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All things considered, tripping over his own feet while running from a demodog was not one of Will’s proudest moments.
Most notably, he almost died. If Lucas hadn’t been there to shoot the damn thing, it would have killed him. On top of that, his hands were scraped raw and bloody where he tried to catch himself, and there was a huge gash on his eyebrow where he hit his head on a rock, because of course he did.
As soon as Lucas was sure the creature was dead, he'd shed his jacket and pressed it to Will's head wound to stop the bleeding. Will kept pressure on the wound as he shuffled miserably back toward the Wheeler's house while Lucas walked behind him like a bodyguard, vigilantly brandishing his crossbow. The bleeding had finally stopped by the time they got back to the Wheeler’s house, but Lucas’s jacket was soaked. Lucas only gave Will an exasperated look when he apologized for ruining it.
When Mike saw, he absolutely lost his shit. Part of Will selfishly liked that Mike made such a fuss over him being hurt, but he didn't like that he bit Lucas's head off about it, and he didn’t want his friends fighting just because he was a clumsy demogorgon magnet. In the midst of Mike's ranting, Will had to reiterate several times that Lucas hadn’t “let him get hurt,” and he’d in fact saved his life.
When Mike finally calmed down he didn’t bother to apologize to Lucas, just put his arm around Will’s waist and led him toward the basement, all the while muttering about how he was never letting Will go anywhere without him again.
Will found the whole ordeal pretty humiliating, but this —sitting on the couch in Mike’s basement, blushing furiously as Mike dabbed at his hands with a peroxide soaked rag— this was downright pathetic.
Will harshly reminded himself that the gentle touches didn’t mean anything. Mike was helping him out because they were friends, he’d do the same for anyone else in the Party. Still, there Will was, sitting across from Mike so close their knees were pressed together, with butterflies in his stomach. Maybe if he held his breath long enough, he could suffocate them.
In an attempt to distract himself from both the stinging in his hands and his heart beating out of his chest, Will watched Mike work. Will’s hands were covered in angry red scrapes and some deeper cuts that oozed blood when Mike pressed on them with the rag. He watched Mike’s hands as he cleaned each of the cuts. His fingers were long and slender, and his hands were paler than Will’s. They were shaking.
Mike was quiet, and he seemed so completely focused on what he was doing. For once, Will didn't stop himself from staring.
Mike’s hair had grown a little bit longer and a lot wilder. Mrs. Wheeler constantly complained about how it made him look “unkempt,” but Will thought it suited him. He wanted to run his fingers through the dark curls.
(Well, not in that specific moment, because his hands were all fucked up.)
Mike was nice to look at. He was even better to draw. He had the kind of face any artist would want to capture. Will told himself that was why he drew him so much, and if Mike ever found one of his sketchbooks, that would be his excuse.
Will had always thought Mike was cute, and he never understood why kids picked on him when they were young, but now Mike had undeniably grown into his features. He had a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. His eyelashes were long, and he had deep brown eyes that turned the color of honey in the sun.
They didn't get much sun these days. They rarely left the house, and when they did, the sky was nothing but dark clouds, like smoke. The faint freckles that used to be scattered across Mike's nose were long gone. He wasn't even sure if Mike had noticed them fade, but Will missed them sometimes.
Mike furrowed his eyebrows and bit his lip just slightly, the way he did when he was focusing all of his attention on something. It was the same look Mike used to get when he was furiously writing down the intricate details of his next campaign. Will found it incredibly endearing, and he warmed at the realization that all of that focus and care was being given to him now.
Because he’s your best friend, he reminded himself. Get a grip.
He knew good and well that Mike wasn’t like him. The best Will could hope for was that if Mike ever found out how Will felt about him, he wouldn’t hate him for it. He was never going to have Mike the way he really wanted him.
Will told himself he could be okay with that. He could deal with the dull ache in his chest that never truly subsided. He could greedily snatch up all of the little moments when Mike spoke to him soft and sweet, then play them over in his head and cling to those precious minutes when his love felt like more like a gift and less like a sickness. He could watch Mike fall for some stupid, beautiful girl, then watch her give Mike all the love he’d never accept from Will, even though it poured out of him. He could love Mike for the rest of his life and never tell him.
The truth was, he was nearing his breaking point.
Will had maybe the only stroke of luck he'd ever gotten in his entire life when El and Mike amicably split, and he no longer had to watch them together while being eaten alive by jealousy and guilt in equal measure. The problem with Mike being single, however, was that Will had, against his better judgment, started hoping. The last time he let himself hope like that, Castle Byers was still standing.
He knew it was wrong, completely delusional, and he was only going to get himself hurt, but Mike just made it so easy to fall into the fantasy.
Like the way Mike was holding his wrist so tenderly as he cleaned the cuts on Will’s hand, sitting on the same couch where they once promised they'd go crazy together.
Will was definitely going crazy. He wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or his proximity to Mike, but his skin felt scorching hot where Mike touched him, and the heat radiated all the way up to his face, which was surely bright red.
He’s only touching you to clean your cuts. Not because he wants to touch you, he reminded himself sternly. He doesn’t want you.
Suddenly, Mike looked up and met Will’s eyes. Shit. He’d probably felt Will staring.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked softly, offering a small smile. It was the first time since sitting down with the first aid kit that either of them spoke.
Will nodded. “I’m okay.”
“Okay,” Mike breathed. “Good.”
Will wasn’t sure why they were talking in hushed tones. The moment just felt delicate, like even talking too loudly might shatter it. Whatever it was.
“That’s kind of deep,” Mike said, staring at Will’s palm where it was split open at the heel.
“Yeah,” Will answered.
It was a pretty gnarly cut, but Will hardly noticed it. He wished he could say the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins was purely a result of his near-death experience, but he knew that wasn’t the truth.
“It probably needs a bandage,” Mike said.
“Probably,” Will agreed.
Mike nodded once and reached for the first aid kit on the table, grabbing a bandage. Mike held Will's wrist gingerly, like he was scared it would break. He carefully wrapped the gauze around his hand.
“So, tell me again what happened,” Mike said, his voice as soft as his touch.
“There was a demodog,” Will said, “it came totally out of nowhere.”
“Were you paying attention?” Mike asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Of course we were paying attention. I told you, it came out of nowhere,” Will snapped.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Mike relented, “I trust you. I just– You could’ve died, Will.”
Will averted his eyes. “I know,” he said.
Mike finished wrapping the bandage and let go of Will's hand. He stared for a moment, like he wanted to say something, but when he finally spoke, he only said, “I need to clean your head now. I know it hurts, but–”
“It’s fine, Mike,” Will interjected with a fond smile.
“Okay. Okay, just– Tell me if it hurts too much,” Mike said anxiously.
“You know, you don’t have to do this if it freaks you out,” Will said, “I could ask someone else.”
“I want to,” Mike said. “I mean, unless you’d rather someone else.”
“No, I want you,” Will blurted, then winced at his word choice. “I mean– I’m fine with you doing it. I trust you.”
Mike nodded and hesitantly reached out his hand. At first Will wasn't sure what he was doing, but then Mike put his fingers under Will's jaw and his thumb on his chin, angling his face so he had better access to the gash on the edge of his brow. Mike moved closer and craned his neck to get a better look as he started to dab the blood away.
Mike didn't let go of his face, which didn't seem entirely necessary, but Will didn't question it. With Mike so focused on his eyebrow, Will could almost pretend Mike was looking him in the eye, holding him by the chin. He could almost pretend Mike was about to kiss him.
"Next time you go out," Mike murmured, "I'm coming with."
"You said that already. Several times,” Will said, breathless.
Mike paused, dabbing at the wound. "I just– I can't lose you again. Do you get that?"
Mike was so close, being so tender, telling Will he couldn't lose him. It was so goddamn close to being everything Will had ever wanted, yet so far from enough. He couldn’t handle it anymore, and he couldn’t stop the tears from coming.
“Will, what’s wrong?” Mike asked, his eyes wide.
Will shook his head. He knew if he tried to speak it would come out as a sob.
“Please, talk to me,” Mike begged. He looked so concerned it made Will want to cry harder.
Will took a deep breath, desperately trying to collect himself. “It’s– the cut,” he choked out.
Mike frowned and flicked his eyes back to the wound on Will’s brow. “It hurts?” He asked.
“Yeah,” Will said, his voice tight and strangled, “It hurts.”
It hurts so much. It hurts all of the time.
Mike paused, his eyebrows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Will gasped, because it wasn’t.
Mike pursed his lips, “It’ll be over in a second, I just need to clean it. I don’t want you to get an infection or something. Sorry.”
Will nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tears run hot down his face and drip onto his jacket. Then the rag was dabbing at his forehead again, and it stung. He tried to hold onto the pain, to ground himself. It was easier when he didn't have to look Mike in the eye. He began to calm down, gathering some semblance of dignity and thinking maybe this wouldn’t be the most humiliating experience of his life, and then—
Mike’s thumb, warm on his cheek, gently brushed the tears away as he continued to hold his jaw. Will fell apart all over again.
He felt Mike press a band-aid to the cut on his eyebrow, and he took a shaky breath.
“There,” Mike whispered, “All patched up.”
Will reluctantly opened his eyes, and there Mike was, looking back at him worry in his eyes. He seemed to belatedly realize that he was still holding Will by the chin, and he let his hand fall away.
"Thanks," Will said, still crying. He knew he should probably get up. They needed to go back upstairs, see if his mom and Jonathan were back, let Lucas know he was okay.
All he could do was sit and stare at Mike.
Mike stared right back, once again looking like he had something he wanted to say. Finally, he murmured, "Can I..."
"Can you what?" Will questioned.
Mike averted his eyes for a moment, before looking back with determination on his face. It was a look Will was familiar with, Mike's brave face, one of the things he adored so much about him. Will thought he was going to ask about Vecna, or something important.
He didn't. Instead, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Will, pulling him into a hug.
Will went stiff for a second, then melted into it and let himself be held. He rested his head on Mike's shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, Will felt safe.
The embrace meant more to him than it did to Mike, he knew that. Still, he thought back to the nervous expression on Mike's face, followed by the look of determination, like he was preparing himself to face a demogorgon instead of simply hugging his best friend, and Will thought, maybe.
It was a dangerous thought. Dangerous and stupid. Will knew better, because he’d let himself get hurt before. When he was possessed and in pain, Mike stuck by his side for every minute of it, and Will convinced himself that it was something more than it was, that Mike would stay by his side like that forever.
When Mike pulled away after that, it made Will angry, like Mike had broken some sort of promise. There hadn’t been any promise. Not really. Mike didn’t owe him anything. So, Will kept reminding himself that all of this —the sweet voice, the soft touch, the undivided attention— could be ripped away, just like last time.
He doesn’t want you. He doesn't love you.
"It's gonna be okay," Mike whispered into Will's hair. "We're gonna make it through this, all of this shit. You and me, right?"
Will nodded against Mike's shoulder. "Yeah. Right," he said.
He held Mike tighter, and tried to let that be enough.