safely stores in the fridge for tomorrow), everybody gets back into competitive mode pretty quickly. Max and Will team up to destroy Mike and Lucas ruthlessly in four rounds of Ludo until Mike is near ready to throw the board at the wall and sulk like a little kid, but then Monopoly gets taken out and it only takes him about thirty minutes to make El go absolutely and completely bankrupt, a soothing balm on his hurt pride.
“You say that like it’s a good thing” Max interrupts his gloating, furiously handing over a twenty for rent. “You’re just taking advantage of the fact that El knows literally nothing about money”
“First of all, that’s not true, and second of all, that’s fucking insulting” Mike snags the money out of her hand to pocket it. El shrugs serenely. “I did grow up in a lab” she says.
“Yeah, but you went to school eventually” Mike defends – well, who is he even defending, El or himself? Probably a bit of both. “And you’re here in college, so you know a little about money”
He fixes Max with a grin. “You’re just trying to make me feel bad so I won’t take you down next”
“Well, is it working?” Max asks, anxiously shuffling what little remains of her money.
“Absolutely not” Mike replies, buying another property.
It gets late and later, and as always, Lucas and Mike fight a bloody battle on the Monopoly grounds, forgetting everyone and everything around them. When Lucas finally takes the very last of Mike’s fivers, ignoring his begs for mercy, it dark, and quiet except for the music playing in the background. Mike distinctly remembers Will changing the record just ten minutes ago, but when they look around, they found that everyone else seems to have fallen asleep at some point during the past half hour; El and Dustin on the sofa, heads resting against each other, sharing a blanket, and Will and Max cuddled at their feet, sharing a pillow
Lucas laughs a little next to him at the way Max’s hair is sticking to Will’s face, and when Mike nudges him and points at Dustin and El, he grins knowingly. “The lovebirds” he whispers, motioning Mike to take a picture. Mike really carefully tiptoes over to their room to get his camera and takes one, both he and Lucas laughing a little at their group. “They look so cute” Lucas mumbles, and Mike can only nod because his heart is so close to bursting with love.
He waves Lucas to follow him, and they grab the cigarettes and climb out onto the fire escape. The lights have blinked on all around the city. It’s nice.
“Remember when El broke up with you for the first time?” Lucas laughs quietly next to him, passing him back the cigarette. “And we were both such idiots about it, too. When all you had to do was talk to her”
Mike takes a long drag. Just a few years back, those memories were hurtful to him; thinking about all the ways he hurt El, and Will, and most of all himself back then, when he didn’t know how to be anything but how people expected him to be, when his limbs hurt from growing and his heart from not knowing, when everything had been shrouded in a cloud of confusion and wrongness. Now, he feels okay with them, trying to forgive himself for being a kid. “We both were so young” El had said to him, once, when he had talked to her about this. “And I didn’t even know being on my own was a real option. We both hurt each other, but the pain was not on purpose. It was being done to us, and we were doing it to each other without knowing. We are not the monsters.” (El has grown so much into herself it sometimes makes Mike ache with a special sort of love, all soft and nostalgic. Her curls grow longer each summer and Will braids them and Mike can’t believe he is allowed to watch those things)
He passes the cigarette back to Lucas, who shakes his head in quiet disbelief. “And then everything with the Mindflayer that summer ... it was one of the few times I thought we were going to die for sure this time”
Mike hums. He knows the sentiment – when you grow up Monster hunting and also being hunted by monsters, you grow so used to the possibility of being killed that it barely even registers anymore during those moments. Mike thinks back now and marvels at his being alive at all, at not having at least, like, lost a limb or two or something. And not only him, all of them; being here, being fine, in the great scheme of things. Now there are endless moments of gratitude, of disbelief, and sometimes, of trauma. Back then, as a young teenager, it seemed like just one of those things that happened to him; like, oh yeah, first break-up of your life, you don’t know how to feel about it, so you better just imitate Lucas, oh, now a really disgusting monster wants your head for dinner, what else is new? The moments where the terror truly and absolutely registered are strewn in between, and when Mike thinks about them now, as he tries not to do, mostly pictures of the others come to mind; El screaming as Jonathan cut open her shin, Will unconscious in his arms at the Lab. Lucas at the bedside of an unmoving Max, eyes so empty he might as well have been gone, too. Dustin’s tears as he told him about Eddie. And again and again, Will’s tiny tiny lifeless body in an endless lake.
“Sometimes I feel so - “ He takes a moment to search for the right word, gestures at everything around them. “Like – how can this be real? How can we still be here, with no Demogorgons or crazy Russians or fucking Vecna lurking ‘round the corner? How?” He pauses a moment. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m not – I don’t know, stuck in an illusion or something, man”
For a moment, he fears Lucas is going to call him crazy. Vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to Mike, but it’s something he is really working on, and is rewarded in moments like this, when Lucas nods next to him.
“Sometimes when I stay over Max’s, I just lie awake all night and watch her breathe” he confesses, a small laugh escaping him. “Like a real stalker. But I can’t stop myself sometimes. It’s like I need to remind myself she’s still here”
Mike nods. Those moments where he thought Will was dead – those were the worst moments of his life. He can’t imagine the pain Lucas carried with him, having had Max die literally in his arms.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, finishing the cigarette between them.
“It’s a good life” Lucas speaks up again. “It took a while, but it’s so good now.”
“It really is” Mike agrees quietly. Lucas knocks their shoulders together briefly. “Love you, man” he says, because Lucas is brave and honest and can say the hard things out loud. But then again, it doesn’t feel all that hard when Mike replies “Love you too, dude”. He makes a mental note to say it more, to all of them, and feels a bit like crying, right there on the fire escape.
Luckily, though, Lucas shivers a bit next to him, and they slide back into the apartment without any tears shed. Mike might be practising vulnerability, but there’s only so much emotion he can take in one night.
When they come back to the living room, Max blinks her eyes open at them, a bit owlishly. “Lucas?” she mumbles. “’s late?”
Lucas smiles as he squats down next to her, carefully brushing her hair away from her face. “Yeah, it’s late. Wanna go home?”
It takes a lot of grumbling and yawning and shuffling, but then everybody is at least somewhat awake again. They’re standing in the squeezed in the hallway, tripping over each other as they pull on shoes and Mike’s sweatshirts again. Max looks dead asleep on Lucas’ shoulder, enough so to send Mike a genuine smile when he hands her a hoodie to wear for the way home. “Thanks” she mumbles. “You can bring it back tomorrow” Mike says (he might even smile back a little bit, but you didn’t hear that from him).
“Okay, I’m walking you all home” Lucas announces, shoving Dustin into his jacket while simultaneously stopping Max from tumbling over as she unsuccessfully tries to shove into her chucks. Will yawns from where he is folded against Mike’s back. “I’m so glad I don’t have to walk home” he mumbles, and Mike hums, covering Will’s hands where they’re folded against Mike’s torso.
“You’ll sleep over, right?” Max asks through a yawn. “No way I’m letting you walk halfway across Campus on your own”
Lucas lights up a little at that and nods, even though he, as Mike refrains from pointing out, would literally be fine walking across campus, something he has done a thousand times. He guesses they all have their weird quirks when it comes to looking after each other’s safety.
“You can stay over, too, if you like” El says from where she is leaned against the door, all ready to go, a bit too casual. Dustin, on the other hand, trips over his own feet in an absolute show of non-casualness when he realises El is, in fact, talking to him. “Oh” he says, turning red under his hat. “Oh, yeah, I mean, if it’s no problem-”
Max looks at Will over Mike’s shoulder and winks. They might really be onto something here.
“See you tomorrow, then” she says, as they’re finally ready to go.
“You’re paying for Pizza this time” Mike says. “Your vegetarian pizza, might I add”
Max only laughs as the door falls shut behind them.
“Hey” Mike murmurs when Will makes no moves at detaching himself from Mike’s back. “You awake?”
Will hums. “You’re comfy”
“Come on” Mike shrugs him off gently. “Let’s get you to bed, sleepyhead”
“That rhymed” Will mumbles as he drags his feet to the bathroom. Mike briefly debates cleaning up some of the mess in the living room first, but then decides against it. When faced with the choice of dishes and snuggling up with a sleepy Will, Mike sure as fuck knows what he’s doing.
Some ten minutes later, they’re tucked securely into bed, Will twisting himself as close as possible. He’s warm, and smells like their laundry detergent. His nose is cold as he presses small sleepy kisses to Mike’s neck. Mike winds an arm around his hips to bring him impossibly closer and Will hums happily, rubbing their feet together, a gesture that Mike probably shouldn’t find as soothing as he does every time. His hair tickles Mike’s chin as he presses a kiss to the top of Will’s head, and then one more, and then still one more.
“Light” Will mumbles from where he’s pressed against his collarbone, and Mike extricates himself just enough to turn on their small bedside light. When he turns back around, Will has raised his head a bit. He raises a careful hand, letting his pointer finger travel over Mike’s eyebrows, down his nose. Mike presses a kiss to it when it comes to rest on his lips. Will smiles, content, before sliding his hand down to Mike’s neck, tugging him in for a kiss. Mike goes willingly. Will tastes like toothpaste and home, lips unhurried, relaxed and open beneath his.
When they break apart, a little out of breath, Will smiles at him. “Hey”
Mike can only smile back, a bit stupidly, probably. “Hi”
“I love you” Will says, and yawns. Mike would like to live in this moment forever.
“I love you” he says, and uses his hold on Will to pull him back into him, resting his chin on Will’s head lightly. “Very very much”
He can hear the smile in Will’s voice when he says “Good night, Mikey”
“Good night, baby” Mike murmurs, eyes falling shut already. “Sleep well”
And here, in the quiet of their shared bed, safe in Will’s arms as he presses one last kiss to Mike’s collarbone, a heavy sleepiness settled over the both of them, Mike really feels it, in every last cell of his body.
It is a pretty good life. It really, really is.