[mike knows exactly how to topple will off-balance, after those years of gentle roughhousing, of pouncing on each other and tumbling around like puppies, in mike's basement or will's living room, bumping into the coffee table or lamp or stairs and ending up lightly bruised and giggling and breathless. it's boys-will-be-boys behavior, one of the few acceptable ways they can be close, can make contact without it being frowned upon.
it feels familiar, like riding a bike or rolling a handful of dice or picking up a pencil does. it feels different too, rolling onto the floor laughing, with frodo bouncing around them, half on top of mike with fingers digging into his too-long hair, hiding his face against mike's chest in a vain attempt to get away from the mussing.]
[Mike relaxes, falling back against the floor, chest heaving with breath and laughter. His hands are still cradling Will's head, and carefully - so carefully - he ghosts one clumsy thumb over a messy lock, smoothing it back down. It feels crucial, momentous, the way Will's chin presses against his ribs, the way his bare feet bump against Mike's shoes, the way it all makes Mike's heart skip a beat. The way it all makes him want to pull Will up into a hug, to make him smile, to hold his hand. His heart feels full, and he's buzzing with something impulsive and quiet and loud all at once, and he doesn't know what to do about it so instead he just says: ]
[will takes a moment to catch his breath, face pressed over mike's heart, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of it. he can feel mike smoothing his hair, and he wants to stay inside that half-second, the care of it, the gentleness. but he shifts after a moment, folds his hands over mike's heart and rests his chin there.]
How come? I'm not blond. Or an elf. Or...tall. [it's amusing, he's smiling up at mike, stifling a laugh when frodo comes and sits on his back. he shifts a little so he's not lying directly on top of mike, asks in a softer voice:] Am I too heavy?
[A head-shake, lifting up just a bit to acknowledge Will - and wow, he's close, their noses just an inch apart, out of focus in a soft, familiar way, like every sleepover dawn. Mike can feel his own cheeks go pink, but he doesn't move, instead crooking up an elbow to rest on. His palms feel sweaty.]
Y-yeah. [Oh, jeez.] 'Cause he's, like... [What is he, Michael? What is Legolas? You were certainly thinking of a few words the other day.] He's- [Pretty? No. Cute? Worse.]
His hair's soft. Looks soft. [He wasn't thinking about touching Legolas' hair, who started that rumor?!]
He looks. [Kill him. Put him out of his misery.] Good. He looks nice.
[that is...a terrible explanation, michael. will's brow furrows slowly throughout the stammering, trying to figure out what mike's trying to say. he drums his fingers absently over mike's breastbone, very lightly.]
I...guess. He's one of the good guys, so...of course he's nice. I...didn't know you liked him so much. [nope, he doesn't remotely get it. he's trying to figure out where mike's sudden obsession with legolas came from. is this a new thing? had he always felt this passionately about legolas? he always thought mike liked frodo or aragorn better.
but okay, he supports you, mike. in your...weird new...elf fan life.]
[will lifts his head a little, blinking a few times, one bare foot crossed over the other as mike stammers this out. for a moment it looks like he almost understands, like it almost clicks.
but then the old mental block falls back into place (no, not allowed, not for you, never for you) and he tilts his head to one side, hair falling into his face.]
[... Mike's genuinely speechless for a moment, not at Will's density but at his own total defeat. He's always thought that he was good with words, with speaking, with storytelling. But the thing is, when he's sitting in his basement spinning some elaborate plot to his friends, it's not about himself. When his own feelings are involved, he's up shit creek.]
'Cause- [God, okay, he's just going to say it, and it's going to go terribly, and if it's too weird and gross and overbearing for Will then. Fine. Okay. Mike will just... go fuck himself, wander into the wilderness and die, whatever. It's not a big deal, stop looking at him like that, jeez.]
[Behind this completely frozen face, a million sirens are going off. Bombs are dropping, the world is ending. Mike isn't here right now, he's gone into the wild to disappear forever.]
[all of will's absent, aimless fidgeting -- the wiggling foot, the tapping fingers -- stops abruptly because that. that is something even his hardcore, well-practiced denial can't explain away. that can only mean what it means.
he looks up at mike, eyes wide and green where they catch the fading light, mouth slightly ajar as he tries to process this. his voice, when he finally speaks, is very very soft:]
You think I'm cute? [he's waiting for the punchline, waiting for the explanation -- yeah cute like a trashcan, haha, the kinda joke lucas and dustin toss back and forth so effortlessly. mike and will never have, it's never been part of their vocabulary, but maybe that's changed?]
[There's no punchline, no joke. No caveat. Just Mike's face going red, his eyes skirting away, the up-and-down dip of his chin. It still feels so inadequate, a word someone would write in a folded up note. Check yes, check no. And it's true. It's true, he thinks Will's cute, and he's not sure how long he's thought that, but somewhere in the blur of days here it's gotten clearer and clearer. Cute is the tip, the very hint of the iceberg, and everything else in his chest - the crazy together and the you said yes and two hands linked on a faded quilt - is waiting beneath the surface, waiting to see if it's okay. Waiting for... he's not really sure.
It's pure privilege that he doesn't have the same mental walls, the same misgivings, as Will, and he'll realize it with time. Sure, he's occasionally gotten the same insults from their peers, but that never matters, as long as Will isn't the one getting them at the time. And his dad is shit, but he's never called Mike names, never been malicious and cruel. Mike's privilege is that he's put a name to all of this here, in a strange town out of time, where people have been assuring him left and right that it's all fine. That he's allowed to be... something. He's allowed to like girls and boys. He's allowed to embrace this thing about him that's new and secret and cool, at least until reality trickles back in. Until he has to think about what his future looks like, back in a world where people die for this.
But then, he's always been very bad at thinking about consequences, and very good at trying to die for things he cares about.]
[the thing is, will's always known. from that first day, sitting on the swings with his hand-me-down sneakers a good few inches above the wood chips, slowly swinging back and forth and trying to swallow down the lump in his throat, trying not to cry, cause only babies cry. from that first question, in a piping, hesitant voice that made him look up and for a moment be blinded by the sun shining through an absolute mess of dark curls, by the huge, hopeful brown eyes, by the freckles almost eclipsed by the nervous blush -- do you wanna be my friend?
mike might as well have asked do you wanna see what the rest of your life is gonna be like? because it is. because despite the years since that day, will is always going to be that tiny little boy, looking up and seeing the sun in mike wheeler's face, in his eyes, in his crooked gap-toothed smile.]
Y-You're cute too. [its stammered, will ducking his head to rest his chin on his folded hands again, then looking up through his eyelashes at mike's face for a reaction. it's too small a word, too simple for what mike actually is. someone had asked about him recently, and will's reaction had been closer to the truth when he'd texted back without thinking--
[It seems impossible that Mike’s face could get any brighter, any warmer, but it does. Honestly – blindly – Mike has never considered that as a factor, not with Will, not with El, not in any aspect of his life. Frogface, Freakshow… worse ones starting with the same letter. The world has told him he’s ugly and he’s railed against it with fists and bared teeth: so what, fuck off, leave us alone. Even his friends have picked at his hair, his ears, his freckles. But not Will. Never Will.
I’m not, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Because more than anyone else in the world, he trusts Will. He could never not trust Will, not even when he had black eyes and too-pale skin and a voice that wasn’t his own.
He’s not sure what he’s planning on saying next, with Will’s face so close – his thick eyelashes, his awed little mouth – but it’s certainly not, ]… Frodo’s peeing on the doormat.
[He hadn’t even noticed that the dog had gotten off Will’s back, as sucked into the moment as they’d both been, but apparently Frodo is overdue for a walk.]
[frodo, will loves you with all the not-inconsiderable emotion that fits in his little heart, and he would gladly lay down his literal life to protect your tiny fuzzy self. but right now you are ruining his life.
will turns his head, watching with the weariest expression imaginable as the little dog ruins steve's doormat.] ...yup. He is. [hello darkness, my old friend....]
[Mike watches as tiny ball of fluff finishes, and skitters away into the next room with a merry loll of his tongue. One blink, two blinks, and, ] We could just throw it out. Get a new one.
[Because he really doesn't want to get off the floor right now. Getting off the floor would mean getting even farther away from the moment Frodo inadvertently interrupted. Eyes locked, noses a hair apart, something so strange and big between them. Mike wants it back, wants to hold onto it a little longer, try to put words to it.]
Mmmm. [will slowly starts to shift backwards, feeling that old hot blush of shame crawl up the back of his neck, around to his ears, crimson and guilty and wrong wrong wrong. he knows, realistically, that nobody's going to come in and yell at them, but there's this sinking pit in his stomach that's already trying to eclipse that perfect shining instant where something almost happened.]
[For a moment Mike watches, eyes on Will's as he gets far enough to finally focus. The doubt and shame are suddenly so clear - painfully clear - and he wants to cry. He did that. He pushed, and it was too much - he's always too much - and now Will's uncomfortable.
But the thing in his chest, wordless and so important, won't let him just watch as Will shrinks away. He pushes farther up, sitting with his hands flat against the floor.]
Hey. [It's soft, assuring; his Will Voice.] What's wrong? Is it what I said?
[will rocks back a little in response, moving to sit on his heels, knees on either side of mike's legs, still too close, his mind keeps screaming. he shrugs, shakes his head -- he can't lie to that voice. not to that one.]
No, it's -- you were being so nice and I. Made it weird. Didn't I? [he still can't look up, hands fluttering around a little before they come to rest on his own thighs. he wants to reach out again, wants to go back to being warm and safe and curled up on top of mike, where nothing in the world could get to him. not demogorgons, not deerington, not anything.]
You didn't. [He never does. It's always Mike saying the wrong thing, being too intense, too loud. Will is perfect, just enough, just right.]
It's... different, I think. You had to deal with so much at home, but I didn't- [Oh lord, more words, about himself. Can't they just talk about Will forever?] I didn't realize all the way 'til I was in Deerington, and everyone was talking about how normal and fine it is here, and in the future - even in Indiana.
[He finally reaches back out, slowly and cautiously, halfway afraid Will is going to bolt; his finger's light on Will's elbow, soft as a breath. And even softer, like he's relaying some kind of holy secret-]
Wade's from the future, and he's dating Spider-Man. Even Spider-Man likes boys.
...you had to deal with other stuff. [he's talking about the black hole, of course, that awful numbing pit of darkness that he'd gotten a glimpse of. but he's also talking about every time mike was talked over or lectured or grounded, or every time he gritted his teeth and curled his fingers into fists and glared at his lap or his plate or the wall until his eyes stopped tearing up. will's seen it, over and over, since they were little. it was a while before he realized it was even wrong, it was so normal.
he wonders if it became normal for mike too.
so, despite his awkwardness, his hesitation, will moves so his hand rests back in mike's, looking down like he has to watch carefully as their fingers tangle together, even though he's done it a million times.]
...Spider-Man likes girls too, though. [he glances up, quickly, under his shaggy hair.] Do you -- still like them? Girls?
[Mike's mind doesn't even go back to the black hole when Will says that. Other stuff, he hears, and he thinks - monsters, danger, terror. And he's just about to protest, to fall back on You had it worse, when the second hits like a curveball.
His ears feel very warm.]
I-I don't know. I think so. [He has thought. He's thought a lot, and he's mostly sure that he's fairly certain he still likes girls at least fifty percent of the time. Because so far in his life he's liked two people, and one was a girl and one was a boy, and that math works out pretty neatly.] Maybe I'm like Spider-Man.
[Just without the superpowers, which is honestly a drag when you get bullied just as much as Spider-Man too.]
[will's looking down at their hands, still, running his thumb gently over the bumps of mike's knuckles, tracing the freckles there -- even his hands have freckles.]
That'd be cool. Spider-Man's cool. [and mike is cool, that goes without saying. will swallows hard, licks his lips, looks up at mike again with those big, solemn, wide eyes.] ...you know it doesn't change anything. Right? I don't -- you're still my best friend. You're still you.
[he's saying what he wants to hear, what he's always prayed people (his mom, jonathan, his friends) would say if his secret ever got out. but it's true. nothing could change the place mike occupies, that sacred role of best friend, protector, leader. the person will loves more desperately and helplessly than anyone.]
[From Will's wide eyes and nervous fidgets, Mike can tell what importance the words hold to him, and he's just as raw and deliberate when he tips his head down and replies, ] You are, too.
[His fingers twitch against Will's, still full of the same buzzing, fumbling energy, but something feels different, better. He doesn't have the sense that if he doesn't jump, if he doesn't blurt something out, it's all going to unravel away from him.]
[will keeps looking down, watching mike's hand, watching him breathe, listening to his voice. he -- wants to believe it. he wants to believe everything will be okay if he does believe it. that he's allowed to. that it's okay.
so he nods, finally. squeezes mike's hand a little tighter.]
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it feels familiar, like riding a bike or rolling a handful of dice or picking up a pencil does. it feels different too, rolling onto the floor laughing, with frodo bouncing around them, half on top of mike with fingers digging into his too-long hair, hiding his face against mike's chest in a vain attempt to get away from the mussing.]
Noooo, no, no, I surrender! I give up!!
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If I'm Frodo, then you're Legolas.
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How come? I'm not blond. Or an elf. Or...tall. [it's amusing, he's smiling up at mike, stifling a laugh when frodo comes and sits on his back. he shifts a little so he's not lying directly on top of mike, asks in a softer voice:] Am I too heavy?
gay slapstick
Y-yeah. [Oh, jeez.] 'Cause he's, like... [What is he, Michael? What is Legolas? You were certainly thinking of a few words the other day.] He's- [Pretty? No. Cute? Worse.]
His hair's soft. Looks soft. [He wasn't thinking about touching Legolas' hair, who started that rumor?!]
He looks. [Kill him. Put him out of his misery.] Good. He looks nice.
[A broken man.]
it's a comedy except with more internal screaming
I...guess. He's one of the good guys, so...of course he's nice. I...didn't know you liked him so much. [nope, he doesn't remotely get it. he's trying to figure out where mike's sudden obsession with legolas came from. is this a new thing? had he always felt this passionately about legolas? he always thought mike liked frodo or aragorn better.
but okay, he supports you, mike. in your...weird new...elf fan life.]
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No, I-I don't, I- [Okay, no, he does like Legolas a lot - thanks Mr. Bloom - but that's not the point.
Breathe in, out.] What I meant was- [The stammering is starting again, let's see if he can work his way through it this time, folks.]
That's why you'd be Legolas.
[please get it please get it please get it]
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but then the old mental block falls back into place (no, not allowed, not for you, never for you) and he tilts his head to one side, hair falling into his face.]
Because I'm nice? [gdit william]
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'Cause- [God, okay, he's just going to say it, and it's going to go terribly, and if it's too weird and gross and overbearing for Will then. Fine. Okay. Mike will just... go fuck himself, wander into the wilderness and die, whatever. It's not a big deal, stop looking at him like that, jeez.]
'Cause... you're- [handsome-attractive-good-looking] -cute.
[Behind this completely frozen face, a million sirens are going off. Bombs are dropping, the world is ending. Mike isn't here right now, he's gone into the wild to disappear forever.]
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he looks up at mike, eyes wide and green where they catch the fading light, mouth slightly ajar as he tries to process this. his voice, when he finally speaks, is very very soft:]
You think I'm cute? [he's waiting for the punchline, waiting for the explanation -- yeah cute like a trashcan, haha, the kinda joke lucas and dustin toss back and forth so effortlessly. mike and will never have, it's never been part of their vocabulary, but maybe that's changed?]
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It's pure privilege that he doesn't have the same mental walls, the same misgivings, as Will, and he'll realize it with time. Sure, he's occasionally gotten the same insults from their peers, but that never matters, as long as Will isn't the one getting them at the time. And his dad is shit, but he's never called Mike names, never been malicious and cruel. Mike's privilege is that he's put a name to all of this here, in a strange town out of time, where people have been assuring him left and right that it's all fine. That he's allowed to be... something. He's allowed to like girls and boys. He's allowed to embrace this thing about him that's new and secret and cool, at least until reality trickles back in. Until he has to think about what his future looks like, back in a world where people die for this.
But then, he's always been very bad at thinking about consequences, and very good at trying to die for things he cares about.]
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mike might as well have asked do you wanna see what the rest of your life is gonna be like? because it is. because despite the years since that day, will is always going to be that tiny little boy, looking up and seeing the sun in mike wheeler's face, in his eyes, in his crooked gap-toothed smile.]
Y-You're cute too. [its stammered, will ducking his head to rest his chin on his folded hands again, then looking up through his eyelashes at mike's face for a reaction. it's too small a word, too simple for what mike actually is. someone had asked about him recently, and will's reaction had been closer to the truth when he'd texted back without thinking--
he's my best friend. he's everything.]
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I’m not, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Because more than anyone else in the world, he trusts Will. He could never not trust Will, not even when he had black eyes and too-pale skin and a voice that wasn’t his own.
He’s not sure what he’s planning on saying next, with Will’s face so close – his thick eyelashes, his awed little mouth – but it’s certainly not, ]… Frodo’s peeing on the doormat.
[He hadn’t even noticed that the dog had gotten off Will’s back, as sucked into the moment as they’d both been, but apparently Frodo is overdue for a walk.]
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will turns his head, watching with the weariest expression imaginable as the little dog ruins steve's doormat.] ...yup. He is. [hello darkness, my old friend....]
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[Because he really doesn't want to get off the floor right now. Getting off the floor would mean getting even farther away from the moment Frodo inadvertently interrupted. Eyes locked, noses a hair apart, something so strange and big between them. Mike wants it back, wants to hold onto it a little longer, try to put words to it.]
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Steve'd never know. I wouldn't tell him.
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But the thing in his chest, wordless and so important, won't let him just watch as Will shrinks away. He pushes farther up, sitting with his hands flat against the floor.]
Hey. [It's soft, assuring; his Will Voice.] What's wrong? Is it what I said?
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No, it's -- you were being so nice and I. Made it weird. Didn't I? [he still can't look up, hands fluttering around a little before they come to rest on his own thighs. he wants to reach out again, wants to go back to being warm and safe and curled up on top of mike, where nothing in the world could get to him. not demogorgons, not deerington, not anything.]
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It's... different, I think. You had to deal with so much at home, but I didn't- [Oh lord, more words, about himself. Can't they just talk about Will forever?] I didn't realize all the way 'til I was in Deerington, and everyone was talking about how normal and fine it is here, and in the future - even in Indiana.
[He finally reaches back out, slowly and cautiously, halfway afraid Will is going to bolt; his finger's light on Will's elbow, soft as a breath. And even softer, like he's relaying some kind of holy secret-]
Wade's from the future, and he's dating Spider-Man. Even Spider-Man likes boys.
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he wonders if it became normal for mike too.
so, despite his awkwardness, his hesitation, will moves so his hand rests back in mike's, looking down like he has to watch carefully as their fingers tangle together, even though he's done it a million times.]
...Spider-Man likes girls too, though. [he glances up, quickly, under his shaggy hair.] Do you -- still like them? Girls?
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His ears feel very warm.]
I-I don't know. I think so. [He has thought. He's thought a lot, and he's mostly sure that he's fairly certain he still likes girls at least fifty percent of the time. Because so far in his life he's liked two people, and one was a girl and one was a boy, and that math works out pretty neatly.] Maybe I'm like Spider-Man.
[Just without the superpowers, which is honestly a drag when you get bullied just as much as Spider-Man too.]
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That'd be cool. Spider-Man's cool. [and mike is cool, that goes without saying. will swallows hard, licks his lips, looks up at mike again with those big, solemn, wide eyes.] ...you know it doesn't change anything. Right? I don't -- you're still my best friend. You're still you.
[he's saying what he wants to hear, what he's always prayed people (his mom, jonathan, his friends) would say if his secret ever got out. but it's true. nothing could change the place mike occupies, that sacred role of best friend, protector, leader. the person will loves more desperately and helplessly than anyone.]
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[His fingers twitch against Will's, still full of the same buzzing, fumbling energy, but something feels different, better. He doesn't have the sense that if he doesn't jump, if he doesn't blurt something out, it's all going to unravel away from him.]
You're always gonna be, okay?
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so he nods, finally. squeezes mike's hand a little tighter.]
Okay.