Chapter Text
It’s the middle of the first week of November and Mike can’t find a singular sweater in his closet.
He’s basically torn it apart in his quest to find protection against the chilling weather, only to discover he’s lacking an alarming number of jackets and hoodies as well. He can’t help but scoff and stare in disbelief at the clothes he’s thrown all over the bed and the floor in order to locate at least a coat, standing fully dressed in his jeans, shoes, and shirt—but very obviously lacking a layer.
With a disgruntled sigh, Mike aggressively opens his bedroom door and screams at the house. “MOM?! WHERE ARE MY JACKETS? I CAN’T FIND ANY SWEATERS!”
“CHECK THE LAUNDRY BASKET, MICHAEL!” Comes the answering scream, but Mike already checked his own laundry basket, and the one in the bathroom, and he knows there’s no way they’re in the laundry room downstairs because his mom would’ve certainly noticed that many dirty clothes. He opens his mouth to scream this out, only for Nancy’s bedroom door to open and slam shut as she steps out.
“Would you guys stop screaming?” She hisses, fumbling with her bag as looks for, no doubt, her car keys. At a lack of finding them, Nancy makes a frustrated sound and then points a menacing finger at him. “Why aren’t you ready yet? Don’t you have rehearsals today? We’re leaving in five, I’m already running late!”
“I can’t find a coat!” Mike protests. “Have you seen any of my sweaters around?”
“Jesus Christ, Mike, of course not, like I’d let you leave your dirty clothes around the house,” Nancy rolls her eyes, and gestures at their mom’s bedroom. “Just take something from dad’s closet! I’m sure he left some things behind.”
“Are you kidding? So I can look like some middle-aged divorced motherfu—”
“MICHAEL, USE YOUR INTERNAL VOICE!” Mom screams from downstairs, to which Mike lets out a whine and throws his head back, resisting the urge to stomp his feet at Nancy’s resulting laughter as she goes down the stairs.
“Raid mom’s closet, then!” She suggests, and Mike stares at her back in disgust until she disappears into the living room, no doubt hunting down her keys. Mike stands in quiet annoyance at the top of the stairs for a moment, before turning to his mom’s room and invading the walk-in closet.
He grabs the first piece of fuzzy fabric he sets his eyes on before rushing back out and gathering his things from his room, not wishing to run across her swimsuit collection or any other articles of clothing he has no desire to be aware of. He stomps his way down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and all but barges into the kitchen for a hurried breakfast, almost tripping all over himself. Nancy is nowhere to be seen, and Mike hears the front door slamming closed, which means she’ll shortly be fuming in her car and checking her wristwatch every five seconds as she waits for him.
His mom turns from the stove and stares at the sweater in his hands. “Isn’t that mine?”
“I can’t find any of my own!” Mike protests, grabbing a piece of toast and setting a spoonful of eggs on top of it, before pouring a generous amount of syrup all over that. Holly turns her face away and even his mom looks distractedly put out by his choice of breakfast, but Mike just rolls his eyes because he’s been doing this his whole life and he’s not gonna stop. “Not a single jacket, sweater, coat, hoodie, or even long-sleeves that aren’t flannels or other shirts! Some of my middle-school stuff is there but I don’t fit anymore! Are you sure you didn’t lose my clothes, mom—?”
“How would I lose your clothes? Don’t be silly, I’m sure they must be somewhere, you just haven’t been looking right,” Mom huffs, shaking her head, and then grabbing a napkin from the kitchen counter and approaching him. She raises the napkin towards his mouth as he chews. “Michael, please, you’re leaving crumbs everywhere—”
“I'm not a baby!” Mike protests, leaning away only to get caught anyway because he refuses to fall off his goddamn chair. His mom wipes at his lips with disapproving, pursed lips and then balls up the napkin, throwing it at his forehead. “Mom!”
“If you don’t want to be treated like a baby, don’t act like one!” She sighs, then turns to pick up the dirty dishes off the table, throwing a giggling Holly a wink. Mike sticks his tongue out at his sister in a display of his clearly superior maturity levels. “Have fun today, okay? And don’t forget to call me when you arrive—”
“—at the venue, I know, I know!” Mike cuts in. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, but Nancy is honking the car outside and they’re honestly running a little later than he’d like, too. “I gotta go, see you—check for my sweaters, please, mom? I’m freezing my balls off—!”
The slam of porcelain against the sink and Holly laughing. “Michael, how many times?! LANGUAGE!”
“I’m going, sorry, I’m going!” Still, as hurried as he is, Mike lets his mom press a kiss to his forehead that he has to bend down to receive, and ruffles Holly’s hair on his way out. “See you tonight!”
“Give Will a hug for me, okay?! You know how November is!” Mom yells after him, and the comment almost has Mike tripping over his own two feet at the front door, as he was trying to simultaneously strap his backpack and his guitar case over his shoulders. “Bring him over for dinner tomorrow, I’m making his favorite!”
Mike opens and closes his mouth, thinking of what kinda response he should go with to appear like he feels cool about his mom’s thoughtfulness, when in fact the sheer mention of Will out of his mom’s mouth makes him feel extremely mortified lately—but a series of honks from Nancy scares him into a jump that has him just closing the door behind him, foregoing a response at all.
Nancy honks at him one last time when she sees him approaching, earning herself a middle finger that he keeps pointing all the way into the car and even as he fastens his seatbelt until Nancy physically has to force his hand down herself.
“God,” Nancy mutters, pulling out of the driveway with a relieved sigh. “This is the last time I’m visiting early for Thanksgiving. I swear, it’s a mess every time—”
Mike snorts, rolling his eyes. “Right, like that’s believable when Jonathan always comes home early and you always follow behind him—”
“He’s family oriented! What, would you rather he didn’t enjoy spending time with Will and El?” Nancy shrugs, not even a little bit embarrassed about Mike’s implications. He almost misses the times when those comments would’ve riled her up a little bit—mostly because she didn’t have good ammunition to return the attack back then. Case in point: “Besides, you’re one to talk about me and Jon, when we all know that you and Will—”
“No!” Mike denies it immediately, shaking his head in panic, face rapidly reddening. Nancy shoots him a smug, mischievous smile, and Mike curses her in his head because he’s fallen into her trap again. “Me and Will what? No! We’re nothing like you and Jonathan! We have nothing going on, we’re not gross and sticky like you guys—”
“Oh, so wish you had something going on, is that what I’m hearing?” Nancy continues, earning herself another middle finger and a dead glare that she doesn’t seem the slightest bit affected by. “Also, gross and sticky? You literally have sleepovers with Will every weekend, by yourselves, getting up to who-knows-what all alone in that basement—”
“Nancy!” Mike exclaims, covering his ears and turning his body towards the window, closing his eyes as he feels his face getting heating up. At least it eases up the cold. “Stop, oh my god! You’re so annoying!”
“Okay, okay! Just saying!” Nancy laughs, and Mike refuses to turn toward her and see what kind of face she’s making. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything about his… feelings, after the divorce. Not to her, not to his mom. He regrets it every time they remind him of it because it’s so fucking embarrassing. “Anyways—don’t forget about taking that driving test again, okay? I can’t keep giving you rides everywhere, Mike, you’re eighteen—”
“The instructor has something against me!” Mike crosses his arms as Nancy snorts in disbelief. “I’m pretty sure Hopper paid him off so I wouldn’t get my license. My driving isn’t that bad!”
“Right, whatever makes you feel better,” Nancy says, nodding and holding back a smile like she wants to laugh at his excuses. Mike rolls his eyes and decides to look at the sweater he picked, extending it out in front of him—oh, shit. Nancy makes a curious sound. “Is that mom’s ugly Christmas sweater from last year’s competition?”
“Fuck me, I’m allergic to this one!” Mike whines, letting it fall to his lap, ignoring the rather disturbing-looking, fluorescent green-and-purple Santa Claus staring up at him. He looks at Nancy, eyeing her coat. “Hey, can you—?”
“Nope!” Nancy shakes her head with a laugh, pulling into the school parking lot. “You’re gonna have to deal with it—”
“Nancy! This is too ugly!” Mike extends the sweater out again, noticing how itchy it is. God fucking damn it. “I’m gonna be sneezing all day!”
“You should’ve looked better, Mike!” She shrugs, not a drop of pity in her voice as she parks in front of the bike racks. Mike can see Lucas, Max, and Dustin from here, chatting among themselves in their usual hangout spot even though none of them bike to school anymore. He groans as he looks at the warm layers they’re wearing, then at the spot where the window is getting foggy because of the cold. Fuck. “It’s just a school day, Mike, jeez. Go on, you’re gonna be late, and I’m gonna—”
“Meet Jonathan for breakfast,” Mike finishes for her, rolling his eyes, and then puts on the sweater. He can’t help but let out a sigh of relief as he finally gets a layer of protection against the cold weather, even if at the cost of his dignity. He’s gonna have to brave it out. “Thanks for the ride, I guess.”
Nancy wishes him luck as he steps out of the car, awkwardly maneuvering his guitar case and backpack. He approaches his friends with almost-angry steps, crossing his arms as he comes to stand right next to Max. His tone comes out cutting. “Hey, guys.”
Three faces turn towards him, with Dustin already halfway through a cheery good morning, my dude! which is when their eyes fall down.
Shocked silence, and then Max goes, her voice shaking with humor: “Mike, what the fuck are you wearing?”
“Don’t start!” Mike elbows her, to which she pinches his arm, making him wince in pain. Dustin is laughing, looking at the sweater and then away to laugh again, while Lucas is carefully covering his mouth so as to not give away his own amusement, shoulders shaking. “Guys, this isn’t funny, okay? I couldn’t find anything else to wear—!”
“Seriously? Your mom buys you more clothes in two months than I get in two years!” Max snorts, openly staring at Mike’s sweater. She even goes as far as to pull on a loose thread, chuckling when Mike slaps her hand away. “I guess that’s a fashion statement if I’ve ever seen any.”
“More like a crisis,” Lucas suggests, and the trio descends into laughter again. Mike sniffs as the allergy starts to hit, scrunching up his nose with a frown that he knows is gonna give him wrinkles when he gets older. “There was nothing else in your closet? For real? I mean, apart from the obvious—”
Mike decides to cut into that before Lucas can finish the joke because it’s just not funny, okay? Who likes closet jokes? Huh? Certainly not Mike, no. Unless he’s the one making them, that is, but he discards the thought in order to address all the unfair questions shot his way.
“I shop for clothes often because I’m a growing boy, okay? It’s annoying! And yes, Lucas, I seriously couldn’t find anything else, it’s like all my sweaters just fucking up and vanished!” Mike throws his hands out as he gestures in frustration, almost hitting Max’s arm, causing her to dodge. “I can’t find a coat, or a winter jacket, not even a hoodie, and I got way too many flannels that I didn’t even know I had—”
“Dude, you’re such a mess,” Dustin interrupts, letting out one last laugh while reaching out to pat Mike’s shoulder in pity. “Hey, it’s not so bad! I like it! The fluorescent green really, uh, brings out your, um, you know, that special feeling—”
“It’s… unique!” Lucas provides with a cheeky wink and finger guns. Mike flips him off, earning peals of laughter from Dustin and Max. He promptly flips them off, too, as Lucas continues: “It gives you an edge, dude, you know? Like, here I am!”
“Please, man,” Mike urges. “Can you stop? I thought we were friends.”
Lucas doesn’t know mercy, apparently. Mike somehow blames Max for this. “I mean, I’m pretty sure my mom has one that’s really similar—”
“Oh my god!” Max cuts in, her mouth falling open in realization and recognition. “That’s your mom’s submission to that ugly Christmas sweaters competition from last year!”
Dustin starts laughing his ass off again, and this time Lucas and Max join in, wheezing like this is the funniest shit they’ve seen in years. Mike feels the violent urge to scream his head off and whine about how this isn’t fair, because how the fuck is it his fault that he got stuck wearing this? But then Max glances behind him and her expression, if possible, gets even more delighted. Mike hates her with passion.
“Will! El!” She calls, and Mike instantly groans and buries his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks flaming. Fucking hell, Will seeing him like this is the last thing he wants, but he has literally no choice. He’s so embarrassed it burns. “You’re not gonna believe what Mike is wearing today—”
“Is that his mom’s sweater?” Will asks, his voice coming from right next to him, El giggling somewhere closer to Max at the words. Mike tries to make himself smaller to cover up the front, but Will’s hand falls on his elbow and the attempt gets completely derailed at the welcoming thrill of physical contact from Will. “Oh! It’s from—”
“The ugly sweater competition, yes, I know!” Mike whines out loud, only refraining from going on a tangent because Will giggles, and that—hmm, that sound suddenly makes him feel simultaneously a lot less stressed and very, very nervous, hyper-aware of where Will is still touching him, fingers softly feeling the fabric of the sweater.
“You look like a unicorn threw up on you,” El supplies, her tone purposely deadpan, sending Max into a fit of giggles. Mike lifts his head to send her his best I trusted you to remain neutral, betrayed look. El just wraps her arm around Max’s shoulder, somehow avoiding jostling her bass case, and giggles. “It’s better than your usual clothes!”
“Oh my god,” Mike despairs, blushing as his ears zero in on the sound of Will audibly swallowing a laugh. “You’re all so shitty, oh my god. I needed support, not to get emotionally destroyed—”
“I think it suits you,” Will tries, but there’s too much amusement in his voice, clipping his tone into what is clearly a lie. They’re still touching, and Mike feels frozen, unable to fully turn to him with an awkward, jittery sort of energy filling him up. “I mean, it’d even be season appropriate, in like, maybe a week or two—”
Mike decides to escape his sudden awkwardness by continuing to talk, forcing himself to look at Will, his eyes unconsciously avoiding Will’s and straying lower than socially acceptable. “I just couldn’t find anything else to layer on today, it’s so fucking cold but all my sweaters are missing—”
The words die in his throat so suddenly that Mike chokes with an awful cough, processing the sight of Will before him. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, not really; same soft brown hair, same pretty hazel-green eyes, same beauty marks that make Mike weak at the knees, same rosy-pink lips that he could stare at for hours and hours. Same pretty boy Will Byers that makes Mike scream into his pillow at night because he’s so disgustingly gone for him that it isn’t even funny.
Except Will is wearing a very familiar bottle-green coat over a very familiar patterned blue-yellow-and-gray sweater that Mike hasn’t seen in what feels like years, even though he remembers very clearly his mom dragging him to go shopping for it barely a couple of months ago, disturbing a schedule band practice in the process.
“Guh,” is the sound that comes out of Mike’s mouth, as he realizes the implications of this line of thought. Holy shit, holy fuck, god. Those are his clothes that Will is wearing. What the fuck? He’s having a stroke. Mike can feel it coming on; his face is heating, he’s dizzy, his hands are clammy and itchy and—
He sneezes. Everyone jumps, and then the school bell rings, making their friend group disperse with pointed wishes of good luck with Mike’s fashion-related issues. Everyone except for Will, that is, who now looks concerned, taking a step closer to him and going, in the softest voice possible: “Mike? Are you okay? You’re getting spots on your face.”
“I—uh, um, I mean, it’s just an allergy,” Mike stumbles through the words, nodding to himself once he manages to get it out. Of course. The allergy. He isn’t having a stroke just because Will is wearing his clothes, no, not at all, no— “Um, you know, to the sweater? The fabric, just, y’know. Itchy.”
“Right,” Will’s expression clears up; he smiles up at Mike, soft and reassuring and kind and blinding enough that he could be convinced that Will carries the sun in his grin. “Do you need the nurse?”
“What? No,” Mike shakes his head, then he shakes out his arms and shoulders, trying to ground himself back in reality and not in the paradise that exists in his head where all he ever has to do is stare at Will Byers all day. “No, I’m fine, just—got dizzy for a second. Whatever—Will, why are we friends with assholes?”
“Because they love us and we love them,” Will provides, scrunching up his nose at Mike like he’s seriously questioning whether he’s missing his brain this morning. And with Will in that outfit? Yeah, Mike certainly doesn’t feel like he has a brain, so he can’t blame him. “Also, one of those assholes is my sister and your ex, so…”
“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Mike rolls his eyes, but a smile is creeping on his lips, bigger than it should be for such a simple comment, but Will matches him with it and he figures it's okay. It’s just them right now, walking to class together because they tried their hardest to get their schedules to match up this year. No biggie, no need to freak out. “Like, what was I supposed to do? Just not wear any layers? I had to grab something; I just didn’t look properly—”
“Did you check the laundry?” Will asks, lips twitching, and Mike groans and elbows him and resists the urge to affectionately wrap his arm around his shoulders afterward, flushing slightly at the sound of Will’s soft laughter.
Quietness builds between them for a second as Mike thinks of a proper way to answer, because he doesn’t know what to say sometimes when the thing in his heart and between them feels so present.
It’s been like this for a couple of years, ever since the Byers officially moved back to Hawkins. Just tension, tension, god, so much of it, so much pushing and pulling. So much of not quite telling Will that he loves him, not quite kissing Will when he’s in the middle of saying something and he interrupts him, not quite asking him out on a date when they’re going to the movie theater by themselves, without the excuse of Lucas and Max as companions.
It’s a lot to deal with on a daily basis when Mike is aware, because most of this he’s felt ever since he was a kid. Most of this he spent his early teen years repressing. He’s kinda used to it so he doesn’t always notice it, and at the same time, now that he isn’t the only one who knows, it’s just so… overwhelming, all of it. From the way in which Will so easily steals the words from his mouth and takes his breath away, to how much Mike itches to hold his hand, take him on dates, kiss him and tell him all the things he’s been hiding away in his half-assed attempts at song-writing and poetry, as if he’s some hopelessly romantic girl with a crush.
It’d probably be sickening if Mike were seeing this from an outsider's point of view, if someone else was falling in love with their childhood best friend in front of him. But it isn’t, so, mostly, it’s just Mike being too chicken to make the first move, even though Will seems…
Well, he doesn’t want to brag, but Mike’s pretty sure that Will is into him. Or something like that. He hasn’t tried to think too hard about it because every time he does, he starts sweating buckets and losing sleep. What Mike does allow himself to process is some tiny facts, like how Will always looks at Mike in anticipation whenever he asks what his weekend plans are, the way Will never moves away from Mike’s space when they’re too close together, the look in his eyes whenever Mike actually wraps an arm around his shoulders or his waist and looks down at him with unsubtle affection.
A part of Mike sometimes wishes Will would spell it out—except he already did, years ago in a messy, smelly pizza van, and Mike was too much of an idiot to notice the obvious because he was too busy staring at how pretty and kissable Will looked. It’s embarrassing to remember. He can’t imagine it felt anything but mortifying to Will at that moment, as well, literally pouring his heart out for him in a misguided attempt to get Mike back with his sister, only for hours later to stand there and listen to Mike come up with the shittiest motivational speech ever, at his urging.
Ugh. No. Mike can’t ask Will to risk his heart like that again, and fair is fair—Mike has been trying to communicate that he feels the same ever since he’s figured it out. It has just… taken some time. Just a few years. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?
…yeah, once again, worth repeating: Mike is just too chicken. He lacks the courage that other times he has no issue reaching for, like when he’s on stage with the spotlight on him and the band and he’s able to just stop thinking and play his music in complete internal peace and harmony. He wishes it were that simple to just take the next step with Will.
Will, who is now looking at Mike and biting his lip, drawing his eyes to it like a magnet. “Mike?”
“Yeah?” Mike blinks hard, and then looks at Will in the eyes, licking his lips at the flush over his cheeks. He realizes that he spaced out, which instantly makes him feel bad because it’s November and Will has bags under his eyes. He should be paying more attention. “What is it? You okay?”
“You’re the one with the allergies,” Will rolls his eyes, knocking their shoulders together, and then he looks ahead at the rapidly emptying hallway. Mike has a hunch they’re gonna be considerably late to class and does not give a single fuck. “I’m okay, I just… I mean, I think I know where all your coats are. And your sweaters and hoodies and stuff.”
Mike looks Will up and down, trying to make his expression as sarcastically skeptical as possible. “Really? I couldn’t possibly imagine just how you would know that.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Will rolls his eyes at him, but he says asshole the same way anyone else would’ve said bitch, which makes Mike laugh, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Just then, a sneeze rattles his frame, and Will snorts, covering his mouth with his hand when Mike sends him a warning glare. “That’s just instant karma—”
“That’s so not a thing—”
“You’ve been leaving all your clothes at my house lately,” Will gets them back on track, raising his eyebrows at the way Mike confusedly goes huh? “Okay, maybe not all of them, but I have a lot of, like, sweaters, and jackets, and coats, but especially hoodies…”
Will’s cheeks get progressively pinker, and Mike can’t help but let out a lovesick sigh before deciding to tease him. “So, you’re admitting to committing theft?”
“What? No!” Will snorts, but his blush deepens. Mike hums with skepticism, earning himself a dirty look. “I’m not stealing! You’re just always offering me your things—”
Mike huffs. “Because you get cold easily and I’m nice!”
“I have my own clothes!” Will laughs, but Mike just shrugs. He doesn’t care; and besides, he thinks as he looks Will up and down again, he looks good in his clothes. So fucking good, in fact, with the way the sleeves are too long on him so he has to roll them up, with the way the green coat compliments his eyes. “My closet is filling up. Um, I could bring some stuff over tonight, if you want, and—”
“Nah,” Mike lets out, finding that he suddenly doesn’t care about freezing his balls off through winter. He’d go through worse—has gone through worse—for Will. “If you have them that’s fine. You need them.”
Will blinks at him, narrowing his eyes. “Mike. I can’t let you wear sweaters that give you allergies until your mom unnecessarily takes you shopping just because I get cold sometimes.”
“It’s fine!” Mike insists and almost collides face-first against the wall next to their classroom door because he was too busy staring at Will, who laughs at him for a second before pulling him into their classroom by the arm.
Their teacher side-eyes them but gives them a pass for being late, and Mike stares at her until she turns their back on them to lean over and whisper at Will, none-too-subtly scooting his desk closer to his to make the gesture a little less obvious.
“Seriously, it’s fine!” Mike whispers, raising his eyebrows at him when Will scoffs under his breath. “If you give me back a single sweater, I’m burning it.”
“Like your mom would let you,” Will mumbles back, pressing his lips together and looking ahead at the board to hide a smile. Mike sighs, staring at his profile, at how the morning light that filters through the window makes him look ethereal, like he’s the source of light himself. God, Will fucking Byers. “I don’t even fit in most of them.”
“You look so good wearing my clothes, though,” Mike blurts out, and it’s only when Will snaps his neck in his direction to look at him with wide eyes and reddening cheeks that he realizes what he said. Oh, shit, shit, shit— “I, uh, um…”
Will’s mouth is open. His lips are dry, a little cracked, gone a little pale—probably from the weather if he had to guess. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last time, Mike wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss his lips until they’re red and shiny, and then until they’re bruised. And even further then, until he can’t hold back anymore and he’s biting at the plushness of Will’s bottom lip, letting the kiss escalate higher and higher until he has to actively stop his mind from running away from him.
“Yeah,” Mike clears his throat, mouth dry. He feels properly hot for the first time ever since he hopped out of his scalding hot shower this morning. Will’s breath is visibly ragged, chest rising up and down; Mike feels a rush of euphoria in his veins from the knowledge that he was the one to cause that. He speaks with a little more confidence: “Yeah, you look good in my clothes. So, like, just don’t sweat it. Keep the stuff. I like seeing you in them.”
Will closes his mouth, opens it again, licks his lips—and gets interrupted by their teacher asking Mike a question, glancing between the two of them with suspicious eyes that instantly have them both sitting up straight, their little bubble of intimacy popped by the reminder that, oh, yeah, they’re in public. Jesus Christ.
Mike might be out to his family, and Will might be out to pretty much anyone that dares ask in a town as full of prejudice as Hawkins, but that doesn’t mean they want to get detention for behaving a little gay in the back of a classroom, during class. Still, though, as the hour progresses, Mike finds that maybe getting detention would’ve been more productive because he can’t focus on shit anymore after what he just pulled.
God, he was really about to kiss Will. He knows it. He would’ve done the stupidest thing ever and kissed Will in public at school of all places, holy shit. He needs to get it together. It’s like one moment he’s too much of a chicken to say or do anything, the next Will is looking at him like he thinks Mike has any idea of how to handle his feelings and he starts daydreaming, hell, fantasizing, right in front of Will’s face, unbeknownst to him.
Thankfully for his gay little heart, the next class isn’t one he shares with Will—but he does share it with Max, who sees his absent-minded attitude and instantly knows something is up.
“What did you do this time?” She whispers at him under her breath, to which Mike side-eyes her from his seat and glares because he is trying to focus. And failing. Max rolls her eyes because they both know Mike has no issues with math whatsoever, so he’s clearly not worried about numbers. “Dude! Come on! Just tell me and I’ll leave you be until rehearsals.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” Mike mumbles, earning a shrug. He shoots Max a disgusted face, signaling for her to fuck off, but she just keeps obviously staring at him, not a single bit worried about their teacher. Mike insists: “Fuck off.”
“I’ll leave you be until lunch,” Max starts negotiating, nodding at him as if that’s a good deal. Which—considering it's Max, it is, but Mike doesn’t want to give in just yet. She sighs. “I won’t laugh about the sweater anymore. Or the weak disposition that gives you stupid allergies all the time.”
Mike’s frown deepens, but she wasn’t as mean as she could have been, so he’s gonna take it. He needs to get this out anyways, or he’s going to keep running in circles as if stuck in a hamster wheeler—an accurate representation of his brain when it comes to Will, really. He presses his lips together and tries to figure out a subtle, non-funny way to say it, but he comes up blank.
Fuck, whatever: “I almost kissed Will. Again.”
Max actually has to cover her mouth with her hand, disguising a worryingly loud snort with a cough. The teacher turns their way and stares, then goes back to explaining the exercise on the board. Mike scribbles it down while Max gets herself under control.
Screw his life.
“Wow,” she finally sighs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because we were in class?” Mike shoots her a bewildered look, and Max just shrugs. Mike drops his pencil so he can direct the full force of his disbelief at her, crossing his arms. “Dude. The hell.”
“Your mutual pining is so disgusting that I don’t care where or how you do it by this point, I just want you two out of my face,” Max explains, and Mike regrets ever meeting her for a fleeting second because that’s just—ouch. Damn. She’s one to talk, considering how El and Lucas are all over her all the time, but whatever. He can admit the pining is a little aggravating. He’s experiencing it. “Will deserves the whole nine yards, ‘course, but—it’s you. His expectations probably aren’t that high—”
“Okay, conversation over,” Mike rolls his eyes, picking up his pencil and wondering if he’s really been that bad. Surely not. Not to Will, anyways. Max just doesn’t know, even though she’s the only one that, at the same time, knows the most. It’s a paradox that gives Mike a headache whenever he thinks about it. “Thanks for nothing, band mate. I love the team spirit—”
“Whiny bitch,” Max mumbles under her breath, and Mike kicks her ankle in retaliation. As revenge, Max kicks him back, which hurts a lot more than his kick probably hurt her. It’s truly unfair to be who he is. “Just ask him out, dude. Or kiss him. He’s already borrowing your clothes and sleeping in your stinky basement on school nights. Rip off the fucking band-aid.”
Mike narrows his eyes at the choice of words and hums. “I’ll consider it.”
Max throws her head back and groans. “You absolutely shit—”
“Ms. Mayfield, Mr. Wheeler, is there something you two would like to share with us?” Their teacher interrupts, and Mike sinks into his seat in synch with Max, both of them trying to feign innocence. The teacher just shakes his head and gestures at the board. “Come on, now, show us how this is done.”
Ah, well. It could be worse—Mike really doesn’t need detention and, in the end, this is just extra practice for the exams. Yay him. Max drags her feet all the way to the front, though, because she’s always about to tank Calculus. Still, this brings their conversation to a halt, but Mike knows it’s only temporary. Until lunch, indeed; Max never breaks a promise like that.
The rest of the morning sees Mike trying not to act weird around Will during the rest of their shared classes, forcing himself to relax and not stare too overtly. He fails at the second thing, of course, but Will stares back, shameless as ever until Mike’s embarrassment turns into butterflies in his belly. Max joins them for Biology, along with Dustin, meaning that they witness their helpless, silent longing with rolled eyes.
Then there’s English with El, who hogs Will all to herself because she hates the way Mike ‘overexplains’ the material for group projects. He unironically feels like a third wheel around them, which is probably exactly her intention. But it doesn’t stop Mike from sitting closer than necessary to Will’s other side, their legs touching from the knee down to their feet under their grouped-together desks. It leaves him feeling a little shaky, even though this happens every single day.
They part briefly before lunch since Will has Art and Mike has History, which means it’s just him and Lucas.
Lucas, who takes one single look at him before the class starts and goes: “So, Will, huh?”
“Oh my god,” Mike snaps his textbook open and all but throws his pencil case on top of it, glaring at the material and then at Lucas. “Max told you?!”
“El told me,” Lucas corrects him, which just makes Mike feel even more betrayed. “I think Max told her. Dustin probably knows by now, too. You know, maybe Will was the one who—”
“Don’t fuck with me,” Mike runs his hands through his hair, grimacing when he accidentally pulls on a few tangled curls. “Lucas, please. I’m going through it; you have no idea.”
“I just don’t understand why you’re struggling so much,” Lucas shrugs, leaning back in his seat with a relaxed smile. “If this was someone new, I’d get it, and being nervous is fine, you’re probably always gonna be—but this is Will, Mike. This is you and Will. You guys can read each other’s thoughts on a bad day, like, come on.”
“Do you really think I have any clue, Lucas?” Mike picks up his pencil and points it at him, huffing and rolling his eyes when Lucas’ expression turns sheepish. “See! If no one trusts me, why should I trust myself?”
“Everyone trusts you, dude,” Lucas denies, reaching out and patting his shoulder with a solemn expression. “Mostly to fuck it up—”
“Dude—”
“—but since it’s Will, well, you always fix it up and it turns out okay, don’t you?” Lucas continues as if he didn’t just personally stab him in the back. Damn, their friend group is really just a bunch of people unified against him, isn’t it? Again, unfair. So unfair. Sure, he knows this is just because he’s being silly, but Mike would rather be dramatic about it. “Trust that and you’ll be just fine. Will’s already crazy for you—hell, maybe you should use tonight to impress him!”
Mike squints his eyes with skepticism. “What.”
“It’s been a while since the band played,” Lucas shrugs. “Dress up nicely, like, the way Will likes, and flirt a little, trust the liquid courage of cheap beer—”
“I’m gonna pretend I’m taking this advice seriously,” Mike says, earning a shake of Lucas’ head. “I’m gonna tank it, Lucas. Remember that one summer, with El? I couldn’t do shit.”
“Well, that’s kinda different,” Lucas points out, and Mike silently agrees. He was never as torn up about that as he is about this. Hell, as he was about Will during that time period. Fuck, he’s so gone and so fucking doomed. “Just trust me, then, and do what I tell you. It’ll come to you naturally. I know my shit, you know—”
Mike’s eye twitches. “Yes, Lucas, you have two girlfriends, I know—”
“You know Max did all the work,” Lucas corrects him, humble as he often is when he’s not cracking jokes, which makes Mike appreciate his advice a little more. “Just dress up nice, gather some confidence, and be yourself! It’s Will, Mike. Simple as that. Okay?”
“Okay,” Mike reluctantly nods, repeating the advice to himself: “Nice clothes, and, uh, just, impressing him with my skills, and like, uh, getting drunk?”
Lucas stares at him for a second, as if silently thinking how Mike still sounds so unsure. But he lets it be, thankfully, and only pats his shoulder again. “You got this, man.”
“Yeah,” Mike mumbles, turning to stare down at his textbook. “Yeah, I got it.”
At lunch, Mike sits in his designated spot right next to Will, close enough that it’s uncomfortable to use their connecting arms. Mike is sneezing to hell and back by now, having to keep a bunch of napkins within reach to deal with his allergies, and Will stares at him concerningly each time he has to unclog his nose and clear his throat.
“We can switch sweaters,” Will suggests halfway through lunch, leaning in close to keep their conversation private. His eyelashes almost look blonde even inside the cafeteria, because Mike is sitting with his back to a window that is illuminating every single one of Will’s pretty features. Not a single thought runs through his head as Will raises his eyebrows in question. “Or I could at least give you the coat? You’re performing tonight. If you keep wearing it, you’ll pass out on stage.”
“I won’t pass out,” Mike denies, shaking his head to try and refocus. His eyes fall on Will’s lips, and he has to work to tear his gaze away from the reminder of his thoughts from earlier. “And if I did, Max would catch me. Right?”
“Nope!” Max responds from Will’s other side, to which Mike flips her off. Will lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, but it’s obvious that he’s not amused. He moves to stand, to which Mike looks up at him with a pout.
“Come on,” Will urges, and Mike is standing before he even finishes the second word. “I’m getting you out of that, and then we’ll ask the nurse for something for the allergies.”
Mike feels his ears go red with the wording, but shrugs it off as he follows Will out of the cafeteria. Somehow, he knows Max and Dustin are making jokes about him behaving like a puppy right now. It’s a sixth sense. “Uh, you really want to see me perform, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Will looks at him with a tiny smile and a nod, eyes wrinkled at the corners. Mike unconsciously takes a step closer to him, so their hands just about brush as they walk. “You’re great at this. I never thought Dustin would be the one taking over the D&D group while you took over Eddie’s band—hell, I never expected Max to join you, but it’s great. It was refreshing to move back here and see you just put it all together. And you’re talented, don’t let Max get to you. She’s just messing around.”
“I—yeah, well, it wasn’t just me that figured it out. I don’t think I could’ve done it without her, actually, as much of a little shit as she is now,” Mike shrugs, but there’s a smile on his lips at the praise that he’s trying to fight, with limited success. “But I mean, I’m… I’m glad you’re into it, I guess because you’re just—your support means a lot. To me. You mean a lot to me, actually, in general. You always have.”
Will’s steps slow down, and he looks at Mike for a few long seconds, not saying anything. Mike forces himself to keep eye contact, and shivers at the obvious electricity in the space between them—in the slight brush of their fingers as they walk, before he decides to throw all caution to the wind, trusting his instinct as Lucas advised.
Mike extends his pinky out and wraps it around Will’s, holding on tight, gazing purposely into his eyes. It takes Will a second, in which he looks helplessly overwhelmed, eyes wide and shiny, face as red as Mike’s must be. Then, he nods.
“Yeah, I know,” he breathes out, his voice delicate and shaky. Mike can’t help that his smile grows, and he can only imagine how lovesick he must look as he squeezes Will’s pinky in his. Will squeezes back, looking towards the ground with a bashful smile. “Let’s—let’s hurry, okay? I still want to finish my lunch.”
“Sure,” Mike nods as Will pulls him into a quicker pace, falling behind just a half-step, enough that his treacherous eyes wander Will’s body. He snaps his eyes away when he catches himself and raises his eyebrows, biting his lip before repeating his words. “Sure, yeah, you’re right.”
It is absolutely torture to stand in a bathroom stall with Will and exchange sweaters. Absolutely excruciating. Mike doesn’t know how he survives it—he doesn’t know why they decided to share a stall at all, actually, it just kinda happened despite the bathroom being completely unoccupied. He kept his eyes to the ceiling the whole time, refraining from the urge to count up Will’s moles and his remaining sun-kissed freckles from his time in California, since last summer brought them back.
He forces Will to keep the coat in order to cover up that hideous sweater since Mike feels warm enough with just this one extra layer, which he knows Will is secretly grateful for from the single side-eye he gives Mike during his insisting gestures. If they come out of the bathroom looking a little incriminating without real reason, with their swapped clothes and pink cheeks, well—it’s only good that the hallways are empty during lunch period.
And as Will drags a whining Mike all the way to the nurse’s office to get allergy remedies, Mike realizes one thing with absolute certainty:
Lucas is too trustful, because he one-hundred percent doesn’t have this.