You Said Don't Lie
desc: a college!byler one part (maybe two?). coping w my favorite hc's/tropes: pathetic mike, lumax + will, fuckass chance, cheating byler, bathroom makeout...
WARNINGS! smuttyish bylerism
“⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Byers? Earth to Byers, paging Will.”
“Huh?”
Will Byers had only been half-present, absentmindedly pressing a blue pen to his parted lips and practically frozen against the library window. His temple touched the glass, cold from where snow dusted it. Lucas Sinclair sat across from him, Max Mayfield on his left, her copper hair all splayed across her boyfriend’s shoulders.
“Mike,” Lucas repeated, returning Will to earth. “He can crash with you, right? Or would you rather Dustin?”
“Uh—” Will hesitated, bringing a hand through his mousy hair. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I mean, yeah, whoever. Yeah.”
Lucas gave his friend an arched brow and a tilt of his head. “Why’re you being weird?”
“I’m not,” he answered, adding, “Dustin, I guess.”
“Okay,” Lucas shrugged. “Mike will stay with me.”
“He is being weird,” Max chimed, squinting her blue eyes.
“I know,” Lucas shrugged.
“I’m not.”
He was.
Will hadn’t meant to do it, but after leaving Hawkins for New York, he and Mike had never really been quite the same. The boys’ late night calls were long at first, but shorter every time after October. Because the truth of it was that even just the sound of Mike’s voice seemed to have this ability to re-open some ancient wound in him. And since Will couldn’t bear the closeness, he made distance. Not the forever kind, the for now kind. In time, wounds healed, and he did, too. Then there was Chance. And no, he didn’t know him like Mike did, and he never would. But Chance was real, and like him. It had only been two months since he’d kicked Will’s foot from beneath their desk during their Art History lecture, and since Will had kicked back.
“Lost him again,” Max’s voice came swimming into focus.
“Dude, are you okay?” Lucas chuckled, throwing his own pen at the brunette’s skull.
“Ow! Yes, jeez. Just tired.”
There was a slim table between them, currently housing an array of notes, doodles, and steaming mugs, one of which the boy took between his anxiously fidgety fingers. Will took a long swig of his coffee—two creams and two sugars.
“Chance keeping you busy?” Max beamed maliciously.
“Shut up,” Will almost choked. He wheezed through a breathy groan, face turning scarlet red. “And no. I mean... shut up.”
The couple before him broke into laughter, smacking each other at the sight of him.
“I’m killing you both,” Will decided.
“Can’t,” Lucas said. “You lost your powers.”
“But, but they’re innate,” Max raised a finger in a mocking and frighteningly accurate expression of Michael Wheeler.
“Knives exist,” he reminded them, going even redder.
“Will Byers, in the Library, with a knife,” Lucas said thoughtfully, rubbing at his stubbled chin.
Max gasped. “Wait, we should play Clue! Tomorrow, once Dustin and Mike are here.”
“Or D&D,” Will tried hopefully.
“Like Mike’ll just have some campaign ready to whip up,” Lucas shook his head. “Fat chance.”
Will chuckled, then went still. No, he thought. Not fat chance.
“Well, let’s go out or something,” he suggested. “Davey’s! He’s having a house party. It’ll be fun.”
“I like it,” Max flashed her teeth.
Lucas considered this, a slow smile spreading over his face. “I see. I was wrong. It’s Will Byers, in the kitchen, with a margarita.”
The trio exploded into laughter then, waving their hands around and all breathless as they told each other to shut up at the reverberating inception of “shh’s” they’d produced. The once-sorcerer covered his mouth with one hand, throwing his pen at Lucas Sinclair’s forehead with the other.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
There were minutes left. Seconds, maybe. Today was the day, and Will Byers was an inexplicable mess of nerves as he paced loose laps around his dorm room, hands folded into his pockets. His hair was freshly washed, still damp, and he wore a pale yellow cardigan and ripped jeans. He’d even put in his silver earring, which was new for him. Outside, snow piled thick against the ground, and its bitter wind leaked through the old room’s cracks. That had been the only sound, whistling wind, until—
“Will the Wise!”
Dustin Henderson appeared, projecting his duffel bag across the room. The curly haired boy threw his arms around his friend, knocking the air swiftly from his chest and even getting him a foot off the ground in the process.
“You’re squeezing the air from my lungs,” Will gasped, though still alight with joy.
“Cool! Always wanted to see if I could murder someone with a hug,” Dustin replied, releasing his friend and giving him a slap to his shoulder. “What’s up, man?!”
“Well,” Will started, “it’s been—”
“Byers,” a voice interjected.
There was Mike Wheeler, half-leaning against the doorway, stupid backpack still flung over his slim shoulders. He looked the same, only he’d grown his conformist cut a little longer, and traded his super-nerd glasses out for more normal-nerd glasses. He wore a knit blue sweater over corduroy pants, and a wide, lopsided smile. The name had rolled from his lips casually, and that’s how he’d approach him, too.
“Mike,” Will answered, unintentionally letting the name come soft.
Mike sauntered over, arms wide. He hugged him, both hands, not all annoying like he’d been in Lenora, but it would only last a second before Will himself pulled away. Mike’s lips twitched, and he fixed his bag with a nervous twist of his fingers around its fraying strap.
“Missed you,” he said, clearing his throat loudly. “Dustin and I.”
From behind him, Max blew a raspberry. “Lame.”
Now Mike scowled, a look reserved almost exclusively for the redhead. “Do you ever shut up?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “do you?”
“I don’t know, do you?” Mike echoed, pitching his tone infuriatingly. “Is that the best you can do, seriously?”
“Let’s leave him here,” Lucas suggested, touching his fingers gently to Max’s back.
“What d’you mean, leave me here? I thought we were all staying here?”
“No,” Lucas said. “Will thought it’d be fun if we went out.”
“He did?” Dustin and Mike spoke in unison.
“I… yeah.”
“He’s fun now,” Max said. From behind a cupped hand she mouthed, ‘always was.’
“But—” Mike shook his head. “But I planned us a one-shot campaign. It’s the first time we’ve all been together since Summer, I thought we’d all, like, want to play.”
Lucas turned slowly to face Will. “Oh my God. He really did do it.”
But Will already knew that.
“Thanks, Mike,” Will said. “Maybe, maybe tomorrow?”
His best friend looked humiliated, though he tried to hide it from his face, which he was not particularly good at. He never had been.
“Well, I like it!” Dustin cheered. “Personally, I’ve been dying to dance.”
“Don’t,” Mike suggested.
“Party pooper,” scowled Max.
“Will!” interrupted a sixth voice.
“Chance!” Will said.
“Who?” Mike scowled.
“Guys,” Will gulped, brave as he approached his partner. “This, uh, this is Chance. My boyfriend.” He brought a hand around the lanky boy’s waist, cheers erupting from all of his spectators but one.
“Lucky man,” Dustin told Chance, extending a hand, which Chance shook. “Dustin Henderson, pleasure to meet you.”
Mike nodded, smile stiff, but didn’t offer his own.
“Chance rocks,” Max informed them. “His friend Davey is throwing the party we’re going to.”
“Wait, party?” Mike said. “Like, college party?”
“I know,” Max thwacked him. “Your loser ass doesn’t get any of those in Hawkins.”
Normally he’d retort with something snarky and thoughtless, but this time Michael Wheeler only went quiet, deep frown lines emerging at the corner of his full mouth.
“She’s kidding,” Lucas said, doing damage control.
“Yeah,” Will chimed. “But it’ll be fun, all of us,” he said, eyes flickering across Mike’s obsidian ones.
“Fun,” Mike tried miserably.
“Sheesh, get this man a drink!” Dustin shoved him.
Mike shoved back, grinning now. “Several.”
“That can be arranged,” Chance said.
It was like he’d forgotten Chance was there, the way Mike’s smile vanished.
“Alright, let’s get to moving,” Lucas said, shifting focus to himself. “Back by two, everyone look out for each other, yeah? Dustin, you’re with Will when we get back. Mike, you’ll stay with me.”
“I will?” Mike asked, the question pointed at his best friend. Then, hearing himself, “I will.”
“Great!” Lucas clapped, pointing to the hall with a bow. “We move!”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Mike Wheeler was plastered. He hadn’t meant to do it, it had just sort of happened. Parties tended to have that effect with him—he was too awkward to function sober and the only way he found himself able to converse with others was to be as drunk as they were. As it turned out, Davey’s friends were very drunk. Not Will, though. He never got more than a light buzz, and he knew when to stop because he’d always start giggling a lot when it was time.
That was precisely what he was doing now: laughing. Laughing, with his nose against Chance’s shoulder as his boyfriend whispered something undistinguishable into his ear. Will’s hair flopped across his blue eyes, which blazed beneath the pulsing flares of party lights. He kissed his partner’s shoulder, and then his ear. Mike hadn’t realized he’d been staring until Lucas snapped him out of it.
“Hey man—”
He’d barely gotten a word out. Mike flinched, so startled by the interruption that he dropped beer-number-something to the ground, the stuff spilling all over his dirty converse.
“Jesus!” Lucas bellowed, revelling in his misery. “That was hilarious. Maybe no more for M Wheeler.”
“Whatever,” the raven-haired boy grumbled sourly, angling his body away from Will’s.
“Whatever?” Lucas arched two brows.
It was hard to hear given the thump of music, so he raised his voice.
“Look, I don’t know why you’re being weird, dude,” his friend said, and the words came slurred enough that Mike knew Lucas was equally sloppy. “But I’m gonna be outside with Max, kay?’ I want a smoke, and Dustin’s having too much fun right now.”
It was true. Dustin Henderson, from the other side of the living room, was tearing up the dance floor with such ferocity that he’d amassed a small audience, who all whooped and clapped as clouds of confetti circled him.
“Okay,” Mike answered dryly.
Lucas clapped his back and was gone.
And then he was looking at Will again. New beer in hand, from the opposite side of the kitchen island, but still unable to help himself. From fifteen feet away, Mike watched as Will’s hands snaked up Chance’s neck and up into his dark hair. Drunk, and from this angle, his boyfriend almost looked exactly like himself. This only further upset Mike, whose fingers curled harshly around his plastic cup in frustration. He chewed his lip, turning away. But it didn’t matter. Merely a second passed before he was staring again, desperate for a look no matter how much it hurt him.
Only, this time Will looked back. Mike was sure of it, he knew the weight of those bluish eyes on his well, but not the newfound introspection in them. Chance had his back arched, lips to Will’s cheek, then his forehead, then to his mouth. For a moment the brunette was obscured, but when his boyfriend pulled away, there were his eyes again. They’d never left.
Mike swallowed, realizing that his frustration had turned to rage, and that that rage was causing the cup in his hand to shake rather violently. He instead set it down, gripping white knuckles to the countertop before daring another look. His face was hot, glaring in the darkness, as he watched Will take Chance by the hair, bringing him to the space beneath his jaw. Horrified, Mike watched as Will was kissed, and Will watched back, curious. His eyes, sparkling from the bubbles, closed.
Mike’s teeth ached from where they ground. This was too much for him. Will, back to the wall, looking at him like that one last time before disappearing wholly into Chance’s mouth. Mike straightened, heart pounding and blood simmering as he peeled himself from the counter and stumbled drunkenly toward the bathroom, the floor spinning beneath his heels. The boy took in several shuddering, confused breaths, and plowed his way through the crowd and into safety. At once, the bathroom door slammed behind him. He folded, throwing his glasses aside. But there wasn’t even time to lock the fixture before he’d collapse against the sink, both hands steadying himself as he met his own eyes in the mirror. They were red with bitter tears, his visage ugly with discernible jealousy. He hated himself for it.
“Mike—”
For the second time that evening, Mike nearly jumped from his skin. For there was the Sorcerer, hair tousled and lips rose-colored. He shut the door gently behind him, and for good measure, locked it.
“You looked upset,” his best friend said. “I just needed to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m okay,” Mike turned away, humiliated. “Get out. Please.”
“Mike—”
“I’m fine!” the Paladin barked, scaring himself.
Will, however, was unmoved by the reaction. Still calm, he shook his head. “I know when you’re lying to me, pushing me away.”
Mike laughed. “Hypocrite.”
He’d said it without thinking. Fuck.
“What?” Will’s lashes fluttered. “Mike?”
“You,” he said, drunk and mad and aimless now. “You did the pushing away. You stopped calling.”
Will’s face went ghostly white. The boy stammered, consumed by the unexpected confrontation. Never, ever, had Mike spoken to him like this.
“We used to stay up. Til’ the stars went away, sometimes. And you said we would, always. But then you stopped.”
“That’s because I have a boyfriend, Mike,” Will reasoned, throwing Mike’s own former logic into his face. “We’re friends. We’re friends.”
He had said it twice, like he had to remind himself it was true.
Mike was quiet. “Whatever…”
“No. Not whatever,” Will shook his head. “Why are you still mad at me?”
“I’m not.”
“You can’t even look at me.”
So he did, jittery as his view found Will’s eyes, mouth, and eyes once more. A bad habit of Mike’s, returning.
“It’s nothing.”
Will began to reach a hand to Mike’s shoulder, but then thought better of it. “Mike. Friends don’t lie.”
“Hah. Friends don’t lie,” Mike scoffed, dumber by the second. “Okay, fine, William. I am upset. I’m upset because you have everything all together, and yes, I should be happy for you. But guess what, I’m not!” He opened his palms, acerbic in tone. “I’m not. Because it's just me in Hawkins. You all left and now I’m just some… some loser who sits alone writing stories no one reads while you live your perfect life with your perfect parties, and Max and Lucas, and—” he rolled his eyes. “Fucking, stupid fucking Chance. Chance, Will, seriously? Jesus Christ, of all the names…”
“Stop. You’re being mean,” Will told him, his nostrils flaring.
“But friends don’t lie,” Mike reminded him.
“Chance is good to me.”
“Fantastic!” cheered Mike sardonically. “Then go! Go be with him! Leave.”
“I don’t get you, Mike,” Will shook his head, voice hurt and low. “But you’re… you’re not being yourself right now. You drank too much.”
“Please, says the light-weight.”
Now it was Will who scoffed. “You’re twice as drunk as me and I know so,” he said.
“Yeah? How?”
“Because. You’re being honest.”
This seemed to shut Mike up.
“And—and you never are,” Will shook his head, anguish etched into his freckled face. “But I guess I should've been grateful for that. Asshole.”
This time he turned to leave, heeding his earlier advice.
“Will.”
A hand clasped the doorknob before he could, and Will, stilling, could feel Mike’s body close. It was so close, too much so. He could feel that wound again, for the first time in months, stretching and tearing from the proximity. When his friend refused to release the ornament, Will turned, slow as he forced his eyes up and into Mike Wheeler’s, which were dark with vexation and something else. His chest was a mere touch of the hand away. So that’s what Will did—pushed Mike from him, and swiped the tears from his eyes afterward.
“Don’t go,” Mike said.
It wasn’t a suggestion, but Will ignored it nonetheless. He turned, faster this time, but it was no use. There was Mike’s hand again, large and flat as it shut the door the moment Will had pulled it open.
“What?” Will spat, facing him again.
Mike, hand above him, shook his head mutely. Will went for another shove, but was instead yanked close by Mike. He stumbled instead, right into his front. His friend held him there by his wrist, chest heaving and gaze desperate. Will’s own stare was wide with shock, and he took too long snatching himself free. He shook his head, furious as their chests collided against each other, and stepped back. At that, Mike stepped forward, and with his back to the wall as it had been minutes ago, Will finally understood.
“What?” he said again, this time careful, dangerous. He couldn’t let himself believe what was happening, and worse, that he wanted it to.
Mike tried to speak, but all that sounded was a croaked and pathetic, “Will.”
“Mike,” Will answered.
And then Mike had him by the collar, both hands grabbing fistfuls of the fabric as he pulled Will Byers up from the tiles and into his opened mouth. Mike latched to him there, his parted lips ready just for his, widened and wet and perfect. Will’s eyes closed, his breath lost to his friend’s mouth and the sound of his surprise stifled. His fingers, flat to Mike’s chest, curled at the introduction of his taste. He felt the sharp freeze of the raven haired boy’s breath at the feeling, and the simultaneous race of his heart beneath his fingertips. Then he was gone, releasing Will. Mike appeared ravenous, but equally remorseful.
“I wasn’t done being honest,” he admitted through heavy lids. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Haven’t been able to for months now.”
“Friends—” Will began.
“Not friends,” Mike silenced him, almost laughing. He hummed, irritable with hunger. “And I know you’ve thought about it, too.”
“Not for a long time,” Will said.
Mike’s lips twitched. “You said don’t lie.”
Will rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Fine. I don’t know. But I have a boyfriend,” he said, flustered. “And I’m mad at you.”
“Okay, what else?” Mike implored, letting the space between them linger.
Will was a mess. “I hate—I hate…”
“You hate me?”
Mike looked as if he’d shot him.
“No,” Will softened, nose scrunching. “Your hair,” he said, pushing his fingers through Mike’s gelled tangles. “I hate this stupid hair.” He tugged at a fistful of it, pulling free Mike’s mess of curls, which didn’t help his friend’s case. Mike’s eyes, unbelievably, grew darker.
He swallowed. “Mm, what else?”
“What else? God, I spent forever thinking about you, Mike,” he admitted. “Not just a few months. Years. So I—I don’t know. Just because you might think you like boys, now—”
“I don’t think, I know. And I don’t like boys, I love you.”
“Say it to me sober.”
“I will.”
Will laughed in disbelief, hands over his face in agony.
“I would have. I wanted to. But there’s some guy out there who looks like me,” Mike said, not even trying to hide his envy now. “And so now it’s coming out like this, and I’m the piece of shit who tells you I need him now, or else to leave before I fucking explode at the sight of you bot—”
Will was on him in the next second. He couldn’t stand to keep staring at Mike’s mouth when he could be tasting it. And now that he knew the taste, it had possessed him entirely. The brunette had his hands on Mike’s angular face, forcing him down with no protest from his friend, whose big hands snapped instantly to Will’s hips, smashing them back and into the door as he bucked himself instinctively against the boy’s lower torso. Mike’s front twitched, and Will’s mouth opened against his with a breathy groan as he felt him, hard, already poking through his trousers.
Mike’s lips stretched sickeningly at the sound, and Will was rewarded with his tongue, passing swiftly through his lips and into his tilted mouth. He was delicious, insatiable, and smelled of mint and ash. Will brought his own tongue to Mike’s, the two jolted with fire where they connected. His best friend’s jaw went slack, and they were shaking with breathless excitement as they lingered, tongues swirling and bodies vibrating. The kiss deepened, slow and soft as Mike consumed him, towering his lanky body over Will’s and coaxing his hips against his erection by the pull of his belt loops. Now it was Will’s turn to grin, feeling Mike groan and grind his aching member to his with a disorganized feverishness.
“Will,” he breathed beautifully, hands shaking.
Will’s hands snaked upwards, fingers curling into the Paladin’s dark locks, and pulling. At this, Mike’s right hand was over Will’s lump of heat, pawing and rubbing through his jeans while his left hand held him to the door. Will squirmed, pulling his mouth away with a tilt of his jaw to the right. Not wasting any time, Mike descended upon his exposed neck, mouth hot and wide against the spot below Will’s Adam’s apple. He sucked, nibbled, and silenced Will with a cover of his own long fingers over his friend’s pretty lips, shielding the noises that spilled from his mouth.
It wasn’t enough, A circle of rawish markings later, and Mike was already yanking down at Will’s shirt. Then it was back at his jeans, and his shirt again, like he couldn’t decide where to go. Will turned himself forwards, letting the hold of his mouth go, and taking Mike by his own trouser hem. He raised himself to his tippy toes, dropping a tender kiss against Mike’s already swollen lips, thumbs hooking beneath his trouser line. Mike’s hands were slower now, climbing beneath Will’s cotton tee and up his stomach, which both of his hands alone could cover. They circled his hips, squeezing.
“Does it feel the same?” he dared ask. “Does it feel like this, when he touches you?"
Will swallowed, addressing his best friend’s lips. “No.” He brushed his nose to Mike’s. “Has it ever, for you?”
“Never,” Mike answered without hesitation. “And I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing,” he added, bringing a hand to Will’s face and stroking his mouth with his thumb.
Will chuckled, endearing and intoxicating. “I can show you.”
Mike swallowed, nodding. “Now.”
This side of him was new, and wildly bold.
“I’ve got someone waiting out there for me,” Will reminded him.
Mike kissed him, long and slow, hands finding the zipper at his jeans before answering through a titillated whisper. “He can keep waiting.”
