needed a break while working on a multichap fic nonstop so i banged out this bad boy in about a day and a half . do read the tags for the fic itself as this is an 18+ story!
When Mike jingles his keys and Will whips his head around like that stupid Pavlovian dog, it's only because Mike always ensures the passenger seat is for Will and Will only. Will gets to pick the radio station or the cassette tape and he gets to turn the AC on and suggest where they stop for food. It's a privilege and after the life he's lived, he deserves it. Besides, he won't protest Mike using his headrest as a stabilizer while he's backing out with one hand spinning the steering wheel. Especially during the summer when he's wearing short-sleeved shirts, or even one horrifically incredible evening where he wore just a tank top, freckled skin on display across his barred shoulders and arms.
Will is a hot-blooded guy in love, okay? He's taking every chance he gets to ogle Mike Wheeler.
or: Will spends a summer night with Mike Wheeler in his car. [x]
[ deep down wishing you were mine ] - Byler || T-rated, 15K
— The year is 1987. Mike Wheeler is in love with a boy
Excerpt below:
He can feel Robin's eyes on him as if she's inspecting any twitches or fidgeting for some sort of secret reveal. But Mike is practiced at this. He has felt eyes on him all his life inspecting every action taken and every word spoken. From his parents to random bullies, close friends to mere strangers. Everyone tells him how he must be feeling. Mike isn't sure what to feel anymore.
There are cursed whispers and suspicious stares all around him. Guilty fears and belligerent accusations echo in his mind, each a blemish seemingly visible on his skin no matter how much he covers up to hide it. Coffee cup after coffee cup finds itself drained until all that's left are murky unfiltered grounds reading an unknown fortune.
Mike the Brave stands tall and stalwart against the dangers in shadowy dungeons, disgusting monsters falling dead at his feet with a strike of his silver sword.
Mike the heart stands desperate and wanting before the mirror as the bags under his eyes deepen night after night while the crave for essentiality drips potent through his veins.
You're the heart, he reminds himself as Robin's steps pad away from his station at Will's side. He's the beating core of the Party, the shield protecting those behind him. The one thing everyone needs to survive.
I am admittedly shocked by the response wow I was like, IDK if anyone else besides myself will read this but I need to get this AU out my head HAHA I’m truly honored people are reading 🥹 I’m so damn excited I just had to get this next chapter out ASAP!!! Ahhhhh!!!! 💕🎵 🎹
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[ equipoise ]
— Rouge needed a refreshing change in entertainment at her club to keep the clientele coming. In an effort to keep tabs on a current G.U.N. suspect of interest who frequented the club, Shadow offered himself as adequate entertainment: background jazz piano for the late night hours.
It was supposed to be a short term gig: use the music as a distraction to remain on the club floor, catch the suspect being shady and report to G.U.N., and the club got to advertise a new show to maintain steady crowds.
Of course, nothing went right once Sonic arrived.
[ Chapter 2: Mission: Write a Set List ]
Excerpt below:
This wasn’t the first house Shadow lived in since coming out of stasis and it surely would not be the last. Not with the way a particular annoyance of a hedgehog kept badgering Shadow about his home each time they unfortunately crossed paths.
Shadow snarled to himself; he didn’t understand why the blue menace was so insistent on knowing where Shadow lived. What good was the information for him but to make Shadow’s life more miserable by abusing the knowledge? It was a pointless endeavor and yet he kept pursuing it. Such tenacity and perseverance would be more admirable if it wasn’t attached to making Shadow’s life a living hell. [x]
Sonadow jazz au real! A mixture of undercover mission espionage, jazz pianist Shadow, and Sonic barging in to connect it all.
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[ equipoise ]
— Rouge needed a refreshing change in entertainment at her club to keep the clientele coming. In an effort to keep tabs on a current G.U.N. suspect of interest who frequented the club, Shadow offered himself as adequate entertainment: background jazz piano for the late night hours.
It was supposed to be a short term gig: use the music as a distraction to remain on the club floor, catch the suspect being shady and report to G.U.N., and the club got to advertise a new show to maintain steady crowds.
Of course, nothing went right once Sonic arrived.
[ Chapter 1: Mission: Get the Gig ]
Excerpt below:
Words were not easy for Shadow but there were other ways to express emotion. Early on in his remembered existence, Shadow physically struggled to voice his thoughts. It never concerned the scientists at the ARK as he wasn’t meant to be more than a tool—and what good was a tool who could talk, who could speak back and argue and remind them of pain and discomfort in the face of the inhumane—but Gerald and Maria thought otherwise. Shadow was created with the capacity to speak and the brain power to communicate. He deserved an avenue to express himself if words were not the answer.
i actually had to split this chapter because once it breeched 15K and i was just hitting halfway through the chapter outline i was like hmm . LOL but i am very satisfied here ; hope you all have fun with it!
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[ incorporeal slumber ] — Memories and dreams blend together as Sonic searches for an end to his recent insomnia. Insomnia developed from repetitive dreams about a certain dead hedgehog.
chapter 6: six
— Tick tock. A bite smearing red across his lips. Tick tock. A sip stamping white against his muzzle. Tick tock. A swallow staining gold down his throat. Tick tock. An exhale sculpting black into his lungs.
Chapter excerpt:
That weird, haunting melody previously lacing through his thoughts refuses to sing a single note. Azure as the sky above, Sonic's mind remains a piercing static. Each tinny twang from the guitar strings adds a hissing murmur to the sibilations. It's an orchestra at the beginning of a symphonic performance—the cobalt whistle which plays before the vibrations between notes fills the void and tunes the noises into all-knowing achromatic white. Charged and sparking frequencies in bursts of creamy orange and mystic yellow dancing in the definitions of a note. [x]
mike asks, “why didn’t you write?” but communication is a two-way street so “because you never did,” feels like an answer well deserved. there is quiet for a moment in the space between their bodies. the world continues spinning. laughter carries through the park and the sounds of wheels on hardwood flooring and childish laughter echo through the building. silence simmers between their mouths, seeps deep into the pores of their skin as what is one to reply with concerning such an accusation? a truthful one but painful all the more for the recognition.
still, the world is spinning and time continues onward. nothingness has no right between them. neither does awkwardness or discomfort—what is there to be discomforted by when reunited once more? yet escape is quickly hinted at by a glance beyond the plastic barrier toward the skaters on the rink. she skates by laughing, joy lighting up her face in ways so rare on the best of days. a glance back across the table shows him smiling as his eyes follow her blazing trail, hypnotized by her mere presence. or no, simply her happiness. it is addicting, seeing her enjoying herself in ways she never could in hawkins.
if only mike could see that such happiness could be his if he let himself have it. he doesn’t have that despite this trip across the country. even when he twines his fingers with hers and shares a vanilla shake and laughs as if everything is alright when the seams are unraveling at all the edges. happiness could be his by reaching out a hand in the space between their bodies—so silent and charged and nothingness and everything—arm long enough to extended past half the table, leaving an opening for another hand to join it. side by side of course and never touching as is wont for people like them when under the public eye. but instead he sits on the other side of the barrier, settled in awkward tension wishing for something to give but unwilling to put down enough weight in action for it to give, which means it’s up to will now.
but perhaps such a public venue is not the location for tearing open one’s chest and passing the remains of a battered heart into the hands of a boy already known for breaking it.
yet.
it is tempting.
if just to no longer feel the way said heart slams against love-bruised ribs whenever will spills from between those lips.
it’s been a while since I’ve written something but the urithan thoughts needed to be put out there…so ! here’s some pwp/feels with a hint of wolgraha
carved out a space for you in my heart: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37054777
excerpt below:
Part of him refuses to believe how real this is, how the pressure of Urianger’s lips against his bare neck, right on one of his Archon tattoos, is in fact not a figment of his imagination. He exists in a realm between fantasy and reality, unable to contend with the fact that the two have combined into a facet of his present state of being. A hiccup in his chest pulls Urianger from his neck to turn him until they are eye to eye. One of Urianger’s hands reaches to his face, gentle pressure against his cheek and he would sob if he wasn’t stricken down with the improbability of the situation before him. Are he and Urianger as settled in the stars as G’raha and his dearest warrior? Or did they carve a path to each other through each nebular pattern broken and every death of a star, paving a way through the mess of darkness between worlds until they found each other at the end of days? Did they weave their way between shadows and deception, loss and grief, until they became an inevitability in the naming of life itself upon the gray sands astride the lunar rift?
Will turns at Lucas’ voice, grinning widely when Max nudges him unhappily in an attempt to shut him up. Lucas is doused in scarves, only his narrowed eyes seen between the scarves and the blue knit hat pulled over his head. Max’s arm is twined with his, her fiery red hair a contrast to the white dusting the town. Dustin and Mike are on Max’s other side, chatting between themselves about something Will isn’t particularly concerned about knowing. They’re all waiting for El as they planned to scrounge some pocket change to buy a few gifts for their parents—Joyce especially—as thanks for reuniting this Christmas.
“We’ll be inside in no time,” Will replies as he steps closer to his friend. “El will be out in a moment; I’m sure you can handle the wait.”
Lucas tugs on his scarf with a hefty puff. “Can we at least wait inside before the snow starts coming down harder?”
Before anyone can reply, the door opens and El bounces out into the snow, a grin on her lips as her cheeks flush from the cold. She saddles up next to Max, taking her other arm, before twisting them toward the bike pile the boys littered across the lawn. Mike pulls away from Dustin and sends Will a smile, following the trio up ahead to the bikes to fish out his own. Will watches for a moment, staring at a snowflake that settles in Mike’s dark locks, and then retrieves his bike, dusting the snow from the seat and handlebars. They all originally wanted a drive downtown but Nancy took Jonathan into the city and Steve is busy doing something with his parents all day so they all have to ride out in the cold to get their gifts.
Mike pulls his bike up next to Will, stomping a foot in the snow as he slides to a stop. “You ready?”
Will nods and adjusts his lightly damp gloves on his fingers then grips his handles as he turns the wheels toward the street. “I’m ready to roll when you are.”
The bike ride starts off without a hitch, laughter and happy shouts following the troop down the streets as they traverse the town toward their collective destination. Will, who raced against Dustin and Max to make his way up front, looks back with laughter on his tongue, eyes tight with joy but when his eyes lighten up, he skids to a stop when he doesn’t spot his friends behind him as he expected.
Rolling the bike onto the roadside, Will leans his weight onto the leg planted in the ground and looks back once more. “Mike?” he shouts, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as frightened as he’s starting to feel inside. “Mike, where’d you guys go?”
Only the wind replies, a soft howl that would make the wolves in the forests reply with joyful abandon. A shiver rolls up and down Will’s spine and his hands unconsciously pull up his jacket collar to block the wind and whatever else might be creeping across his skin. He strains his ears to listen for the telltale sound of bike wheels crunching in snow and his friend’s excited giggles, attempting to convince himself that his friends haven’t suddenly disappeared. For a moment, he regrets spending the past few months adamantly denying having vision problems even though said problems are very slight and certainly wouldn’t explain the sudden silence surrounding him.
Another chill passes and Will tightens his grip on the handlebars. A shadow passes over the sun, billowing clouds darkening the path ahead. Snowflakes start to melt into spores and flakes, settling on Will’s clothes in a far too familiar and very uncomfortable manner. He drops his bike, practically jumps off it, and starts sprinting back the way he came. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere—he hasn’t been gone from town for that long to have forgotten the shortcuts to get downtown, but maybe his memory was failing him.
“El!” he shouts, turning down a street and skidding on black ice that nearly knocks him to his knees. “El! Mike!”
Nothing replies. The darkness loops closer, the spores congeal as they touch the cold ground, the air thickens with a combination of unnatural heat and stifling cold. Will doesn’t want to believe it—the gate is closed, he can’t be in the Upside Down, he can’t—but everything feels ominous and imposing. There’s a tick in the back of his head; it’s the sound of the second hand on a clock counting the seconds as they pass one by one. Every breath sits heavy in his chest, even heavier in his throat as he attempts calling out once more for his friends, for his sister, for his...
Will pauses as his thoughts sidetrack him. He can’t label Mike properly in his head; this is his dream come true and he can’t mentally adjust to it. Time will help of course, and the little steps matter—today he didn’t shy away from Mike’s lingering gazes or smiles—but right now as he stumbles his way through spore-invested snow, he rather wishes his anxiety-ridden thoughts stopped blocking from fully accepting Mike’s relation to him.
Heavy footsteps sound behind Will and he quickly turns, stumbling on his feet in a rush to situate himself. His heart leaps at the thought of his friends rushing after him, but he doesn’t recognized the pattern of the steps and soon his heart is dropping to his feet once the figure presents itself. The gate is closed, he whispers in his head, the monsters are gone, the Mind Flayer can’t reach me here.
Yet what stands before him can’t be anything but a monster, a hideous disfigured thing with horns protruding out the forehead, tangled hair dripping from its skull. The eyes are yellow and glowing against pale white-washed skin that’s stretched thinly against a bony frame. Will takes a step back and wonders once again why Hawkins always haunts his life in the form of various monsters both inside and out.
“Who are you?” he asks even though he knows he probably won’t get an answer. “Why are you here?”
As expected, he doesn’t get a reply. The beast only blinks before curling it’s lips into a grotesque smile. Will takes another step back and braces his arms against his chest in a protective gesture. He thinks back to D&D, knowing how the Party often ties that fictional game to the happenings in the Upside Down, and he wracks his brain for an enemy that best describes this Satanic looking creature.
The beast cocks its head with a widening grin. It opens its mouth and Will looks away from the rotten yellowing and blackened teeth that fills its mouth. “You’ve been misbehaving, Byers.”
So it speaks. Will clenches his jaw and definitely raises his head. “What do you want with me?”
“You’ve been misbehaving,” it repeats with a cackle, voice rattling like sharp stones against bumpy metal. “Indulging in what you know you should not.”
Will’s throat tightens until he feels he can barely breathe. He wonders if this is a mental trick, if his mind is playing games on him because he’s still filled with vitriol about how he feels for Mike and fright about anyone outside his family and close friends finding out the truth. A thought pops into his head—that word, misbehaving, it’s tied to some creature Mike had suddenly brought into a game a few years ago because he had been reading some banned mythology books and got overly excited about it. The creature had killed them all so Mike didn’t bring it back and by the time their D&D characters were powered enough to take it on, well...there were more important things to worry about while Will was being possessed by a demonic shadow monster.
“Krampus,” spits Will, shivering when the beast before him laughs with distorted delight. The antithesis of Saint Nicholas himself and of course, it would come to haunt him during the holiday season. “You’re here to punish me for biking with my friends to get gifts for our parents?”
The creature laughs even harder. “What’s the saying? Naughty or nice?” Will doesn’t offer a response; he knows the half-demon knows he’s right. “You know what you’ve been.”
“I don’t.” Will simmers lightly, unwilling to let this game further mess with his insecurities. Whether this monster comes from the Upside Down or not, he won’t let it ruin his holidays. “And even if I wasn’t nice, it only means I’m getting coal in my stocking next Wednesday. That’s no reason for you being here.”
“You know what you’ve been. You know what you are. You will be punished for it.”
The wind blows stronger, the howl growing louder until it’s a piercing drone in the back of Will’s head that he knows he shouldn’t be able to hear but his sense are distorted and the spores are melting back into snowflakes. The drone slows form it’s high pitched wail into sudden shouting. Familiar voices ring in the air and Will stumbles on nothing, reaching his hands out for impact against the ground only for his fingers to fist around someone’s woolen sweater.
“Will!” someone cries out. It sounds like Dustin, but some part of him still isn’t settled back into reality.
The person holding him up right pulls him in close and there’s really only two people in the Party who would do that and he knows for sure El is most definitely not holding him at the moment. “Will, are you okay?”
Will nods. “Yeah. I just...did you see it?” He peels away from Mike for just a moment, turning back where that taunting monster had been. Nothing stands there, not even footprints.
“Are you having flashbacks again?” Mike cradles Will’s face in his hands and Will’s cheeks blossom bright red from the amorous touch. He’s tempted to push Mike away and bolt, go running from this intimacy he’s so craved but fears now that he has it. You know what you are.
Will leans into Mike’s touch instead.
“I’ll be okay,” he replies, closing his eyes as he brings his hands up to cover Mike’s own. “It was just...,” and he doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t know if it was real or his imagination running away from him. El can’t even tell for him since she doesn’t have her powers but maybe it’s best they don’t know. Hawkins has all sorts of secrets and diving into them even incidentally brings nothing but more trouble and Will wants little to no trouble while he’s back. He wants to make happy memories here instead of being trailed by the despair that cradles every snow-covered inch of the town.
“Just what?” asks Mike, pulling Will from his trailing thoughts.
“Just thought I saw something,” he smiles and squeezes Mike’s hand before pulling away, still keeping Mike’s hands in his own. “It’s not a big deal and if it is, then I’ll let you know.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“You two done yet over there?” Lucas shouts, voice dripping with humorous impatience. Mike flips him the bird but laughs as he and Will make their way back to the others. Lucas’ smile falters when he turns to Will. “Are you good? No Mind Flayer shit going on inside you?”
“Not that I can tell.” Will shrugs and tightens his collar. “I thought I saw something, like a half-demon thing from our D&D game nights, but it wasn’t connected to the Mind Flayer. It can’t be; not with the gate closed anyway.”
The kids all look worrisome but Will reassures them and soon they’re back on their way. It takes a little while for the homely mood to return but eventually, when they park their bikes and happily chatter between themselves, the joyous mood returns. Will lets his hand slip into Mike’s for a second, sure that their hands are hidden from public view, and cherishes the shock on the other boy’s face that melts into content before they both follow their friends inside the store. Maybe the creature, that Krampus thing, is real and maybe it isn’t, but for now, Will isn’t going to let the Upside Down or anything else ruin his holiday spirit for the third year in a row.
He knows what, no who, he is—a young gay boy who grew up in the heartland of America, a boy who is Mike Wheeler’s boyfriend—and he knows what he’s done, but no one and nothing is gonna make him feel wrong about it anymore.
If you want to destroy my sweater, hold this thread as I walk away. Watch me unravel, I’ll soon be naked lying on the floor; I’ve come undone. - Wheezer, 1994
day 1
day 2
[ day 3: wow, that is an ugly sweater ]
Will sits on the steps outside the Wheeler household, a steaming mug of hot chocolate scalding his ungloved hands. The sharp heat is a welcome comfort against the whipping wind lashing snow against his face. He takes a hand from the cup and wipes it across his flushed and damp cheeks. The door behind him creaks open but he doesn’t bother to turn and give his sudden intruder his attention. He can tell from the person’s gait as they take a few steps from the door that it’s El anyway.
“Hi, Will,” she starts ever so kindly. Will gives her a hum of acknowledgement and scoots over as she squeezes in on the step next to him. He notes that she’s wearing a too-large green sweater, but it’s oddly familiar so he assumes it must be one Mike outgrew after his growth spurt. “It’s cold outside.”
“Yeah,” Will replies softly. The mug rim dances against his lips as heat from the liquid curls up his nose. “Why’d you follow me out here?”
“Me and Mike finished talking.” Will wants to correct her—Mike and I—but he just nods. “I’m happy for you; I hope you know that.”
He wants to say yes because deep down, he knows all El has ever wanted from him since they moment they met in the Upside Down is his happiness and safety. She trusts that Mike can give him both, which is part of the reason why she so excited approves whatever happens between them. Everyone knows Mike and El adore each other, and maybe there will always be a tiny part of Will inside that’s forever cold and bitter over El getting Mike first when it comes to romantic entanglements. At least until he grows out of it once he’s more comfortable about being with Mike. It’s still a weird thing, looking across the way and knowing that when Mike glances up and catches his gaze, the soft look in his eyes is meant for Will in that special way Will himself didn’t truly realize he wanted until he saw that gaze directed at El during Snowball the year before.
He wants to say yes because El really is happy and he knows that intellectually, factually, and objectively. She speaks the truth and yet a minuscule subsection of Will’s hardened heart still believes the words are nothing but a farce hiding disgust and disappointment.
Of course she’s happy, he thinks with a voice laced in self-deprecation and harrowing pity, happy she’s not dating a guy who likes guys. Happy she’s not kissing a boy who would rather kiss other boys.
And he knows it’s stupid thoughts because El really doesn’t care about things like boys liking boys and girls liking girls. Plus, he’s extrapolating a lot of his own internalized problems and fears onto Mike and that’s unfair too but he can’t help it. He has no clue what goes on in Mike’s head when it comes to what they are and he’s scared that Mike will run away once the reality of it all comes crashing down. It’s not as if Will is too sure he wouldn’t run away either; he’s never been with anyone before, he’s never had the freedom to express his affections for Mike in this manner, and the ability to do so freezes him in a stupor every time Mike brushes their hands together or how all day on this cold winter Wednesday, Mike sent Will gentle and warm smiles that screamed “I’m glad I’m with you”.
Despite not having her powers back, El seems to have the innate ability to read Will like a book. She tugs on his sweater and then tries to pull the mug out his hands when he can’t gather his thoughts from the swirling depths found in dark, bleak shadows hidden from the light of the moon. “Will,” she whispers kindly. “It’s okay.”
What exactly is okay about all of this? Will feels like he’s unraveling at the edges, unsure if this new relationship is really something he should be pursuing. “How do you do it?” he asks weakly, hating his voice for cracking.
El huffs out a short breath and Will watches her breath puff white in the night air. “Do what?”
Care for someone. Present that affection. Love Mike Wheeler. It feels so all consuming and Will can’t understand how he’s able to carry this much feeling for one person and be allowed to express it, act on it, enjoy it. It’s as if a dam inside him has smashed open, waves of besotted sentiment crashing into every thought until he’s drowning, one hand reaching out through the ocean in his heart only for nothing to reach out and save him from himself. He closes his eyes and lets the winter breeze brush calming fingers through his lightly tousled hair.
“Wear such an ugly sweater like that,” is what he says, nodding toward El as he tugs at the green cloth on her shoulders. Now that he looks at it, it’s definitely Mike’s—an old thing he got from his grandma a few Christmases ago. It’s decorated with battery operated Christmas lights and cotton puffs meant to imitate snow. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer decorates the center with a glowing nose and Will remembers Mike tolerating the sweater just for the reindeer. A green, red, and white chevron pattern lines the edges and seams, and all in all, the sweater is far too decorated but it swells over El’s entire body and consumes her in a way it never did Mike.
Will finds it suits her in an endearing way.
El though seems to catch Will’s deflection but she doesn’t question it further. “It feels weird at first,” and maybe El is actually answering his unspoken question, “but you get used to it. Other people might say it’s ugly and complain that you wear it around but,” and she taps the flashing red nose which lines up over her heart, “I like it. I think you should be proud to have a gift like that. Not everyone gets to wear ugly sweaters for Christmas.”
Will drinks from his mug to hide his smile, nose crinkling once he realizes the drink has now gotten too cold for enjoyment. The door behind them opens and Will turns to spot their undisclosed topic of discussion working his way down the steps to them. “Hey,” he starts, ruffling Will’s hair as he squeezes El’s shoulder. He settles down on Will’s other side and snags the mug from his hands only to also scowl once he realizes the drink inside is cold. “You want me to warm this up for you?”
They hold eye contact for a moment, something silent and unspeakable passing between them in just a second or two. Will smiles and places his hand over Mike’s significantly warmer one. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
El stands up and plucks the mug from Mike’s hands with a giggle. “I can do it, don’t worry about it.” She’s gone before either boy can protest and Will stares at his hands as silence fills the air.
Mike sits a little closer after a moment and places his hand on Will’s thigh with a small squeeze. “Was I too much today?”
“Too much?”
“Like with the glances and touches and stuff? I can stop if you want, it’s just...,” the lanky boy laughs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t mind really.” Will states and he doesn’t mind, not truly even if he’s still unable to really respond with anything more than stiff nods or quickly averted glances. “Don’t stress over it.”
“Take your own advice, yeah?” Mike nudges Will’s shoulder and lets loose a gentle sigh. “This is all so new, you know? I don’t know what to do.”
Will shakes his head. “Then why are you asking me? At least you’ve had a relationship before this.”
“Yeah, but you’re...well, you’re you.” Mike’s blushing, his freckles spotted against his reddening cheeks. Will feels an underlying urge to kiss each one he can see. “I don’t want to mess this up. Like you said yesterday, this is serious.”
“We’re serious?”
“Of course.”
The wind blows a bit stronger and Will closes his eyes against the incoming breeze filled with melting flakes. Mike curls in closer, not dressed for the winter weather even less than Will. The brunette unravels his scarf and wraps it around his companion’s shoulders, letting his hands linger just a moment longer than he usually would now that he has the permission to do so. They’re far too close to each other for public consumption and if it weren’t dark and snowy outside, Will wouldn’t dare be this close to him in case someone drives by and decides they need to comment in a more physical sense.
Will speaks up to distract his thoughts from taking a twist. “I saw you gave El your sweater.”
Mike laughs, hearty and sweet in the way Will has always loved. “She wanted it and you know I can’t fit it anymore. I don’t miss it, I mean, it’s so ugly anyway.”
“Yeah. That is an ugly sweater.”
Soft lips press against his temple and Will leans into the touch, letting the heat melt the chill that built up during his hiatus outside. Will feels more than hears Mike’s next words. “Bet it’d look cute on you.”
He smiles, no reply on his tongue, but he closes his eyes and doesn’t stress over it as Mike requested. How can he anyway when he’s got the cutest boy wrapped around him making sure his winter night ends in nothing more than love and comfort.
Last Christmas I gave you my heart and the very next day, you gave it away. This year to keep me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.
— Last Christmas, Wham!, 1984
[ day 2: last christmas i gave you my heart ]
The Party congregates in the Wheeler basement as if it’s any other day in their cumulative years of friendship. It’s not any other day though, so Mike sits on the couch with his head in his hands, elbows imprinting bruises on his knees as the other boys and Max and El crowd around Will. He’s excited, the faint brush of Will’s fingers sizzling warmth in him as if he’s upstairs sitting by the fireplace, but there’s a selfish part within him that wishes everyone would get out and leave him alone with Will.
They didn’t have much time to discuss whatever transpired between them in the market, and while Mike did learn that Joyce and his mom had indeed planned for them to be stuck in the store together to greet each other again, he was still a bit unnerved by the entire situation. Now that everyone else knew Will was here, the secret was no longer kept and he didn’t have the headspace to think about how to even ask Will about what happened. He always had too much on his mind when the Party gathers together—grouping together always means something entertaining would happen with them all—and now that he’s in the same room as El, he has to try his best to stem any awkwardness or tension that permeates between the two of them.
Mike’s never dealt with the aftermath of breakup like this—with confusion, distance, and inaction. He let their distance take over and bleed into his inaction, and he let confusion fester until it boiled over into awkward acceptance. El doesn’t treat him much differently, though every so often she’ll send him a wordless glance with a furrowed brow and the slightest frown anyone could muster on their thin, pressed lips. Mike has always been the most oblivious when it comes to social interactions, Dustin makes that clear almost every day, but he’s sure not even the master between them can decipher what El means with her looks.
A tiny sigh slips from his lips as he resettles himself in seat with a scowl. Lucas and Max are chatting between themselves as they walk upstairs, crankily wooden steps creaking with their subconsciously synchronized steps. Mike watches them lazily before realizing there are eyes on him, so he turns around and finds himself locking eyes with Dustin. Dustin, who wriggles his eyebrows before climbing to his feet with an over-exaggerated sigh.
“I’ll go help Lucas and Max, maybe say hi to Nancy if she’s hanging around,” he unnecessarily announces with a grin. “Yell if you need me!”
And he’s gone. Mike’s mouth twists in a grimace, his height-stressed back protesting when he slouches in his seat. Will pokes at his new D&D dice, black and speckled red yet matte and glossed like dragon scales. The numbers on each side are bright white, shiny with lack of use unlike the smudged and fading digits on the ones he had put in the donation box all those months ago. Mike traces the numeral 14 with his eyes. He follows the lines of Will’s fingers and feels his breath hitch when Will’s gentle tracing pauses just a moment as if he knows Mike is watching him. Maybe he does, but Mike isn’t going to interrupt the moment any further by glancing up. He’s also worried if he looks up, then he’ll know El knows he’s watching Will and the implications found there aren’t anything he wants to bother straining his brain over.
“Will, do you want to help the others, too?”
Mike pulls his gaze up at that. El is playing with Will’s decagonal d10, fat and slippery between her thin, calloused fingers. Will stiffens, eyes darting up to Mike on the couch before he shrugs. “I think the three of them can handle themselves, don’t you agree, Mike?”
“Sure,” he replies stiltedly, not quite sure why El wants Will out the room.
She raises her eyebrows, still staring at the die in her hands, and curls her hand in a fist. She shakes her fist to roll the die and then smiles with a shake of her head when it delivers her a patient 7, her shoulder length hair flopping across her face in a childish manner. Despite that, the action makes her look older and far more serious. “I’ll go then.” El looks up at Mike with a tight smile. “We can talk later, Mike.”
“Talk about?” he questions, deliberately obtuse and chilly. El frowns and it melts a bit of the fear taking store in his heart.
Will grabs the die and stuffs it into a velvet bag where he had stored the others. “It’s fine. I’ll go if you need to talk.” His voice thickens with unspoken emotion. “Yesterday, Mike said he wanted to catch up with you later and now is later.”
El laughs lightly. “Don’t worry, Will. I think you two have something you need to talk about.”
“We don’t have anything we need to talk about, El,” lies Mike as if he hadn’t been brooding on the couch thinking about exactly that.
“Then what you want to talk about.” She walks to the staircase, almost floating with each step, and Mike’s reminded of why he liked her so much when they first met. Strong, powerful, protective, caring, everything he could have wanted. And he didn’t want it anymore. Maybe never did but that’s a thought for another day.
Silence permeates the air until Will shuffles on the floor. He’s dressed in jeans that flare just a bit at the ankle and a brown and white sweater that brings out the lighter brown in his much shortened hair and the hazel in his typically bright eyes. The yellow collar of his undershirt is popped up, covering his neck in an unconscious habit. There’s no cold wind or winter breeze down here in the basement but the holiday season brings back torrid memories, let alone the events of the summer, that leave Will hyper aware of the shivers and stings running down the back of his neck. Mike wants to pull his collar down if only to help emit comfort. Will is always safe in the Wheeler basement—always safe if Mike’s here at his side.
He doesn’t touch Will’s collar, but he does climb off the couch and settle in next to the other boy. Mike faces the staircase as a lookout, his left shoulder brushing against Will’s own left shoulder as Will faces toward the game shelf. He notes that his mom put fake snow on the railing as fairy lights curl around the pillars of the stairs. Will’s shoulders tense for a moment before he calms and leans in toward Mike. Their hands situate themselves side by side, pinkies barely brushing as if a repeat of their meeting yesterday.
“Do you remember last year,” starts Will in a voice far too gentle for the upcoming conversation. Mike nods, knows Will can feel it even if he can’t see it. “Our moms stuffing us in suits and taking photos for the ball.”
“The pictures on the mantle won’t let me forget it.”
Will laughs, each second as unique as the snowflakes flittering into piles outside. He settles into a huff and his pinky lightly brushes Mike’s. “You looked good that night.”
Mike’s throat tightens. Is it appropriate to tell a friend he also looked good? Is he allowed to acknowledge how he felt that day, how his heart clenched when Will went off with that girl and Mike realized what he wanted isn’t something he could have? Isn’t something he can let himself want? “You too.” he replies hoarsely in hopes that he sounds neutral enough. “We all looked good that night.”
“Yeah. Minus Dustin’s hair.” Mike lets out a few chuckles at that and feels Will’s hand eventually fully overlap his own. “Mike, I...I don’t know how to say this.”
Mike turns his head to burrow his nose in Will’s soft hair. His lips barely move as he speaks. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“But I need to.” Will pulls away and turns to fully face Mike. His cheeks are flushed, a frown drapes over his lips, and the sudden desire to kiss off that frown guts Mike until the open wound in his stomach bubbles over into his hands in piles of pure affection. The brunette raises his right hand to brush Mike’s curling bangs from his forehead. “You’ve hurt me a lot, you know.”
Mike stiffens. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Will sighs and pulls away. “Last Christmas, after Snowball, even after I saw you and El kissing,” his voice cracks on that word, stalactite icicles shattering against the floor as they fall from the ceiling of a dark, damp cave, “I thought we were still, I don’t know...the friends that we became after all that mess.”
The friends that we became. As in, something different that before. Mike clenches his jaw. “You were dying and I couldn’t have that—I couldn’t lose you.”
“I know.”
“And I couldn’t lose El, either.”
“I know.”
“You can’t be mad at me for that.”
“I’m not.” Will sighs and leans his head back against Mike’s shoulder. “I was mad at myself for thinking and wishing and foolishly giving you more than I should.”
Mike’s eyes dart toward the decorated staircase. He can feel Will’s hot breath against his sensitive neck. “Like what?”
“You know what; don’t make me spit out such a cheesy line, Wheeler.”
A grin curls on Mike’s lips and he looks back a little to make eye contact. “You’ve gotten very introspective, Byers.”
“That kinda happens after your best friend spits certain words at you that make you reanalyze your entire life.” Will turns his head and breaks their locked gaze. “But back to Christmas last year. Insert the cheesy line; I gave you my heart, alright? Silly me thinking it would be fine if I did, thought you would care about something like that.”
“Will,”
“Don’t. I don’t wanna hear it.” His voice is winded but strong. “If we’re going to be the friends we became, then let me say my part. I’m tired of crying over this.”
“Will.” Mike says more firmly, twisting his hips to face Will head-on. This talk deserves more than Mike’s half-assed glances at the staircase as he tries to avoid full immersion in the conversation. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.” green hazel eyes looked down at the rug furnished floor. “We do stupid shit and say stupid things, but you and me...” He glances up. “We can’t be stupid about this. You haven’t...you don’t...”
“When we thought you died, Troy came for me. Told me you were better dead, probably killed by other people like...” Mike clears his throat. “His words weren’t about me but he still...he still targeted them toward me. Like everyone could see what was up between us before I could.”
“Well, you’re a bit on the slow side when it comes to things like this,” huffs Will with a sardonic smile. “But this year...this year I don’t wanna leave Hawkins being as miserable as I left the first time.”
“This year to keep you from tears, you’ll give your heart to someone special?”
Will pinches Mike’s side and he loudly yelps, scrambling from Will’s side even though he starts laughing at his own joke. “You’re so annoying, Mike, oh my god; I’m having a serious conversation here! You can’t just go around inserting sad Christmas song lyrics everywhere.”
Mike grins widely and flops onto his back with a happy sigh. “Am I someone special to you?”
“Always.” The unadulterated honesty in Will’s voice takes Mike aback. He turns his head to face Will, looking up at the boy whose cheeks are flushed with equal parts natural warmth and soft embarrassment. “So, how am I leaving Hawkins?”
Mike turns onto his stomach and rests his head in his hands, elbows pressed into the hardened floor beneath him. He thinks about his upcoming chat with El, thinks about how his heart dropped to his feet when he hugged his mom the day the Byers moved away and realized how much he missed Will already. A smile smoothly skates itself onto his lips, sharp-lined and eager as his heart jumps into an axel and lands perfectly.
“I think you already know the answer to that one.”
Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?
— It’s A Wonderful Life, 1946
[ day 1: love, actually, is all around ]
Today is Monday. Winter break has started but Mondays are still Mondays whether vacationing or not. Snowball or whatever high schoolers called it—basically the winter formal for ‘85—was the night before, the first winter dance for high school freshmen, and Mike didn’t attend. He didn’t see a reason to even though Lucas, Max, and Nancy kept trying to convince him otherwise. Even Dustin got on the floor and danced to a few tunes according to Lucas’ overly excited report on the night’s activities. It almost makes Mike wish he dropped by, but he couldn’t stomach hanging about in the corner watching everyone dancing and hugging and kissing when his heart drove away stuffed inside a packed box of Byers’ belongings in the back of a U-haul two and a half months ago.
Maybe Mike would have gone if he called up El and asked how she felt, even though they hadn’t talked in at least two weeks. Ever since the Wheelers visited for Thanksgiving, things between Mike and El have been a tad...awkward. He couldn’t tell who made their every interaction more tense than a trip wire but he knew he couldn’t absolve himself of all blame. He’d take accountability for his actions if he knew what he did that made El decide a break would be best for their friendship. For the first few days after Thanksgiving, Mike and El still talked but December came around and finals kicked Mike’s ass and calling El slowly fell off the list of most important tasks on the day.
Will still called though. Mike never hesitated to pick up the phone and send him a hello when he did. They still had a lot in common and Mike found it silly that he ever thought moving away would suddenly mean they can’t be friends anymore, but it seemed like a valid concern at the time. It was difficult coming to terms with distance as a barrier blocking him from the tactile friendship he grew up fostering, nurturing, and protecting for longer than he could remember. Mike quickly found he missed the way Will’s breath hitched on certain words, little notches in consonants that were swallowed by the static found in a phone call. He also missed that he couldn’t see Will’s face when they talked. He forgot how often he watched the other boy’s face to read his expressions and words far more than he would listen to his actual words. Not that he didn’t listen but...Will’s face said a lot in the glow of his eyes and the small upwards tilt of his lips.
And maybe Mike didn’t attend Snowball ‘85 because he tried to call the Byers residence Saturday night and no one answered. And maybe his imagination had him thinking that El and Will were out at a dance for their new school, having fun with strangers and mingling with people Mike only knew the names of from Will and El’s stories about their new school. And maybe, Mike just wanted an easy excuse for staying home alone as the rest of his family went out, so he could hide behind scribbles in his writing journal, painting phrases meant to echo the sound of his beating heart, hollow in his chest as winter chilled his mind.
So, it’s Monday. It’s cold, damp, and snowy, and the scarf Mike’s mom draped over his shoulders and the lower half of his face filters stingingly cold snowflakes from drifting up his pink flushed nose. He’s been sent out to grab eggnog from the shop downtown, the one Joyce used to work at in fact. Mike would have protested but his mom and Nancy agreed that since he stayed home all day yesterday, it was only fair he went outside himself for a short spell.
The bike ride is easy. His fingers are stiff on the handle bars despite the thick gloves protecting his fingers from the worst of the cold. The ice on the roads was cleared off early in the morning so he doesn’t skid very often making his way down the asphalt streets. Snow continues to swirl around him in a dainty breeze, peppering white specks in what hair peaks out from under his wool hat, making his hair look washed with bits of white as if he’s older than 15, which he only just turned a month ago either way. Mike’s mind wanders to his birthday party, the first one without Will since he turned 6, and he angrily grits his teeth and pedals faster. Various other snowflakes melt on his red freckled cheeks and sparkle on his lashes. Mike hums lightly and turn around a corner until he skids to a gentle stop at his destination. He hops off his bike, booted feet crunching against a thick pile of snow, and parks it before making his way inside the building.
Mike pulls his damp scarf from around his nose and mouth with a rough exhale. He snatches off his hat, shaking it off as he walks inside, and takes a hand to his hair in a messy attempt to make it look more orderly than before. Stuffing the hat in the wide pockets of his puffy snow jacket, Mike traipses toward the refrigerated isle. He keeps humming as he did on his bike ride, grabbing two cartons of eggnog and snatching a red and green container filled with candy canes he passes on his way through the nearby candy isle. The candy canes made him think of Will, who was always so eager to start eating the peppermint flavored treats once December came around. A tiny smile slips onto his lips as he stares at the goods in hand, remembering drinking eggnog in large mugs, chewing on candy canes and making eggnog mustaches that they would tease each other about as they imitated Hopper and his brutish tone.
“Is that all for you, Wheeler?”
Mike blinks out of his memories. “Oh? Yeah. Just picking up some eggnog for my mom.” He places the items on the counter and scrounges his pants for pocket change. “She’s been really on top of making sure we have everything for Christmas even though we’re still a bit over a week out. Just on Friday we went out shopping for a lot more food than I think any of us could eat. I don’t even know why we need more eggnog.”
“It’s never too early to prepare yourself,” the cashier takes Mike’s money and stores it in the register. “She could be preparing a surprise for all you know.”
“A surprise?” He takes the plastic bag passed along with a snort. “Yeah, my mom doesn’t really do surprises. Outside of presents but everyone knows those are meant to surprises.”
He gets a hum in response. “Well, enjoy your surplus of eggnog, Michael. Take care of yourself out there. The snow is coming down harder.”
Mike looks out the storefront window and sighs. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m biking through a blizzard.”
“You’re welcome to stay inside for a few and wait for the snow to calm down.” A soft smile dons the other’s face. “I can call your mom and let her know about your delay.”
“Oh,” Mike stares at his goods. “I don’t want the eggnog to get warm.”
“No worries; you can put it back in the ‘frigerator and I’ll be sure to remind you to pick it back up.” Mike nods slowly. “Let me call your mother now.”
He nods again, brow wrinkling as he puts the eggnog back. His hands only hold a plastic bag filled with candy canes. Mike pulls out the container and rips off the plastic to take out one of the cane-shaped candies. He walks back to the counter, hearing but not listening to the last dregs of the shopkeeper’s conversation with his mom, and starts to chew on a candy cane. He remembers when Joyce used to man the store and how she would let him and the boys jump up and sit on the counters during rainy days when she didn’t want any of them walking outside getting soaking wet. Sometimes Mike’s mom would stop by and say hello, chat with Joyce for much longer than she needed to if just to let Mike have a few more minutes with his friends before he was carted back home.
The memories are washed with the sweet yet strong blanketed taste of peppermint that fills his mouth thanks to the candy cane. Mike sighs and pulls the candy from his mouth, smiling to himself as he already sees he’s started to suck a sharp point from the tip. Dustin and Lucas loved to sword fight with the pointy end, which Mike found pretty gross since it was all covered in their spit but it was still fun in that typical boyish kind of way. He bites the pointy tip off and turned to look outside just in time for a bundle of cloth to barge its way through the doors as the snowstorm outside indeed gets stronger.
Mike belated wonders why he didn’t bother to check the weather, and then grows confused about why his mom sent him outside knowing the upcoming weather—she’s always on top of things like that so her kids don’t get sick. He turns to the intruder who’s interrupted his trip down snowy memory lane, and then unintentionally drops his candy canes once the figure uncovers enough of his bundled face. The candies break on impact but it’s a distant noise to the rush of blood pounding through Mike’s heart. All Mike would have to see is his hair, let alone his eyes—those always familiarly homey green-hazel eyes—to know exactly who stands before him.
“Will?”
The mentioned boy turns on his heel and then drops the scarf he had been untying from around his neck. “Oh my god, Mike!”
Mike can’t move; his feet seem frozen in place as if he’d been standing outside for three hours straight. Will makes his way forth, hat in hand and—oh, a haircut. Mike’s throat dries up but he manages to move his arms for a hug. Will’s warmth shatters the ice around Mike’s legs and he practically crumples into the shorter boy’s arms. He burrows his face in Will’s hair with a crooked smile. “What’re you doing in Hawkins?”
“Mom said we could come by and visit since you came up to see us last month.” Will pulls away with a wide grin that makes Mike’s heart climb up his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though! What a coincidence.”
Mike looks over at the store clerk who is washing off the counter and acting as if she can’t hear their conversation. “Yeah, coincidence.” He turns back to his friend and places his hands on his shoulders. “You’ve grown even more already.”
Will shrugs. “Guess it’s my time to grow a foot in a year, huh?”
“Try me,” laughs Mike, squeezing Will’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “It’s great to see you, honestly. You left a big hole for us to try to fill.”
“Did you really try to fill it?”
Mike shakes his head. “Nah, not really. It’s a Will Byers shaped hole anyway. No one else could have it even if they tried.”
The warm smile that curls on Will’s lips sends Mike halfway into a hysterical conniption. How can he miss one person this much? How is his entire life so affected by the presence—or lack thereof—of one person? How did Hawkins as a whole feel so bleak without this boy? Mike didn’t think he grew this attached, but looking back on things, of course he did. Of course it was so obvious; now, if he can get a handle on how attached he is...
“I think you dropped your candy canes.” Will bends down to pick up the pieces and Mike, startled by the sudden action, ducks down to help as well. They both reach for the same piece, Mike’s warm fingers brushing against Will’s chilled ones, and their eyes immediately lock. Pink blossoms against Will’s soft cheeks and Mike is sure the same can be said for him.
“Sorry,” he whispers, snatching his hand away but Will reaches out. His hand is shaking, whether with the cold or the emotions racing his chest, Mike can’t tell but it’s a comfort either way. He stares at their hands, the slight tan of Will’s against the lighter pale tone of his own, pink at the knuckles and tips of his fingers. Mike has always been prone to easily flushed skin thanks to how pale he is, and while it was a bother when he was younger, right now at least, he likes seeing the difference between himself and Will, even if it’s not a startling difference.
Will’s thumb brushes against the back of Mike’s hand. “I’ve missed you a lot. You haven’t called recently.”
“I called on Saturday,” he blurts out, “but you didn’t answer.”
“Oh.” Will squeezes Mike’s hand and he looks up to see the other boy smiling as he watches their fingers. “We were on our way driving to Hawkins.”
“We?”
“Yeah, me, Mom, Jonathan, and El.” He looks up at El and Mike cringes slightly. Will’s hand stills. “Uh, I can go get her if you want to say hello?”
“No! No, this is...you’re fine.” Mike scrambles to gather his splintered candy canes and shoves them in the grocery bag as he stands. Will stands as well. “Don’t worry about that. We’re not...I mean we’re still friends but...”
“Yeah, I know.” Will stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on the heels of his feet. He’s not slouching as much anymore and that brings a soft smile to Mike’s lips. “I just thought you might want to catch up with her.”
“Later. Later for sure but right now just,” Mike looks back outside and see the storm has gotten worse. He thinks back to the conversation with the clerk about surprises and ducks his head as he smiles. “This is fine, just you and me. I’m glad you’re here.”
He feels something brush his hand and turns his gaze to Will’s fingers dancing against his hand. He turns his palm up and blushes when Will goes for the plunge and holds Mike’s hand in his own, their fingers slotting together with the ease of matching puzzle pieces. Mike looks up but Will isn’t facing him, though he doesn’t need to see Will’s face to know he’s happily blushing, too.
wanted to send you a prompt i was gonna do but i am too lazy prompt: mike and will have been dating but havent said i love you, mike is going on some trip for a week where cell phones dont work (obv future fic) and so Byeler is having a phone convo before mike arrives at his destination and they wont be able to talk to each other a week and will says tells mike he loves him but before mike can respond the phone disconnects as Mike arrives at the destinationn
[ crossposted on AO3 ]
“Finished packing yet?”
Mike turns from his suitcase and the clothes piles spread about the floor in his room and grins when he spots Will leaning on the doorframe a few feet away. He’s got two iced coffee cups in hand, indicative of finishing his part-time hours at the local coffee shop a few blocks north from the Byers residence. Mike wonders if Will biked his way over or took a lift with his brother to come visit before the Wheelers make their way on an impromptu trip to upstate New York at a cabin his dad had recently inherited.
The kneeling boy waves his hands at the disorderly state surrounding him and shrugs. “I’m trying and failing at packing the right clothes for this venture, I’ll say that.”
Will chuckles and walks fully into the room. He passes along Mike’s coffee, shoving around haphazardly folded pants to find a seat on the floor beside the other boy. Mike watches him grab a sweater and toss it aside. “It’s summer so you don’t need to pack heavy. Just grab some t-shirts and jeans; that should do. Shorts too if you’d like.”
“Sure,” sighs Mike before sipping from his cup. “I don’t want to make the visit miserable if I’m wearing the wrong clothes. Wrong for the weather and wrong for looking tolerable in the photos I know Mom is gonna force on me.”
Will laughs, a gentle breeze in the summer’s heat. “You’ll look good in whatever you put on.”
“As my boyfriend, you’re kind of obligated to say that.”
“Not really.” the brunette leans in to kiss Mike’s cheek. “I’ll let you know when you look bad if only for the sake of my own eyes.”
“And when you won’t be next to me, how will you judge my outfits properly?”
Will checks his watch and hums. “When’s your departure? If you have time, you can try out some of the outfits and I’ll let you know what works.”
Mike grins as he reaches over Will’s lap and snags a band t-shirt. “Sneaky aren’t you; tryna get me undressed.”
“I’ll cover my eyes.” Will places his unoccupied hand over his eyes but spreads his fingers between his middle and ring fingers to peek through the opening. Mike scoffs, tossing a stray pair of shorts at his face which makes the brunette laugh heartily. Mike already misses Will, the knowledge that they’ll be separated for a week squeezing his heart dry with romantic despair. He wishes Will could come with but the trip was pretty unplanned and though Mike's “job” as a blog writer and editor doesn’t require a remote location, Will’s job doesn’t allow the same ease when taking off work.
(Though Mike thinks he’ll probably still be working offline on an article if his mom doesn’t steal his laptop for “family bonding in the forest” time.)
Mike’s sudden fashion show lasts for about an hour and while Will does offer good input, most of that hour is spent playing around and Mike sneaking in as many kisses as they can get away with whenever Mike peels off a shirt and struggles to get his head through the tight collar of another. Afterwards, Will helps finish packing and when completed, they lounge about on Mike’s bed as Will discusses the customers he met earlier in the day.
Though he knows packing just mere hours before departure isn’t a habit he should develop, especially when the plans for his career require frequent traveling, he spent the night before editing a movie review scheduled for posting during the drive. Mike doesn’t regret his momentary time mismanagement if it means he spends more time with Will before the trip. The article can wait—he’s posting it early anyway—but time spent with his boyfriend is always coveted.
When Mike’s mom knocks on the door, Will pulls away from Mike’s chest where he rested his head as they page through Mike’s hard copy of The Golden Compass which he wanted to review in line with the show’s release. Shaking his head and straightening his hair as best as possible, Mike struts to his door and opens it with raised eyebrows. His mom looks up from checking her phone and offers Mike a tight smile before looking past him to wave at Will.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you two,” she starts warmly, “but Mike, we have to get going soon. The traffic through the city is getting dense thanks to an accident on the 70.”
“Got it,” replies Mike as he turns back to Will, who walks to his side with both their empty cups in hand. “I’ll see you in a few days, Byers.”
“‘Course.” Will grins and leans up to press a gentle kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Call me when you’re getting close to your destination.”
“Sure, worrywart,” he teases but turns his face to kiss Will’s lips one last time before he has to depart. He watches Will nod bashfully at his mom and give her a short goodbye before making his way downstairs. Mike doesn’t look away until he hears the front door closing and then he casts his gaze on his mom. “Are Dad, Nancy, and Holly waiting outside?”
“Yes,” she nods toward the front of the house. “We’ll all just waiting on you now.”
It doesn’t take long for Mike to join his family at the car, and as his dad pulls out the driveway, Mike turns in the direction of the Byers and smiles when he sees Will on his bike a little ways down the road watching. He sticks his hand out the window, his wave only growing more frantic when Will waves back. Holly giggles and Nancy makes a side comment about love sick teenagers as if she wasn’t one herself during her escapades with Steve, Jonathan, and now Robin. The first hour and a half fills with Holly saying “moo” every time they pass a cow on the way to the interstate and Mike feels like smashing his head against his window when they pass a farm and Holly moos until she nearly passes out. Pulling out his phone, Mike shoots Will a selfie of himself despondently looking out the window and groans when his cell service takes its sweet time sending the message along. Mike gets a reply a reply twenty minutes later: Will laughing at his misery with a short additional, “you’ll be there before you know it,” and a bunch of kiss emojis.
The next hour passes with Mike flipping through his ever growing Will gallery, a digital photo album filled with selfies and candid shots of Will, both solo and with Mike. He’s not one for being in photos himself but Will manages to drag him into a few selfies here and there. He doesn’t mind snapping a selfie either by himself or together—cheeks squished as they both attempt to fit in the frame as Mike holds the phone up and out—because Will always asks him to send the photo along and then makes it his lock screen until the next time he convinces Mike it’s photo time.
After settling on a candid shot Mike snapped when he and Will visited Lovers’ Lake and the sun framed Will like a bright halo of fire, Mike settles on playing a mobile game for about another two hours before staring out the window until the trees blend together and his eyes find themselves sliding shut. He wakes up a few times here and there when the family stops at gas stations and picks up snacks—he definitely remembers his mom arguing with his dad about stopping at a hotel which they ultimately don’t do—but he wakes up for the final time to his phone buzzing in his lap, startling him out of a dream he quickly forgets upon waking. Caller ID tags the number as Will and he immediately answers as he scrambles for his headphones in his pocket.
“Hey,” he begins, shoving the headphone plug into the slot at the bottom of the device, “Is everything okay back home?”
“Everything’s great,” Will’s voice crackles on the line and Mike peaks outside in the darkness to notice the forest surrounding him. They must be close to the cabin destination already. He didn’t think he had slept for that long. “Just checking in since it’s about time you’ve arrived if your dad didn’t take a rest.”
Mike laughs. “You’re cute, you know, checking up on me like this.” He hears Nancy snorting and reaches over Holly to pinch her bare arm. She glares at him and covers Holly’s eyes to flip him off. “Nancy says hello by the way.”
“Hello back to her.” Mike can hear Will’s grin and his heart clenches in sorrow at the current distance between them. “Are you doing okay there?”
“Yeah, peachy.” Mike yawns and covers his mouth. “Is it too cheesy to say I already miss you?”
“Maybe, but I miss you, too, so you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”
A sleepy smile curls itself on Mike’s lips. “One week, Byers; one week and then I’m back.”
“Yeah, but don’t spend your time counting down the days, alright? I’ll do that for us both; you just have a great time at the cabin.”
Mike would kiss him if he could. “I’ll try my best but you know how my brain works.”
“Are you telling me it actually does work?”
“I’m breaking up with you.” Will laughs heartily. “Why are you laughing; I’m serious this time.”
“Sure, Wheeler.” Mike frowns as the last bit of his name gets caught in static. “Hey, I know this is probably something that should wait until you’re back but this separation made me realize I should tell you either way.”
“This sounds pretty important.”
“Yeah. I, uh, you probably already know this though but,” and Will takes a deep breath and releases it, though Mike hears it in short, split crackles. “Mike, I love you.”
The clarity in those four words stuns Mike into speechlessness and his mouth dries as his heart thumps speedily in his chest. Will is right, Mike already knows Will loves him, but this is the first time Will has ever said the fact out loud. I love you echoes in Mike’s head at the reverb levels of a rock guitarist. It takes far too long for his brain to come back online, but by the time it does, the car speeds past a brush of trees and the call suddenly drops. Mike looks down at his phone screen as the loud call dropped tone passes through his headphones. His home screen—a playfully disgruntled selfie as Will kisses his cheek—stares him back in the face as Will’s voice continues to bounce about in his head.
Mike, I love you.
Mike quickly calls back but his phone spits back the message that he has no service. “Nancy,” he hisses even though the entire car heard his part of his conversation with Will anyway, “do you have any service on your phone? I need to call Will back and my phone is being homophobic.”
Nancy raises her eyebrows but checks phone and shakes her head. “Looks like you’re straight out of luck.”
“Ha; you’re quite the comedian, aren’t you.” Mike reaches forward to tap his mom’s arm. “Mom, can I borrow your phone to finish a call?”
“Sorry, sweetie, I’ve lost service, too. I don’t think any of us can use internet on our phones.”
“Does the cabin at least have wifi?”
“Nope,” snorts Mike’s dad as he drives the car down a dirt road further into the forest. “You kids these days need to learn what life is like without cell phones anyway.”
Mike rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath, “Okay, boomer.”
“What was that, young man?”
“Okay, bummer.” Nancy bites on her bottom lip and Mike sends her a grin before settling in his seat.
Their mom reaches a hand back to rest on Mike’s knee. “It’s only 7 days, Michael. I’m sure both you and Will can last that long without contact.”
He told me he loves me, Mom, he wants to explain but Will’s words are too fresh and far too private to blurt out in front of the whole family. He crosses his arms silently and turns to stare out the window, hoping that Will can wait out these next few days and hoping he doesn’t think Mike hung up on him after such an important conversation. I love you, too, he thinks to himself, smiling as he presses his hand against the chilly window and imagines Will on the other side as if the car window is the window in Will’s room and Will’s inside watching Mike with that ever so lovestruck grin filled with appreciation that Mike came over despite the cold night to comfort Will from the nightmares that occasionally plague him to this day.
I love you, Will, he repeats inwardly, wait for me.
Tony turns from staring up at crisp white clouds, a pang piercing his heart as he recognizes vibrant red hair and warm golden eyes. He smiles softly, a smile for comfort and a smile to release the tension loneliness in death brings. “We won, Nat.”
Her smile deepens and she crosses her arms against her chest. “I’m guessing since you’re here that you didn’t.”
The brunette laughs and shakes his head as he turns to face her fully. “I most definitely won. I got the kid back. We brought everyone back.” His eyes crinkle at the corners and he holds out a hand to take hers. “When it comes to saving the world, sometimes people die. It’s for a good cause though. At least I’m here with you.”
Natasha squeezes Tony’s hand and pulls him in for a hug. He buries his head in her neck and takes a deep breath as if trying to capture her familiar scent. She leans in against him and feels tears prickle in her eyes at the rough scratch of his beard. A deep sorrow fills her chest. “I’m glad it’s you here with me.”
He huffs a gentle breath into her skin. “I knew you’ve been wanting me dead since you first started spying on me!” She pinches his side and laughs loudly when he pulls away clutching his stomach and glaring at her with no real anger in his eyes. He smirks and shakes his head before looking up at the clouds again. “Is it just us here? Some sort of purgatory for using the Stones?”
Natasha shrugs and looks up at the clouds too. They’re a perfect shade of white she never saw on Earth, a blend of shades that carry hope, desire, desperation, and courage deep in their fluffy curves. It’s both blinding and soothing and she wonders for a moment what Tony sees when he looks up in the clouds. “What do you see up there?”
Tony turns back to look at her to reply, probably with some sarcastic jib about seeing “clouds because duh, Natasha, what else are gaseous blobs of dust particles and water gonna look like” but he looks past her shoulder with widened eyes. Natasha turns on her heels, falling into a fighting stance even though she has no weapons with her here. There’s a sparkling nebula bridge before them, glistening with impossible shades of the rainbow until they blend to almost look translucent white at the edges. Tony steps forward but Natasha puts an arm in front of him to stop him for a moment longer. The brunette looks down at her, his eyes wet with unshed tears and a longing she’s never seen in his eyes.
“It’s the bridge to the other side, Nat,” he whispers hoarsely, turning from her sharply to look down at the ground at their feet. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and watches him turn back to her. He’s crying. Her heart hurts even more.
“If you cross, you’ll never come back,” Natasha whispers in turn. “We’re between realms, Tony. We’re neither dead nor alive but there’s a chance-,”
“I’ve taken many chances, Natasha,” Tony laughs sardonically and motions to the empty space surrounding them. “I’ve taken all the chances I ever could and this is where I am for it.”
“You have a family down there, Tony!”
“And so do you!” Tony shouts back. “Steve cried for you, Nat. Barton could barely speak when he returned from Vormir. I could barely think when building the gauntlet because I knew we only had one of those stones because of your death. Bruce even tried to bring you back but he couldn’t.”
Natasha feels like a wet rag has slapped her across the face. She steps back from Tony with a heavy breath, unsure if she should be happy to know the Avengers mourned her or sad that she can’t be there to celebrate victory with them. “They could try to find a way to bring you back.”
“If I’m here with you and you can’t come back, then I probably can’t either. And even if they could, I think it would be a little Frankenstein-ish in concept and in realization.” He steps forward to grab her hands. His are calloused but warm and comforting. It reminds her of home. “I want to cross the bridge with you. See what life is like after our time on Earth. Hell, you know I’m not religious and I don’t believe in the after life but it’s real and we’re here in it. Who are we to ignore what’s to come next for us? We won, Natasha. We defied life and beat Thanos’ ass. Pep told me everyone is gonna be okay. We can rest.” He motions to the bridge and sighs. “Let’s just reap the rewards for our sacrifices.”
Natasha turns to face the bridge, her eyes watering with the realization of leaving this perfect in between place where she waited for some counterpart to join her. She turns back to Tony, who is giving her that soft loving smile he always wore when the mask fell off and his true compassion found homage in his sparkling brown eyes and on his curved pink lips. “You think they have what we want on the other side?”
“Nah,” grins Tony as he strokes her hands with his thumbs, “What we both want is still out there on Earth. I think the other side will give us what we need in order to rest well. Probably something like a memory foam mattress on a king side bed.” Tony’s eyes glow as he continues on. “Man, I would kill for a long nap after all of this fighting. My back aches in places I didn’t even know were considered ‘back’.”
Natasha chuckles and squeezes Tony’s hands with her own before stepping forward toward the bridge. “Then I hope they have memory foam mattresses for you, Tony.”
“How about you?” he asks as they walk hand in hand toward the rainbow bridge that shimmers under a sun they can’t yet see. “What do you think you need?”
The red-head looks up at the sky and spots a peak of blue sky shining through the clouds. She remembers a conversation with Steve before this all started, when she was trying to keep the Avengers together through mostly will power and faith than anything else. A faith that brought them back together to save the universe one last time. “I need a giant bottle of vodka and a game of darts.”
Tony laughs boisterously and the sound carries through the halls of Valhalla as the duo cross the rainbow bridge to complete their past lives and start anew in eternity. Natasha smiles to herself and lets memories of the past wash over her and rebirth her into the ever developing modern Earth mythos. Black Widow will go down in history as the Soul Stone itself. The woman who was the heart of the Avengers and stuck by the initiative until the end.
saw this post and couldn’t get it out my mind, so , why not write out such a scene amirite? this is also crossposted on ao3 if you wanna read it there!
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Finn scrambled for cover as a heaving breath filled his chest. His throat burned from the heavy inhalation of debris clouds thick with dust and torn-up concrete. The walls barricading him shook with impact from each incoming blaster shot and he closed his eyes to calm his breaths and recenter his thoughts for a quick glance around the corner. Time spent thinking about any other action than shooting was rarely provided as a soldier of the First Order, so despite the chaos found midst battle, Finn took whatever moments he could to think through a plan rather than jump head first as he had be trained and conditioned to do for the genocidal regime. He quickly learned strategy was his forte and made sure to exercise his abilities where he could. Before joining the Resistance—in Finn’s mind, his life was split between a time before the Resistance and a time after joining—Finn rarely thought about any possible chance to consider his next step in battle as more than “point-and-shoot.” The repetitive process lasted him until that fateful day on Jakku where “point-and-shoot” turned into murdering innocent civilians, a task Finn could not stomach no matter all his training with the First Order.
Blinking dust from his lashes, Finn hoisted his blaster and turned the corner to inspect the situation at hand. Poe Dameron was down the hall with perfect shooting posture, shoulders hunched just enough as he pointed his weapon left and shot his way down the corridor. Finn quickly followed as backup, his brain a year trained into following his friend’s lead on various recruitment missions gone awry. While Finn was the diplomatic leader for most missions—his story as a defected Stormtrooper built him as a prime Resistance figurehead when convincing a planet to offer fighters and pilots for the Resistance’s cause—Poe trailblazed their defensive line when a negotiation turned south. It often helped if Finn didn’t outright begin shooting; one too many times in the early weeks of their expedition, Finn accidentally made the situation worse being an ex-Stormtrooper using his gun.
In recent times, Finn the defected ‘trooper was as known as Poe Dameron, best pilot for the Resistance. Shoot outs became rare so the one he and Poe currently engaged in came with quite the surprise. Especially when Stormtroopers suddenly appeared and decided a good ambush against the top Resistance recruiters would make Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s day.
If the opportunity for a battle against Kylo Ren appeared once more, Finn would definitely mention these petulant little wayside battles and how annoying fighting his way back to a ship Poe would spend half the time flying with complaints on his tongue always turned out.
Neither Mike nor Will asked for this. To fall so desperately, grasping at strings to clutch in sweaty palms as childish affection crumbled beneath their feet and plunged them into frighteningly deep caves filled with nothing but heart soaring adoration. Dare he call it love but it was indeed. It was love.
The plunge began with smiles—regular ones that morphed into specific ones. Dimples that parenthesized a familiar curvature only seen by the warm gaze emenanting from softened green eyes. Green eyes that crinkled in the corners with a delightful pressure brought by joy and company. It was easy to forget those smiles and eye crinkles weren’t for everyone. It was harder to ignore when the smiles stumbled into lingering touches.
A hand on an arm for a second too long. Fingers dancing in the space between hands, twitching for a touch thought to be forbidden. Sitting closer than necessary on the couch with excuses on tongues in case anyone wanted to question. Sometimes their siblings noticed; watched the way air moved around them as their hands and legs fought against their desire to touch. It was a dangerous game moving from passing smiles to physical connection, and it wasn’t a game they asked to play but here they were—controllers connected to the console as they pressed whichever buttons they were allowed to press to keep the friendship alive while flirting with the lava underneath their shifting relationship.
Sometimes Mike pressed a button and was burned for it. Sometimes Will pressed a button and was soothed for it. It was difficult to discern which burned and which soothed when on occasion the burning soothed—a reminder to watch these careful boundaries that had yet to be crossed—and the soothing burned—another reminder to watch these careful boundaries before they drowned in lava and tipped into desolation.
But life wasn’t as simple as a video game. The soothing burned over time as lingering touches broke way to lingering glances. Green eyes tracing plump lips, brown eyes watching graphite-smudged fingers, the list could go on for sure. And the burns soothed when they locked eyes and tried to act like this wasn’t happening, that they weren’t playing this game. They could pretend as if they weren’t struggling to hold onto these last strings before plunging into deep adoration.
The self-told lie could only last so long anyway. Eventually, the game would end; all games have an end. The final boss is defeated, the controllers disconnect, the game is tossed on a self among others to probably never be touched again. Why volunteer to replay a game one never wanted to play in the first place? Yet, they stood there on the edge facing the shadow monster inside their very souls and found it hard to press the button to make the final killing blow and fall into the inevitable.
What is on the other side when the game ends? When they admit they didn’t ask for it but didn’t want it to stop? Is there a sequel? Is there more to Mike and Will once the truth is no longer denied?
But Will turned to Mike, quirked a shy smirk that said more than his words ever could, and pressed the button. In the real world, it was a kiss. Soft, gentle, nervous, but solid and real. His friend kissed back. The monster was defeated for now. There’s a sequel after all; the bad guy always comes back. It is never truly defeated either as long as the game can be replayed. They didn’t ask for this—the game—but they found it and played it to the end no matter the years it took. They fell in love and accepted it and defeated the darkness that plagued them for falling in love in the first place.
It wasn’t easy, no, but at least the ending was satisfactory. Falling wasn’t so scary when he wasn’t alone in the descent.
