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It’s seven at night and the party is gathered in Mike’s basement, drunk on laughter and cold pizza and togetherness. Will is in his wizard costume—well, the cape is draped across his lap as he stretches out on the couch and the tall, pointed purple hat is askew, a couple jostles away from falling straight off, so maybe he isn’t exactly in costume, but he doesn’t really care at this point, because the room is full of warmth and giddiness and he hasn't felt so at peace in what seems like forever. Mike is sprawled out on the floor below him, snorting at the sight of Lucas and Dustin as they wrestle with each other.
“Give it up, man, Suzie literally saved the world,” Dustin says, pinning Lucas to the ground and carelessly lifting an ugly throw pillow that Mrs. Wheeler had placed meticulously on the couch only hours before, preparing to sock Lucas in the face with it.
Lucas scoffs, rolling out of the way just as Dustin brings down the monstrosity of a cushion. It lands squarely where Lucas’s face had been moments ago. “Yeah, by reciting some numbers. What was it? Pi or something? Max is way more badass.”
“Planck’s constant, you idiot,” corrects Dustin, dodging clumsily and checking his hip on the corner of the table as Lucas lunges to tackle him to the ground. “Oh, shit, that hurt! Motherfucker!”
Will laughs. “I don’t think Mrs. Wheeler would be very happy to hear that kind of language under her roof.” He glances at Mike when he says this and is pleased to see that a small, amused smile has wormed its way onto the taller boy's elegant, angular face.
Alarmed, Dustin turns to the stairwell, as if he expects Mike’s mother to materialize at the sound of her name like a demon being summoned. Lucas takes the opportunity to chuck a die from their unfinished campaign they had drifted away from an hour ago at Dustin’s exposed nape, and his newfound basketball skills ensure him a direct hit.
“Ow!” yelps Dustin, whipping around so fast that he nearly trips over his own feet. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, Sinclair—”
As the two boys’ bickering continues, Will catches Mike’s eye from his spot on the couch, reaching out with a socked foot and nudging Mike’s hip to get his attention. A silent conversation passes between the two of them, consisting solely of secretive smiles, sparkling glances, and, occasionally, a peek at Lucas and Dustin to check whether or not they’re being watched (they aren’t; Lucas and Dustin, having spontaneously made a truce, are now leaning against various pieces of furniture and discussing seriously about their respective girlfriends), and eventually, Mike props himself up on his elbows, gravity sweeping a single dark curl over his face. Will bites back a smile as Mike tries to blow it out of his face, eyes crossing slightly. After a few attempts, he gives up, hooking it behind his ear impatiently, and moves to stand, making his way to the stairs.
He doesn't get far, having taken only four steps—Will counted—before Dustin and Lucas look up, eyes questioning. "Where are you going?"
"Up," replies Mike, waving his hand vaguely at the stairs. "I think my mom called." He doesn't look at Will, but his body is ever so slightly angled towards the couch where Will lounges. The corners of Will's lips quirk up at the likely-unintentional gesture. It's at times like this that he has to restrain himself from doing one of two things: either pinching himself to reassure his mind once again that he is not, in fact, trapped in a strangely realistic and detailed dream that spans several weeks, or—the urge that is much harder to resist—launching himself at Mike in front of everyone and smothering his boyfriend with kisses because God, Michael Wheeler is the single most adorable thing he's ever had the pleasure of encountering in life. He can't do either of these things because first of all, Mike would get pissy if he saw Will doing anything remotely harmful to himself, and second—well, that's self-explanatory. It isn't that he thinks that any of his friends would react badly if they ever found out that he doesn't like girls the way they do, but honestly? He doesn't want to deal with the drama that would inevitably come if he were to show any kind of affection towards Mike that wasn't strictly platonic in front of other people.
Lucas hums in acknowledgement and he and Dustin return to their conversation. Shooting Will a quick, conspiratorial grin that says I can't believe it was that easy, Mike trots up the stairs. Smiling to himself, Will begins to count backwards from one hundred and twenty—it was probably unnecessary, but staggering their exits when in front of other people made both of them feel a little more secure.
"Hey, what about you, Byers?" Dustin's question distracts him from his reverie, and he sits up before remembering the hat that's balancing precariously on his head. Well, was balancing. It falls to the ground with a soft sound and Will spares it a short glance before turning his attention back on his friends.
"Huh?"
Lucas gestures impatiently, waving his arms around in the air and looking at Will like he expects him to understand. "Y'know. Any girls?" Wiggling his eyebrows, Dustin leans forward, clearly anticipating some kind of juicy answer.
Will tries to force down a laugh, but the question is just so ridiculous to him—obviously he can't really blame his friends, as he has spent the last decade trying as hard as he possibly can to fake crushes on the women in magazines and modeling shows, but the idea of him noticing a girl enough to feel the need to share it is absurd. Mike is literally two floors away, waiting for Will. Lucas and Dustin had been in the same room as Will's boyfriend not even two minutes ago. So, despite his valiant efforts, a giggle slips out.
Lucas's face morphs into an expression of comical confusion, but Dustin just raises his eyebrows, leaning even farther forward. Will doesn't understand how he hasn't fallen yet.
"No," he answers truthfully, and watches the confusion and excitement slip from his friends' faces, suspicion painting itself over their features instead.
"Really?" Lucas asks skeptically, knitting his brows together at Will.
Will nods, trying to look as earnest as possible—it's not like he's lying, after all. He'd answered Dustin's question completely honestly. He hasn't noticed any girls, not ever in his life. At least not in the way that his friends were implying.
He sees Dustin open his mouth to ask a follow-up question, most likely something along the lines of an accusation of insincerity, when he remembers to check the time on the clock. The minute hand has ticked its way around the face twice now, and is on its way to complete a third revolution. Mike is probably getting confused by now. Will can just picture his delicate features twisting into a look of puzzlement as the seconds race by, and he stands up abruptly, his purple cape dropping unceremoniously from his lap onto the floor, before Dustin can even get a word out. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he announces, and toes the fine line to how fast he can walk before it becomes alarming.
Just as he reaches the first stair, he catches a glimpse of his friends’ bewildered faces. “Isn’t there a bathroom down here?” he hears Lucas ask Dustin, but he’s already stepping out onto the first floor and shutting the door to the basement as quickly as he can without slamming it.
Doing a short preliminary scan to make sure he’s in the clear, he scurries towards the stairs that lead up to the second floor. Before he steps foot on the staircase though, Mrs. Wheeler’s voice cuts through the silence, scaring Will so badly that he almost jumps out of his skin. “Will, honey? Where are you going?”
Heart pounding in his throat so hard that he feels nauseous, Will turns to see Mrs. Wheeler rounding the corner with Holly on her hip, looking slightly concerned. “Oh, uh—Mrs. Wheeler! Hi,” he manages, trying in vain to take himself down from fight-or-flight mode. He doesn’t do well with sudden noises or people creeping up on him, especially since the Upside Down. It reminds him of the constant fear, the nonstop need for vigilance, lest the grotesque, horrible, fleshy creatures picked up his scent, or heard his breathing, and decided they were hungry for human boy.
“Hi there,” Mrs. Wheeler says slowly, brows drawn together in confusion at his strange reaction, looking him up and down as if assessing for injuries. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yeah. I’m okay, you just scared me,” he says, mustering up a smile and hoping it doesn’t look as much like a grimace as it feels like one. “I’m just grabbing something for Mike. From his room.” He prays that Mike had gotten up into his room unseen so Will can avoid any further questioning.
Still looking slightly doubtful, Mike’s mother adjusts her arm around Holly. “Well, okay. Let me know if you need anything, alright? Don’t hesitate to ask.” Will nods, silently willing her to go, and to his relief, she turns and heads back towards the kitchen.
Racing his way up the rest of the stairs, he half-runs down the hall until he reaches Mike’s bedroom, twisting the knob a little harder than he intended to and yanking the door open to reveal his boyfriend, lounging on the bed with a comic laid out in front of him, lanky arms and legs sprawled lazily out across the sheets and eyes half-lidded with boredom. “Took you long enough,” Mike says, grinning at the sight of Will’s flustered expression, and slips off the bed, padding towards the shorter boy.
When Mike wraps his arms around Will, pulling their bodies towards each other and pressing a kiss onto Will’s lips, he melts, losing virtually all muscle function. Mike laughs into the kiss, hauling Will onto the bed. “What did Dustin and Lucas say when you left?” asks Mike, mouth still pressed against Will’s, and Will can feel the shape of the words. Mike’s voice is sweet and sounds and tastes like a popsicle on a sweltering summer afternoon.
He mumbles something incoherent, pressing himself against Mike because he doesn’t really have the facilities to carry a conversation right now. He’s mostly focused on getting as close as humanly possible to Mike, hoping that maybe willpower will be enough to get their bodies to fuse together. “I wanna wear your skin,” he mutters as he wraps his legs around Mike’s waist. He attempts to deepen the kiss, but Miks draws back, startled. “You want to what?” he asks.
Frustrated at the sudden lack of contact, Will headbutts Mike’s shoulder. “Why’d you stop, stupid?”
“Because you implied that you wanted to literally skin me alive,” replies Mike, adjusting their positions so that he can look into Will’s eyes.
“Just wanna be closer,” complains Will, using a hand to guide Mike’s lips back to his. Finally, the dark-haired boy complies, letting Will capture him back into the kiss, grinning a little at the smaller boy’s eagerness. Impatient now because of the previous pause, Will snakes his tongue into Mike’s mouth in a rare display of confidence, apparently surprising the other boy, who makes a startled—but definitely not unhappy—sound. It’s not loud by any stretch of the imagination, but Will still draws back a little, listening carefully for footsteps before diving back into the makeout session with vigor. He whimpers a little when Mike catches Will’s bottom lip in between his teeth, not that Will would ever admit it, and he feels his boyfriend smirk at the sound. Irritated, he nudges Mike’s mouth open wider and licks into it in retaliation, wiggling a little with satisfaction and carding his hands through Mike’s deliciously soft and silky curls when his boyfriend’s long, dark eyelashes flutter at the unexpected action.
Suddenly, Mike flips Will over so that he’s lying under the taller boy, locks of hair framing his face as he looks down at Will impishly. His lips are kiss-swollen and his hair is mussed and Will doesn’t think he’s seen anything hotter than this ever. “Michael…” he says, half-questioningly and half-warily, because the shark-like grin on the Wheeler boy’s face is raising some alarm bells.
Without replying, Mike places his forearms down on either side of Will to support him as he leans down to kiss Will again. Hard. Overwhelmed by the warm, slick feeling of Mike’s mouth pressing against him with a ferocity that was at least double of what they had been working with before, Will’s knee presses up against the warm skin under Mike’s navel involuntarily. Mike hums at the contact and takes the chance to move away from Will’s mouth and down to his neck in the split second that he lets down his guard, stopping somewhere near his collarbone and sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. Will gasps shallowly at the painful pleasure, using every ounce of strength he has in himself to keep in the embarrassing keening noise that is building up in the back of his throat.
Mike continues down Will’s neck and onto his chest, exploring the almost too-warm expanse of his skin with his lips and teeth, and Will dissolves, clutching onto Mike’s shoulders to anchor him to reality as Mike quite literally marks Will as his own.
It’s really fucking hot.
Then Will remembers that he’ll have to cover it up later, which really defeats the entire purpose, but he’s too out of it for the flicker of unhappiness to be any more than just that—a flicker that’s immediately covered up by the pure sensation of Mike against him, Mike’s mouth on his skin. Fuck, he thinks to himself, because he’s so far gone for this boy, so far gone for Michael Wheeler, his best friend since childhood. And he can only assume, from the way that Mike is mumbling unintelligible endearments against his sternum, that Mike is just as far gone for him.
Then the door swings open, and Will doesn’t register the squeaking of the hinges until it’s too late. "What're you guys doing in—"
By the time he’s pushed himself up on his elbows, face burning and undoubtedly crimson red, Mike having fallen away from above him, Lucas and Dustin are staring wide-eyed at the two of them, uncomprehending looks on both their faces.
“What the actual fuck,” whispers Lucas, breaking the silence.
“...Surprise?” Mike offers sheepishly from beside Will, who whips around and cuffs him upside the head.
“Sorry,” says Dustin, looking shell-shocked. “I’ll—we’ll. Um. Leave you two…to, uh, it.” He reaches out and attempts to grab the doorknob again, missing a couple of times before finally grasping it and yanking the door shut.
Will, face still hot, turns to Mike. His boyfriend smiles back—he is way too calm for the situation they are in right now—and takes Will’s hand in both of his, squeezing it lightly. “Hey,” he says, “at least we still had our clothes on.”
Will chokes.