Chapter Text
Will could hear his own heartbeat. It was loud in his ears, almost louder than the hum of the house, the old pipes clicking, the refrigerator rattling, the wind brushing against the windows like it was listening in. His hands were damp, fingers twisting together in the sleeves of his flannel as he stood just outside the kitchen. Joyce was at the counter, looking over their plans. She looked tired in the way she always did lately., like the world had never really given her a chance to rest. Will watched her for a second too long, guilt blooming in his chest. He didn’t want to add another worry. But the words had been sitting inside him for years now, heavy and unmovable. And lately, they've started to hurt.
“Mom?” he said.
Joyce turned immediately. She always did. “Yeah, honey?” Her voice was warm, open, inviting. That almost made it harder.
“I, um… can we talk?” Will asked. His voice wobbled despite his best effort.
Joyce’s smile softened into something more careful. She set the mail down and nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”
Will swallowed. His mouth felt dry. He opened it, then closed it again. Before he could try a second time, there was a knock at the door. Sharp. Familiar. Will’s shoulders sagged just a little, relief and disappointment tangling together.
“I’ll get it,” Joyce said quickly, already moving past him.
“You sit, okay?” Will nodded numbly and took a seat at the kitchen table, staring down at the scratches in the wood. He traced one with his finger, grounding himself. The door opened. He heard voices, his moms surprised, then fond.
“Mike? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah- yeah, I just… I wanted to check on Will.”
There was a pause. Then Joyce said gently, “He’s in the kitchen.”
Will’s heart jumped. Mike appeared a moment later, hovering awkwardly in the doorway like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there. His hair was a mess, jacket half-zipped, eyes searching until they landed on Will. There you are, his expression seemed to say.
“Hey,” Mike said.
“Hey,” Will replied.
Joyce watched them, something perceptive flickering across her face. “I was just about to make some tea, Mike, you can stay if you want.”
Mike hesitated, then glanced at Will. Will nodded before he could overthink it. “Okay,” Mike said quietly
Joyce busied herself at the stove, but she didn’t leave. She stayed close. present but not pressing. Will loved her for that. The silence stretched, thick but not unkind. Will took a breath.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said, staring at the table again. “I just… didn’t know how.”
Joyce turned, fully facing him now. “You don’t have to rush. Whatever it is, I’m listening.”
Mike shifted closer in his chair, not touching, but near enough that Will could feel the warmth of him. It was steadying.
“I’ve always felt different,” Will continued, the words finally loosening. “Like… like there was something wrong with me. Something I couldn’t fix.”
Joyce’s face tightened. Not with anger, but with pain. “Oh, Will-”
“It’s not because of the Upside Down,” he said quickly. “Or what happened to me. I thought it was for a long time, but it’s not.” His hands were shaking now. He didn’t hide it. “I think I’ve always known,” Will said. “I just didn’t have the words.”
Mike looked at him, eyes wide but gentle, like he already understood more than Will was saying.
“I don't like girls... Like. like i should” Will said. The sentence landed softly. No thunder. No breaking glass. Just the truth. Joyce inhaled sharply. For a terrifying second, Will thought she might cry, or yell. But instead, she crossed the room in three quick steps and knelt in front of him, hands warm and solid on his knees.
“Thank you for telling me," She said, voice thick but steady. “I’m so proud of you.”
Will blinked. “You’re… not mad?”
Joyce gave a shaky laugh. “Mad? Honey, no. Never.” Her eyes shone. “I just hate that you ever thought you had to be alone with this.”
Something inside Will finally cracked. But instead of breaking, it opened.
Mike cleared his throat softly. “You’re not alone,” he said, almost shyly.
Joyce looked up at him then, really looked, and something clicked. She smiled. Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. For the first time, the truth didn’t feel like a weight. It felt like being held.
Mike however wished he hadn’t come. That thought sat ugly and hot in his chest as he perched at the edge of the kitchen chair, hands locked together so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. He told himself, again, that he was here for Will. That this was what best friends did. That it meant nothing more than concern. It had to mean nothing more. Will’s voice trembled as he spoke, soft and careful, like every word might shatter if he handled it wrong. Mike stared at the table because if he looked at Will for too long, his thoughts went places they shouldn’t. Different. Always felt different. Mike’s stomach twisted. He felt like he was listening to something he wasn’t allowed to hear. Like Will was pulling back a curtain Mike had spent years nailing into place.
When Will said it, "i don't like girls" Mike’s chest seized so violently he thought, for one horrifying second, that he might cry. Not because he was surprised. Because something inside him answered back. His first instinct was denial. A sharp, panicked recoil.
No. Absolutely not. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening until it hurt. This wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t allowed to make it about himself. But his mind betrayed him anyway. The way Will’s shoulder fit too easily against his. The way Mike always noticed when Will laughed, soft and rare. The way his chest went tight and wrong whenever Will looked at him like he mattered more than anyone else in the room. Mike hated himself for it. Hated the thought the moment it surfaced. Hated the part of him that even dared to wonder if this. whatever this was. meant something.
It was disgusting. Selfish. Wrong. He clenched his hands harder, grounding himself in pain. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be. He had Eleven. He loved Eleven. That was the story, the truth, the only version of himself that made sense. Normal. Safe. Right. Joyce moved quickly when Will finished speaking, crossing the kitchen like instinct alone carried her. She knelt in front of Will, hands warm and steady, voice thick with emotion.
“I’m so proud of you.” Mike watched Will crumble into that. into love so immediate and unconditional it made something in Mike ache. Will deserved that. He deserved all of it. Mike deserved nothing.
“You’re not alone,” Mike said suddenly, the words tearing themselves out of his throat before he could stop them. The second he spoke, he wanted to take them back. Because they felt too true. Too personal. Will looked at him then, eyes wide and open and unbearably trusting, and Mike felt sick.
Don’t look at me like that, he thought desperately. Don’t make me feel like I’m something good.
Joyce glanced at Mike, and the look she gave him, soft, perceptive. made his skin prickle. For a terrifying second, Mike was sure she could see it. That she could see the ugliness of the thoughts he was burying. He straightened, forcing his shoulders back, forcing distance into his posture. He fixed his face into something neutral, something safe. Best friend. Just best friend. Anything else was a mistake. Because if he let himself consider it, if he let himself think about the way his heart raced when Will smiled at him, or the way his chest hurt now, watching Will be so brave. then everything would fall apart. He’d lose Eleven. He’d lose himself. He’d become something he was taught not to be. Something … wrong. But. Will wasn't wrong, he was... perfect.
So how can it be wrong for Mike and not for will. So, Mike stayed silent after that. Stayed rigid. Stayed carefully in place while Joyce spoke and Will nodded and the world quietly shifted around him. Will was moving forward, into truth. Mike was digging his heels in, terrified that if he stopped hating himself for even thinking about it, he’d never be able to stop at all. And that scared him more than anything Mike barely registered Joyce leaving them space. The second her footsteps faded, the room felt unbearably loud again. too quiet in a way that pressed in on his skull. He stared at the table like it might anchor him. What is wrong with you? The question burned, relentless. He’d been asking it for years now, every time a thought strayed too far, every time his chest reacted wrong, every time he noticed Will before he noticed anyone else. He squeezed his eyes shut. Eleven. He thought of her on purpose, like saying her name in his head might snap something back into place. He pictured her smile, the way she looked at him like he was something solid and dependable. The way everyone knew they made sense. Mike and El. Boy and girl. Simple. Correct. He clung to it desperately. He loved her. He had to. Loving her was easy in the way rules were easy, clear, expected, already written. Being with Eleven meant he never had to ask himself dangerous questions. It meant he could be normal. It meant he could stop thinking.
So why did it feel like work? The thought slipped in before he could stop it, and he hated himself immediately for even letting it form. He swallowed hard, throat tight, anger flooding in hot and sharp. Don’t you dare, he told himself. Don’t you ruin this too. Because Eleven had already lost so much.
Because she trusted him. Because choosing her was the right thing to do. Because wanting anything else made Mike something ugly. He dragged in a shaky breath. and that was when Will shifted beside him. Just slightly. A quiet movement, like Will was trying not to take up too much space. Like he was afraid of being too much even now, even after everything he’d just said out loud. Mike’s chest tightened painfully. He didn’t want to look. He shouldn’t look. But he did anyway. Will’s face was still flushed, eyes glassy but steady, like he’d walked through fire and come out the other side breathing.
There was something raw and open about him now, something unguarded Mike had never been brave enough to allow in himself. He looked… lighter. And that made Mike furious. Not at Will. At himself. Because Will had done it. He’d said the thing Mike couldn’t even think without wanting to crawl out of his own skin. He’d faced it head-on, and the world hadn’t punished him for it. Joyce hadn’t pulled away. The house hadn’t collapsed. God hadn’t struck him down. Will was still Will. Perfect. Soft. Strong in a way Mike wasn’t. So why did Mike feel like he was rotting from the inside out?
He tore his gaze away, heart pounding. His thoughts turned traitorous again, unspooling faster than he could stop them. Will’s laugh, quiet and real. The way he leaned in when Mike talked, like every word mattered. The way Mike always noticed when Will was hurting, noticed it before anyone else. Before Eleven. The realization hit like a punch to the ribs. Mike’s stomach churned. He felt sick, disgusted with himself. This was exactly what he was afraid of. This was the line he wasn’t supposed to cross. You don’t get to want him, he thought viciously. You don’t get to look at him like that.
Will wasn’t a temptation. He wasn’t a question. He was Mike’s best friend. Turning him into anything else in his head felt like a betrayal, like poisoning something pure. Mike’s hands shook. He pressed them flat against his thighs, grounding himself, hating the way his pulse raced for all the wrong reasons. Hating that part of him. the worst part. whispered that this felt more real than holding Eleven’s hand ever had. Then kissing her, then,, then loving her He felt like a liar.
Like a fraud. Like someone who’d been pretending for so long he couldn’t tell where the act ended and he began. Will shifted again, closer this time, and Mike froze. Not because of the movement. Because of how much he wanted to lean into it. The thought disgusted him. He swallowed it down hard, forcing himself back into the shape the world expected of him. Straightened his spine. Locked his expression into something blank and harmless. Best friend. Just best friend. Anything else was wrong. Will had walked into his truth and survived. Mike stayed exactly where he was. Trapped in fear, clinging to Eleven like a shield, and hating himself more with every passing second for knowing, deep down, that she was the reason he was safe. But Will was the reason he felt anything at all. And that terrified him.
“so..uh we should go back to the group. Before they think something's up!” Mike stood up. Forcing himself to leave the room, without looking at will. He wasn't sure if he could handle seeing the look on Will's face.