Chapter Text

1985

“And then…” Mike says creepily, brown eyes turning inky black, pale freckled face illuminated by the flashlight in his possession.

It's well past midnight and they're all encased in darkness, posted in different areas of the chilly basement, but all eyes are focused on Mike. Everyone's hanging onto his carefully spoken words with bated breath.

“T-Then?” Will whispers, holding a pillow tight to his chest for comfort. His sparkling hazel eyes are a cocktail of trepidation, caution, anticipation, and awe.

There’s a fluffy and tattered Christmas tree themed blanket that Mike’s Nana lovingly made by hand, covering Will's trembling body for added warmth. He sits right across from Mike on the floor, having a front row seat compared to the others. Part of him doesn't want to know the grisly outcome, but Will's always been weak to Mike's captivating cadence that jabs at his untamed curiosity.

Lucas hasn't blinked once, the chemicals in his brain battling for dominance on if he should indulge in his fight-or-flight response, clenched fingers gripping the beat up couch cushion underneath his thighs, blunt nails sharp enough to heedlessly rip and pluck some polyester/cotton filling.

Dustin lounges in the recliner chair, pretending to play it cool, yet the corner of his mouth twitches every five seconds, muscles itching to rock back and forth instead of remaining determinedly still.

Solemnly, Mike looks each one of them in the face, slightly having prolonged eye contact with Will who he saved for last, savoring the suspense and the excuse to blatantly watch the boy before him without feeling self-conscious about it. By now, Mike can practically hear his best friends' collective heartbeats pounding like marching band snare drums during homecoming parades. Retaining immense willpower in not breaking character, his uncannily grim expression morphs into a splitting maniacal smile, teeth displayed and thick brows disappearing under his curls, inauspiciously leaning forward to get closer to Will so now they're both sharing the white glow of the flashlight painting their skin cadaverous. 

Mike didn't have to, but he wanted to, so he did—using his free hand to grasp Will's left shoulder—scooching them together with their folded pretzel-style legs skimming each other. His startling touch doubles as a good and bad omen for Will. Good as in Will stops shaking like a leaf in an autumn flurry wind, relaxing under Mike’s palm as he usually does when his feelings of panic intensify. Bad as in Will is anchored to his spot on the floor, unable to jerk away with ball and chain Mike keeping him in place.

“Then that's when the kids knew this wasn't their loving parents feeding them this dinner of strange tasting meat… It was… THE MURDEROUS MIMICKING MONSTERS!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The chorus of variously pitched screams carries in the air and has awakened Karen from her serene slumber in the second floor master bedroom. She hops to her feet, blurrily throwing on her pink silk robe and white fuzzy slippers. Her husband, Ted, is completely knocked out and strikingly unmoving amongst the increased noise level penetrating the old bones of the house. If not for his garish snoring, Ted could pass off as a dead body. 

Worriedly, Karen rushes to check on the boys, briefly telling an alarmed baby of the bunch Holly to “go back to bed dear, Mommy’s got this” . Nancy simply shuts her door in aggravation upon realizing that the noise is coming from her brother's dorky friends, recognizing Lucas’s shrilled bellowing fit for a horror movie scream queen, already planning to not give Mike and Co a ride in the morning as revenge for ruining her sweet dreams when they all have to be up in less than five hours.

At the top of the basement steps, standing in the door threshold, Karen flips the light switch on. She’s gripping a baseball bat adorned with hammered-in nails, courtesy of Nancy’s doing for some odd reason, on the off chance it actually does turn out to be an unlikely burglary happening.

“Is everything alright down there?! Who's hurt?! Did another spider show again or is it the ant problem?! I told you to keep it squeaky clean down there, Mike! Pests, critters, and crawlies are still around until mid-September kills them all off!”

“NO MOM! WE’RE FINE! I'M JUST TELLING SOME GHOST STORIES!”

“Ghost sto—Michael do you have any idea what time it is?! I thought a serial killer barged in with how loud you are! Didn't I tell you to be quiet and mindful if you wanted to have this sleepover on a school night! How long have you boys been up?!”

Karen quickly descends in creaky resounding stomps, her mouth geared up for a searing scolding. She has become a reoccuring first witness to the damage her son's superb storytelling has done ever since he learned to talk. Her umber colored eyes take in the scene of a cowering Will abandoning his pillow to accept a solacing group embrace from an also frightened Lucas and freaked out Dustin. Lucas and Dustin had vaulted from their respective seats, slamming into a petrified Will caught in between, their haste tearing him away from Mike who continued selling the look of haunted child spewing the terrors. 

It's quite a mess, too immature for boys their age Karen thinks, her hands on her hips and clicking her tongue. Bowls of greasy popcorn and bags of flavored potato chips are toppled over, scattered remnants littering the floor and spilled cans of Coke drenches the coffee table sticky, the sugary liquid falling off the edge staining the rug. Cast aside candy wrappers are found everywhere, but in a trash bin. 

Slowly, Karen lands her attention on a sheepish Mike, standing alone and looking guilty as charged. He steps around the apprehensive huddle of his friends to meet her halfway, arms gesticulating and lips flapping, pleading his case. 

“Sorry, we'll keep it down. I swear.”

“No.” Karen halts his predisposed defensive lawyer spiel with a raised manicured hand. “You'll. Go. To. Bed. All of you need your rest and today is a big day. The first day of school. Light's out now!”

Invisible fish hooks of indignance pry open Mike’s mouth, having him mutter under his breath thoughts about Karen’s order, “Technically, the lights were already out ‘til you cut them back on again.”

“What did you say young man?” Karen chillingly lowers her voice. 

Now nervously laughing and rubbing the back of his neck, Mike backtracks and amends. “I said you're looking extra pretty. Did you do something different with your hair? Whatever it is, it’s working!” 

Sure, he's laying it on a little thick, but Karen immediately changes her tune for the better, patting her tresses, flaunting pridefully at the calculated compliment.

“Oh! As a matter of fact, I added subtle highlights to make my eyes pop, y'know, frame my face to emphasize—darn it Michael Wheeler—don't you dare distract me! Flattery will get you…” He winces, bracing for Karen to finish, but she unexpectedly reveals a sneaky smirk he's definitely inherited and incorporated into his growing skills of persuasion. “... Somewhere. It'll get you somewhere sometimes. Now kiss each other goodnight. Or should I say good morning? Heavens, it’s already 3AM.”

“Mooom!” He scrunches his nose, embarrassed at the thought, even if she meant it to be harmless.

Mike watches her return upstairs, waiting until Karen’s out of earshot to pivot towards his friends. He gives a rascally look to Will, but he's busy on his hands and knees, politely cleaning up. Dustin and Lucas are helping as well, gathering the snacks and drinks they either carelessly tossed or excitedly ran into after Mike was finished with his mesmeric storytelling.

“Well, how’d I do? Be honest.” Mike's delighted for feedback, kneeling beside Will, his top reviewer. 

On cue, Will makes room for Mike to assist him picking up a few scattered buttery popcorn pieces and kernels hidden under the couch. He lifts his head to shoot a breezy smile of appreciation that gets Mike silly and fuzzy inside.

“Your best one yet! Better than the slasher flicks! I’m gonna have nightmares for days about cannibal ghost possessions!”

“Same. I’ve got chills. Wanna see my goosebumps? They’re real! Scout’s honor.” Dustin rolls up his pajama sleeves to his elbows, showing off his spotted arm, a couple patches of skin are mostly mosquito bites, but they can recognize which is which.

“All that yelling made me tired.” Lucas slyly feigns a yawn and stretches, making a performance of his drowsiness. One of his midnight tinctured eyes suspiciously spies on an oblivious Mike while a pillow is concealed behind his back. 

Will can see it coming a mile away, though he won't spoil the soon to be spectated fun in the next few seconds. Mike's completely absorbed in gloating, disarmed and unalert, listening to Dustin thoroughly mention his favorite parts of the ghost story. This allows Lucas to have enough leverage, aiming directly at Mike's smug face, no warning. Headshot.

“Heeey!” 

Will’s hand covers his mouth, muffling his airy giggles, innocently enjoying when Mike can’t dodge in time and is clocked easily.

“Payback. For making me squeal like a girl.” Lucas justifies, casually shrugging, unapologetic. 

Mike’s stumbles, never falls, a tad dazed, but immediately fires back once he gains his bearings. “Dude, you can’t punish me for being an excellent host!”

“I just did and I’ll do it again.” Lucas dares.

Forgetting they’re supposed to be settling down, they scamper to brandish pillows and couch cushions as weapons and shields, charging at each other. This is no different than when Mike and Lucas are in the woods surrounding Will's house, dueling with sticks or fallen tree branches for swords, arguing about petty nonsense to blow off steam or to have vindication, Dustin and Will periodically balancing as either bored or intrigued onlookers. Rarely do Dustin and Will pose as referees, or act as mediators. If they give it enough time, Mike and Lucas tend to tire out sooner or later without intervention, their stamina abysmal.

Sighing apathetically, Dustin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, brother. There they go. Like water and oil.”

“Right on cue.” Will checks his wristwatch. “Not a real sleepover if they aren’t doing their usual.”

Will's eyes dart from Lucas to Mike, his body feeling exhilarated this time from their roughhousing like never before. He's grown entranced these days with watching guys fight or compete, contact sports becoming a new hobby of his. Will doesn't ever bother to learn the rules or try his hand at actually participating. He just likes watching the wrestlers tussling on an arena mat and the opposing football teams ramming in the grass for the flying pigskin.

Sometimes, he blames his father for taking him to baseball games when he was younger, the players getting too passionate and starting to brawl like they're heavyweight boxing champions. Will's not prone to violence, the thought of throwing a punch sickens him, but he simply can't look away when athletes willingly grapple in soaking sweaty uniforms. Or in this case, his friends’ horseplaying.

“While they do that, us mature gentlemen should talk about strategy.” Dustin waves them off and settles in his sleeping bag adjacent to Will’s, laying on his side and angling his arm to prop up his head.

Will gets cozy too. He nestles further down in his own oversized sleeping bag until only his nose and eyes are visible. With great effort, Will peels his peepers from the action of Lucas and Mike to center on Dustin’s stoic visage.

“Um, is this about how we’re gonna survive four years of high school?” Will sullenly inquires, the need to bite his nails strong.

“Yup! In four, scratch that, three hours and thirty minutes to be precise! I keep hearing it’s worse than Hawkins Middle and that was really rough on us.” 

Dustin begins rattling off every awful prospect in store for them, cluelessly maiming any smidgen of faith Will has strenuously accumulated since he realized he’s poor, a bane to society, and should get used to the cards he’s dealt with.

“We’ll truly be in the wild and if you forgot, our little party is on the lowest totem pole. We’ll be prey! We’ll be hunted for sport! We’ll die! Chewed up and spat out, or eaten alive! Y’know, the works.”

“Survival of the fittest.” Will hums in consideration, subtly masking his concern about their dismal futures. He shrugs impassively, shiny eyes glazing over to dull. “I mean, it’s nothing new. We already do the hunted for sport part.”

True, they’ve all gotten skilled at running or biking for their lives with bullies on the prowl, adrenaline pumping in their blood from Troy Walsh hounding them. It's the only time they can say they've never skipped leg day (regardless of multiple forged signatures to bail out on gym class with doctored excuse notes).

“Which is why we gotta think fast! Predators are adaptable! They gotta be, to catch the smart prey like us!” Dustin anxiously tugs at the bill of his Camp Know Where hat, his most sacred keepsake and reminder of where he met his Utah summer sweetheart Suzie Bingham, that no one believed was real until proven wrong by Cerebro finally reaching through to her radio channel.

Unable to stop a distressed whine gurgling up in his throat, Will finds himself deeply empathizing with Dustin’s mentality the more they talk things through. A majority of their middle school years, Will’s taciturnly kept this topic in mind, hence his outright hatred for growing up. He’s been dreading it for a lot longer following a well-meaning Mr. Clarke’s wretched 7th grade 7th period Health Class that warned of sexual urges, abstinence, how babies are made, and what's the diseases or infections to watch out for. 

From that moment on, it dawned on Will that he wasn’t the target audience in those particular lessons, despite Mr. Clarke's attempts to educate up-to-date information adhering to public school regulations. Will isn't the same as his peers. The questions he had lodged in his mind, invading his heart, and weighing down his tongue weren’t going to be welcomed with tolerance in straight-laced Hawkins, let alone in the Midwest in general with the way the news kept reporting about the AIDs cases rising by those filthy…… 

Will didn’t even want to think about it or he’d get overwhelmed and cry. The last thing he needs are his friends incompetently staring at him while he wipes away hot streaming tears, each droplet another part of himself he must shun to keep the ruse going, or fade from existence into the shadows.

Will tries to be composed, tries to be optimistic, no matter how foolish the feat is to counter Dustin’s valid worries. He’s going against his instincts to know better, to know how it’ll all end, defiantly choosing to visualize the impossible rather than look at the evidence presented year after year of another loser kid thrown to the wolves and the adults turning a blind eye with an unsaid “good riddance” harbored in their gullets.

“Maybe it won’t be too bad. Jonathan’s gonna be there!” Will's big brother is always a person he can rely on. When nothing made sense, Jonathan tended to clear the fog. He knew how to find serenity in his freak status, bask in the ostracization, revel in solitude.

“But Jonathan can’t be there all the time.”

Will’s stomach is in instant knots, intestines coiled like a corkscrew from Dustin’s sympathetic gaze and doubtful words. He compels the muscles in his face to remain neutral, ears begrudgingly listening to Dustin’s pessimism sharply puncture the air, chipping at Will’s flimsy confidence.

“Not when we’re stuck mostly on opposite sides of the building making it impractical for freshmen and seniors to mingle if it’s not lunch time, electives, or extracurriculars. We've got to save ourselves here, Will.”

Damn, Dustin did have a point. They’re really up the creek without a paddle. They’re by themselves on this one. 

They’re alone. 

Will's alone. (He always has been).

“Um… Uh… We can…” Will doesn't have the faintest idea of what to say, his dimming intangible light more or less vanished, reality setting in once and for all.

Every bone in his body is telling him they’re in for an inevitable slaughtering, and honestly, Will can’t stand it, his knack for knowing when trouble’s afoot.

A recent example of Will's veracious premonitions are these past three months, how a wedding he once looked forward to between his mother Joyce and sheriff Jim Hopper ruined his perfectly carefree summer, and caused Will to experience the worst heartbreak of his life—one that would be far from his last. 

That’s allegedly what this sleepover is; an apology from Mike for being a neglectful friend to them (specifically to Will) over a girl. 

A stupid girl. Not just any girl. 

Jane is Will’s newly hailed stepsister who’s become Mike’s latest obsession. Unfortunately, she’s equally as obsessed with Mike, choosing to be called the cutesy nickname he gave her— El —over her government name Jane, much to Hopper's chagrin.

Immediately, the excitement of having a two-parent family again dissolved for Will at the wedding, standing on the reception sidelines, merely a wallflower as Mike happily danced with a bubbly El, initiating an adorable chaste kiss on the lips between them, mirroring Joyce and Hopper smooching some lovey dovey couples away on the floor. Will had accepted then and there, heart turned to stone, that he won't ever get to experience the same milestones as Mike or Joyce when it came to romance. That’s fine. Feelings like that are overrated anyways.

“Yeah. You're right. High school is gonna suck.” Will deflates like an old birthday balloon sinking to the ground, shutting his eyes in mounting misery, automatically counting down to when they have to get up and get ready to be ambushed freshmen.  

Dustin audibly swallows, noticing Will’s shift in mood, feeling accountable for dampening the otherwise pleasant night of theirs with his doomsday rant.

“Forget I said anything. I-I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Dustin tacks on a hesitant, “Hopefully.”

“Hopefully.” Will repeats imperceptibly.

The two are awkwardly silent for a while, both ruminating on dumb social hierarchies and bigger, more menacing bullies awaiting them at school grounds. Dustin starts speaking again, cites how their best bet is to join some kind of clique, guaranteeing them a table in the bustling cafeteria at least—rumors about a weirdo drug dealer adopting the geeks who seek him out while running a Dungeons and Dragons club. He assures a cynical Will it’s most likely exaggerated that this Eddie Munson guy should be avoided at all costs. Will doesn’t really want to keep that option open if the rumors turn out to be true that Eddie’s dangerous.

He’d rather only play with his friends in the party they have now, and besides, Will can’t really imagine anyone else being such an amazing dungeon master to rival Mike’s theatrically unmatched campaigns. He already gained a new sister, must he get new friends too? Perhaps, Dustin thought he’s doing Will a favor by voting to join another party since Lucas and Mike were disinterested in playing D&D all summer long, preoccupied with their girl troubles rather than arcade and game nights with the boys.

“Hopefully.” This time Will mouths it, knowing he can’t be heard chanting it like a reserved prayer for whatever deity in the sky to grant.

He feels betrayed by everything. Betrayed by life, by icky puberty, and with how his friends are planning beyond playing board games and video games in Mike’s basement. The one place Will considered safe and where he could be free. How easily they can move on with their fluctuating lives that have no room for sensitive Will clawing to rewind time, reliving the best parts and skipping over the worst like a VHS tape. 

They’re ripping off the bandaid of fleeting childhood while Will clings to it for dear life, trying to desperately press the expired adhesive back on that just won’t stick anymore. Will never contemplated that there’d be a time when the things he needs, the things he wants, wouldn’t align with what everyone else had contrived.

For the last day of summer Will longs for this sleepover to never end. He’d rather stay like how it currently is; being around his favorite people goofing off, ignoring how his family dynamic is permanently altered, pretending Mike doesn’t have a girlfriend he prefers to constantly swap spit with instead of spending time with Will like normal. 

When did their normal become abnormal? 

When did Will become a late bloomer? 

Why is he broken and can’t be fixed?

“Oompf!” He groans in minor pain at a random weight falling atop him. 

That weight is Mike. 

Thank goodness the sleeping bag acts as a cushy crash site or he’s certain to have bruised from impact.

“Lucas! You hit way too hard, man!” Mike complains, stunned and unaware that he's nose deep in Will's reddening left ear. 

His warm prickling breath causes Will to involuntarily shudder. Mike’s gangly body is a force to be reckoned with from his second unpredictable growth spurt of this year, pinning Will sturdily to the floor, limbs sprawled and caging.

“Y-You’re h-heavy.” Will wheezes in a tiny timber, lungs getting crushed the more he squirms, struggling to breathe, and not zero in on the fact that he’s currently being straddled. 

He wonders if this is how it feels to be on the receiving end of a tackle. He also wonders if this would be even more humiliating with no sleeping bag between them, their bodies fully superimposed resembling those klutzy rom-com will-they-won't-they couples astride each other in the chick flicks that El forces him to marathon as precious sibling bonding. 

Mike raises his head, gingerly blinking, then freezes, bones wooden, peering into identically dismayed hazel eyes looking up from under him. Uh oh. Mike's done the forbidden: make Will uncomfortable.

Without delay, he speedily rolls off and Will crucially gasps for much needed air. He is relieved but only a brief moment, Mike still very much in his personal space, flanking his right side. Will sees that Mike is half-sitting up/half-lying down. He feels the pressure of Mike’s leg pressing through the sleeping bag, indiscriminately resting against Will’s own casually. Mike rotates his neck at an angle, eyes vividly tracing Will’s every movement with total concentration. 

The saccharine scent of Mike's breath, from the Reese's Pieces he and Will secretly shared when Lucas and Dustin argued over which pizza toppings to get earlier in the night, tickles Will’s nose in a deviously dizzying way, releasing endorphins tenfold.

“You okay?!” Mike's voice is subdued and coaxing, the fringe of his curly hair shading his face pleasingly in this lighting.

Will blushes, submerging into his sleeping bag entirely. He wishes he'd turn into a caterpillar entering its chrysalis stage as he resists the oddly toasty sensation spreading from his head to his toes. Whirring thoughts, inspirational and ardent, consume Will's fractured sanity the more Mike doesn’t look away. He can sense Mike's eyes are boring holes through the sleeping bag, striving to figure Will out like he’s a tricky riddle.

“You okay?” Mike asks again, crooked finger poking the sleeping bag, intending to get Will to pop his head out and look at him.

Futile. 

It is futile.

Will surrenders to his electrified skin, his blood rushing hot, the hairs on his neck and arms standing up. In spite of everything, he can't get over Mike.

How can he? The boy he loves is, shocker , extremely loveable. 

And caring. And heartfelt. And out of his league.

Forbidden fruit he mustn't take part in no matter how famished.

“I’m okay.” Will softly mumbles loud enough to be heard.

“You sure?!” Mike uneasily frowns, his finger still incessantly poking. Just then, Dustin clears his throat from the other side of Will. 

“Might be my fault. We got to talking…” He flinches at Mike’s abrupt and frigid glower. Dustin hates when Mike gets like that, overprotective, pure tunnel vision. It's sheer favoritism and unfair treatment in his opinion! Not like Mike would rectify his behavior if called out on it. “He’s probably spooked about high school.”

“Oh, yeah? Me too, dude.” Lucas admits, dropping the spare pillow prepped to smack Mike in the head like a piñata at a divorce party of a cheated-on wife, ultimately choosing peace and crouching next to Dustin to join the conversation. “Freshmen equals fresh meat! We gotta suck it up and deal with Hell 2.0 on Earth. I'm thinking about trying out for basketball. The athletes never get made fun of, even if they never win a single game. They’re immune to being losers.”

Mike narrows his eyes, not buying the propaganda his friends seem to be gobbling up. “We don't have to suck it up. We don't have to be dumb jocks. As long as we're together, we can handle it. We can handle anything!”

Lucas and Dustin exchange unsure glances.

“C'mon, guys!” Mike demands, wearing a brave grin. He likes being a loser more than being a mouth breather. “Don't you believe me?”

“Well…” Lucas tilts his head to the ceiling.

“You see…” Dustin studies the rug's pattern.

Mike shakes his head, disillusioned by the lack of morale. Before, they would’ve agreed with him wholeheartedly, but lately, ever since Mike made his love life top priority and his main personality, they haven’t been treating him the same. His words hold no weight. Optimistic or not.

“Seriously?” The grin slips from Mike's lips, shoulders slouching.

A second turns into a minute. Seemingly thunderous silence the unanimous answer. Mike’s starting to envision a bleak road ahead of them for the next four years now. But just like that, in a flash, a bright light flickers in the darkness, proving to Mike that his sprightly declaration reached the most important person in the room and in his corner.

“I believe you.” 

Will peers from his sleeping bag finally, a tuft of syrupy brown hair and his gleaming eyes exposed. He licks his chapped lips, then yields a small smile of reassurance. Mike’s face instantly radiates, disregarding Lucas and Dustin rolling their eyes so far back they could probably see the inside of their skulls.

“Yes! Can always count on my cleric unlike some people. ” Mike switches from enthusiastic to double-crossed, glaring at Lucas and Dustin, who reciprocate with corresponding unimpressed looks.

“Oh, okay, be that way. Don't act like we're all not scared shitless, so much so that we're using this sleepover as a funeral for our youth!” Dustin quips, an arm gesturing to their childish surroundings of Nintendo, comic books, posters, and a combo of fantasy/sci-fi movie VHS tapes. Some of which the boys haven't touched in ages, just collecting dust like they suddenly outgrew everything.

Lucas furrows his brows, confused. “Youth? We're not that old, dude. C'mon.”

“It’s metaphorical! Symbolic! Duh!” Dustin growls, lightly shoving Lucas, who shoves back, and it turns into a petty shoving contest that stops at Mike's insistence.

“Guys! Shut up! Shut up!” 

He stands to his feet, effectively looming over everyone. Mike cuts his eyes, tinting them with ambition. Been too long since Mike’s looked familiar and it has Will's heart skip several beats. 

“Let's make a promise, okay? An oath among our fellowship. Vowing that no matter what happens in high school, in the future, we'll be best friends!”

Will eagerly sits up, staring at Mike with wide eyes. “Forever?” 

His fingers are crossed. It’s a reasonable question to ask after continuously being let down all summer and Mike squats to Will’s eye level, unwaveringly reiterating, “Forever.”

They gaze upon each other, words unspoken yet understood. Reluctantly, Mike tears his eyes from Will’s elated face to slide them over Lucas and Dustin, who are impatiently waiting for the rest of Mike’s encouraging speech. They've had their fair share of watching Mike and Will get lost in their own world before remembering they're participating in a group conversation. 

Mike extends his arm out, splayed hand, motioning with a nod that they should follow his lead. Will beats them to the punch, swiftly covering Mike’s hand with his own clammy palm. Lucas then sets his rough hand on top of Will’s and Dustin stacks his aloft Lucas’ as the last one.

It is done. 

Resolute. 

The four of them won't ever grow apart, just grow together. 

1989

The humidity in the boys bathroom is severely fucking up Mike’s hair, lamentable really, for Karen had strived to make his God-given curls as straight as a soldier at roll call, planning to take Polaroid family pictures later on at Enzo's tonight. All that effort flat-ironing section after section when the singing morning birds awoke totally went down the drain. Mike doesn’t mind the frizz returning him to his natural state, dark eyes blankly checking out his reflection. He dons a blue sleek suit and draped over his left shoulder is a classic raven hued gown that’ll reach his mid-calves once he wears it for today's ceremony. If he’d just smile, pearly whites or closed mouth, people would know he is here to celebrate the end of an era and to new beginnings. 

However, Mike’s dreary aura floats about as if a storm cloud managed to squeeze indoors, wreaking havoc spitting rain and throwing lighting on what should be a joyously sunny afternoon. With that chip on his shoulder he seems fit for a funeral or candlelit vigil. The kind folks have for hit-and-run victims off the side of a highway drunk driver car pile up, or for missing kids on milk cartons lost in the woods near their neighborhood never to be found. That’s his disposition alright.

A record heatwave is sweeping the nation, Indiana winning the weather lottery for shittiest luck this side of the Mississippi River. The air conditioning is tragically busted and the ceiling fans are rendered worthless, simply moving around a stifling oppressive wind in the building-turned-universe’s-largest-furnace.

Most of the Hawkins boys quickly get in and get out of the bathroom, doing their business in a timely manner, trying not to sweat through their expensive tailor made or cheaply rented three piece suits, their hair suffering just as badly as Mike’s.

“Oh, man. I’ve got pit stains.”

“I’m roasting here. Gonna pass out.”

“Which parties are you crashing tonight?”

“Shiiit, dude. All of them!”

“Wicked!”

“Sick!”

“My pants ripped! No, no, no, no, no! I can’t show up like this!”

“Ah, hell. My deodorant wore off! Can you guys tell?!”

“YES!”

“We can tell!” 

“You smell ripe, bro!”

“Yo, are you done Wheeler?”

Mike steps back from the sink and mirror he’s unintentionally hogging, letting some stocky jock he’s certain is one of Lucas’s braindead teammates switch with him, no fuss or hassle. The strong as an ox point guard vigorously combs his gelled hair in place to no avail for there’s always a strand refusing to be tamed, sticking up like a bunny eared TV antenna. There’s a light sheen of sweat forming on Mike’s pallid skin and he unbuttons the top of his dress shirt for relief. Three buttons undone exposing his rosy collarbone that could be mistaken for a flaring rash to the untrained eye.

Sounds of flushing toilets, running faucets, consistently squeaking shoes on scuffed tiled floor and boys howling their every whiny thought irritates Mike to no end. The noise melding into a cacophony apt for Starcourt Mall’s infamously turbulent Black Friday Sales, pushing him to the edge when he begins to vigorously rub his temples for the nasty headache blooming at the sensory overload. One of the stalls is free, the closest to him, fifth down the row. Mike races to occupy it. He slides the janky lock sideways and carefully hangs his gown on the coat hook fastened to the door. 

Kicking his left leg up, Mike leans against one of the stall’s walls, not bothering to sit on the toilet and possibly ruin his preppy trousers Karen bought for him from the GAP. If there’s a pet peeve of his, it’s that mandatory formal attire should never get dirty at events. Very inconvenient when fiending to unwind.

“Just graduation in an hour, not the gallows.” Max, the party member Mike's most caustic towards, derided after hearing his previous grievances when they carpooled together because her on-again/off-again boyfriend, Lucas, shared a ride with his basketball buddies.

Mike’s hand digs in his suit jacket’s pocket, bony fingers latching to a cool piece of rectangular metal. His other hand brushes curly strands behind his right ear, unveiling a strategically hidden loosie he pawned from Eddie Munson’s trailer when visiting with Dustin. He puts the bitter flavored cigarette in his mouth, thumb scrolling the spark wheel of the lighter, grinding it against the stone for the quivering flame to shine in Mike’s cheerless irises. Not the best time to smell of nicotine, but he’s aced all his classes with honors sans Spanish, serving his sentence as an imprisoned student on semi-good behavior well in his opinion. He deserves to do what he wants. Live a little.

This isn’t his regular routine, anyway. Mike abhors smoking. Deems it unhealthy and a waste of money. Does it sparingly, though, can count on two hands really, but whenever he succumbs to uncontrollable temptation, it’s genuinely because the scent reminds him of a certain someone he prays to have a do-over with. A person that can aggravate and console his disjointed perceptions and sentiments of life better than any drug, or alcohol, or lazy hours of video gaming. 

Now that the nicotine taints the air and his taste buds, fervently breathed into his sinus, smelling of a boy that reminds him of home sweet home, Mike takes in the scene to collect himself and relax. Across from him is a boorishly collaborated masterpiece signed by multiple Hawkins’ teens seeking refuge in a stall amid soul-sucking classes. Wall full of graffiti that spans who knows how long, maybe since the school was first built. Each its own myth, urban legend, admission.

Juvenile doodles of private parts, who’s crushing on who, or screwing so-and-so, or is a slimeball, or is a slut, or is a cheater cheater pumpkin eater. The answers to the end of the year English final the senile Ms. Rutledge never cares to change up. Lots of stickers; new, old, and purposely scratched off. Wads of combined stale gum to break a world record that doesn’t exist. Carved obscenities that can’t get cleaned off or painted over by the janitor. A crude drawing of Hellfire’s devil mascot, the club where Mike’s second in command, and where he called his oasis during hard times.

The dangling cigarette’s embers fall to the floor, barely missing his mud brown monk strap shoes. Another set of boys pile in to bitch about why graduation has to be held in the dumb field when the sun’s on a mission to cook them to a crisp, their fervid breaths adding to the muggy atmosphere.

Mike’s ears pick up on some poor chap under the impression that he can open the vacuum sealed windows for a fresh breeze, and then hears the aftermath of said chap gracelessly falling on his rump when he saw the amount of dead bugs in the window sill from a very large and territorial spider eying to bite anything tasting of human flesh.

BANG! BANG!

Somebody’s at his door knocking with urgency, which is absurd, there are plenty of other free stalls here.

“Taken!” Mike hollers, holding the cigarette steady between his index and middle fingers, blowing out puffs of stratus cloud smoke. For extra emphasis he responds by punting the abused door from his side, hinges clunking from the force. Whoever’s banging immediately stops and grumpily retreats to the next available.

Jamming the cigarette in his mouth once more, Mike re-focuses on the defaced wall, all bad handwriting varying in sizes and colors. A number of them he can recognize since he got paid a handsome amount to write their English papers. He won’t miss that gig when he’s driving to the East Coast pedal to the metal, no looking back, his small town past ruthlessly killed by his big city dreams.

Mike reads each word or doodle inquisitively like a primitive bedtime story fingerpainted on a cave wall. Then his detached gaze hardens and his teeth grind, jaw ticks, fists ball up. One specific, nearly illegible scribble scrabble sticks out like a sore thumb, catching his eye. The letters explicitly constitute, quickening his heartbeat, igniting his fury.

Will Byers’s name is etched in the gray plastic laminate.

They don’t talk much these days, Mike and Will. 

Life wedged itself in the middle of them and so did time, among other factors. Seldomly, Mike thinks it’d have been better if he and Will simply lost touch for good. Would hurt less that way than what they currently have. 

Friends. They’re just friends. Not even best friends. 

Nope, they’re friends that are bordering on the line of cordial acquaintances and cameo hangout sessions. So, regular. Sanitized. Impersonal.  

Mike interprets his complicated relationship with Will as somebody he used to know pretty well. He used to know Will like the back of his hand. That’s what happens when freshmen orientation sets the inflexibly miserable tone of high school. Mike and his friends not sharing any classes together, thrusted into different homerooms, rifts blossoming as they meet new people that don’t quite mesh with the energy of the original core four party members.

They should’ve cut ties, alleviate the tenuous sting, yet they couldn’t. They had made vows and they meant forever, so despite the alienation and aloofness that came with the territory, Mike and Will honored it because if nothing else they’re loyal. Even to a fault.

WILL BYERS IS A FAG

Mike hawks his burned out cigarette butt into the toilet bowl, hearing a mild plop of the water. The ash dusting the floor resembles powder on stale donuts sold at grocery store discounts. The acrid smoke lingering, he searches the pockets of his suit jacket and trousers. Needs to have a pen or something on his person. It’s what got him into college, his gifted prose that gradually improved with each paragraph scrawled. Mike revisits his roots of defiling school property after he swore he wouldn’t regress to his middle school mindset, the period where he was too busy trying to grow up fast, on the path to burning bridges and having a laundry list of regrets.

Duty calls, though, his gumption necessary for what he’s about to do. He has conjured a permanent marker on its last legs and it feels like divine intervention, heaven-sent. Biting the cap and twisting it off with his teeth, using ample penmanship, Mike crosses out the entire slur with a giant black X and proceeds to blot it out. Then, he edits the original tag.

WILL BYERS IS WISE

“10 minutes!” An underpaid overworked teacher trudges into the bathroom oozing authority. “Start walking this instant! Don’t be late! Chop, chop!”

The shuffling of feet overlaps with leftover boys galloping to the door in a rush. Mike makes no move to leave, absentmindedly writing MW + WB, adding the finishing touches by outlining a heart around the initials. The marker dies midway, sadly, right when Mike is 75% done with connecting the lines of the heart, never to wholly close. Story of his life.

He should be fine with their initials hiding their true identities. There's like, four MW's in his class alone and six WB's in the entire school, all either boy or girl. If anyone figures it out that he meant them, which is unlikely given the stunted critical thinking of this place, both Mike and Will would be long gone from this hick town by then.

A devil’s on Mike's shoulder like those 1930’s cartoons, telling him to ditch, let the school send his diploma in the mail. An angel on his other shoulder reminds him that his parents would cancel the highly coveted dinner reservations at Enzo's if he shows his ass in lieu of keeping up appearances. Man, Mike is really looking forward to that pasta dish with the house-made special sauce, too, so he better tighten up.

Push comes to shove, he stubbornly exits the stall and re-buttons his dress shirt, adjusting his brand new solid red tie that feels like a noose compressing around the neck, phantom throb holding his Adam's apple hostage.

Empty of people, the space is void of noise. Mike listlessly aims like he’s Lucas and misses the garbage can, dried out marker bouncing off the rim to the tiled floor. He watches it roll on, apparently forever, until stopped by off-brand penny loafers near the bathroom's entrance. 

“Looking sharp, Mike.”

“...... Will?” 

Sugar honey iced tea! 

Shit, shit, shit!

It’s Will!

Will Byers is alone in a bathroom with him. 

How did Mike not see him enter?!

It hasn't been just them in a while and it makes him fidgety. The last time they were alone together rumors spread about Will, who took the brunt of it, and left Mike free from accountability even though all of it was a big misunderstanding to begin with. 

Mike straightens his posture, usually only conversing with his former best friend in a group setting as a buffer, safe with the rest of the party members to nullify (minus El, his ex is rather volatile and Mike agrees that he deserves her ire after the messy breakup they had).

“Will!” Mike repeats.

“That’s my name. Don't wear it out. Haha.” 

Brilliant hazel eyes are paired with a tense smile. Will isn't happy to be here with him, but he can fake it. He’s kind like that. It aches them both.

Mike gulps, his wits involuntarily overanalyzing. It never ceases to amaze him that talking to Will is now considered strange. Striding hesitantly to the third sink in a row, untethered azure tie swathing his broad shoulders, Mike can tell automatically that Will's stressed. He can also tell that Will's hand-me-down suit sits dashingly on his physique.

“H-Hi.” Mike stutters a belated greeting, wetting his lips. “And thanks for the, uh, compliment. You look good, too!” 

He appraisingly looks Will up and down while tugging at his shirt collar, mouth parched and feeling the heat crank up higher.

“Thanks. New haircut.” Will bluntly states, doesn’t spare Mike a single glance, attention glued to the mirror. He starts to fold his tie in place.

Mike decides to put on his gown, arms through the sleeves, his intense sight never leaving Will as he does it. “It’s really, really nice. The haircut. I mean.”

“Oh, shoot!” Will grapples with the fabric, failing at making the loop. He grimaces, not hearing a single word Mike had said. “I still can’t get this damn thing right. Jonathan was supposed to teach me, but his plane’s running late. Won't make it in time to see me walk the stage.”

“Bummer. Hop not available?” 

Mike inches closer toward Will, standing right behind him now, and sparsely sniffs the air. He slackens his body, nose relishing in the nostalgic fumy aroma exuding from Will's nicotine entrenched suit. Par for the course when Will's house is full of smokers. Some might loathe the smell. Mike adores it. Can't get enough. It's fundamentally Will Byers, reeks of their childhood, of simpler times.

“I don’t like asking for help. Still feels weird to call him dad.” Will discloses, cheeks turning modestly pink.

Mike gets it. He hardly ever asks his own father for assistance. It has to be intimidating having a police chief for a stepfather. Mike had a few choice words with Hopper himself a few years ago and it wasn't fun. At least Hopper has a soft spot for Will and lets him get away with murder compared to any other teen in town.

“Here. Lemme do it.” Mike eagerly volunteers, reaching to seize the tie in his firm grasp and slipping it from Will’s shoulders. It occurs to him, in afterthought, that he probably should've asked before invading Will's space.

“Hah. Like old times, right?” Will timorously queries, a teeny grin unfurling and relief in his eyes. He doesn't mind having Mike's unsolicited help, which wasn't the case when the rumors began about Will and him. Whatever, Mike will take the win.

Grinning delicately too, Mike nods. “Yeah. Like old times.”

He blinks and out of nowhere Mike’s not standing in a public school bathroom with Will anymore. In that temporary period of having closed his eyelids, he sees the past. Will has a baby-face and Mike’s all skin and bones midsummer of 1985. In a secluded area of a church, under the staircase alcove with people floundering by like headless chickens dealing with preparations and mishaps, unaware that Mike’s pulled Will aside and is hiding them in the shadows. 

He has secured himself as the youngest guest to arrive early at the wedding, just to steal time with an elusive Will. They hadn’t hung out much all that summer, Joyce unexpectedly becoming an overwhelmed bridezilla, getting all the romantic fixings she never got the first time round when she married deadbeat Lonnie, too young and in her prime in a remote common courthouse.

Jonathan and Hopper are both exhausted with tons of errands to perfect things, making Will’s presence the sole fixation to calm Joyce down at lengthy rehearsals and discussions of which cake flavors to have. This unwittingly fosters one of the many catalysts between Mike and Will, that’ll kickoff annual fights of theirs up until present day—clueless El caught in the crossfire. 

She has much more free time than Will and acts as the go-between, relaying messages specifically to Mike and friends on why Will's M.I.A yet again. Shortly after constant meetups with her, Mike began seeing El through an ardent lens because it meant a new report on Will and his well-being. During these moments, El picks up on a spark of attraction stoking between them, and she was somewhat correct, with Mike inviting her to join the party, genuinely enjoying her company outside of Will updates. 

Both of them hungered for companionship, being lonely kids going through changes, Mike feeling the twinging absence of Will haunting him, and El obstinately wanting to have connection with people her own age in a new environment. The seedlings of a mutual crush planted, got watered, and in a jiffy flowered. When Mike steps through the church’s doors a blushing El skips over to welcome him and asks if he'd share a dance with her later on at the reception, the place where he'll unknowingly kiss her later on. 

Mike’s quick to agree, mind distracted, excusing himself from the budding conversation to find Will moping in the nearby hallway perched on the stairs failing to tie his tie properly. That’s how they ended up under the alcove, Mike staring down into beholden hazel eyes as he dictates a how-to in such a hushed voice that sedates Will’s worries on if Joyce’s big day will go exactly as planned .  

With no one else around, Mike feels a recurrent spellbinding impulse in his brain to lean forward and close the distance. Once done tying the knot around his best friend's neck, Mike’s dark brown eyes mesmerized by the mole on Will's laugh lines that accentuate his nose and lips, gravity pulling him in, breaching boundaries, merely for a nonchalant Jonathan to interrupt the moment about to occur.

In a fraction of a second, Mike is left standing there by himself dumbfounded, Will wordlessly snatched away by his brother, followed by Lucas and Dustin emerging from nowhere and telling him, “We've been looking everywhere for you two! The wedding's about to start! Hustle, dude!”

Mike opens his eyes, ending the anamnesis, reality sinking in. Baby-faced Will is no longer, now coming of age with a deeper voice and developing body to Mike’s more materialized angular features. Wistfulness washes over him in waves when he encroaches in Will's leeway again. In practiced motions, Mike places his hands on Will's shoulders, gently spinning Will from his reflection to face him. It's unnecessary, they both know it, but Mike's always been handsy and Will tends to go with the flow when it's Mike leading.

Beanstalk tall, that’s how much Mike’s grown, and despite Will miraculously going from being the shortest boy in their grade in middle school to presently average height, he's never going to catch up to a Wheeler's genetics. Standing still as death, Will allows himself to marvel at Mike's statuesque figure unrestrained. He feels safe enough to do that, Mike too busy doing what he does best, fixing Will’s problems. It revives fond memories of him forgetting to do his homework or study for a test, with Mike at the ready letting him craftily copy all his answers without teachers noticing, enabling Will’s tendency to cheat without any repercussions.

He gets a whiff of mint and vanilla caressing the inside of his nostrils, the costly shampoo Karen or Nancy buys that Mike swipes daily when he runs out of his cheap stuff, and it makes Will’s mouth inadvertently water at the scent. Mike smells sweet, and even though they aren’t best friends anymore, Mike is still very sweet to Will like whatever happened to them before is something they can eventually come back from. Even if they don’t reconcile until they’re saggy skinned and senile, they’ll bounce back to the same contentment they discovered in kindergarten.

Then, a question mark forms in the wrinkles of Will’s brain at another familiar scent. One of cigarettes, but Mike's not a smoker. Is he?

“We’re gonna be late.” Will laughs to subside his desires and curiosities, ignoring how attentive Mike is being with him, and checks his wristwatch.

A matching one is around Mike’s wrist, same brand and model and year. They bought them together with their saved piggy bank allowances and the looting of couch cushions for loose change. Pooling their funds to have watches that rival Nancy's friendship bracelets she made with Barb.

“We’ll make it.” Mike promises, skillfully doing a four-in-knot tie. Big talk from a guy who’s regularly tardy to anything timed. Will decides to be nice and not bring up his doubts. When has Mike steered him wrong? 

Folding the fabric lickety-split, Mike gets to work; pushing the wide end of the tie through the loop, forming the knot, slipping the end of the fabric through the knot and keeping it straight, to finally pulling the narrow end upward and taut on Will’s neck.

“Too loose? Too tight?” Mike tilts his head sideways inquisitively.

“Just right. Thanks.” Will hoarsely replies and drums his fingers on his thighs, restless.

“No problem.” Mike whispers and doesn’t remove himself.

Will looks at Mike’s stationary hands, timidly smiling and biting back a chuckle. “Are you gonna let go of me anytime soon?”

Mike says nothing in response. He simply and slowly nods with an unreadable expression that Will can’t decipher. Little by little, Mike statically withdraws, sliding his hands down inch by inch, fingers smoothing the fabric until reaching the pointed tip of Will’s tie pinched between his thumb and index finger. Neither of them make a move to leave for the ceremony. They just stand there, lost in a moment they don’t want to acknowledge, staring bashfully at their feet because eye contact would make it too heartfelt. 

Will has to hurry, his last name puts him in the second row. Very noticeable for the audience to see him tiptoeing to his seat. Mike can get away with slithering into his chair, perks of having a surname grouped with the last-letters-of-the-alphabet kids. Instead of parting ways, they gradually and courageously look at each other, their locked eyes conveying enormous emotions, words they wish to say palpable in the silence, lips tingling to free their thoughts and unburden their hearts. 

Will is the first to spin on his heels, admiring himself in the mirror and squashing his relapsing hope that there could be something more that Mike leaves unsaid. Through the reflection, he subconsciously locks eyes again with Mike's large and sparkling ones.

Fiddling with his tie dozily, Will talks to Mike’s reflection. It’s easier to do than facing the real thing. “You gotta teach me sometime.”

“Definitely.”

“Well, we better go!”

“Yeah—Hey, wait!” Mike exclaims abruptly, his outburst pausing Will's receding footsteps. “Uh, can you, um, sign my yearbook?”

Gobsmacked, Will gawks at Mike, shyly laughing and raising an incredulous brow. “You mean right now?”

“Uh-huh! I mean—No! I mean later! Later! I have it stashed in my car.” Mike clarifies, heat rising and coloring his skin ruby.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If people saw you with me… Alone.” Will knows what type of reputation he's garnered over the years, glancing warily at the entrance like they’re being spied on.

Getting outed will do that to you. Make you paranoid. 

Will’s a pariah, a social reject that not even the losers would flagrantly claim, already punching bags to Hawkins’ finest and worst. Will’s proximity could exacerbate being made fun of, or getting physically hurt, and nobody wanted that risk. Except for Mike and Dustin and Max, but Will stoutly pushed them away. Spared them the trouble that El and Lucas adamantly took on because they’re the most headstrong and had better advantages; a cop dad and association with a basketball MVP. Better than even Eddie Munson’s reputation that occasionally, about 50/50, protected the Hellfire members depending on who the bully was.

“Screw the people.” Mike shrugs, and he truly stands by that, ten toes down, balling his fists, red moon crescents in his palms at the hectic memory of how it all occurred. He venomously hisses, “We won’t see their ugly mugs ever again after today, anyway.”

“Not if we come back for our high school reunion a decade later.” Will mutters, imagining the peaked-in-high-school adults reminiscing about the good ole days when they were popular, attractive, and could get away with a slap on the wrist. 1999 seems so far away, though. 

Mike snorts, flashing a toothy grin. “Are you really gonna come back here for that?”

Will smirks at him, impish eyes blazing. “Nope. Never. Hawkins won’t ever see me again.”

“Not even for Christmas?” 

Mike would be sad if he came around during winter breaks and saw none of Will enjoying the festive season, but he understands if that’s his choice.

“Well… Maybe for that.” Will relents after thinking about it for half a second. “Only cuz I don’t wanna spend Christmas by myself. It’s my favorite–”

“—Holiday. I know.” Distance be damned, Mike knows this one unabating Will truth as if they share a soul. He charmingly claps his hands together in an imploring gesture. “Soooo, sign my yearbook later? Please. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Before Will can respond, the bathroom door is ruggedly opened. Lucas and Dustin barrel inside wearing their caps and gowns haphazardly, perspiring so much they look like they’ve been rained on. They hastily scan their surroundings, repose bathing their features when spotting a jolted Mike and Will looking like deer-in-headlights.

“Wonderful. They’re together.” Dustin plainly says, wiping the sweat from his brow, his own curly hair matting in real time.

“Aaand… They’re talking again.” Lucas is thrilled, giving Will a double thumb's up, a secret message passing between them much to Mike's displeasure. Out of their childhood friends, Will willingly keeps in touch with Lucas the most.

Dustin grabs Will by the arm while Lucas pushes Mike to the door, dragging them to the packed field like they’re sprinting to catch their boarding flight halfway across a saturated airport. Seems Max sent Dustin and Lucas to fetch them. She refuses to be stuck sitting under the blistering sun with only a handful of people she actually gives a damn about as Mike and Will play hooky doing whatever. To her, Max believes they should all suffer in unison.

The sounds of four pairs of feet pounding on the floor and then concrete parking lot converge. As they used to be when they were kids, the boys race frantically, running late together for another teenage turning point they swore would be more enlivened than this during sleepovers in Mike's basement—visualizing their intertwined futures to be solid as a rock, not dolefully fractured like in these times.

Chapter Text

Shoehorned between the cheerleader squad captain and the photography club president, Mike boredly sits tight with the principal sprinkling saliva into the microphone, calling forth the graduates to come forward one by one. Mike's in the very last row, sweating bullets, contemplating taking a cat nap until jostled awake when it's his turn to collect his diploma. 

The cheerleader is obnoxiously chewing, blowing, and popping Hubba Bubba gum. Her compact mirror is out as she teases her hair and checks if her makeup is still good to go. The photography club's president silently directs his underlings to snap unflattering pictures of everyone dying from the sweltering heat, plotting to run them in the latest issue of the Hawkins gazette.

“Lucas Sinclair!”

Mike bucks up whenever his friends are announced. He's done so for Will, Dustin, El, Max, and now Lucas who gets a standing ovation from all the people appreciative of his stellar basketball success that’s improved the town’s sports legacy. Mike even gave his respects to a few Hellfire members in their graduating class, idly clapping along. Once he thinks everybody important to him is crossed off his list, Mike tunes back out again as hard as Ted Wheeler does for Sunday dinners (and most family dinners if he’s being honest).

“Here.” The cheerleader snootily shoves a piece of scrap paper in Mike’s face, waving it avidly for him to take it. 

Who on Earth is passing him notes at this time? Skimming the contents, which isn't much, Lucas’s handwriting greets Mike’s eyes with a question.

Party for the party? Tonight? Yes or No? - L.S.

So far, three yeses are counted. Mike can see that Dustin, Max, and El have agreed to go partying, their initials instantly recognizable. Will is evidently missing from this lineup. Mike wonders if Will’s going or if the note hasn't gone to him yet. He's crestfallen, raising his head to get a glimpse of Will in the upper rows, ready to longingly stare like he tends to do sometimes from afar, and is surprised to find Will looking right at him! 

Was Will originally watching Mike first?! If true, then for how long?

As if embarrassed, Will turns away, caught red-handed. That intrigues Mike dearly. Has his leg bouncing like a jackrabbit, fingers itching to respond to the note. Mike doesn’t have anything to write with, though, remembering his dried out marker from earlier, and pleads with the cheerleader for a spare pencil or pen if she has one. Vexingly, she gives Mike one, only because she knows he’s best friends with the Prom King Lucas, whom she has a massive crush on, and also because she doesn’t want Hellfire freak Mike to keep doggedly pestering her in public. 

Mike scribbles his reply and clenches the note like it’s sought after treasure until he can pass it along. His row of WXYZ surnames is finally summoned and he gets up, walking in single file as the principal ushers them in like shepherding cattle. Discreetly, Mike passes the note to another student who’s already walked the stage, giving directions to send it back Lucas’s way.

“Michael Wheeler!” 

He strolls across the stage, clamping down on his diploma and reluctantly shaking hands with the principal that threatened to expel him for the retaliation prank Hellfire did to the basketball team back in ‘86. When the war between Eddie Munson and Jason Carver went off the rails during a crazy Spring Break week over Chrissy Cunningham, putting Mike and Lucas at odds for a brief moment as they chose different sides of cliques.

“Congratulations Class of 1989!”

At long last, seven people after Mike, high school can kiss his pasty white ass. He throws his cap to the sky in union with his jubilant peers, listening to the interweaving celebratory cheers. Afterwards in the commemorative throng, Mike promptly informs his family that he’ll meet them at Enzo’s, wanting to drive in his car with zero passengers, needing the alone time to decompress his busy day. Mike passes by his now former classmates meandering in the parking lot and field, talks of parties to attend and summer travels to prepare for. He makes it to his bequeathed station wagon, chucking his gown in the hatch while tearing off his tie in hopes of cooling off better.

“Where’s your yearbook?” Will is stealthy as a ninja, appearing from thin air, their shadows blending together on the pavement.

“Huh? Oh!” Mike jumps and then contains his elation at Will indulging his prior request, grabbing the book from the bowels of his hatch. “R-Right here!”

He flips to the pages that have Will's photos; the snazzy school picture day one, and the few in Hawkins Art Club. Don't ask how or why Mike knows where exactly to flip. He certainly didn't memorize the page numbers and highlight and/or bunny ear them for quick access.

“Do you wanna sign mine, too?” Will holds up his own thick yearbook and a black ink ballpoint pen.

“Yeah, totally.” They exchange books, signing their names and writing memorable, personal sentences down beside or beneath their photos. Mike wets his lips and asks Will, “Did you get the note? Are you gonna appease Lucas’s need to get us all together like we’re some broken up band doing a comeback tour?”

Will rocks on the balls of his feet, screwing his mouth in deep thought and tapping the end of the pen to his chin. “I’m on the fence. Not that into parties, honestly.”

Mike's perplexed by that. These past four years, Will has talked to more of the athletes than the losers, freaks, nerds, and geeks combined. Lucas did amazing damage control using his influence to be Will’s shield, inadvertently usurping Mike from his longtime role as Will’s champion.

“But you’re always with Lucas and his basketbros having the time of your life...”

“That doesn’t mean anything. They’re Lucas’s friends, not mine. I just tagalong. Get tolerated. Y’know, cuz…”

“I get it.” 

Mike didn’t need an explanation, even though neither of them have actually talked about it. Turns out Lucas had it right, being a popular athlete playing cultish sports provided certain privileges over those willing to oppose the status quo. One ended a historic losing streak that not even Steve Harrington could break. Their classmates owed Lucas loads, including easing up on bullying some of the outcasts closest to him. Lucas offered much better protection for Will with the jocks never daring to piss him off, the most valuable player, over the measly Hellfire wimps that have no clout/money/charisma to weaponize or utilize in self-defense.

Mike slams the yearbook shut once the ink dried. “I’m gonna go. Miss when it was just the party. Not our new friends. Just us.” 

Will has a rueful energy about him when hearing that, taking in the words and clutching Mike's yearbook until his knuckles turn white, poring over a Hellfire group photo unblinkingly. The photo was when Mike had grown his hair out to his shoulders in freshman year, an empty spot saved for Will at his left side. A spot Will never took no matter how many times Mike and Dustin begged him to join the club.

“Me, too. I miss when it was just us.” Will susurrates and Mike almost didn't catch it with his keen ears. Giving Mike an upbeat simper, Will speaks louder and clearer, eyes flashing coyly. “You know what, I’ll do it. I’ll go! You promise you’re gonna be there, right?”

Mike plumes, chest puffed, not believing his own ears, and says in a dallied tone. “For sure! Yeah! I’ll be there, alright! You’d go to a party for little ole me?”

“Not just you. El already wants me there and Lucas is very convincing. Can’t say no to Lucas.” Will doesn't notice Mike's conviction drop. He brightens up when Will tenderly says to him, “You just happen to be icing on the cake, is all.”

“I’m the icing, huh?” Mike smirks, his preening circling back and sweeping him off his feet, feeling so high he might as well be floating above the ground, totally weightless. “Cool. Then, I guess we’ll see each other tonight.”

He nods, giving Will a onceover.

“Yeah. See you tonight.” Sincerely smiling, Will slowly walks backwards and Mike awkwardly waves bye, hard for either of them to peel their eyes away from each other.

He’s left Mike alone by his station wagon. Mike watches Will immediately get encompassed by Joyce, Hopper, and El in an endearing family hug across the parking lot. Will's parting words have Mike dizzy in the best way. He can’t tell if the heat flushing his skin is from the sun’s burning rays, or from his childhood friend looking luminescent like a lightbulb in his eyes the entire time they were cordially chatting.

Mike shuts the hatch and speeds to Enzo’s while replaying his interactions with Will in his head. He knows Max is riding back with the Sinclair’s after secretly rekindling her romance with Lucas behind everyone’s backs, so he doesn’t need to drop her off at home. Mike only knows this is possible because he stumbled across Max sneaking into Lucas’s bedroom window during prom night, and the next few nights after, struggling in the same way Steve would when climbing through Nancy’s window. Perks of being a neighbor, he figures.

At the graduation dinner, Mike barely participates in conversation, eating his pasta in big bites and checking his wristwatch often. Karen asks Mike what’s got him so high strung that he can’t even chew his food before swallowing. He tells his mom that he’s got other obligations to attend rather than ordering dessert with them. Nancy, sleuth that she is, possesses knowledge that Mike is about to have a wild night with his friends and spills the beans about underage drinking to their mother with no remorse. 

She’s been waiting for the right time to snitch on Mike ever since he blackmailed her once for sneaking Steve over after hours to study “anatomy” , and she’s known to hold a bitter grudge. That time middle school Mike stole money from her so he could hang out at the arcade with friends remains in Nancy's diary entries titled eventual payback .

Her callout to their mother has Mike briskly deducing that Will probably told Jonathan (because he tells Jonathan everything) of their plans, who then told his still-on-amicable-terms-with ex Nancy. Fortunately for him, Karen and Ted are more lenient compared to their past stricter parenting (much to Nancy’s annoyance), relieved that now they can focus on Holly being the last to leave the nest. They simply demand Mike not get too harebrained tonight, telling him his curfew is no later than half past midnight, and it bothers Mike greatly that he's eighteen years old, a legal adult, and still has to play by their rules because he lives under their roof rent free. 

At least they didn’t mention him having a drink or two as inappropriate, and that’s only because they trust Lucas to keep Mike on the straight and narrow, unknowing that Lucas is the main one who taught Mike all the boozy house party games in the first place. 

With his parents’ languorous blessing, Mike leaves dinner early to get a headstart on showering, and changes into more comfortable and fresher clothes. He has to phone Lucas for the exact address while blow drying his hair. Hours later, when the twinkling stars and waxing gibbous moon are hanging in the cloudless dark sky, Mike is at a rich kid’s ritzy-ditzy-glitzy Loch Nora two-story home.

He’s standing under a walnut tree located in the large backyard that’s decked with a pool, a jacuzzi, and a firepit. Mike wears a plain solid black shirt, black jeans, and creased sneakers. Dustin and Max are stitched to either side of his hips, pretending to rate the flavors of alcohol rifled from the unlocked liquor cabinet like their fancy wine connoisseurs in a pompous Californian vineyard. Lucas is making rounds, getting yanked by practically every teen wanting to speak to the loser underdog turned Roane County’s overnight hometown hero just in case he became a future famous athlete. 

Mike impatiently waits for Will’s arrival, sipping on a chilled beer Dustin got for him to mellow out his grouchy mood, which is really a cover for the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. To pass the time, Mike vaguely overhears conversations of college choices, upcoming summer jobs or internships, and who’s hooking up with who in a vacant closet or bedroom. He drinks whatever Dustin and Max are drinking. He accepts whatever Lucas gives him in a questionable cup that tastes very much like doctored orange juice. Then he sips from a flask when passing by the Drama Club members that, to this day, still mourn how they couldn’t poach Mike from Hellfire for his theatrical skills as a dungeon master. 

They’re all getting tipsy, loopy, buzzed. Dustin suggests they all party hop to keep the momentum going. Many of the ragers are on the same block like this one they're at, or on surrounding streets all competing for the crown of Best Legendary Grad Night Ever. Nobody’s worried about the police busting up anything, Loch Nora residents usually pay them to look the other way if it involves youthful wayward fun. It’s a known fact that Hopper has repeatedly failed to get the unwritten rule repealed, courtesy of the immoral mayor Larry Kline, so no-holds-barred.

Mike pouts even further, searching for Will in every face he sees, in every voice he hears, and Lucas reassures that he’s coming, patting Mike on the back between the shoulder blades to loosen up more. Time lethargically ticks on, Mike deciding he should go home to stare at his basement ceiling with The Cure playing in rotation as he deteriorates into a couch potato, having a feeling like he's been stood up, knowing it’s not the first time Will’s been flaky with him. Out of thin air El manifests in front of his eyes. She scares the living daylights out of Mike, causing his cup to slosh the remnants of his drink onto the bordering rose bushes by his left and drenching part of his shirt. El gleefully giggles at his reaction, her presence nerve-wracking since the breakup, especially since she kept the nickname he gave her over returning to being called Jane. 

Privately in his mind, Mike remarks that El looks very pretty in her makeup, very androgynous in appearance. Behind her is Will, of course the two siblings would be tethered, and Mike notes that Will looks very pretty also in just his go-to jeans and a flannel. El can't open her beer bottle and shucks the responsibility off to Will. He gets the cap smoothly off for her, and El jokes about how lucky she is to have such a strong brother like Will around to help. Mike's never seen such a bewitching sight, gaze drifting to Will's exposed arms due to his rolled up at elbow length sleeves, watching Will’s muscles relax after flexing. Mike finds his heart stirring at the fact that he’s here. Will’s here.

He did it. He kept his word. Will came outside and one of the reasons was because Mike would be there.

“Hello.” El acknowledges with a politely cold smile, and as usual, something tells Mike she's still spiteful about their final argument. 

Maybe she'll forgive him when they’re middle-aged or when he's dead. He prays she’ll promote him again to friend status soon. He misses when they were just friends instead of a bickering couple.

“El.” Mike raises his now empty cup to her.

She sneers, and quickly fixates on Will, eyes full of warmth. A complete 180 degrees.

“You should be my drinking buddy.” Her eyes gleam in mischief.

“Can't keep up with you.” Will chuckles, nursing his Coca-Cola can that Mike’s just now noticing. 

“Told you he'd show up.” Lucas elbows Mike in the ribs, smirking happily for him and it rubs Mike the wrong way. Unwarrantedly envious. Mike twists his mouth to a small frown. It’s off-putting that Lucas can predict Will’s actions better than he can these days. Seems wrong. Topsy-turvy upside down. 

Dustin magically accrues a cheesy slice of pizza to inhale and offers another slice in his free hand to Mike, who declines, mumbling he’s not that hungry. Upon seeing each other Max and El feverishly screech, hugging and swaying like reunited soldiers done serving a brutal war. Will sidles up next to Dustin, smiling at the giddy girls gushing about how it’s been forever since they last goofed around. Probably because of Max's scheduled school counselor meetings and El at extra tutoring sessions.

“Glad Max is here. El's true drinking buddy.” Will sighs in relief.

“Byers!” Dustin throws an arm over Will's shoulder and Will accepts the pizza slice Mike had previously rejected, taking a bite.

“Alright! Looks like the gang’s all here!” Lucas deviously grins, clapping and rubbing his hands like a plotting comicbook supervillain.

It was an inconvenience to get all six of them in the same spot. Someone always had somewhere else to be. Some birthdays were missed. Some affiliated with different cliques and commitments. Some just preferred to be loners, Max and Will fit into that category.

El stands on her tiptoes to murmur in Will's left ear, her eyes cutting to Mike sporadically. She's definitely talking about him and doesn't care to hide it. Mike appreciates her candidness. A real step up from when they used to lie to each other. Will turns his head, and although Mike can't hear, he can read lips. Rather, he can read Will's lips.

“Ease up” and “Be nice” are requests Will makes to an averse El.

Mike needs another drink if he’s to stomach this. He’s ready to dive into the punch bowl, swallow his weight in spiked fruit juice, but a nagging tug is at his wrist. He glimpses to his side, Max shooting him a pointed look. She lures Mike into assembling a circle of their estranged friends, placing him clearly beside Will and murmurs encouragingly, “Bare your heart, loverboy”.

They’re all facing each other now. All six of them. Booming music from inside the house pours outside into the backyard like a landslide. However, it’s not dominating rock ‘n roll tunes to start rollicking or mosh pits, but a slow RnB record put on for couples to partner up and wind the rowdy hyper partygoers down.

I'm wishin' on a star

To follow where you are

I'm wishin' on a dream

To follow what it means 

“Ah! I love this song! Oldie but goodie!” El hops up and down just like a bunny. “It's fate! Gotta be! This song is about us, guys! Tortured souls! I just know it!”

“Is it? I thought it was more romance based?” Dustin scowls at all the couples cuddling in the pool or by the firepit. He can’t wait to go to college and canoodle with his long distance girlfriend Suzie.

I'm wishin' on a star

To follow where you are

I'm wishin' on a dream

To follow what it means

And I wish on all the rainbows that I see

I wish on all the people who really dream

And I'm wishin' on tomorrow, praying it'll come

And I'm wishin' on all the lovin' we've ever done

Lucas agreeably shrugs. “I guess it can be both depending on the situation.”

“If El says it’s about us, then she’s right.” Max settles it.

I never thought I'd see

A time when you would be

So far away from home

So far away from me 

Just think of all the moments that we spent

I just can't let you go, for me you were meant

And I didn't mean to hurt you, but I know

That in the game of lovin', you reap what you sow

“Let’s dance!” El commands, grabbing Max’s hand, and a chain reaction begins. 

Max grabs Lucas. He grabs Dustin. Dustin grabs Will and Will instinctively grabs Mike.

In a flash, in a circle, prancing clockwise and counterclockwise like fairies from folklore, they laugh and drunkenly belt out the lyrics half-correctly. They're the only silly people making this a group dance in a sea of love birds, future summer flings, and observing wallflowers. 

Too high off sentimentality that even Mike and El can hold hands with zero bumbling tension between them, guards lowered, everyone carefree and unbothered by the judgmental looks received from other partygoers at their commotion. 

I feel it's time we should make up, baby

I feel it's time for us to get back together

And make the best of things, oh, baby, when we're together

Whether or never 

I feel it's time we should make up, baby

I feel it's time for us to get back together

And make the best of things, oh, baby, when we're together

Whether or never 

Amid their friends enjoying themselves, Mike and Will squeeze their clasping hands harder, never letting go, sneaking glances, and hearts in their throats ready to burst while they opt to listen to the singer's plea for reconciliation. 

The band Rose Royce soulfully croons everything unsaid that transpired between the best friends who grew apart when circumstances suffocated them and they couldn’t deal with the consequences. Couldn't cope. 

So, they ran or hid.

I'm wishing on a star

To follow where you are

I'm wishin' on a dream

To follow what it means 

And I wish on all the rainbows that I see

I wish on all the people we ever greeted

And I'm hopin' on all the days to come and days to go

And I'm hopin' on days of lovin' you so 

The song’s coming to an end, crescendo amplifying and instruments passionately mixing into a fray, anguished chorus fading into the background while mercilessly striking chords within Mike and Will where it hurts the most. 

I'm wishin' on a star

To follow where you are

I'm wishing on a star, whoa-oh

And I wish on all the rainbows that I see 

I'm wishin' on a star

To follow where you are

I'm wishin' on a star

When completely done, another fast paced and buoyant song fills the air. No doubt a new DJ  took over. Mike and Will drop their arms to their sides, snatching their hands away from each other like they've been burnt, remembering where they are and who they’ve become. 

“Okay! Now, let’s go to Jennifer Hayes’s party next!” Lucas proposes, pointing a finger to the south. “Heard she’s got this stereo that rocks the whole house like it’s an earthquake. She’s not that far down the road.”

“Wow, I’ve gotta check the specs on that.” Dustin drools at the prospect, his affinity for tech and gadgets rearing its head.

“Cool. We're all going then.” Max pockets her hands in Lucas’ stolen letterman jacket that swamps her petite figure.

“I’m in!” El loops her arm around Max's.

Will shakes his head, cracking his knuckles and pretends to yawn, not in the mood for party hopping or to possibly see Jennifer. Before he got outed, Jennifer had asked him to the spring formal dance, claiming to have been secretly crushing on Will for years. He obviously turned her down and fortunately she took it in stride.

“Nah. I’m okay. M'tired.” He shoots everyone an apologetic look.

“Ugh, you’re always tired. Sleepyhead.” El sulks, kicking pebbles on the ground.

Mike knits his brows, not feeling up to party hopping if Will isn’t going to be there. He wonders what he can do to get out of it. Too distracted by his own premature brooding, Mike is blind to Will cunningly peering at him, attempting to have one of their ancient shared looks that their other friends could never fully get the hang of. All except Max. She subtly regards Will's endeavor to catch Mike's eye, nudging Lucas to kindly intervene.

“S’fine if Will’s over it. This isn’t his scene, anyways.” Lucas purposely doesn't mention that this isn't any of their scenes besides his and his teammates. He teasingly grins at Mike, “How about you drive him home? You're not into parties either. Right, Mike?”

“M-Me?” Mike staggeringly points to himself, blinking and slack jawed.

“Can he even drive? Is he sober?” Dustin examines the ruddy coloring of Mike’s freckled cheeks and spacey eyes.

“I have my license. I don’t drink. I can drive his car.” Will volunteers, holds his hand out, palm up, and Mike fishes for his keys to deposit immediately. Will follows up with, “And if he has to, he can crash at my house tonight. Mom won't mind.”

That answer satisfies their mutual friends, all turning to migrate to Jennifer Hayes’s place like birds flying south for the winter. El walks up to Mike and warns him not to do anything stupid that'll get Will in trouble. When she's done hounding him, she shares a coded look with Will. Mike must admit, Will and El’s bond makes him extremely jealous, worse than with Will and Lucas. Since the dreadful rumor that Mike was resentfully spared from, Will and El both simultaneously dumped him as a best friend and a boyfriend, freezing him out completely and growing closer than ever.

But now? Now Will is warming up to him again and Mike isn't going to make the same mistake twice.

“Ready to go?” Will jingles Mike’s keys, devious smile gracing his lips. The corners of Mike’s mouth are pulled upward also, comprehending that Will would rather have his company over everyone else’s. Extinguishing his jealousy and stroking his ego within seconds. He leans into Mike's space and whispers. “Don’t tell the others, but I kinda wanted it to just be us. Me and you.”

Mike ecstatically mimes zipping up his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good. Where’d you park?”

In high school, never sharing classes, Mike and Will talked the least out of everyone from their original party. The longest they’ve ever done in their lives, yet they did the most hushed small favors for each other. During passing periods, the bells ringing and students rushing inside classrooms, Mike and Will would find a way to rub elbows when crossing paths and artfully show the other that they still deeply cared. They would leave random notes in each other's folders, binders, and lockers about whatever they deemed funny or worth complaining about that day.

Will didn't have extra money to buy a pudding cup in the cafeteria one afternoon and he didn't say anything when Mike stoically walked by to drop the dessert on his lunch tray when he’s not looking.

Mike would check his car's windshield wipers in the parking lot after school or Hellfire Club, Will having a doodle of the day sticking in the blades featuring a mini comic of a temperamental teacher, or of their D&D personas slaying dragons.

In the chilly autumn, the frigid winter, and the nippy Indiana spring Will put in his locker combination only to be met with a comfy sweater or jacket once belonging to Mike stuffed inside with his textbooks. Will never returns the articles of clothing left behind and Mike never sought them back even when Karen questioned the whereabouts during laundry day.

Whenever Hellfire was almost caught vandalizing or was about to be exploited as a scapegoat for others’ misdeeds, Will let himself be used as an alibi. It worked 100% of the time because none of the administration or faculty wanted to have a reason for Mama Bear Joyce and Papa Bear Hopper to storm into the office, insisting that they’ve got the wrong kid, or are being bigoted to the only gay student that’s out in Hawkins.

Their small favors lead to a different kind of communication. One where Mike and Will didn’t need to talk at all in person, the understanding somewhat still existing in the midst of their separation.

“Mind if I change the station?” Will drives one-handed, the other already tinkering with the radio.

Mike has the window rolled down, sobering up, feeling the refreshing wind kiss his damp skin, hair tousled, his eyes shut. He opens them up halfway, realizing he might’ve dozed off.

“Go for it.”

Will curves the dial, jumping from station to static to a familiar song Jonathan showed him once. Mike always thought the song was a little too eccentric for his tastes. Not his cup of tea. Will swore by it though, humming along, and that humming soon blossomed to the placid singing of “Should I stay, or should I go…”

When the song trails into some Madonna pop chart top 100 and blends into a nighttime radio club mix of Don’t You Forget About Me , both boys opt to drive without any tunes for the rest of the drive. Going anywhere, but home. Just as long as they can be alone together.

“It’s so freaking hot! Wanna go swimming?” Mike watches Will glimpse between him and the road.

“Where to?”

“Lover's Lake.”

Will makes a sharp U-turn, tires screeching.

Crickets chirp and frogs ribbit all throughout the woods skirting the perimeter of Lover’s Lake. Up in the starry sky is the irradiating moon. Their shoes crunch the branches and rocks on the dirt ground. The air is no less torrid. On this side of the lake, no one’s in sight. Lucky them. They have it all to themselves.

Mike’s alcohol infused blood tapers off bit by bit and has made him audacious in the cloaking night. He shamelessly undresses, stripping to his underwear, and dips a toe in the crisp cooling water. When he's more clear headed in the morning, Mike is going to feel embarrassed at how brazen he's acted in front of Will, who's always been rather shy with his body in contrast to other boys their age. Will hesitates to shed his clothes, peering into the lake that Mike blissfully backstrokes in, just his boxers for decency. 

Gulping, Will summons courage, pooling his pants to his ankles, kicking off his shoes and socks, ripping off his shirt, and keeps on his briefs. He permits the darkness to shield his body, the water engulfing his feet, hips, waist, the tip of his chin. Mike is farther in front, going underwater upon noticing his swimming partner is in bounds. When Mike resurfaces he is on Will’s left like a shark about to attack, wet curls pasted to his forehead and eyes moonlit.

“Ah, this is way cooler than a pool swarmed with mouthbreathers.” Mike shakes his head, lakewater droplets spraying everywhere.

“Good call on coming here.” Will splashes him.

Mike splashes back, looking proud. “Congratulations, by the way. Heard you got into an art program! Your dream school even.”

Will grins expectantly. “Congratulations, yourself. You got into that uppity writing school.”

“Sure did! It was tough.” Mike wades closer to Will, generally more invested in Will’s successes and choices than his own. “Can I ask, why’d you choose the West Coast?”

Will has an indulgent glaze in his eyes, voice lulling at the question. “Felt like I could be myself there. Y’know? San Francisco is kind to people like me.”

Mike knows what Will means about finding his kind.

“That’s exactly why I’m going East. NYC baby! Home of the book bestsellers!” Mike shouts to the heavens. He has tons of stories living inside his head ready to burst free and immortalize themselves on paper. Become like his favorite authors whose writings kept him sane when he’d almost lose his marbles. “Who knows? Maybe, I’ll see Jonathan on the subway. He's at NYU, right?”

“Yeah. Haha, maybe you'll see him. Though, I wouldn’t trust riding the subway as an amateur.” Will’s feathery voice gets sullied with sudden melancholy and he grimaces. “Can’t believe we’re really gonna be on opposite sides of the country.”

“Three hour time difference. Farthest we've ever been.” Mike tacks on, consternation shown on his face.

Will licks his lips, looking to the twinkling stars above. “Remember when we thought we’d go to the same colleges as kids? Be roommates? Get an apartment and stuff?”

“We still can if you want.” Mike softly says, poignantly staring. “You could always transfer, y’know.”

“Or you could come to mine.” Will snickers, splashing at Mike again.

They have an itsy-bitsy frivolous splash fight. Mike plays dirty, sinking into the water, grabbing Will’s legs and towing him down. Will rampantly screams and laughs, unable to escape Mike’s hold as he is plummeting faster than a sinking boat. Inconceivable, honestly, Will frolicking in his underwear with the boy he met in kindergarten, that showed him what a best friend is supposed to be. Perhaps, water is cleansing and healing after all. For Will releases his anger and despair to bask in the sensation. Baptized in the night. Savoring a half-naked Mike playing with him without fear of consequences. Relishing that this is the Mike he’s comfortable with, who can dismantle his defenses. They aren’t best friends on the path to acquaintances at this moment. This time, they’re just best friends making unforgettable memories.

Eventually tiring out, Mike and Will float on their backs beside each other and try to spot any constellations up above, their fingertips skimming lightly. Skin starting to prune, they lazily paddle to the lake's nearshore. They decide to air dry before attempting to put their clothes back on, sitting on an adjacent log together to take a breather. Will pulls one leg to his bare chest, resting his chin on his knee. Mike swings one lanky leg over the log, his hands on his thighs as he straddles it, facing Will straight on. 

Fireflies hover around them, tiny glowing lanterns of nature setting the ambiance of peace and quiet. Recollections shroud them both. Of when Mike and Will would run joyfully in the summer nightfall, chasing and catching the fireflies in their cupped palms as kids during the annual block party barbecue with Ted Wheeler and Charles Sinclair having a grill off contest. Mike admires the bug’s light illuminating his dark eyes, but in his heart, he deems Will to be the brightest, most brilliant living being in this world that he’s ever seen.

“Hey.” Mike gravitates towards Will, scooting closer on the log. “When you become a bigtime artist, let everyone know I’m your number one fan. Alright?”

Will blushes and hugs his leg tighter. He presses his forehead to his knee and shuts his eyes, recalling all the times he gifted Mike art, and all the times Mike commended his progressing skills from crayons, to colored pencils, to charcoal, and finally dabbling in paint. His heart clenches and pounds, the knowledge of Mike continuing to adore his art despite everything complicated between them intensifying stifled feelings.

Swiveling his head, Will tentatively regards Mike and breathes a moony sigh, “Only if you do the same for me when you’re a bigtime writer.” 

“Deal! How could I refuse my number one fan?” Mike smirks and Will’s heart swells because that’s what he is. It’s the truth. He would, has, and will uphold consuming any piece of writing Mike shares with him as a dedicated, long term fan.

Exclusively, from family to friends, Will is the person Mike trusts the most with his story ideas and to read his endless journals of chicken scratch scrawl. Often when they were younger, they traded works of genius, spending hours in the Wheeler basement in the throes of creativity—Mike writing, Will drawing. Both of their minds musing over the boy an arm’s length away laying in a sleeping bag, or lounging on the couch, or sitting at the coffee table. 

When finished, Mike would thumb Will’s sketchpad wonderstruck at the concept art and Will leafed through Mike’s scrap paper stupefied at the rough drafts. They were already the inherently creative types, but being together with a kindred soul just shooting the breeze, respecting their crafts unreservedly, gave Mike and Will infinite motivation and confidence.

Picking at his mosquito bites and scabs from non-stop scratching, Mike shines a smile at Will and Will reciprocates, all talk between them ceasing throughout their constant eye contact. The silence is shrill, eclipsing them as their unspoken thoughts pressurize, ready to burst like volcano lava spouting to the heavens. Mike regrets not doing enough, not fighting more, to have Will at his side when they live in the same town, run with the same people. He should’ve accepted who he is sooner, not consistently run away at what Will was forced to admit in front of shitty classmates and neglectful teachers.

Mike should kiss him. Right here on this log. Like what he was going to do at Joyce's wedding all those years ago, under the staircase's alcove before Jonathan interrupted, and the fear got to him so he dove headfirst into a relationship with El to fix himself. To not act on his impulses when he didn’t know for certain if Will swung that way. Now, all Mike wants to do is let Will know that they really are alike in more ways than one. But just because Will's gay doesn't mean he'd ever have the hots for Mike, and Mike won't risk doing something Will never wanted, never asked from him. He won't assume. Won’t kiss Will.

Every time Mike mistook a certain look or touch or phrasing that Will might possibly like him more than friends should, he’d get rudely awakened because Will managed to steer the mood back to a purely platonic relationship. It stung, Mike knowing that he probably isn’t Will’s type. 

What is Will’s type, anyway? They don’t ever talk about such things.

“Why didn’t you keep in touch more? You just kinda faded away.” Mike blurts through his smile, tone not accusatory, just hurt. He curses himself for not apologizing first for his own faults in the matter.

“You cared about Hellfire.” Will plainly replies, not looking him in the eyes anymore and cooly shrugging, schooling his features to nonchalance. “I didn’t.”

“But Eddie graduated and you still didn’t join when Dustin became the leader of it. Instead you clung to Lucas. ” Mike’s incapable of keeping the resentment from spilling off his tongue.

Will stiffens, glaring daggers.

“Cuz Lucas needed me after Max dumped him. You guys replaced him with Erica, too! That tore him up inside, y’know. You and Dustin cared about following Eddie’s rules over showing up to Lucas’s game. He trained all year for that. What the fuck was that about?”

“We didn’t know Lucas was gonna get off the bench and win the championship, okay! If we knew that, then yeah, we would’ve been there watching stupid basketball from the get-go!” Mike hectically defends. He digs his nails in his own naked thighs, red crescents forming. He’s getting pissed. “Erica didn’t replace him either. She’s one of us. You know that. And newsflash, Will, you think I didn’t need you when El dumped me?!”

That bugged the hell out of Mike. Will chose to be with El and not Mike during the breakup.

“So, what? I’m not supposed to be there for my sister?” Will scoffs. 

Seething, Mike leaps from the log to his feet, looking down on Will. “I knew you way before El came into the picture.”

“And? You sure didn’t act like it.” Will stands, as well. He pokes Mike tersely and harshly in the shoulder, overcome with all the feelings he repressed bubbling up like a shaken soda pop bottle. “You chose any chance to be with her over hanging with me. Every. Single. Time. What? I can’t do the same? Can dish it, but can’t take it, Michael?”

“I can take it! I mean, ugh! No!” Mike aggravatingly ruffles his hair. He hates when Will calls him Michael. It’s too formal.

“I just, I missed you! Okay! Will, I missed you.” Mike murmurs the last sentence, gingerly rubbing the spot where he was poked. He glumly shrinks, stepping towards a wary Will, mawkish voice dropping decibels. “We said we missed each other! Remember that? Happened a few hours ago today! That’s why we’re here and not with everyone else! We just wanted it to be us! Don’t you get it!”

“Mike…” Taken aback and taking a step back, Will’s right arm crosses over his torso, thumb stroking a patch of scarred skin on his waist.

Mike knocks his head on the heel of his palm, fishing for the right words.

“Every other day, we ate lunch together, barely talking. We saw each other in the hallway and only waved. You paired up with Lucas, or El, or did your own thing tucked away in Art Club with people that could understand you in ways that I couldn’t relate. I reached out. I did try. Dustin's my witness.”

“When you were going through it with the rumors, I reached out because I should’ve been included in the rumors too, and instead you smacked my hand away. Literally, you shoved me away. You wanted to shoulder all the blame and didn’t give me a chance to help. It felt like we were miles apart, Will. Fuck! We are miles apart now, and I needed you when I was at my lowest, and you weren't there for me!”

There’s a pregnant pause battering them. Mike’s glowering, breath labored. Will can’t look away, entranced by and hating how annihilated Mike appears, and it’s all because of how he fumbled their bond. Mike may have started it, but Will kept it up, and abandoned ship first when he's usually the one full of grace. But Will had to do it. He had to nearly obliterate their bond if he wished to protect Mike’s already mocked reputation from sinking further into the gutter.

“You had Eddie and Dustin and stuff. You didn’t need me.” Will feebly enunciates, guilt wholly swallowing his body. He crouches for his discarded clothes and hastily puts them on, shivering from a fleeting gale on his semi-moistened skin. This is not the time to have an argument, half-naked and emotional. “Even Max was there for you when she had the energy to give a shit. You didn't need me. You had people. Had the others.”

“But none of them are you!” Mike rasps, putting on his clothes too. How could he get Will to get this through his thickhead? “None of them are you, Will. You’re different.”

His hair nearly dry, Will toes on his shoes, beelining to the car, heart disintegrating into mush. He can’t do this. He mustn't do this. He made a commitment to himself the second he agreed to meet with Mike tonight. 

He’s ready for a fresh start, and to do that, he has to get over Mike Wheeler.

“I am different. Don’t you think I know that? Everyone treats me different. You treat me different, Mike. Been that way since I was born.” 

Will glances over his shoulder, unshed tears threatening to stream. Mike’s torment riddles his entire body, vigorously shaking. He might collapse from another blow of heated words. Will primes the hammer to hit the nail in the coffin, seeking to kill the pubescent love torturing his soul with false aspirations.

“We wouldn’t be in this situation, anyway, if you just told me why you and El broke up.”

Petty. What Will does is petty. 

El is a sore spot for Mike. A fast way to shut him up. Well, too bad, she's a sore spot for Will also. That was his attempt at an olive branch, a white flag, a chance at reconciliation. His endeavor to comfort Mike at his lowest. Except Mike didn’t tell any details of why the breakup wrecked him that much. So, Will kept the wedge between them until further notice. Will tries to gain distance in his gait when he’s met with silence, but Mike’s legs are freakishly longer and he quickened his pace to be effortlessly right behind him. 

“Why do you need to know? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. It’s really not important.” Mike dons a mask of avoidance. 

The bane of Will’s existence, when the boy he's enamored with taps into the genes inherited by Ted.

“It kind of does matter and it’s important to me.” Will refuses to let this go. 

He’s learned that it’s push and pull with Mike. That he’s got to be the one to take initiative the more Mike retreats inward. After this summer, Will probably won’t see Mike ever again, their lives not as entwined when adulthood fully takes over. They have separate goals, hobbies, and friendships. It's now or never that Will gets Mike’s side of the story in order to gain total closure.

“No. I’m serious, Will. What happened between me and El stays between us. None of your concern at all.” Mike jogs a bit to walk beside him.

“Stop lying. Friends don’t lie, remember?” Will mocks.

“Oh, we’re friends? We’re friends?! We don’t act like it.” Mike cards a hand through his curls, fighting the urge to wrench with all his might.

“Yeah.” Will dejectedly agrees. He thinks how idiotic, how foolish it was for him to think Mike would be mature and be truthful for once with him. “We don’t act like a lot of things.”  

It's difficult to see in the dark. The towering trees block most of the natural light of the stars and moon. Will trips over an oak tree root, falling forward, about to eat dirt. Mike innately grips Will’s arm midfall and helps rectify his balance. It’s a smooth move for an uncool nerd like him. Mike’s tender touch is scalding and Will yearns for it to brand his skin, mark him, and then curses himself for being so weak for love.

“Careful.” Mike whispers, taking a few seconds to keep his hand on Will, thumb unthinkingly rubbing sweaty skin. 

He is unnecessarily close. He's always unnecessarily close. Will can tell the difference between a gush of wind and Mike's breath slithering across his neck to dip underneath his shirt’s collar. It leaves his knees wobbly while goosebumps rise on his skin.

Ahead of them is the car. So is the road. More like a graveled path they took to get here. The kind out of towners wouldn't know about. Only the locals have a clue. New mosquito bites, about four, are on Will’s legs itching up a storm. He covers Mike’s hand with his own just to remove it off him.

“She told me, y’know.” Will admits the piece of the puzzle he’s hidden for quite some time, his eyes looking up through his lashes. “El told me that you broke up because you didn’t love her.”

Punch to the gut. That’s what Mike feels. He didn't know Will and El forged that much trust with each other. What else has she told him?! And why in the world did Will ask, if he knew the answer?!

“Not in the way she wanted me to.” Mike humbly confesses, looking away in shame. He couldn’t give El what she wanted and he couldn’t pay her back for all the time they wasted dating.

“She also told me you broke up because you’re in love with someone else.” Will scrutinizes Mike’s fluctuating body language at the revealed information. 

“What?!” It’s like a ghost is in front of Will, how pale Mike's gotten.

“That’s all I want to know. Really. Who you’re in love with. Or was in love with. Why can’t you tell me?”

Will’s desperate for it. The name of this mysterious girl that has Mike’s heart. Is she aware of her possession—Will's muse? Is she beautiful? Does Mike write about her? 

The fact that Mike is pining for someone else, frankly saved Will. With his green-eyed monster slain, he was brought closer to El. Because once upon a time, Will thought she took his spot, only for her to be a placeholder to an invisible rival nesting in Mike’s chest this whole time. El and Will were the same, unable to be what Mike needs and wants. His heart belonged to another.

“Please.” The jagged begging of Mike isn’t on Will's bucket list and it's shocking. “Will, please stop talking.”

“Why can’t I know? We tell each other everything. Remember? At least, we used to.” He pushes further, harder, watching Mike cringe.

“I don’t wanna do this right now. Please.”

“If you tell me, then I’ll tell you who I’m in love with.” Will barters. 

He’ll do it, he really will. Why can’t Mike be honest with him? Why doesn’t Mike trust him enough? Will's ready to tell Mike his feelings knowing it'll lead to nowhere. Isn't that a good sacrifice for the truth?

“I already know who you love, Will. It's no secret.”

Hollow is Mike’s tone. He looks utterly forsaken. Eyes dead, fists constricted, teeth gnashed. Agony cloaking the atmosphere.

Fear coating his face, stomach in knots, Will gasps. “Y-You do?”

“Yeah.” Mike nettles, pocketing his hands in his jeans. He stares at Will and deliberately says, “Everybody can tell it’s Lucas.”

“... WHAT?!” 

Mike spitefully snarls, flailing his arms. “It’s so obvious. You’re all up under him. Since spring break freshman year. It makes total sense. Eddie wouldn’t move the campaign. You ditched to cheer for Lucas. You’ve cheered for Lucas’ every game without fail. Even tolerated him when he’s around his caveman teammates and cheerleader fangirls.”

“You’re serious? Wow.” Jaw dropped, Will mulls over if he should laugh or cry. Maybe do both.

Mike is blinded, mind made up. He can’t fathom being wrong about this.

“You and Lucas are inseparable, Will. Going to his house, taking electives together, applying to the same college. Uh-huh, bet that surprises you? That I know you and Lucas are gonna be roommates once summer ends. Didn’t bother to tell Dustin or me. You left us—left me in the dust.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“I’m not in love with fucking Lucas, Mike!” Will bellows, louder than ever, exasperated. 

“Then who is it? Huh. Who is it, Will?” Mike talks too fast, powerless to cut off his tongue, words cascading, fit to drown Will, a death by insult. “We all know you don’t like girls!” 

Suspended in the air, hideous and piercing. They've never fought like this before. Mike's never said such painfully scathing truths. Chunks of Will are blown into debris, leaving him in shambles. Balmy tears flood from wounded glassy hazel eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Mike royally screwed up. He's a hypocrite. He is horrible.

Will sniffs, not bothering to clean his dewy and flaming face. “No, no, you meant it. Thanks for telling me how you really feel, Mike. I've always wondered what's on your mind. Good to know now.”

Mike can't help lashing out at the only person who he felt he could spend a lifetime with. Like a precious toy or blanket held too tight in a child’s grasp, Mike insanely cared too much, loved too much, and mishandled his fragile best friend—former best friend. He ruined them both.

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry! Wait!”

Turning on his heel, Will paces swiftly by the station wagon straight to the unlit sidewalk-less road. “I’m going home. Don't follow me.”

“You can’t leave! It’s too far away on foot and I have the keys. I’ll drive you home, o-or you can crash at my place. Will, please. C'mon!” Mike has a distraught smile, his own eyes glassy and frenzied.

None of it convinces Will to succumb. He pushes his fatigued legs to make the hike across town, muttering aloud how stupid he feels for thinking Mike would remain kind. He ignores the pitter-pattering of Mike's feet trailing after him, tailing the biggest freak to come out of Hawkins since Eddie Munson.

“I’m done, okay. I don’t even get why I thought we could catch up.” Will can barely see, vision blurry, his tears are a busted water main valve, just leaky. “You of all people should know why I stayed away from the party. Stayed away from you! ”

“Will, c’mon! I’ll tell you, okay! I’ll tell you who I’m in love with! Just stay!” Mike throws out his last trump card and it's enough to get desired results.

“I don’t care anymore.” Will lies through his teeth, immobile now, standing in the center of the road.

“Listen to me, please.” 

He's going against instinct to forgive Mike unconditionally like he always does.

“Go away! We’re not friends! Haven’t been for a long time! Consider us strangers as of now!” 

Will halfway turns his torso, eyes instantly gluing to Mike’s stricken self, needing to see the real effects of his actions, to know that he can also lash out if not worse than the boy he still pines for.

Just then, a shooting star passes over them in the sky, vibrant and hurtling. The light of it gets brighter and brighter. They’re distracted however, not taking delight in the view, the world around them as imaginary as their childhood games when all they can concentrate on is each other and nothing else.

“Lemme speak, Will, please! Argh! I wish you would understand where I’m coming from!”

“And I wish you can see why I’d rather cut ties, Mike!”

The shooting star disappears in the blink of an eye. 

Catching their breaths, Will returns to walking the road alone. Mike, this time, doesn't immediately follow. He seems to let Will go, seems to finally give up on reconciling any fragments left of them.

Slowly, Mike backs away, watching Will get smaller and smaller, almost a speck in the horizon. Mike’s face is unreadable, replaying Will’s cutting words in his brain like an earworm. He gets in his car and drives down the road, sooner or later, headlights emblazoning Will's still receding figure. Mike closes the gap easily, creeping beside him, window rolled down, doing a cool 7 miles per hour, cruising.

“Get in.”

“No.”

“Your mom wouldn't want you walking in the dark like this. Plus, El and Hopper would skin me alive. Get in.”

“Just go. I'm not a little kid. I've walked by myself plenty.”

“I know. I just want you safe. It’s dangerous in these woods at night. Get in.” Mike, if not in anything else, is earnest and persistent.

“Fine.” Will relents, eyes drifting to stare annoyingly at Mike's relief. “Take me home.”

The drive is awkward and strained. They don't have the radio on, choosing silence as their company. Mike is about to make a left at the fork of the empty road to the Byers-Hopper residence.

He goes rigid when Will tells him softly, “Nevermind. Let's go to your place.”

Something about how Will doesn’t want Joyce or Hopper interrogating him on why he looks so desolate. Cotton in his ears, everything is muffled for Mike, his muscle memory taking them to the Maple Street cul-de-sac in a fugue state. Thankfully, before Mike’s curfew, or he might've heard an earful from Karen. The Wheeler house is quiet as a mouse, a pin could drop. Mike's parents are sound asleep, so is Holly, judging by all their trademark snores echoing. Nancy isn’t in her bedroom, probably off with Jonathan or strangely enough, her ex Steve and his weird best friend Robin.

Mike leads Will through the garage and downstairs to the basement. He rifles through the clean and folded laundry in the corner to lend pajamas to a mute Will. The A/C is on arctic mode, combatting the prevailing heatwave, and Will makes himself comfortable grabbing the seen-better-days Christmas tree themed blanket to wrap around his shoulders. Will then goes to the phone hanging on the wall and dials the numbers home, telling night owl Joyce not to worry when she picks up on the line. Will tells her he’s staying over at Mike's which earns a sigh of approval. She always hoped they'd find their way back to each other. If only Joyce knew the half of it.

Will gets cozy on the beat-up couch after ending the call, stretching his body horizontal, swaddling himself in the blanket more. Internally, Mike thinks Will looks like a burrito, making his former best friend appear even more adorable and attractive in his sappy eyes. Mike makes camp with Will in the basement instead of going to his bedroom, wanting to make this moment last, regardless of the tension. If Mike messed up so badly that Will would potentially never talk to him again, then he'll make the most of their time now and cherish it forever. 

Will doesn't question why Mike resides in the recliner adjacent to him. It’s Mike's house so he can do what he wants, but a part of Will does hope that it's because Mike prefers to be with him in any capacity, using any excuse, since it was Will who set the boundaries of their initial distance. Exhausted from their communication gone astray, they slip into unconsciousness. White noise of the HVAC vent thrumming, the pipes of the house settling, resonances of Will snoring mouth agape and Mike babbling in his sleep every so often.

In the morning, filters of sunlight slink in through the closed blinds of the windows. Karen’s in the kitchen, her clattering cooking rebounding in the bones of the house. Mike wakes up to take a piss. He opens his crusty eyes, yawning and popping joints. The Christmas tree blanket shifts over him and falls to the floor. Hmm, Mike doesn't recall wrapping up in it. Wasn't Will using it for warmth or something? There's an excess of dried drool wreathing his mouth. Odd, Mike's not much of a drooler when he slumbers, that's a Dustin or Will tick. Mike leaves the couch, which he also doesn't recall sleeping on last night either.

Did he misremember where he and Will slept? Mike could’ve sworn he was settled in the recliner? But why is he the one with the blanket then? Mike can barely stand anything on him during the hot months or he sweats like a pig. His concerns are put on hold, padding to the bathroom to empty his bladder before he bursts.

After lifting the lid and flushing once he's done, Mike has an inkling something is frighteningly off once he re-adjusts his pajama pants at the waistband, especially since these aren't the pajamas he wore last night. These are the pajamas he gave Will?! 

Mike's inkling is proven true when he washes his hands and notices they aren't his own. Different size, slightly different skintone, and a lot less freckles. Mike looks up in the mirror, rubbing the crusties from his eyes, blinking rapidly. 

Impossible. Mike Wheeler sees an impossible reflection.

That reflection is Will! This is Will! He looks like Will because he is Will! Mike Wheeler is the spitting image of Will Byers!

This has to be a dream. A nightmare. It's unreal, is what it is!

Mike can't believe it. He won't believe it. Seeing is believing, and right now he needs his eyes checked, and his brain dissected. If he can truly feel it, touch it, then that's how he'll know his mind isn't playing tricks on him.

Cautiously Mike caresses his face—no, this is Will's nose, moles, lips! These are Will's hands! This is Will's face! This is Will's body!

“AAAAAAAH!” Mike screeches at the top of his lungs and what comes out is Will's voice reverberating, not his own.

Outside the bathroom, Will groggily gets up from the ruckus. He thinks he heard himself shrieking in distress, which can't be true because he had a relatively peaceful and dreamless sleep. Will rises from the recliner that he could've sworn he didn't pick as his spot to take it easy for the night. Wasn't it the couch he was on? Oh, well.

Clumsily, Will knocks items off the coffee table and bumps into other things nearby with his limbs that shouldn't be that long. Was his spatial awareness tweaking or what? Did he grow overnight? Will isn't normally this semi-accident prone. That tended to be Mike who had to learn the hard way when he hit his head while trying to fit in cars, or realized certain shower heads aren't made for tall people to be under. And why was the Christmas tree blanket not on him? Will can't stand sleeping without having some type of blanket, sheet, or duvet enveloping him less he'd feel polar ice caps cold.

Stumbling to the bathroom to investigate the noise as he notes that Mike isn't in the vicinity, Will opens the unlocked door, and when he encounters himself in the flesh, he is rightfully speechless.

There he is. 

Will's body double is standing before him, looking just as mortified to be seen. Astounded, Will stares at his body and looks past it— him? —into the mirror. 

Oh, no. It can't be?! 

Will experimentally tilts his head to the left, luscious curls that don't belong to him springing with each nod. The reflection does the same as him. Will waves his left arm, freckled and pasty. Again, the reflection does the same. Not to mention he’s wearing a completely different set of pajamas. 

Holy, shit! 

Will Byers is in Mike Wheeler's body! Puppeting it! Or is it that Will’s really Mike now and vice versa?!

Wait a minute?! Where's Mike? 

Is this lookalike gawking at him even Mike or is he someone else in Will’s body? Is Will dreaming? Is Will in a horror movie and aliens have attacked?

Is this how Mike sees the world because Will has never been this tall before and the height difference is insane. 

Is Will that short in Mike's eyes?! If they switched bodies, then how did they switch bodies? Is the Will before him a doppelganger or an alien like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers?!

This is not how either Mike or Will thought their first day as high school graduates would pan out.

Chapter Text

Somehow, someway, Mike and Will are in each other's bodies. Totally swapped! 

Why must everything pivotal between them happen in a bathroom lately and why did it have to happen in the one place they both considered a safe place, Mike’s basement?

Will pinches his—no it's Mike's —he pinches Mike's arm. The smarting pain and reddened skin helps him accept that this is real. He isn't dreaming. He isn’t hallucinating. This. Is. Real. 

Will is Mike, technically. Like a messed up Opposites Day except this is maybe supernatural based, and not by innocent choice like copying the other’s actions or style of dress for funsies. 

Also, Will hasn't completely ruled out that an alien abducted him as a lab rat overnight and is putting him through a traumatic experiment during an unreported Earth invasion the government's trying to cover-up to prevent mass hysteria. Hey, he’s got to think of something to make it make sense, or he'll lose his mind and never recover.

“How am I… Who are you… Why am I?!” Will clutches his face, he means Mike's face, halfway hyperventilating and forcing himself not to faint.

He leans against the door threshold for support, his knees— Mike's —Mike's knees are unsteady from the revelation that he’s living in a plot pulled straight from a horror or sci-fi movie he’s watched once as a kid.

“Is that you, Will?” Mike guardedly asks, squinting his— Will’s —hazel eyes and they’ve never looked so suspicious before, so like Mike’s skepticism when either Lucas or Dustin discuss episodes of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.  

Mike only infers that it's Will in his body because he sees some of Will's mannerisms bubbling throughout. Mannerisms like how Will's eyes are super expressive, making up for his reserved demeanor compared to a very vocal Mike. Right now, as Mike looks upon his own body that isn't a reflection, he takes stock of how telling his dark brown eyes are, so much so that they have to be under the influence of Will. Who else can speak with just their eyes alone?

Hesitantly nodding, the fluffy curls framing his— Mike’s —face flop with the movement, Will blinks and says, “It's me.”

Extremely trippy for Mike to hear his own voice and see his own lips moving, just as trippy for Will to get used to not having straight hair anymore and to have a taller height, but both push through with conversing, Mike gesturing for Will to continue.

“I'm Will. Even if I don't look like it. I d-don't know how, but I'm here and y-you're there. You are Mike, right? Please say you're Mike and not some total stranger.”

“Yes! It's me! Mike! In your body! In the flesh!” Mike visibly winces in afterthought, the tongue in his mouth feeling foreign because it is foreign. It’s Will's tongue, teeth, and gums he's speaking with. Just like this voice he's using. Borrowing? 

Gulping, Mike notices he feels colder than usual, which is weird as he tends to run hot. But he's not in his body, he's in Will's, and Will is always cold, always carrying a jacket around, wearing extra layers of clothing, and sleeping with covers or blankets no matter the weather. Mike has to rub his— Will’s —goosebumped arms to generate heat or he’ll start shivering.

He watches Will puppet his lanky body, shakily pointing at Mike and then himself in disbelief. Mike never thought he'd truly be enduring a literal out of body experience and… Could he call this a possession if Will's alive, not a ghost looking for a host?

He sees Will's— Mike's —Mike sees his own face turn green, terror rising. Will is about to have an anxiety attack or possibly vomit. Mike easily picks up on Will breathing faster than he should be. It's fascinating to Mike, once he's not focusing on how awful this entire situation is for them. Fascinating for Mike to see what his body would look like frozen up instead of taking spontaneous action, accustomed to working off intuition and being able to think on his feet. 

This is a Will Byers’s trait inhabiting Mike’s body to a T. It's Will's modus operandi to freeze when encountering difficulties. If not that, then he’s running away, closing off, or pretending he’s alright when in truth he's crashing and burning. Mike observing his body doing this out-of-character motion has him stuck in place for a tidbit.

He snaps out of his dazed gaze, recognizing that Will needs to calm down. Mike needs to calm Will down. They can’t afford to make things worse than it is now and for this sole moment, despite knowing that it's his body, Mike can only picture Will standing in front of him desperately needing his comfort, needing Mike to be there for him like how they used to do before high school tore them apart.

“Will, it’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. I'll figure this out. I've got this.” Mike licks his lips in deep thought, and then he blushes because he's actually licking Will's lips with Will’s tongue, not his own. 

Oh, so that’s what his lips feel like, moisturized instead of chapped.

Mike is distracted with the sugary aftertaste of Coke, the drink Will had from last night at the Loch Nora party mixed with today’s morning breath. Oh, gosh, Mike can taste what the inside of Will's mouth is like and he's not even kissing him! What a cruel fate. He’s fantasized about this on numerous occasions, locking lips with Will, sampling him, but it’s all for not if this is how Mike finds out what Will’s flavor is.

“How can you figure this out? I'm scared we’re trapped like this.” Will confides, his quirks looking unnatural on Mike's face and body. With his pouty lips and furrowed brows and a resigned posture that's driving Mike crazy. 

Will's managed to make Mike's body look… Cute. 

Mike has never been cute, not in his opinion, not since he became the tallest nine year old in third grade with spindly limbs and so on as they aged up to young adults. However, now that Will occupies Mike’s body, he’s inadvertently made Mike’s face softer and prettier, his cumbersomeness replaced with the grace of Will’s artistic conduct. 

Or is that just the way Will’s eyes view Mike right now? Is Mike having an outside-looking-in experience? Is he less harsh on his appearance than usual because he's looking through Will-o-vision AKA hazel eyes that memorized each detail of Mike to draw him like a picture?

When peering at himself through Will’s eyes, Mike actually thinks he’s not as ugly or average-looking as he perceived himself to be, a perception he’s kept for a large part of his identity, envious of his sisters for being born winsome while he's mocked as a frog face by bullies. Mike almost dares to think with his messy bedhead of curls, lanky build, and umber eyes that all those insecurities he has aren't based in truth. A twinge of random self-confidence sprouts in Mike’s heart when looking at himself and he refrains from smiling, remembering that he has to properly answer Will’s question. 

How will he get them to return to their original bodies? 

Mike concentrates, getting quiet and screwing his borrowed lips in deep thought, not paying attention to Will’s staring and examining eyes. When Will looks at Mike, he is shocked to see how different his face and body are with Mike taking the wheel. Mike's typically grumpy and/or calculated countenance for when he's strategizing is downright eerie on Will’s visage. He's making Will look much more assured, like he's fit to be a leader, and not a person who purposely makes himself small or unseen if it means he won’t be a burden to others for merely existing.

“Don't be scared. We'll get through this. Together.” 

Mike encourages while walking toward Will, and with each step they discover a new side of their current height difference. It’s supposed to be the other way around. Sucks for Mike, the fact that he must now look up as Will looks down. A first ever for them to do.

“What happened to us? Is this magic? A government experiment? Alien invasion? Why are we like this?” Will whimpers, eyes teary, emotions heightened and Mike never knew his own voice could make such a pitch.

“Hey! Look at me, look at me.” Mike decrees, grabbing and squeezing Will by the shoulders, strange for them both to hear Will's voice sound this assertive. “Whatever is going on, we can fix it. We just need to find the cause and reverse it. Yeah?”

Regulating his breathing, Will nods. He likes Mike's idea. “Y-Yeah. Okay. Let's find the cause. Whatever that cause is.”

Will's forever grateful that even in life altering situations, Mike is up to creating solutions, far-fetched optimism be damned. He feels heaps better and doesn't need to lean against the door threshold for support anymore, not with Mike gripping onto him, rooting him. Making everything better. Will never realized how much smaller his hands are compared to Mike’s, not until he’s absently measuring them palming his, uh— Mike’s —shoulders. 

Remember Will, you’ve traded places!

“Miiiiiike! Breakfast!” Karen orders from atop the basement stairs. They jump away from each other and cautiously peek out the bathroom to see if she’ll march down. She doesn’t and they stop holding their breaths, only to wheeze heavily again for Karen’s not done talking. “And don't think I didn't hear you bring someone home last night, young man. Introduce us to whatever girl you're harboring down there like contraband.”

Nevermind, Will instantly feels his legs— Mike's legs become jelly again from raised stress levels. Last night he went to sleep prepared to get over Mike after their Lover’s Lake argument, and this morning he's awake in his unrequited crush's body. To top it off, Karen thinks Mike brought a girl home?! 

Did Mike usually do that?! How many girls did Mike take to the basement as overnight guests?! Was it another weird or loser girl to match Mike’s energy perfectly?! Was it the girl Mike secretly loves?

“Hey! I'm right here with you! Don't freak out! I’m with you. I’m with you.” 

Mike lightly shakes Will, reclaiming grip on his arms, thumbs kneading the bend of the inner elbows. That does the trick, Will grounding himself once more by the feel of his own hands on him, it being surreal that the touch is simultaneously his and Mike’s combined. This is so comforting and confusing and crazy and complicated.

“I'm sorry. It's just a lot to process.” Will apologizes, letting Mike knead the tension away, muscles relaxing under the impromptu massage. 

How in the world are they going to face the Wheeler family like this?

“I know. I feel the same way.” Mike exhales, staring up at Will and Will never imagined that his eyes were that colorful or intense. 

Oh, so that's why girls kept crushing on me, Will thinks. 

Mike's next set of words pulls Will to the present. “Listen, this might sound off the wall/out there/deranged, but we gotta go up and pretend to be each other at breakfast.”

“What?! I’m not going up there!” Will instantly shirks off Mike’s hold.

“We gotta! My parents won't believe me if I say we switched places. They'll think we drank too much or that we’re on drugs. They won’t understand at all. Hell, we don’t understand what’s going on exactly!” Mike hurries past Will to gather some clothes by the washer and dryer machine on the other side of the basement.

“I can't be you! Act like you! They’ll know something’s off!” Will chases after him, and is stupefied when Mike throws a fresh pair of pants and a faded Hellfire shirt his way from the laundry basket. Smells like lavender.

“Sure you can! We know almost everything about each other. It’ll be easy as pie.” Mike digs around to retrieve the clothes Will wore last night and starts putting them on.

Will shudders harder at the thought of sitting across Karen and Ted at a table. “But things changed. We changed, Mike.”

In the middle of getting dressed, Mike glares at Will, tired of debating.

“We're changed right now, dude! I woke up today and took a piss. Didn't even know I was in your body. Will, I accidentally touched your junk!” Mike yells, losing his cool, cheeks colored ruby.

“You what?!” Will wheezes, aghast and angry. 

Aghast because the boy he’s been pining for, since he learned what the definition of romantic love meant, basically had no choice in copping a feel of his family jewels. Angry that, of course, it’d be a shit situation where he’d miss out on the chance at experiencing firsthand what it’d be like to have Mike touching him down there, problematic as it may be.

“Uh-huh! I feel like I just molested you and it's not my fault I had to pee! It’s really your bladder that made me do it. And it got me thinking that we have to pee eventually. Right? Like we have to go be each other during very private times in our lives depending on how long this switcheroo business is. Bathing is gonna be a challenge because we’ll have free reign over each other’s naked…” 

Mike rambles on, pacing in circles back and forth, ignoring Will stewing with mortification at the future adversity.

“Besides, I only felt it, Will! Didn't hold it that, um, long. I didn't look either! I swear, I swear! Didn’t even know it wasn’t my own dick cuz I was too sleepy. That's mainly why I screamed when I saw my reflection. Because, duh, yeah, I'm you and you're me, but I also still held my best friend's dick less than fifteen minutes ago.”

“Stopstopstop! I'm gonna die!” Will hides his face with his hands in embarrassment and is again quickly reminded that these aren’t his hands, the texture of calloused skin not quite that of a frenzied artist, but more so of a fanatical writer.

“Don't! You can’t die. I’ll die if you die cuz I'm not gonna be able to do this alone.” 

Mike warns, unexpectedly grabbing Will by the wrist and leading them to the stairs, which is like pulling teeth as Will refuses to budge. 

Dang it! Fine. Noted. Both log in their brains how Will’s body is not strong enough to yank Mike's body like a ragdoll. Is that why it was so easy for Mike to drag Will into fun trouble as kids?

Mike might be gangly, but he's physically stronger than Will at current, and that might be because Mike is forced to mow the summer lawn, shovel the winter snow, help Karen plant the spring flowers, rake the autumn leaves, tune up the family car whenever it starts having issues, and be the support holding up Holly’s full weight when she practices cheer and dance routines with her friends in the yard and garage. All this while Will makes it his mission to never lift a finger doing manual labor beyond carrying his easel.

“Talk to me here, Will. You'll have to do the same thing when you need to go to the bathroom, anyway. We'll be even Stevens, then. We can make it not that big of a deal. Is that cool with you?”

“I don't want to touch your dick, Mike!” Will’s a liar liar pants on fire.

He, in fact, wouldn’t mind if the scenario’s were under different circumstances. He wants enthusiastic consent, not reluctant obligation.

“Well, too bad, so sad. You're gonna have to!” Mike takes full offense at Will’s rejection. Sure, it isn’t personal, but still. He'd be willing to touch Will's dick so his bladder doesn't burst or he develop some kind of kidney disease from holding in piss too long. It's only right. Only fair. “We gotta shower and stuff. It’s gonna look ridiculous if we’re stinky. We’re too old to forget basic hygiene, dude. I'm just thinking ahead here.”

Will frowns deeply, bashfully averting his eyes. “You think we'll be trapped like this long enough that we'll have to do that? I don’t really feel comfortable with it.”

Mike sheepishly rubs the back of his head, feeling guilty for treating this insensitively, though soon his face lights up, a compromise coming to fruition. “If it comes to that, we can just bathe each other or something. Like wear swimsuits and then for the more, um, intimate stuff let the other do that. Sound good? I mean, I dunno, let's table it. One fucked bullet point at a time.”

He hopes Will considers it. If he agrees, then Mike will work around how they can secretly take showers together under their families’ noses.

“Oh my god. I'm really in your body. I have to be you. I'm literally walking in your shoes.” Will whines, wringing his wrists.

Realization hits Mike like a truck. “Wait! Walking in my shoes?” He mumbles, the dots connecting. “You're gonna understand where I'm coming from… That’s it! Will, it's what I wished for last night!”

Mike grins, thinking he’s found a clue.

“Huh? A wish?” Will tilts his head, nonplussed.

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!” Mike insists, recalling that it’s not just him, but Will too had wished for his understanding on why they kept out of touch during their spat. That had to mean something, right?

Before they conjure up ideas about Mike's half-baked theory, they’re summoned to the kitchen anew, this time Karen having placed a foot on the top step.

“Miiiiiiike! I already told you once, don't make me tell you twice! Breakfast is ready or do I have to come down there and drag you out!”

“Shit. Will, you gotta yell that we're coming up.” Mike instructs, sensing Karen is about to take another step down.

Will makes a face. “Why me?”

“You have my voice, that's why. Rule #1 of Being Mike Wheeler, sound like me. Just yell. I do it all the time.”

“Um… alright… I'll try.” Will isn’t much of a yeller. 

He is much more of a whisperer. Once, his classmates and fellow teachers assumed Will was mute with how little he spoke. But Will can speak, If he’s around the right people. He can be a total chatterbox.

“You can do it! You can do it!” Mike chants.

Will sucks in a breath, stretching his diaphragm, not used to raising his voice at Mrs. Wheeler or any adult to be honest. 

“OKAY MOM!”

Satisfied with the response, they hear Karen backpedal, and Mike gives a toothy grin to a taxed Will. “Nailed it!”

Mike and Will stand side by side, out of their element yet still elbow to elbow, greeting the Wheeler family sitting at the kitchen table filled with plates of food and refreshments. They've pulled up an extra chair, Karen expecting a girl to have been brought up as the overnight guest. Her eyes get big with surprise when seeing that's not the case.

“Why didn't you tell us Will slept over? I would've made his favorite, my to-die-for chocolate chip pancakes. He always ate a stackful when he was this high.” Karen indulgently strolls down memory lane, right hand showcasing how younger-Will barely made eye level with the tabletop, and the other holding her coffee mug handle, rim stained from her red lipstick.

It takes a second for Will to remember that Karen is speaking directly to him, who she thinks is her son. He’s so used to Mike doing all the talking to Karen as he silently watches on, like that time a 10 year old Will was too shy to ask for her to pass the bowl of mashed potatoes when eating dinner, so he whispered to Mike and then Mike asked for him with a “Will says he needs more potatoes!”

In Will’s body, Mike nudges for him to respond. Will wonders what he can say that gives off Mike vibes. Really sell it with the infamous Wheeler quips. He tries for a sardonic tone to match the atmosphere, appease Mike, and fool Karen. 

“Yup. Just Will. No girl.” For good measure, Will throws in an eye roll fit for a Wheeler child.

Ted is nose deep in today's newspaper, eyes jadedly glancing at what he believes is Mike, simply to utter, “Our son with a girl?”

“You forgot Mike dated El, Dad?” Nancy comes to Mike’s defense while popping a grape in her mouth. She’s not doing it out of the kindness of her heart. She just wants to fact check Ted who dismisses the correction in favor of adjusting his glasses.

“Sit by me, Will!” Holly offers, patting the pulled out chair. She's the only child that inherited Karen's extroverted personality.

Will looks at Mike, ready to follow his lead, but Mike signals again for Will to move forward first with a jerk of his head. Yes, that's right, Will must take the lead because he is pretending to be Mike right now. Will forces himself to sit beside Nancy. He watches Mike control his body to sit beside Holly. They are across from each other, their feet brushing underneath the crowded table because sharing even the smallest and most discreet touch pacifies them, makes this situation a tad more bearable.

Karen immediately starts a conversation. “Excited for college, Will? Any plans for the summer? So nice to see you hanging out with Mike again. Like a blast from the past seeing you two together. Haha! Don’t be a stranger, come on over more.”

Mike chews his bottom lip, unsure on what's the safest bet to interact with his mom, who thinks he's Will. To make guests feel included, Karen asks a bunch of questions, seemingly genuinely interested, like a good host.

“I'm excited f-for college.” Mike grits out, holding back his tongue because he wanted to say “duh that's why I applied”, but that's not how Will talks. Mike inhales deeply and gets into character like he’s roleplaying. “Summer plans? Uh…”

He pleadingly looks to Will, who fills in the blanks, assisting Mike like they're getting grilled by Hopper about suspicious teens trespassing and tagging the junkyard in elaborate graffiti. 

“Will's working at the community pool with Lucas and Max, Mom. Lifeguard duty.” Calling Mrs. Karen Wheeler Mom bothers Will immensely, yet he pushes through to give Mike the save.

At the revealed information, Mike is open-mouthed. Will never told Mike that he got a job recently, or that he’d be working with Lucas and Max. Well, Mike expects Lucas and Will to be thick as thieves, but Max was supposed to keep him on the up-and-up. She knows in extreme detail that Mike’s in love with Will. He desperately needed a confidant after Dustin got super busy studying to get into the same Ivy League colleges as Suzie. Mike sandbagged Max to be his soundboard when she asked the forbidden question, “What's up your ass, Wheeler?” during lunch under the bleachers when both needed space after feeling jealous at seeing Lucas and Will's developing bond.

“Y-Yeah! Lots of swimming, whistle blowing, sunscreen.” Mike tensely says, hoping he won't do anything stupid that'll get Will fired from his job.

Fuuuuck, now that he thinks about it, Mike might have to save a drowning kid or administer CPR to an old dude posing as Lifeguard Will if they don’t change back soon. Thank goodness Mike’s a pretty strong swimmer or he’d be floundering in the water.

“What a fun job. You might see me often. I just love the pool!” Karen laughs and Will sees his own face pale in horror. He can tell what's going on through Mike's head, no telepathy needed.

Mike doesn't want to see his mom in a swimsuit, sunbathing with other bored housewives, and most likely getting hit on with flirts of all ages. It's happened before, once in Mike's presence, and it gravely scarred him that he's the poor unfortunate soul who’s got a MILF for a mom. That's a different level of teasing and bullying that ruins already rocky mental health. Will feels for Mike. He remembers when someone tried to get Joyce’s number on the rare occasion the Byers could afford an outing upstate, post-Lonnie/pre-Hopper era, and Will couldn’t unhear how girlish his own single mother sounded when being admired and charmed by passing by tourists.

Stomach growling, Will reaches for the syrup bottle and pours the viscous liquid greedily onto his scrambled eggs, just the way Mike taught him, fundamentally changing him as a person. Now Will won't eat eggs without it. Nancy peers over and gives his plate a condescending look.

“Ew! Gross! How can you eat that!” Will’s never been on the receiving end of Nancy’s attitude, but then again, Will isn’t her annoying little brother that purposely gets on her nerves, but Will's supposed to act like it. 

That's the issue for Will at present. He can only act flawlessly if he's in his cleric persona, maybe even in a Halloween costume of a movie he adores. He's withdrawn by nature, likes to be a brat behind people's backs with his judgments, unlike Mike who can be catty in front of everyone if they look at him sideways.

“Mike, can you pass the syrup please?” Will’s attention is strung across the table. He sees a devious smile gracing his own lips, a smile that is so Mike Wheeler coded, and it's directed towards him and Nancy. “I wanna put some on my eggs, too.”

Nancy blinks, her scowl dropping, replaced with appallment. “You eat your eggs like that, Will?”

“It’s the best way!” Mike, posing as Will, furrows Will’s brows in faux concern, tilting his head and puts on a self-conscious tone. “Is that a problem, Nancy?”

“No! No, no, it’s just… I thought…” She flubs, discomposed, getting played like a fiddle by Mike’s trick.

For Mike, Nancy is a pesky big sister with all the neverending critiques, but for Will, she tries to be sweet and respectful, and that’s not just because she’s got a soft spot for Jonathan. Will, around the right people with good hearts, has the ability to make others be gentle towards him.

Karen gives Nancy a stern look. “Don’t call eating habits gross. You’re being rude to Will.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to offend. Honest.” Nancy has no idea she's apologizing to Mike.

Will has to contain his bubbling laughter by stuffing his mouth with syrup drenched eggs. He can already tell Mike’s going to have a field day messing with Nancy while in his body. If they're stuck like this, they should have some fun with it at least. Look at the bright side of gloom.

Karen changes the topic, spilling the beans that Mike has a summer job too, in Starcourt Mall's unusual chain restaurant native to California called Scoops Ahoy/Surfer Boy Pizza. Will's always heard Hopper complain that it was popular for serving stoners across the country because who would think ice cream and pizza with pineapple as a topping should be served side by side. Apparently, Ted had the same views about Mike’s job. Will knows that Dustin and El are going to be working there, and it irks him that neither told him Mike's their coworker.

While Karen chats away, the Wheeler family not noticing the difference between Mike sipping his glass of water amid bites VS Will guzzling it down like he's dying of thirst, breakfast comes to a close. About three plates each of buttery pancakes are cleared by Mike and Will, neither realizing how hungry they were. Casually trading places does work up an appetite, they guess. So, be it. They’ll need the brain fuel to think up a solid plan on returning to normal. 

“Well, I should get home now.” Mike eases his way to the garage. “Thanks for the meal.”

“I’ll, uh, take him home.” Will trails after.

“Drive safe! And tell Joyce I said ‘hi’!” Karen waves them off.

The drive is relatively safe and short. They're speeding. Not very far. Just to the Sinclair house next door. Mike and Will hop out of the barely parked car to sprint. Mike notices their contrasts even more. Piloting Will's body isn't for the weak. Along with a shorter height, a height Mike hasn't been since he was fifteen or sixteen years old, his legs aren't as long. For every five paces he takes, Will only needs to take about two or three when in Mike's body. It's hell. By the time he's made it to the door, Will's already knocking and ringing the bell.

They hear a muffled voice laced with irritation and the clicking of a lock, the front door flinging open. Erica welcomes with a glare. “Where's the fire, nerds? Cuz it's way too early for this.”

“Where's Lucas?/Need Lucas!” They state at the same time.

Erica rolls her eyes, sidestepping and pointing to the stairs that'll take them to her big brother's room. “Good morning to you, as well. Oh, and don't say I didn't warn ya. He’s got company.”

They don't have time to process what Erica just said.

“Morning/Good morning!” Mike and Will belatedly say, running upstairs, briefly passing by the surprised Sinclair parents sitting at the dining table.

Flying down the hall, they're about to barge into the last room on the left, when they're halted by the bathroom door opening up, misty steam oozing out. Mike and Will pump the brakes so they don't collide with whoever's exiting.

“Whoa! What are you guys doing here?” Lucas has just taken his shower, towel wrapped around his waist, damp skin glistening and spongy hair moisturized from a shampoo and conditioning.

“Help us/Code Red!” Mike and Will scream at him and Lucas shoots them a disoriented look.

“Um… Okay. Lemme get dressed real quick. You guys wait out here for a sec.” Lucas pivots to his room, secures his towel, and mildly jogs from them like he left the stove on and a fire might start.

“No time!” They follow right behind Lucas.

Turning to them and blocking his shut bedroom door, Lucas nervously smiles, alarm shading his eyes. It's the same look he gave Erica for almost telling a prying Dustin what unholy thing is hidden under his bed.

“You guys should really stay out here. Promise, I won't be long. You can come inside in five minutes.”

“Dude, it's not like we haven't been in the same locker rooms before. Why're you being so modest? C'mon!” Mike gripes, which mystifies Lucas because those words have come out of Will's mouth, and Will isn't one to be pushy. That's a Mike 101 trait.

In another bizarre twist of things, Will apologizes for the bossy tone using Mike's voice, further scaring Lucas because as far as he knows, Mike would let Will get away with murder wrong or not if Will ever screamed at them.

“Huh? What's going on?” Lucas questions, too stunned to block the door and Mike pushes through.

“Oh, crap! Ever heard of knocking assholes!”

Max is in the middle of getting dressed; chaotically hopping on her left foot, one leg through a pants hole, her neck bruised with purplish hickeys, her hair a bird's nest, and her cute top hanging off the corner floor lamp. She immediately abandons the pants, hugging herself and diving into the bed to hide under the covers for some form of decency. Mike and Will both blink multiple times after witnessing Max's stylish matching underwear set.

“Bleh! I've gone blind!” Mike's so dramatic, covering his eyes, faking gagging noises and turning his back.

This is worse than when Mike thought his parents were being attacked by monsters only to discover them making baby Holly in between the sheets when he was in Hawkins elementary. He didn't care if they let him skip chores for a week or bought him the newest video game, Mike couldn't look at his parents the same without recalling viscerally unnecessary details. The only positive was that he bribed them into letting Will sleepover tons on school nights, to the point where Karen began grocery shopping with Mike's best friend in mind, like he was another child she birthed into the family.

“Oh, so you guys are dating again. That's great.” Will evenly says, unphased by seeing Max in her bra and panties, but out of respect looks away in a much more gentlemanly manner than Mike. 

Several times, Will has accidentally caught Nancy sneaking out of Jonathan's bedroom window before they went off to college, her falling head first into dirt when he went to grab his bike for Starcourt movie theater summer excursions with the party. He swore secrecy to Nancy that he won't admit to ever seeing her in seductress lace found off those lone highway adult shops.

Lucas and Max are weirded out by Mike and Will's large scope of reactions. The now on-again couple sharing worried glances. Why exactly is Will scrubbing his face furiously and complaining about cleansing his eyeballs with bleach? Why exactly is Mike being so nonchalant about this and not his usual over the top behavior?

Max gets over the initial humiliation of being caught half-naked by Mike and Will to ask, “What's up with you guys?”

Lucas agrees. “Yeah, you're acting off. Did we fry your brains just now or what?”

Mike recovers from shock to drag Will and him to the door to give the couple some privacy. “Put your clothes on and we'll tell you.”

Chapter Text

Five minutes after Mike and Will discover that Lucas and Max did the age-old deed of breaking the bed after a night of drunken partying, and now with the rekindled couple appropriately dressed, the four of them are all gathered inside Lucas’s room. Max sits on the edge of the mattress. Lucas sits in his desk chair. Mike and Will remain standing.

“We've switched bodies…” Mike starts with Will throwing in little details here and there.

Lucas and Max skeptically stare at them, sometimes chuckling in disbelief and other times appearing sincerely concerned. When Mike and Will are done explaining, they aren't met with the acceptance they desire.

“Are you guys high outta your minds?” Max questions, cheekily smirking. “I mean, Jonathan's back in town. Did you get some of his supply from his Cali connect? Argyle or whatever?”

“Maybe they had a spiked drink at the party last night and they're finally coming down from it?” Lucas piggybacks.

“Noooo! We're not high!” Mike denies.

Lucas rubs his chin, eyes squinting. “You do know that end of the year pranks are supposed to happen during the last week of school? Preferably on the last day. Not when summer's already here and we've graduated.”

“It's not a prank, either.” Will sighs, fully resigned.

Max cringes. “Okay. Yuck. Stop that. You are giving me the creeps. Perfectly acting like each other.”

“Because we aren't acting! We've traded places! Literally!” Mike reiterates, trying his best to be convincing.

Both Lucas and Max do think it's uncanny how Will's hazel eyes are the type of ferocity that would be Mike's impassioned gaze when not taken seriously. It's also uncanny how Mike has such a faint voice when Lucas and Max know that he only gets that gentle and low if he's talking to Will. No one else. Just Will.

There's no more talking when it's all said and done. To Lucas and Max, Will looks pissy and Mike looks forlorn. In the couple's minds, they're friends are taking this joke too far. Unless, they're for real about this. That or Mike and Will took really hard-core drugs, probably from Eddie Munson's trailer. 

This isn't how Lucas and Max thought their morning would be. When they saw Mike and Will go home together last night, they had hoped that it meant the boys were going to patch things up and become close again. In the end, it resulted in this two-man show of theirs.

“Well, this was fun.” Max abruptly stands up and inches her way not to the door, but to the windows. “I've gotta get going. See ya later.”

Mike eyes her dubiously, clocking that Max is very antsy and eager to leave. 

“Oh! I get it! You snuck over here and are trying to flee the scene of the crime! Lucas’s parents don't know you've defiled their golden son!” He points an incriminating finger and grins evilly.

“Shush! Be quiet, Will!” Max growls and it's upsetting her that he's so good at pretending to be Mike. Knows how to get under skin.

“I'm actually Will. That's Mike.”

Max is getting a headache trying to keep up. She's got Will practically yelling to the world that Lucas snuck his her over for makeup sex and she's got Mike claiming that he's the real Will looking all pouty and haunted.

To preserve his girlfriend's honor and shut up his blabbermouth friend, Lucas instinctively throws a pillow at what he perceives to be Will. Right in the face. Headshot. It mirrors those times when they all had sleepovers in the Wheeler basement, except it'd be Lucas VS Mike in pillow fights.

Mike stumbles backwards, but never falls, a bit dazed. Will covers his mouth, muffling his airy giggles because even though the situation they're in is dire, he can't help but enjoy when Lucas is messing with Mike.

“Whoa, déjà vu…” Lucas slowly blinks, baffled, and flickers his eyes between Mike and Will tentatively. “Sorry, I just, Will was shouting and I had to shut him up. He's just weirdly loud like...”

“... Like Mike?” Max finishes his sentence, breathless, a gut feeling nagging her. “Holy shit!”

Maybe, this isn't as unbelievable as Max initially thought. She's gotten pretty close to Mike, and she'd like to think she knows how he moves and talks. He is stubborn, he never gives up, he's a fighter. Even if Will is supposedly acting or pretending or whatever it's too utterly and eerily authentic. It’s convincing enough that Lucas threw a pillow at him when the only person he's raised a hand towards within the friend group without thinking is Mike. 

Everyone looks at each other with an array of emotions on their faces. Mike and Will both have a begging countenance about them. Wishing their friends would believe them. Max is contemplating and Lucas is scratching his head. Then, without notice, Erica knocks only twice before entering the room uninvited.

“I dunno what's going on, nor do I care, but I know that Max should've been gone before the mailman delivered two hours ago, and Mom's coming up to see why Lukey here isn't eating breakfast with us.” Erica impassively beholds all of their fearful gasps and stiffened bodies. 

Mrs. Sue Sinclair isn't nearly as liberal to let her son bring home a girl to bed like Joyce or Karen. She spent all of Lucas’s high school basketball career swatting away ravenous cheerleaders and other girls interested in taking her son's virginity, Max being the sole one to evade her scrutiny with how often they broke up.

“If you each pay me $10, not only will I keep my silence, I'll lie to Mom and Dad for good measure. Deal?”

The way Erica crossed her arms, leaning coolly against the door hinges like she knows they have no choice but to oblige irks them all. Lucas, Mike, and Will begrudgingly fish through their wallets and Max just has to prettily bat her eyes for Lucas to pay her half also.

“Deal.” Lucas gives Erica the dollar bills after counting it for her.

She deceitfully smirks. “Pleasure doing business with you folks.”

Erica leaves them, hopping and skipping down the hall, ready to make up a lie about Lucas going to eat at the diner with Mike and Will while humming the tune of For The Love of Money.

Once getting over the fact that they just got hustled, Lucas has a suggestion. “Let's take this discussion somewhere else. I'm still not sold on the whole switching bodies thing just yet. Need, like, real proof. Y'know.”

“I'll show you proof!” Mike resolves.

“Show us after I climb out the window please and thank you.” Max returns to her escape route, not prepared to confront her boyfriend's mom in this manner.

They reconvene outside, piling in Mike's car. Lucas and Max are in the backseat. Will sits in shotgun and Mike's behind the wheel. He cranks the engine and drives down the street to Dustin's house. Lucas and Max whisper to themselves, quiet enough that Mike and Will can't hear anything. Lucas still thinks it's a prank and that neither Mike or Will want to break character, remembering that when they all played D&D together, the campaign being super immersive, how difficult it was for the party's paladin and cleric to get out of that fantasy mode. 

Max, on the other hand, is doubtful that drugs or pranks are at play here. She would say that it's odd for Will (who's body is being puppeted by Mike at current) to be driving them considering Will is a known passenger princess, but everyone knows no one's allowed to touch Mike Wheeler's steering wheel unless named Will Byers. He's the exception to the rule, and it's tricky because all Max sees is Will driving down streets that lead to Dustin’s.

“Well, don't keep us waiting. Where's the proof?” Max asks.

Mike clears his throat, peeking at them through the rearview window. “I'll tell a secret that only you guys know and Will is gonna do the same.”

Max looks at Lucas with wide eyes, and Lucas responds with a shrug. “Could work. Let's do it.”

The car stops at a stop sign, put in park at the curb. Mike turns around in his seat to stare heavily at Lucas and Max, arm perched on the headrest. He confesses to his kept secret. 

“Back in sophomore year, when you guys had called it quits again, Max had a pregnancy scare and Lucas was ready to drop out and get a job to support her. Both of you were too chicken to get a test just to make sure, so I swiped a few for you from Melvald's after Lucas had a meltdown on me when hanging out. It all tested false.”

Mike glances briefly at Will before redirecting to Max and Lucas’s traumatized faces.

“Turns out Max's period was just late. Then the three of us got stupid drunk on my Mom's wine stash to celebrate dodging a bullet and we passed out in the field next to Dustin's Cerebro like idiots. I woke up cuddling Lucas on one side and Max on the other, our hangovers massive and all us puking our guts out at sunrise.”

Will's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, taking in the secret. The trio swore never to bring that up, mostly because Max didn't want to relive that experience and the boys had respected that. Mike shrugs, donning a triumphant expression at proving he's not a liar and that he's in the wrong body.

“My turn, I guess.” Will cuts through the astonished silence.

Reluctantly, Lucas and Max turn their eyes to him, not knowing what to expect. Mike also wonders what Will's going to say.

“Um, okay, one time I was hanging out with Max, Lucas and his teammates at the abandoned Benny's Burger diner. One of Lucas’s teammates was, um, not out yet. Still in the closet, y'know. He was really cute and kinda dumb, but very laid back, like a discount Steve Harrington. Plus he had a girlfriend! A cheerleader that loved him a lot and had no idea he wanted to try new things. Experiment…. With me.”

Will licks his lips, anxious about this confession, especially with Mike locked in to listen. This would be Will admitting his first ever and only experience with a dude to his former best friend. It's also him admitting that he didn't care about being involved with a cheater or that he didn’t care about being labeled a floozy.

“He asked if he could kiss me and I said yes. I'd never been kissed either. It was exciting. That a boy wanted to be with me even after the rumor drama. Well, it fell through. Turns out, Lucas and Max were hooking up behind the building, the very spot I was going for my hookup.”

Will blushes at the awkwardness, his face heating up along with Max and Lucas, their eyes glazing over in remembrance at how they ruined Will’s moment. Mike clenches his fists knuckle white as he wished that it had been him, that he was the dumb closeted jock with a girlfriend about to kiss Will behind Benny's Burgers. What keeps Mike calm is that Will seemed to have not had his first kiss yet.

“We all kinda froze when we saw each other. They promised not to out him and he ran off never to talk to me again. If we saw each other at school, he pretended not to know me. There it went, my one chance to be like everyone else, gone like that. I must've looked pitiful. Lucas felt so bad for ruining the mood and Max told him to make it up to me and one thing lead to another……”

Will clasps his hands together, twiddling his thumbs, eyes downcast. Lucas gulps, starting to believe that Mike and Will are telling the honest to goodness truth. Max can't stop blinking at how bizarre this is, mouth agape that body switching is real. Mike takes turns peering at all three of them, narrowing his eyes until he has a belated realization.

“You kissed Lucas!” Mike is burning with possessiveness at the secret. What else can it mean that Lucas made it up to Will? 

Mike pictures Lucas and Will kissing and feels betrayed by it. More so than Will about to suck face with the taken teammate. He can't believe Max gave her permission for Lucas to do that. He can't believe Lucas did that even though he’s straight as a ruler. He can’t believe that Will’s had his first kiss and it’s not with him.

Audibly swallowing, Will glances at both Lucas and Mike like he’s caught in the middle. “Y-Yeah I kissed Lucas.”

“And you had the nerve to tell me you weren't in love with him.” Mike hisses, clicking his tongue and grumpily slumping down in his seat.

Will tiredly sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Cuz I'm not, Mike. Not all first kisses have to mean anything.” 

Lucas leans forward from the backseat to moderate. “He's right and you know it. We just innocently touched lips and kept it moving. I’d be flattered, but Will isn't in love with me. I'm not his type.”

Mike curls an eyebrow. What is Will's type? Mike needs to know. “You know this how, huh?”

“Cuz Will already told me what his type is.” Lucas stupidly smiles, unaware of the bomb he just dropped. Max smacks a hand to her face for the impending nuclear fallout.

“Woooow! So, you tell Lucas, but not me?” Mike snaps his head to Will, looking torn up.

“Not this again.” Will wonders if it'd be better for him to walk to Dustin's since Mike's in his feelings. He can't do a repeat of their Lover's Lake fight.

“Quit arguing like a married couple, you two! Clearly, we have bigger problems. Both of you are like that movie Freaky Friday. ” Max looks at all of the boys, the voice of reason, forehead creased and eyes rapt.

She's not one to think magic or the supernatural exists, but there's no way Mike and Will should know those secrets they shared with Lucas and her. Part of Max entertains the idea that Mike and Will are best friends who have known each other the longest, so maybe, they could have blabbed to each other. It's safe to assume. However, what keeps Max a believer is the way Mike and Will's body language and speech patterns tremendously differ. Mike is exuding the calming energy of Will. Will is sitting with terrible posture, a Mike signature.

“Let's get Dustin and grab El. This definitely calls for an emergency meeting.” Lucas re-focuses.

“Agreed!” They put it to a vote and table a slew of conversations for later.

They're all gathered at Will and El's, a ranch house adorned with a thicket of trees with their nearest neighbors that are miles out down the road. Joyce, Hopper, and Jonathan are running errands, leaving El and Will to host the party in peace. Before they could talk, Mike was given a change of clothes to put on Will's body from last night's. It's a simple striped shirt and baby blue jeans, something that didn't scream Hawkins, but more like a beachy trip in California. Totally not Mike's style in any shape or form, but Will's been known by friend and foe to like colorful garments. Either way, Mike's grateful Will picked it out for him. He couldn't imagine going through Will's bedroom searching the closet or drawers. He’d feel like a thief. Mike hasn't been in Will's room in a while. 

“Oh, yeah. I can tell they've switched places alright.” El taps her fingers on the kitchen counter, waiting for her Eggos to pop out of the toaster. She is strangely laxed about this. Where most would be flustered or flummoxed, El tends to be calmly curious and observant when presented with new puzzling challenges.

“You just accept this? Don't think this is whacky at all?” Dustin asks her, rifling the fridge for leftovers to heat in the microwave. When they had retrieved him from his home, Dustin could barely get his hat on or brush his teeth, still worn out from partying with Lucas and everybody else.

El looks to Mike and Will who are leaning against the wall. They each are doing their stereotypical poses; Mike has his hands in his pockets and Will has his arms crossed over his chest. To the untrained eye, it seems like Will is the one with pocketed hands while Mike is the one with crossed arms.

“Yup! I feel it in my spirit.” El bubbly confirms. “Every time I look at Will, I get super annoyed. I can tell that my ex is possessing Will's body. Women’s intuition.”

“Hey! I'm not a ghost.” Mike protests, making a face at the idea of possessing Will.

“Well, you're something.” Max goes up to them, piercing blue eyes scanning.

Lucas chimes in after partnering with Dustin to microwave everything the fridge has to offer. “Man, what's it like having your consciousness in someone else? S’like, mind powers right?”

“Good question. We've been postponing that. Theories and stuff.” Will answers, wrinkling his nose.

Dustin shakes his head. “No, no, no. I'm not buying it. It can’t be that, while in the midst of having an argument, Mike and Will made a wish and it came true hours later. They’ve got to be yanking our chains.”

“We thought so too, but they're not lying. Trust us.” Max goes to sit on the counter beside El, swinging her feet off the floor.

“This isn't scientifically possible. The more you guys explain to the best of your abilities, the more this comes off like a childish fairytale with a cheesy life lesson. Like a… Be careful what you wish for, kind of ordeal. Get it?” Dustin rubs his chin, pensive stare burrowing holes into the floor at the facts given to him.

“Well, to be fair there was a shooting star yesterday. If we’re talking about wishes.” El bluntly says and euphorically claps when her Eggos are done, popping out the toaster.

“There was?!” Mike's eyes grow as big as saucers at the mention of a shooting star.

El casually nods. “Uh-huh. I saw it with my own two eyes with Jennifer Hayes. We were splitting a pot brownie between us on the rooftop when it happened.”

“You ate a pot brownie?!” Will is scandalized.

“And you didn't tell us about getting a piece of that?!” Max would've climbed the rooftop for a brownie baked with weed in it.

“Of course Jennifer freaking Hayes is able to get El to do drugs.” Lucas has his hands on his hips.

“Um, actually, according to Eddie, it's an herb. Not a drug.” Dustin informs.

“Hold on, we can talk about definitions later. There was a shooting star last night. Me and Will said something about wishing.” Mike snaps his fingers, eying everyone with an unhinged glint in his eyes. “Could it be that the shooting star granted our half-baked wishes?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Wouldn’t knock it.” El ponders, biting her cooled off Eggos.

Dustin cracks the tab of a Coke can. “Nuh-uh. Joke is getting stale, guys.”

“Geez. What's it gonna take for you to trust that they're switched?” Max huffs, blowing a loose strand of her hair out of her face.

“Probably nothing. I'm a man of science, not blind faith.”

Lucas quizzically says, “Well, I'm about reason. This seems pretty reasonable. Any ideas on how we reverse this? Is another shooting star coming so they can make a wish back to normal?”

“Now that—I can help with! Might not be fully on board with this switcheroo business, but astronomy is something I can get behind.” Dustin volunteers his services.

“Cool. He's in charge of monitoring the sky or whatever.” Max waves off.

“And when you see another shooting star, radio Will and me ASAP.” Mike orders. They can’t afford to miss an opportunity.

Will bites the inside of his cheek and shrugs. “It's a long shot, but we've got nothing else.”

A plan is forming and Will is feeling hopeful. Mike strategizes and hashes out the details. For example, the summer job issues. While they're stuck, Mike and Will have to perform each other's responsibilities and keep up appearances. 

“We can't afford to do anything stupid that could jeopardize, I dunno, our reputation? Get us in trouble?” Mike figures.

“Speaking of stupid. Didn't I warn you not to be stupid with Will.” El reminds, staring daggers at him, which is weird because her ex is in her brother’s body.

Mike scowls. “I can't predict the future, El. How was I supposed to know this would happen?!”

“Cuz you're always messing things up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Enough. Stop it. This isn't helping.” Will shushes them, not in the mood to hear exes playing the blame game.

Dustin hums in consideration. “Alright. I'm a believer now. Only Mike and El are capable of being petty to each other like that and I know Will's mediator skills from anywhere. It's enthralling to see Will, um, Mike in Will's body make said body be on a short fuse. Always pegged Will to be a quiet rageful storm type of guy.”

“Great to have you finally on board. We have another problem, though.” Will's pins and needles tone has Mike lower his hackles at El instantly.

“What is it?” Mike softens his face when turning to Will.

“We're on a time limit.” Will cryptically says.

Mike counts the dates in his head. “Yeah. We got until the end of summer, right before college welcome week.”

“Not really. Mine's cut short.” Will nearly whispers. “I'm a part of a summer bridge program. I'm going to college early, after the July 4th carnival, instead of in August with the rest of you guys.”

Everyone collectively gasps.

“What?!”

“Dude!”

“Get out!”

“That only gives us a month!” Mike is flabbergasted, gripping his hair and Will looks remorseful.

“3 weeks actually.” Dustin holds up exactly three fingers.

“Coolcoolcool. Any more surprises? Air it out now.” Mike tries to compose himself, but on the inside he's spiraling.

He should've kept his mouth shut because Lucas informs with a strained voice. “Uh, well, we're all starting lifeguard orientation tomorrow. Max, Will, and me.”

El, also, breaks bad news herself. “Tomorrow's when we clock in at Scoops Ahoy/Surfer Boy Pizza for its debut opening in the mall. Dustin, Mike, and me.”

They all watch Mike and Will simultaneously choke in panic at the trial ahead of them, trying not to get the other fired from their summer job on the first day clocked in.

Chapter Text

Will’s always had difficulty with staying in the present. Often he stared off into space, his imagination getting the best of him as it was more vibrant and soothing than experiencing real life in real time. Doing such had Will slightly out of the loop in group conversations with his friends until someone (mostly Mike pre-estrangement) would kindly bring him into the fold that he unintentionally isolated himself from. He should be paying attention to the strategizing going on around him, on how Mike and him can thrive in getting away with doing each other’s jobs long enough to switch back into place. But he can’t. Not when Will has to use the bathroom.

Since this morning when he awoke—to when he had breakfast at the Wheelers—to assembling Lucas, Max, Dustin and El in his kitchen, Will had to pee and was ready to burst at any minute. It was easier to ignore at first. He simply didn’t think about it, his thoughts diverted to the other’s reactions on the body swap. Still, steadily growing each passing second, was Will’s urge to release his bladder. That’s the thing. This isn’t Will’s bladder—it’s Mike’s. 

He feels incredibly uncomfortable having free reign over Mike’s body, of touching Mike’s body, even in the most surgical or sterile manner. Even with Mike’s permission and blessing from earlier in the day, his unease didn’t vanish. Will has been hopelessly and helplessly in love with Mike for years, to the point that he’s accepted how he might not ever hold such strong and potent feelings for anyone else in his life ever again. Will’s also seen how demonized people like him are. How being deemed a queer, gay, or fag is synonymous with the word predator by society's standards, despite that not being backed up in the dictionaries or vetted intellectual texts Will’s read a thousand times over when hiding out in the Hawkins library.

He knows it’s stupid, that it’s unreasonable, however deep in his heart Will can’t stop thinking that if he were to do this, merely go to the bathroom, do a normal bodily function, then he’d be taking advantage of Mike and become exactly what the naysayers want him to be. A creep, a pervert, a predator destined to taint anything he touches. Sadly, nature is calling and Will can’t hold it for much longer.

“You’re quiet.” Will blinks at feeling a tap on his shoulder, vision clearing up to see his own face that is riddled with Mike Wheeler’s idiosyncrasies staring up at him, brows and eyes melted into concern. It, unfortunately, warms Will’s chest and cheeks at the level of caring he hears, “What’s wrong?”

Leave it to Mike to catch that Will isn’t participating in the conversation and is quieter than usual. The others aren't looking their way, busy planning on how to amateurly predict the next possible shooting star.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Will hesitantly murmurs, eyes darting side to side to make sure no one else heard him. They don't and it has him relieved.

Mike frowns, evidently confused. “So… Go?”

Will’s cheeks burn more and his eyes are unsettled. “I can’t.”

“What? Why not?” Mike brings a sharpness to Will’s face and voice that Will himself could never do innately.

“I’m… I’m… I’m haunted.” Will tries to find the right words to explain his reluctance. If he could draw his sorrows, it'd be much faster and simpler to communicate. Mike's more of the talker. But since Will is in Mike’s body, he wonders if his artistic skill can translate in larger hands that have only drawn stick figures professionally.

“Haunted?” Mike repeats, a contemplative gaze about him. There are times he’s noticed Will does seem haunted, like he has the weight of the world carried on his shoulders, barely letting on to what he’s really thinking to be convenient to others instead of risking being called a nuisance or a bother.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna go as you.” Will admits.

“Really?” Mike blushes when re-offering his consent for Will to venture below the belt. “We’ve been through this. I’m cool with it.”

“Well, I’m n-not.” Will sputters his discomfort.

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice. What’s the other option? Pissing your pants? You’re gonna make my body piss itself, Will? In front of everyone? Please don’t do that to me. That's humiliating.”

“I don’t want to do that to you, Mike! It’s just… I can’t get out of my head. It's so...” Will doesn't have to finish the sentence. 

Mike feels the exact same despite putting on a face of nonchalance. He has no idea why he’s scared of what Will’s opinion would be of his manhood now that they both have no choice but to be up close and personal. It’s not like Will’s the type to judge, but then again, this is Mike’s crush having full control over his body, and that means access to parts of himself that Mike is very self-conscious about. 

“Hey, I'm keyed up about this too. But I already used the bathroom in your body and I survived. It's not that bad. Honest. Just try not to think about it. Hum a song or something. You like singing, right? Or quote STAR WARS! Do anything that’ll take your mind off it. Okay?”

Mike's advice sounds pretty solid and Will curves the corners of his lips into a small and timid smile. “Okay. I’ll try singing. Yeah, that sounds doable.”

“Good.” Mike smiles softly, ear to ear. He makes Will's hazel eyes abnormally adamant. A fierceness to them that Will hopes to emulate one day, always wishing that some parts of him were as brave as Mike, who he’ll never admit is his hero. “And I mean it, Will, I don’t mind. If someone else had to handle my dick, I’m happy that it’s you.”

Instantaneously, Will's smile drops. Disappointment and shyness merge to varnish his face.

“Did you really say that on purpose or are you that bad at pep talks now?” He remembers a time when Mike's reassurance was carefully crafted and without jokes. To be fair, Will also remembers that Mike has a knack for being cringeworthy.

Seeing Will shoot him a deadpan stare, Mike laughs gleefully. “Who knows? Why don’t you think about it while in the facilities. Makes as a good distraction, yeah?”   

Will had to hand it to him, it was a sly way to distract. He's able to use the bathroom without freaking out if he's violating Mike or manipulating his compassion for personal gain. The fault-finding voices in his head cease. In a flash, he unzips, does his business, and zips back up, now washing his hands and returning to their friends refreshed. Mike hurries to stand beside him again, close enough that their arms brush and body heat mix, silently signaling that he’s not disgusted like the unreliable thoughts of Will magnified. Will tunes back in and catches up with the roles everyone’s been assigned to do in his absence. 

Dustin is spearheading research of shooting stars with El, taking a curiosity voyage to the Hawkins Public Library. Lucas and Max swear they’ll support Mike and Will through these times if they need a listening ear or alibi should their families question why they’re acting differently. So far, Mike and Will have survived as each other and must continue the farce enigmatically. 

“Well, love to stay and brainstorm, but Lucas and me are off to buy sunscreen and untouched whistles for lifeguard duty tomorrow.” Max refuses to recycle whatever whistles are in the community pool’s employee locker room. She gets saving the planet and all, however she draws the line in placing her mouth where some stranger’s has been.

With that, everyone goes their separate ways after getting dropped off at their desired destinations, leaving Mike and Will alone once more in the car to keep each other company.

There are no words exchanged between them until Mike suggests, “Let’s go to Skull Rock.”

Will quirks a brow, donning a pinched smile when looking at Mike. “The makeout spot?”

“We need a secluded place.” Mike’s already shifting gears and driving them to the woods, further out of town.

“For what?”

“To practice being each other. Um, and to also come up with a system on how to bathe.”

“Oh.” Will widens his eyes at that thought before resigning. “Yeah. That is important stuff, huh.”

For the next few hours Mike and Will talk once they land at Skull Rock. It’s an overdue and uninterrupted talk. The heavens must shine on them this time because none of their horny peers have slid through to the popular make out spot with the trees as their only witness. There’s some shade, cooling off the summer heat. Mike sits across from Will and goes over his routine, like what he does in a day while Will takes mental notes and vice versa. 

Will has to figure out how to be the right amount of tardy just like Mike, who is known for running late to any and every function or place. If Will were to just start showing up on time, or God forbid, early when posing as Mike then the Wheelers would probably think their sole son is up to no good. Mike takes note of how Will tends to hole up in his room drawing or painting, sometimes needing Joyce or El to pull him out from his creative bubble to eat. That used to be Jonathan’s job before he went off to college. 

“I don’t get it. I’m always, like, cold in this body even though it’s blazing outside right now.” Mike rubs his arms, which are really Will’s arms, and huffs as he leans against the rock.

Will chuckles, not minding sitting fully on the ground. “What can I say, that’s just how I operate. But Mike, why didn’t you tell me your body is such a sweater? My clothes are literally damp.”

“This explains why you hog all the covers and blankets so much during sleepovers.” Mike fondly reminisces about Will wrapping up in a bundle.

“And this explains why you kept kicking the blankets off.” Will counters, recalling waking up in the middle of the night for a glass of water or to change sleeping positions, and seeing Mike spread akimbo, no type of covering on him.

“How’re you liking it? Being taller than me?” Mike watches Will grimace.

“Hate it. I’m not only looking down at myself, but also the rest of the party. And I’ve bumped into so many things.”

“Yeah, I used to do that a lot when I first grew out of my pajamas and shoe size. My pants were flooding and my mom had to shop almost every three months for those damn growth spurts.”

“Do you like being shorter than me?”

“S’okay. I forgot what it’s like to see things from this view. Such a nostalgia trip. Y’know, earlier, when I was driving, I had to adjust my seat and mirrors because I wasn’t my height anymore. I was yours.”

Eventually, they get hungry from talking about their physical differences. They can’t believe what the time says on their matching wristwatches. In the past, it was common for them to get lost in conversation and when they grew apart in high school, those long winded conversations became meek small talk that had a time limit. This body swap they’re experiencing together is causing Mike and Will to inadvertently reconnect in the queerest way.

Mike drives them to get some grub for a late lunch/early dinner. It’s at the so-called stoner fast food chain, Scoops Ahoy/Surfer Boy Pizza located two towns over. They briefly debate on whether to go inside and claim a booth, or get it to-go drive-thru style. They opt to get a corner booth seat together after they put in their order. While waiting on their food, Mike and Will carry on with talking, expressing how electrified both are to leave Hawkins and attend their dream schools. They don’t discuss how Lucas is going to be Will’s roommate. That’s still a raw nerve for Mike to accept. They also don’t mention if either of them will keep in contact with phone calls or letters or delve deeper into their Lover’s Lake argument. The atmosphere is somewhat lighthearted. 

When they finally do get to eat the ice cream and fruity topping pizza combination, it tastes immaculate, satiating their voracious teenage bellies. Mike dips a couple of his piping hot freshly salted fries into his chocolate sundae, relishing in the sweet and savory blend on his tongue. Will has become a fan of the pineapple pizza, considering getting another large slice. They both foot the bill, Mike paying for Will’s meal and Will paying for Mike’s. Neither bother to question if that’s something estranged best friends can or should do. Especially if one half of the best friends is openly known as gay. The restaurant isn’t too busy, with just three or so customers standing in line or sitting at a table, most choosing to go through the drive-thru. Nobody cares enough to give them dirty looks, to assume that they’re awfully close, or resemble two boys on a date. 

Living up to their name as the fast food chain for stoners, Mike and Will smell the musk of weed permeating the air, and even spot some workers with telling red eyes behind the counter prepping the pizza dough. Some customers also appeared high as a kite. Everyone was very chill, very zen. Hopper and Ted can hate all they want, Scoops Ahoy/Surfer Boy Pizza speaks to the youth and plans on staying.

“Alright. You’ll have to take care of my car since we’re staying at each other’s houses until we can switch back.” Mike says after driving them back to the Byers-Hopper residence, parking the car, and handing Will the keys.

“Got it.” Will isn’t used to having a car all to himself.

He usually has to share with El, the rust bucket Ford LTD passed down to them both by Jonathan, who didn’t need it anymore since New York has ample public transportation. Joyce has her Ford Pinto and Hopper kept his Chevrolet K5 Blazer.

“Just radio if you need me. I’ll be there.” Mike reassures, leaning backwards, arms bent, hands locking behind his head.

Will nods. “Same for me. I’m only a radio signal away.”

Mike looks out the window to the west, eyes latching onto the orange-purplish sky. “Wow! We’ve been out all day. Sun’s setting nice.” He checks his wristwatch. “Didn’t know we were out this late.”

“This has to be the most time we’ve actually hung out together since middle school.” Will says thoughtfully and then shrugs. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“Yeah. Today was super stressful, but also fun! Everything’s fun with you, though.” Mike earnestly looks from the sunset to Will, cheekily grinning. “We make a good team.”

“We’re a team?” Will jokes, laughing at Mike’s pouty lips.

“You don’t want to be?”

“Never said that. It’s cool, really. I like it. Us as a team.”

“Cool. I like it, too.” Mike and Will lock eyes, wishing to say more, but ultimately choosing to remain hush. “Welp, time to go home and play pretend.”

Mike gets out of the driver’s seat and trades places with passenger princess Will.

“See you, tomorrow.” Will grips the steering wheel, adjusting the mirrors and seat accordingly.

Mike stands outside in the front yard, watching Will leisurely cruise away down the street. In his imagination, he wonders if Will is sneaking glances in the rearview, just to see if Mike has gone inside or not, and he wonders if Will thinks—feels the same as him.

This could work. This is fine. They’ll be normal again soon enough.

In the morning, Mike lethargically wakes up in Will’s room, completely loving the softness of Will’s bed that seems to massage his sore muscles. He doesn’t know if it’s the thread count, or the tiger plushie he’s currently cuddling with an iron grip, or because Will’s body—Will’s skin?—is a slave for comfy cozy textures that this bed provides. 

Last night, too swamped to eat dinner with the Byers-Hopper family, Mike zombie walked to the bed and passed out from all his overthinking. Although, part of him suspects that he’s feeling the residual effects of puppetting Will’s body. Will has always been known by his friends and family as a comatose napper, with Jonathan often having to be his second alarm clock as Will isn’t a morning person point blank period, but that’s mostly because Will is more active at night. Mike might be chronically late to things, but he surprisingly doesn’t sleep in like most his age do. 

When Mike forces himself to sit up, covers pooling to his lap, he is hit with the overwhelming scent of all things Will Byers, the five senses scaled to ten. It’s in the pillows, the sheets, the duvets. It’s in the clothes, in the shoes lined up in the corner, the tiger plushie. It’s on the walls decorated in movie posters and original drawings from Will’s extensive sketchpad collection. It’s in the art materials scattered near Will’s easel with an unfinished painting. Mike can’t escape it. The scent is the most infuriating and exhilarating obstacle he’s come across in this form.

“Knock, knock.” El appears at the crack in the door, head peeking in with her eyes shut. “You decent?”

Mike double checks, looking down to see that he is, in fact, decent. His yellow pajama long sleeve and plaid pants confirm for him. “Yup. Not naked or whatever.”

“Great!” El further pushes the door crack wider to step in and opens her eyes. “Your turn to shower. We gotta start our jobs today, remember? Your shift starts first.”

“What?!”

“Lifeguards open the pool for elderly water aerobics. Duh! Get ready.”

Sighing, Mike flops back on the mattress. He’d rather do anything than look at old folks who have more flexibility and athleticism than him. Trudging through, Mike enters the bathroom to shower. He does his best to clean Will’s body properly, lathering up in soap with a wash towel to rub across the skin, until it’s time for the final hurdle that Mike’s been pushing off: scrubbing Will’s privates. 

Steeling his nerves, Mike recites aloud the play-by-play of a Hellfire campaign, the brutal one that Eddie Munson DM’d where Erica Sinclair barely won for the whole club, so as not to acknowledge how sensitive Will’s skin is to touch. Mechanically, Mike’s arm drops below the belly button and tailbone. Mike has no idea how he did it, but he’s done with his task and dries off quickly, making sure not to glance in a mirror or downwards at the end of his happy trail.

In the next moments, Mike strolls in the kitchen in Will’s lifeguard jacket and swimmer trunks. Jonathan is frying up eggs. Hopper’s drinking his contemplation coffee at the table. Joyce is styling El’s hair for her shift at Scoops Ahoy/Surfer Boy Pizza. 

“I was just about to check on you.” Joyce beams.

Mike nervously grins. “I’m up.” He can’t contain a yawn that slips out.

“Here. You’ll need some of this.” Hopper gestures to a cup of Joe steaming on the table. “Dressed it how you like, son. Tons of sugar for that sweet tooth of yours.”

That’s new. Mike isn’t used to Hopper being nice or docile with him. Then again, Hopper thinks he’s talking to Will, not Mike, bane of his existence that dated his darling daughter El for two years and some change amid two juvenile breakups. If Hopper knew it was Mike he’s talking to, the man would have an attitude totally opposite of fatherly. Mike eats the breakfast Jonathan  cooked up and sips the coffee Hopper prepared. 

Unlike the Wheelers taking their time in the mornings, the Byers-Hopper family are busy-bodies, with every family member holding down a rotating job. A million things are going on, within the air a combination of cigarette smoke and lingering Purple Palm Tree Delight stain the walls. Hopper conveniently doesn’t mention anything about Jonathan’s choice of recreational smoking.

“Jonathan’s dropping you off at work and then heading to his. He’s taking my car. I’ll drop off El before I go to Melvald’s. Hopper’s on duty today.” Joyce says, placing a cigarette between her lips as she creases her brow, focused on braiding El’s hair. Hopper gets up to offer a light, Joyce’s hands preoccupied to ignite her cigarette.

Mike is wary of Jonathan, trying not to let the emotion show on his face. Who else knows Will best, better, like the back of his hand than his older brother? He’d know for sure if Will was acting weird. Judging by Jonathan’s cognizant eyes, safe to say that he’s sober. That has Mike on edge even more. During the carpool, Mike keeps mum. He can’t blow his cover and hides his face by looking out the window during most of the drive.

“You okay?” Damn, how can Jonathan read the vibes that easily?

“I’m okay.” Mike wheezes.

Jonathan squints discreetly at him. “I dunno. You seem…”

Mike attempts to sidetrack to another topic. “I’m talking to Mike again!”

Internally, Mike wants to smack himself in the face. Why would he bring up, from Jonathan’s perspective, his younger brother’s most complicated ex-best friend? That’s a recipe for disaster.

“Mike, huh.” Jonathan whistles and gosh, does Mike itch to know how to translate the eldest Byers’s son’s demeanor. “I thought you said you’d get over him?”

“Over him?” Mike blinks, stunned. He turns from the window to stare at Jonathan. What the hell did that mean?! What’s Jonathan implying?!

“Uh-huh. That was the goal, right.” Jonathan’s eyes are on the road, but he notices from his peripheral vision that who he assumes to be his brother, seems to be remarkably dumbfounded by this tidbit. “Leaving for college early so you don’t have to see Mike’s face any time soon. Hence, getting over him.”

A crack forms in Mike’s chest, his heart splitting. He is legitimately hurt by what Jonathan reveals. Mike thought Will was going to the West Coast just for education and to be with other gay people. He can’t understand, can’t fathom why Will would want to get over him, run away from him like that. What did he do so wrong for their friendship to end like this?

“Well… Um… We’re talking again.” Mike whispers, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Mmhmm.” Jonathan has opinions, but he withholds them, and for that Mike’s grateful. “If that’s what you want then I’ll support you, Will.”

Mike can’t hear, see, feel, smell, or speak. He is stuck on the fact that Will planned on cutting off communications permanently towards him. 

Was it just him? Was he going to do that with Max and Dustin, too? He knew that El and Lucas were the exception, probably, but what about the rest of the party? Or is it that they all got the luxury to be in Will’s circle, in his space, and Mike, who was Will’s first ever friend, gets the boot once summer is over?

Jonathan pulls into the community pool’s parking lot. Mike rushes to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride!”

“No problem. I’ll pick you up later.” Jonathan waves.

“Uh… No need! I’m gonna be with Lucas and the others tonight.” Mike informs without looking Jonathan in the eye.

“Fine. Make sure someone drops you and El off back home.”

“Gotcha!” Mike jogs fast from Jonathan to Will’s job, feeling the man’s eyes staring at his retreating back when he doesn’t spare a wave goodbye.

The Hawkins community pool is dead at these hours. No one brings life to it this early unless it’s the elderly there for water aerobics, waiting impatiently for the Lead Lifeguard to unlock the gates so their class can begin. Already present are Lucas and Max in their swimsuit uniform, lifeguard jackets, and flip flops. Mike hustles over to them, gearing up for orientation along with their other newbie coworkers. His nostrils burn with the disinfectant smell of chlorine and his skin's sweating like a pig.

“Enforce the rules! No running! No diving! No eating!” 

Mike tries to listen to his boss’s— Will’s boss —safety instructions yet he keeps getting thrown off by the prior conversation he had with Jonathan. Well, that and the constant giggling going on beside him from some very drop dead gorgeous girl that hurried to claim the empty spot on Mike’s left. On Mike’s right, Lucas and Max share knowing glances after peeping at the giggly girl. Initially, he assumed maybe the girl was having the first day jitters. 

It becomes apparent to Mike later on that more of the lifeguard girls are extremely giggly, friendly, and touchy with him. Mike has no clue why these girls keep touching his arms or shoulders, not having much interaction with girls that weren’t his sisters, El, Max, or Erica. Until it’s time for a break, Lucas and Max pulling him aside, does Mike learn why.

“You’re Will now, remember?” Max points at him, tapping her foot with a hand on her jutted out hip.

Mike snarks. “How can I forget?”

“She’s just saying that Will’s kinda popular with the ladies. You honestly didn’t know?” Lucas asks after drinking half of the water from his canteen.

“Wha…?” Mike’s mind boggled at this aspect of Will’s life that he missed completely.

Max rolls her eyes hard. “That’s why the girls are all flirty with you, idiot. Man, is it pathetic to see you struggle coming to that obvious conclusion. Thought you were a smart nerd?”

“But Will’s gay!” Mike ignores the insult, more miffed at the girls flirting with Will.

“So?” Both Max and Lucas tell him.

“Why are they flirting with Will? He’ll never want them!”

“Who knows? Bet it’s the same reason guys go for unavailable or taken chicks.” Lucas takes into account.

Mike scrunches his nose in disagreement. “That’s so dumb. Wait. Does Will get harrassed like this all the time?”

“Beats us. Heard from El that he rejects every single bold and ditzy girl like clockwork.” Max states, squirting a glob of sunscreen to apply on her freckled arms as the sun rays crank up. 

“Well, they should respect that he’s not interested. Pisses me off that Will has to deal with this.” Mike growls. If he’d have known this he’d make sure to bat these girls away from Will daily.

“Dude, this is Hawkins. What do these people know about respect?” Lucas shakes his head at Mike’s irritation. “Besides, Will’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”

“Can’t blame them, though.” Max turns to see a group of girls eying their side of the pool, all fans of Will and muttering giggles. “Will is handsome, and in a swimsuit, he’s practically a supermodel here.”

Both Mike and Lucas agree wholeheartedly with that statement. Will is easy on the eyes. When they were growing up Mike deemed Will the cutest kid he’s ever come across, played with, befriended. You name it. Hard to resist that mischievous and welcoming face. Will’s still cute even if he has to shave and has a broader build and a deeper voice. He's also leveled up in attraction—Hawkins’ slim pickings selection factoring in (or is that by Mike’s biased standards flaring up).

When break is over, Mike’s paired with Lucas to itemize storage supplies collecting dust. They each get a clipboard, pen, and checklist to wield. Mike's relieved that storage is relatively cooler than the humid outside lounge area surrounding the pool. He thought it'd be stuffier, with stale air and be mothball scented. They efficiently review the list while sitting on a bench, only getting up to shuffle boxes into the right place or double check. 

“I specifically requested for us to be partners, by the way. Saw how angry you got with all those girls buzzing around.” Lucas brings up when they’re halfway through the list.

Mike looks up, pleased. “You did that for me? Thanks. I was seriously gonna flip out if one of them faked accidentally bumping into me again.”

“Yeah?” Lucas smirks, picturing the scene it would've caused. “Gotta be slightly fun, right. To get hit on. You used to worry that girls thought you were gross.”

“They did think I'm gross. And they would call me that to my face if I wasn't looking like Will right now.”

“El didn't think you're gross.”

“Then she got to know me.” Mike sardonically laughs.

Lucas lightly kicks Mike's calf. “She only thought your personality could use some work. We all did. Will was the captain of it.”

Mike stares at him for a bit, watching Lucas return his focus on the list. He spent so much time being envious of Lucas and now he felt like a moron. He should be jumping for joy and clicking his ankles that he has a quality friend like Lucas.

“Thanks.”

“You already said that.” Lucas’s eyes don’t leave the checklist, chewing on the end of the pen.

“I mean, thanks for being there for Will when I couldn’t be.” Mike expounds in a muted voice.

Lucas stops writing on the clipboard to look Mike in the eyes. “No biggie, dude.”

“But it is big to me. Means a lot.” Mike scoots closer to Lucas on the bench for emphasis.

“Mike?” Lucas sets the clipboard aside.

“Heard you guys are roommates for college. Congratulations.” Mike divulges, picking at his nails, and it takes everything in his willpower to stop because he's the one with hangnails on his hands, not Will. He's got to treat this borrowed body like a temple.

Lucas scoffs. “You don’t sound happy.”

“I’m trying to be. Alright. I always thought we’d be roommates. Me and Will.” 

“He told me that, too. Y’know Will still thinks it’s still possible.” Lucas grips Mike's shoulder in comfort.

Mike’s eyes flash with hope. “He does?!”

Lucas bites the bullet and asks the question that’s been hanging over the entire party. “Man, what’s going on between you guys? Why do you two have so much shit to sort out?”

“What’s there to get? He iced everyone out if they’re not named El or Lucas.” Mike bitterly says, his eyes turning into slits. It's eerie on Lucas's end, seeing Will's features take more of Mike's traits and shape.

“Yeah, I get that. But it’s supposed to be Mike and Will regardless of all the drama. Not whatever you guys have going on now.”

“He doesn’t want it to be that way. No matter how much I want it to be that way. He wants to get over me. That means end our friendship permanently, right?” Mike slumps in defeat, bouncing his leg and pulling his hair.

He swiftly corrects his impulsive actions, unclenching his fingers from threading what's actually Will's brown strands, not caring to put any tension on the scalp.

“Get over?” Lucas pinches his brows together. “Sounds more like heartbreak to me.”

Mike snaps his head to Lucas. “Heart… Break….? Like I broke his heart or something? How? I wanted to stay as best friends. If anything he broke mine!”

“C’mon, think about it harder.” Lucas can lead Mike to water all he can, but it’s up to Mike to drink it.

Some seconds pass by with them sitting in silence. Mike ponders hard and suddenly a lightbulb radiates above his head. “Wait. Hold on. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Lucas holds up his hands and shrugs. “I’m saying, I told you Will wasn’t in love with me.”

It has to be a dream. It can’t be real. That maybe, hopefully, in this lifetime Mike could have…

Their Lover’s Lake fight replays in Mike’s mind with added context.

“El told me that you broke up because you didn’t love her.”

“She also told me you broke up because you’re in love with someone else.” 

“If you tell me, then I’ll tell you who I’m in love with.”

“You of all people should know why I stayed away from the party. Stayed away from you!”

“And I wish you can see why I’d rather cut ties, Mike!”

They’re taking too long with the storage task and Max is sent to get them in time for the lifeguards regrouping. She walks in at the right moment when Mike stands to his feet and blurts, “WILL’S IN LOVE WITH ME?!”

“Oh. Finally got it through that thick skull of his.” Max impassively slants against the doorway as Lucas cheers at Mike’s delayed revelation. She crosses her arms over her chest, whistle dangling around her neck and expectantly declares, “Now, what are you gonna do about it, Wheeler?”

Chapter Text

Hanging in the closet are two ugly outfits Will has the dismayed choice of wearing. The American flag red, white, and blue sailor suit from Scoops Ahoy and a yellow shirt with the red Surfer Boy Pizza logo. Neither fits his style. The sailor suit is showing off too much leg for his taste. He has enough emotional and mental damage from Joyce having Will squeeze in the shortest of shorts for summer until her paychecks stacked up for new clothes money. He recalls that particular season, one where Mike barely looked at him, keeping his eyes solely on Will's face respectfully.

He slips on the Surfer Boy Pizza shirt, yellow more of his color, despite it resembling melted cheese, and stares unenthusiastically at himself in the mirror. Will used to joke about Mike taking his sweet time to get ready for anything, that is, until Will had to experience the struggle of having curly sometimes wavy hair. Will thought surviving a childhood of barber Joyce’s free bowl cut services was tragic. Nothing compared to managing Mike’s tresses. Will hopes his unsure combing and finger teasing while chanting “please look good” has Mike’s hair presentable looking enough for the day. 

Toying with Mike's hair felt sinful in Will's eyes. The inky soft strands were made of the stuff Will dreamed about. Literally. Will dreamed of running his hands through Mike's hair, massaging his scalp, and bringing their faces close to lock lips. Will snatches his hands off with a quickness. He can't fall into fantasies when borrowing his crush's body. He's got to control himself.

Will bites his bottom lip, chewing on it anxiously as he takes in the bags under his eyes, unintentionally the cause of making Mike's face appear haggard. Last night, Will found it incredibly difficult to sleep in the Wheeler home. He hadn’t been in Mike’s room in so long. All of their sleepovers took place in the basement with Lucas and Dustin, Mike’s preferred hang out spot and oasis from the shitty world awaiting them. Mike spent more time in the basement, even now, then in his own room and Will noticed instantly after eating dinner with the unsuspecting Wheelers how Mike’s bed was untouched. Like Mike rarely slept there. The bed was perfectly made. In fact when Will did head upstairs for bed, the Wheelers found it odd he didn't head to (as Karen called it) his hideaway.

Will had kept Mike’s advice close to his heart, singing when he took a shower and changed clothes to avoid being hyperware of their other size differences, before settling to sleep. He laid in the bed, attempting to rest, but curiosity got the best of him. Will never considered himself the nosy type, yet here he was, with access to Mike's room. Nobody would stop him if he were to look around. Looking around isn’t the same as snooping. That’s why Mike’s body really has bags under his eyes.

Will had stayed up all night looking at Mike’s mini library of books, admiring posters and old toys he had scattered everywhere, fishing in Mike’s closet for potential outfits to wear in the approaching days. He found an old X-Men comic that he let Mike borrow from him when they were 12. A comic that Mike had yet to return because he loved the issue so much and kept re-reading it. Will had sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed to flip through the pages himself, when he felt a sharp poke in his thigh. It was coming from under the bed, a corner of something much like a book or binder sticking out. Will abandoned the comic to pick up whatever’s jamming into him and discovered it’s a binder.

Will didn’t mean to open it. He swears on his life. It had taken a lot of strength not to peer into Mike’s journals laying atop his study desk, Will missing the time when he got to hear all of Mike’s inventive stories firsthand. This was different. An invisible force drew him to open the binder and Will’s blown away upon seeing all his drawings, back from when he and Mike had first met in kindergarten to the high school doodles Will would leave in Mike’s car window wipers. He sat there, poring over the pages for hours, not sleeping a wink, trying to get to the bottom of this. 

What does it all mean?! This thick binder filled to the brim with the timeline of Will’s developing art skills. All gifted to Mike from Will. Why does Mike have Will’s drawings in a hidden binder under his bed like it’s for his eyes only and no one else’s?! 

Like it's something shameful?! Jonathan's porn mags come to Will's mind.

Like it's something sacred?! Joyce updating whichever colored pencil art Will made on the fridge held up by fruit magnets comes to Will’s mind.

“Yikes. You look like shit.” Will looks from the mirror to the door where Nancy gives him a skeptical onceover. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Mike?”

“Something like that.” Will gives up on taming Mike's curly hair. He'll just have to accept looking ridiculous.

Following Nancy downstairs to the kitchen table for breakfast, Will rubs at his grumbling tummy. Ted’s reading the morning paper, and Holly is begging Karen if she and her friends can watch a slasher flick at Starcourt theater. Karen politely listens, but it’s clear on her face that she won’t indulge Holly’s whims. She perks up when seeing Will come in. 

“Don’t you look dashing in your little uniform. Let me get the camera! This is going in the album.” Karen rushes off, purposely avoiding Holly’s pleas. She must really be excited, not mentioning how bad the curly hair looks.

Will refrains from laughing at Karen grabbing the Polaroid, knowing that Mike loathes having his picture taken, especially if he thinks he looks stupid. Imagine his outrage when there's a photo of him with a bird's nest for a hairdo. Will’s amusement is replaced with guilt over his previous actions. Mindlessly, he eats breakfast, feeling like a total creep for invading Mike’s privacy with the secret art binder. It weighs on him dearly and Will decides he’ll fess up about his indiscretion to Mike today. Be truthful. Confess. Own up to mistakes.

“There’s still time, y’know.” Ted’s voice cuts through Will’s thoughts.

“Time for what?”

Ted peers over the newspaper at him. “To change your major to something useful. Business is a start.”

“But I’m in the writing program.” Will tilts his head, baffled at what Ted’s implying.

“What about that? Anyone can write. You don’t need a degree for that.”

“It’s what I want to do. I’m good at it.” Will feels uneasy about this.

“Good? Hah. Subpar is more like it.”

“Dad! Mike’s actually really great. He could’ve gone to Emerson with me. They accepted his ACT and SAT scores.” Nancy defends, feeling a tad protective and sisterly.

Holly shrinks in her chair, her smaller hand grabbing Will’s, but to her she is grabbing her older brother Mike’s hand in solidarity of his collegiate decisions, prompting Will to squeeze her hand back. Will notices too late that both of Mike's sisters are sitting on either side of him like guards.

Ted jeers, folding up his paper and wagging his finger. “But he’s not attending Emerson. Is he? See, you chose a respectable school, Nancy. That’ll take you places. That’s journalism. Mike is wasting his talents and skills on what? Creative writing?”

“Hey!” Will has the notion to scream at Ted for brutally criticizing Mike like this. If Ted’s the number one hater of Mike’s writing, he’s in for a verbal sparring with Will, Mike’s number one fan.

Karen returns with the camera in the nick of time, ceasing the brewing argument. “Pictures! Mike, hurry up and go over there. Better lighting. And for love of all things, smile!”

Will pauses the beginnings of his rant and stands still to take the mirage of pictures for Karen. Nancy glares at a listless Ted. When his patience is depleted, Will speeds out the garage door to drive to work. He can’t stand being near Ted right now. Not after he was so disrespectful for no reason whatsoever. Is he always like that at the Wheeler meals? Is it just that he put on airs when he thought Mike had a guest over, be it a girl or Will, yesterday? If so, Will doesn’t know how Mike can bear it. 

Sure, Ted isn’t as crass as Will’s own father Lonnie, who is objectively a worse father through and through, but it’s still bad parenting to demean your child’s actively pursued passion. The moment Will cranks the station wagon, Karen appears forcing him to wait and hear her out. 

“Mike, I think it’s lovely that you’re going to college to chase your dreams.” Karen comforts, speaking to Will through a rolled down window. “It’ll be a fight, going to new places, doing new things, but you’re a fighter. Remember that, Mike.”

“Thank you.” Will’s tense shoulders relax at her words and his irate face slackens.

Karen looks to her left and right, then leans closer to murmur. “Are you okay with leaving things how they are?”

Will is puzzled by the question. “Am I okay?”

Karen gives him a kindhearted look that reminds him of his own mother. “Yes. With Will? You should tell him your real feelings. Let it go and not carry any baggage when school starts. Move on properly.”

“My feelings?” What real feelings does Mike have for him?! Will is at a loss.

“Make sure you do it. Believe me, if you don’t, you’ll regret it for a lifetime.” Karen seriously urges.

Will is slack jawed. Is there some confession of Mike’s that he’s been keeping from Will? Confession of exactly what? Will blacks out, caught up in decoding Karen’s motherly wisdom, and finds himself with a free parking space in Starcourt Mall not too far from the entrance.

There’s a sizable amount of shoppers perusing the stores inside, excited to spend money on whatever trinkets catch their eyes, and the food court is prepping for the impending lunch rush. Automatically, Will can tell he’ll abhor working here. Too crowded and jumbled. He actually looked forward to being a lifeguard with Lucas and Max, simply for the fact they’d have access after hours to swim in the night time. Will envisioned himself spending most nights on a floatie smoking a cigarette and using an empty Coke can as an ashtray.

Lucky for him, Will gets to have the next best thing, hanging out with his new-not-so-new coworkers Dustin and El. They’re scheduled to be on the same shifts with him during this whole body swap debacle. 

“Heya, Will!” Dustin cheerfully greets as he stands behind the counter. He’s at the cash register wearing the Scoops Ahoy sailor outfit, proudly displaying his legs in the restaurant approved shorts.

Will goes up to him. “Duuuuuustin! I’m supposed to be Mike. You should call me that in case our boss gets confused.”

“Pssh. No worries. Our boss is currently partaking in a bit of the Devil’s lettuce. Catch my drift? He won't be able to tell what gender we are with his chimney lungs. Coolest thing about this job! The freedom.” Dustin smirks, miming smoking a joint.

“That is pretty cool.” Will looks over his shoulder. “Where’s El?”

Dustin juts his thumb to his left. “In the back. She’s having a blast scouring the door to the hallways that lead to other stores and businesses. Think she’s making an alliance with the neighboring restaurants to get fresh pretzel bites and sandwiches in exchange for our ice cream and pizza leftovers.”

“Aw. I wanted to see her. It’s weird not living in the same house.” Will gestures to himself, still getting comfy piloting Mike’s body. “I barely got to see Jonathan when he showed up for our graduation and he’s been so busy with his summer photography gig. Feel cheated that he’s really spending time with Mike.”

“Bummer. Must suck not being around your family under these conditions.” Dustin scratches the back of his head and then snaps his fingers. “Eureka! We could always have a sleepover! For old time’s sake.”

Will slowly nods. “I wouldn’t mind doing that.”

“Anyways, how is it being in Mike’s body? Nancy figured it out yet? Holly, maybe? Surviving Wheeler parenting just dandy, Byers?” Dustin’s all ears.

“You have no idea. I almost yelled very bad words at Mike’s dad.” Will frowns, scrubbing his face.

“You serious!” Dustin brightens up, impressed. He grabs Will’s hand to shake it aggressively. “Dude, I’m always beefing with Mr. Wheeler. Welcome to the club. Let’s combine forces. Shall we?”

Will snickers. “You have beef with Mike’s dad?”

“Well-established. Since the 7th grade. It’s kinda lowkey. I have this magical ability to make his blood boil in a simmering stew type of way.” Dustin boasts, chest puffed.

“And Mike doesn’t know about this? He should. I’m sure it’d make his day.” Will would like to see it, Dustin VS Ted. He’s getting inspired to draw the longstanding feud for shits and giggles.

“Maybe, I’ll let him in on it as a bonus birthday gift.”

“He’d get a kick out of that.”

Dustin pats Will on the back and whispers in his ear. “Back to you. S’not even noon yet, only day 2 of the switcheroo, and you’re already about to tear Mr. Wheeler a new one. What the hell did he do to tick you off, Byers?”

“Oh. Um… Well… He wasn’t very supportive of Mike’s college choice or major.” Will averts his eyes, blushing.

“Ah, so he belittled your favorite author.” Dustin toothily grins, eyes slitted.

“Mike’s not my—”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me. I completely understand. I’m protective over my favorites too; authors, TV shows and comic writers, etc.” Dustin counts off his fingers absently.

Will shakes his head. “It’s not like that. He was being a massive jerk.”

“Yeah. The guy’s a classic textbook asshole. Amazing that Mike and his sisters grew up as decent as they are. Truly a phenomenon.”

“It’s just… I don’t know why I’m so rattled by it. Like I really wanted to punch him in the face, but that’s not something Mike would do. He’d either say, er, scream his piece or storm out. Not physically attack him.” Will gulps, rubbing his arm, feeling twitchy.

Dustin reflectively gazes at Will as if he’s a specimen under a microscope. “Mmhmm. Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

Dustin hesitates, eventually telling what’s on his mind.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay. I’m speaking as a friend here. I didn’t think this is how you truly feel, Will. You’ve been shutting us out since, well, y’know. Since that rumor started. We knew you were going through your own shit and gave you space. I wasn’t too upset by it. I mean, I know how to fraternize outside our tight knit party, but Mike… He took it the hardest from you.”

“He did?” Will feigns like he doesn’t know.

“Yeah. Mike, for a second, maybe for a while actually, thought you were done with him. That you hated his guts or something.”

“I don’t hate him!” That was never Will’s intention, to give off that impression.

“I know that. You guys are Mike and Will! Two peas in a pod. Still, it shook his confidence heavy. I dunno what exactly went down between you guys in the library, but Mike feels terrible for letting you go through the rumor alone.”

“It’s what I wanted. He shouldn’t feel that way.” Will twists his mouth and balls his fists.

“That’s the thing about feelings. Can’t control them. But it’s awesome to know that you were ready to call Ted out on his bullshit to defend Mike’s honor. You should tell him that. I’m sure it’d make his day.” Dustin teasingly says and winks.

Will puts a hand over his heart, hamming it up. “Ouch. Using my own words against me.”

“Learned it from the best, Will the Wise.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The service bell on the counter interrupts them and they jolt. It’s Erica tapping it nonstop with a gang of her friends behind her. They all look demanding and eager to be their first set of customers. They want free ice cream samples that grievously have no limit for the customer (even unpaying) is always right. For a millisecond, Will and Dustin think she’s heard their conversation, but if Erica does, she doesn’t seem to give a damn.

“You two done yapping? I’d like to try all the flavors. Oh, and make sure to include that tiny wooden spoon. Please and thank you.”

While Dustin services Erica, El pops up to happily hug Will, missing her brother’s affection. She had prepared herself to miss him when he’s off on the West Coast studying, but his absence came prematurely now that he is staying over in Mike’s house. It’s an awkward hug, not really comforting like it should be because El has to hug Mike’s body. It’s jarring for them both. El misses the way Will hugs. Soft yet strong. Hugging Will in this form, where he is in her ex’s body, makes El’s skin crawl. Will instantly releases her from his hold.

“I need the old Will baaaack.” She whines, throwing her head back to the ceiling and shaking him by the shoulders.

“There is no old Will. I’m still alive.” Will reminds and takes her hands off him.

“We need to fix this. ASAP!” El gestures to him, looking him up and down, disgruntled. “When you’re Mike, the hugs feel less warm and fuzzy. I’m suffering withdrawals from my brotherly hugs. It’s awful. Ugh.”

Will finds amusement at El’s dramatics, laughing. “Hopefully you and Dustin found something in your research to speed up the cure.” 

“Look no further! There’s hope!” Dustin glows victoriously after he shoos a delighted Erica and friends away with their samples. He wiggles his finger. “We’ll tell you and the rest all about it after our shift ends.”

Hearing news of progress energizes Will for the rest of his waking hours, eyes growing with optimism. He’s mildly peeved that he has to wait until later for an update, with El and Dustin having too much fun being partners in crime, and not even giving Will a hint to what solution they came up with on their own.

The trio spend their day scooping and slinging ice cream, heating up personal pineapple pizzas, and interacting with an array of customers ranging from sweet toothed kids to stoners with the munchies to Erica greedily returning for sample seconds like an addict. Will knows he’ll have to take some cold medicine, feeling Mike’s body struggling to adapt at the stark temperature contrast of a frosty freezer for ice cream tubs and a roasting industrial oven for pizza. 

Clocking out at shift crew change, Will spiritedly herds El and Dustin to the car, reconvening with Mike, Lucas, and Max in the Wheeler’s basement.

“Check this out!” Dustin unravels a dingy map of Hawkins on the table where the party used to set up D&D. Everyone gathers around.  

Max curls a brow. “What are we looking at?”

“Here.” Dustin jabs a finger to a certain woodsy area marked on the map. “This is our best bet. The clearest position to see the sky.”

“So, we just have to go there and then what?” Mike asks, face solemn, yet his mind is trying not to look at Will who is standing beside him, their arms skimming.

Mike’s still discombobulated from Lucas subtly telling him that Will has feelings for him, and from Max egging him on to do something about it when they were all at the community pool. He keeps finding intricate ways to look at Will from the corner of his eye and Will is doing the same. The wrinkles in his brain etched in with Karen unknowingly telling Will about Mike needing to move on and let go.

“Well, shooting stars can happen at any time. They’re kinda unpredictable.” Dustin holds out his hand and El, dutiful assistant she is, gives him a red marker for him to circle a particular location on the map. “We have free time when we’re not on the grind working full time. Weather’s beautiful. No sign of rain. Let’s pick a time where we can camp underneath the stars!”

“You want us to sleep outside! With all the bugs, and potential poison ivy, and wild deer or rabbits or skunks!” Mike can’t believe this. He knows for sure he’ll get eaten by mosquitos if they agree to do it. Also, he's not a fan of the great outdoors.

Lucas pounds his fist on the table, shaking stranded soda cans and D&D pieces from the vibration. “I think it’s cool! I’ve been doing survivalist training with my dad and can set up a mean tent.”

“Going on a weekend fishing trip, once , is not survivalist training.” Max argues, narrowing her eyes at the exaggeration.

“Hey, you try surviving with no TV and tell me that’s not roughing it.” Lucas defends and Dustin concurs that TV is what keeps people from going off the deep end.

“Ooh, I wanna make S’mores! I can start the fire!” El volunteers, jumping up and down at the prospect.

Will blankly stares at her. “You sound way too excited for the wrong reasons. We’re camping to switch us back. Not make S’mores and tell ghost stories and identify constellations.”

El blows a raspberry at him. “Party pooper. We can multitask. Just say you don't want S'mores. More for me.”

Mike rushes to get everyone back on track. “So, how long are we supposed to be camping outside? Every other night? Just on weekends?”

Dustin screws his mouth and tugs at the bill of his hat. “Depends.”

That’s not a good enough answer for Mike. He looks around the table, racing thoughts coming up with something suitable as the rest are quiet. He licks his lips and starts talking with his hands, moving them fast like the words tumbling out his mouth.

“We don’t all have to be camping. Look here! The spot where Dustin circled! This is where Hopper’s cabin is. It has working plumbing and a kitchen. Right? Enough room for two people. Me and Will can stay out there. We take turns looking at the sky, or we look at the sky together, and in the mornings we leave for work. Then do it all over again until we see a shooting star.”

Max and El are nonplussed, turning to share a glance while Lucas and Dustin mirror them. Even Will gives a precarious look to Mike.

“You two would have to bring a suitcase worth of extra clothes among other necessities. That’s weeks of you guys living out there, y’know.” Lucas’s eyes play pingpong, looking back and forth between Mike and Will.

Dustin scratches his neck. “Yeah, won’t your parents be worried? It’s like you guys moved out the house early?”

“What’s the worst they can do? It’s summer. We graduated. We’re working and we're adults. As far as I’m concerned, I can get away with a lot under my folks’ noses.” What Mike says is the absolute truth. Plenty of times when Mike was a kid, he didn't get supervised or policed as much as Nancy, simply because he was a loser boy and Nancy had the hotshot Steve Harrington's attention.

“Me, too.” Will’s eyes are downcast. He doesn’t want to explain how scatterbrained, weary, and busy his family is to note his every movement.

“Then it’s settled.” Mike decides when no one vetoes the vote.

The official plan is that the party all frequently watch the night sky at various hours for better coverage and a chance of spotting a shooting star, and whoever spots it first, must notify via radio so Mike and Will can make their reversal wish. El will watch from her house. Dustin from his. Max from hers. Lucas from his. 

This leaves Mike and Will to stake out at Hopper’s cabin. All alone. For what could be weeks.

“Not saying it’s a requirement, but an option. I wanna get a telescope.” Dustin throws it out there when climbing up the basement stairs and El proposes she can sweet talk Hopper into letting her borrow one from the Hawkins Police Evidence room.

Lucas and Max hang by the bottom step, whispering to each other, and spying on the awkward body language of Mike and Will. The couple don’t know if it’s a good idea for Mike and Will to be alone, in the isolated woods, after Mike realized he's the boy Will's in love with. They watch Mike lingering at the table, his guard falling, making it obvious he’s concentrating on every breath Will takes. 

Whenever Will presses pause on zoning out, about to turn his gaze to Mike, Lucas and Max see Mike's reflexes go into overdrive, and he is able to look away and pretend to stare elsewhere, never caught in the act by Will. Lucas and Max grow concerned about this.

“Hey, you coming with us or what?” Hearing Lucas address him has Mike slide his eyes to the stairs.

“What?”

“You’re going to Will’s house tonight. El’s waiting on you.” Lucas tilts his head up the stairs where El’s at the top step looking down.

Mike blinks, and is again, brought to awareness that he’s in Will’s body. Joyce and Jonathan would expect Will to be there for dinner, asking him questions on his first day as a lifeguard.

“I’ll… Uh… Go home later. I gotta talk to Will. In private.” Mike tacks on.

Lucas, Max, and Will have their brows shooting to their hairlines at the statement. El hears the message loud and clear and tells them, “Buh-bye!” before chasing after Dustin to the garage. His tone must mean business because El isn't threatening him not to be stupid like at the graduation party.

“I’ll give El a ride home then.” Lucas grabs Max’s hand and drags her protesting behind upstairs to give them some privacy.

Mike and Will watch the last of their friends leave them in the confines of the basement before turning to each other. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Will gulps, playing with the hem of his shirt to give his hands something to do. “Why… Um… Did you wanna talk… In private?”

Mike takes a deep breath. Centering himself. Okay, they’re doing this. “Er, I’m sure you know I’ve been staring.”

“To be fair, you stare at me a lot.” Will doesn’t mean for it to come out like a slap in the face to Mike. It’s just that, after spending years together, he’s picked up on a few habits of Mike’s that just seem second nature at this point.

“Yeah. I do that a lot.” Mike drop kicks his embarrassment and fretfully chuckles, “It’s kinda like my hobby.”

Will waywardly grins at that. “Oh, really? You need more hobbies then.”

This is so peculiar. They never had to break the ice before. They just hopped right into whatever confrontation they had. Mike tries to act casual, waltzing over to the beat up couch and plopping down on the frumpy cushions. Will copies him, leaving a space in between them, and grabs one of the pillows to hug.

“Anyway, when we’re at Hopper’s cabin, I don’t mind sleeping in his recliner. You can have the bedroom.” Mike eases into a safe topic, priming himself to get to the meat and potatoes of what he really is going to say.

“We’d have to dust everything off or I fear we’d kick up our allergies.”

“Only you have allergies. I have sinuses.” Mike reminds.

Will’s dreading it already. “Exactly. I’m gonna have to deal with your crappy sinuses.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll take full responsibility.” Mike holds his hands up in surrender.

The atmosphere is good. It’s lighthearted. Will can sense the storm coming. 

“Alright. Stop. What’s going on? You’re beating around the bush.” Will’s leery regard straightens Mike up.

“Am, I?”

“Mike…” He’s not in the mood for procrastination. 

“Got it. I’ll get to the point.” Mike flops onto the couch’s backrest, eyes never leaving Will.

The unblinking stare has Will squeeze the pillow tighter to his chest, hoping to smother the sounds of his beating heart. “Thank you. So, what’s up?”

“It happened today. I found out.”

“Found out what?” Will swallows heavily, stiffening up, his mind going to all sorts of possibilities, like if Mike inherently knew that Will found out he flipped through the secret art binder.

“Who you’re in love with.” 

Will thinks he'd rather be discussing anything else. He’d rather eat glass. Mike keeps ogling him, looking for signs, trying to read him like a book.

It’s not that difficult. Sure, Mike is looking right at his body, but that body has Will’s consciousness and right now everything about him is channeling Will Byers.

“No.” Will spurns immediately, scooching farther from Mike to the other end of the couch, the pillow his armor. 

Mike sees Will recoil, staring back at him like Mike said forbidden words. He is frightened, an expression that Mike’s upset he’s the cause of. He recognizes Will’s face within his own angular one, the face of a hazel eyed boy who held it together when the bullies called him slurs.

“Will, it’s okay!” Mike attempts to close the gap, reaching out his hand, and just like before, Will smacks it away.

“No. I thought we were done with this.” Will tosses the pillow to the floor, standing up to gain distance.

Mike stands up, too, but knows better than to get near. “We never actually finished it. I don’t want us to run away or hide anymore. I’m tired of doing that.”

“I’m not!” Will counters, mad that he’s looking at himself, like looking in a mirror, but it’s not him. It’s Mike who has his posture, his face, and his voice acting more turbulent than should be. “Mike, we have bigger issues here than who I’m in love with.”

Will needs that answer to suffice. He needs to hold it off a little longer. Just until he’s safe, tucked away in California. Time zones and states and miles away from where Mike can’t bike or drive to him when Will doesn’t respond on the radio.

“It’s an issue for me. A big issue because I feel the same.” Mike admits. He can only ever be honest when it comes to Will, no one else. It’s Will who Mike feels can understand him the most, the best.

“Huh?” Will is gobsmacked. His brain is connecting the dots and he twists his mouth into a frown, not liking the direction it’s taking.

“I’m in love with you.” Mike reiterates, breathless, gambling taking a step forward.

All it does is push Will to step backwards. “Is this a joke?”

Mike slouches his shoulders, wounded. “C’mon, Will. S’that hard to believe that I’m in love with you. Don’t you still feel the same?”

“Stop. Just stop! It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Will holds his hand up to Mike, halting him, and his other hand is grasping the front of his shirt. “How? You were never supposed to find out.”

“Why? Are you embarrassed or something for loving me? Of me loving you? That’s why you told Jonathan you’d get over me?” 

The emotions are strangling logic, consuming, and Mike spits out his bottled resentment of Will thinking he knows what’s best for both of them without ever considering his side of things. Mike relents on his scowling, however, to allow his angst-ridden voice to shed a light to Will on how significant this is for him. 

“I know I’m not the coolest guy, but I’m for real. I want to be with you, Will. If you’ll have me.”

Dangerous. This is so dangerous. Will did not expect Mike to be that blunt. This completely ruins all of his plans, of his justifications, of his atoning. Conflicted, that’s what is swirling in Will’s heart—a heart that isn’t even his own in this borrowed body! Will so longingly craved to hear Mike’s confession, to be involved in the reciprocation, and yet he also craved that it remained a pipe dream going nowhere.

What’s the point of it all? If they were to love each other freely? In this climate? With all the baggage? With them being on opposite sides of the country? What use is knowing now? They've run out of time!

“No, no you don’t want me.” Will’s face grows hot. His eyes grow watery. “I’m the one that’s gay. You’re straight.” He points his fingers to himself and Mike’s poker-face, the one he dons whenever Will is on the attack. “There’s no way we’d be able to work. It has to be this way. If it isn’t… If it turns out that I suffered that stupid rumor all by myself for no reason at all…”

“What are you talking about?” Mike purses his lips and Will’s tears start to stream.

“I pushed you away to protect you, Mike. I couldn’t let them think you’re born wrong like me. You’re not a mistake, Mike. I am! Please, don’t say you’re in love with me. Then it’d… It’d make you wrong like me.”

“Will, calm down. You’re freaking out. Breathe.” Mike puts a pin in his own feelings, his top priority now is to stop Will from spiraling. He didn’t think confessing his feelings would render a bad reaction like this.

Mike walks towards Will, prepared to ground him, to put his comforting hands on Will’s shoulders and if permitted, pull Will into a crushing hug. 

“Stay away! Don’t touch me.” Will flinches and Mike stops in his tracks. He shakily tells Mike, “Get out.”

“Will!” Mike won’t be defeated. Not again. He’s so close. They’re so close to having everything they were told couldn’t be.

And Mike stares Will down. He stares at him with all the adoration and bullheadedness and grief and promise. He tests his luck, goes out on a limb for his emotions to be conveyed, and for Will to be confident to receive them. 

When Mike sees Will—he sees an old version of himself. Will makes Mike’s body look weak and scared and self-punishing. Mike knows the feeling all too well. He doesn’t want Will to ever feel that way again. Mike doesn’t want his body to ever be painted that way again either. 

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to accept or reject me. Just know that it’s not your choice, Will, it’s not your choice that I’m in love with you. It’s mine.” Mike clarifies.

Maybe, like always, Mike came too late to come off as believable. Maybe, Will really did get over him to preserve his heart. That’s not for Mike to try and fix, or win back, or bitch about. Right now, just knowing and loving Will is enough for Mike. He’d anguish for decades if he never admitted that Will Byers drives him so fucking crazy.

That’s what does it for Will. The nail in the coffin. He’s seeing his own hazel lovesick eyes, governed by Mike Wheeler himself, stare at him endearingly and kindly. It’s been forever since Will treated himself with kindness. Looked at himself with kindness. And Mike gives him that, a version where Will can see himself look consoled and on top of the world. All possible, if Will were to not believe his feelings for Mike are tainted.

“Will!” Mike yells after.

Feet padding to the bathroom in a 100 yard dash, Will goes to where it all began, where he learned he wasn’t in his body. He has tunnel vision, shutting and locking the door before Mike could trail him inside. Will’s breath is labored, overwhelmed, and he sinks to the floor to cry, fully bawling his eyes out like a busted pressure tank. 

He’s on his hands and knees, barely registering Mike’s banging on the door as he’s bombarded with images of the past. 

When he chose to be a hero, it nearly killed him.

The origin of the rumor.

1987

Winter comes early. Snowfall began mid-afternoon. It doesn’t stick. Soon as it lands on a surface it dissolves into wetness. The plows have salted the roads overnight to prevent black ice. Students and teachers put on their bulky coats and water resistant boots to traverse accumulating puddles. The noisy halls empty with after school club activities and detention picking up. 

Mike is in the library. Will is in there, too.

Finals are approaching in December. So are the college entrance exams. Mike needs a place to study. He takes a pause in his Hellfire duties to buckle in, which is granted permission by commander in charge Dustin. Part of Mike believes Dustin granted him permission because El dumped him for real this time and it wasn't pretty. The library isn’t packed, but it’s difficult to find a spot to sit. Mike has to venture farther in the back, anticipating a vacant window sill reading nook that has a hideous view of the dumpsters outside. What he stumbles across, while strolling through the aisles tracing a finger over the spines of books, is Will climbing on a wooden ladder with an inconspicuously rickety rung.

From this distance, Mike mutely watches in a trance. He hasn’t seen Will candidly in a while, life being a pain in the ass and separating them with differing responsibilities. Will has failed to notice Mike is in the vicinity, brows furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He’s desperately trying to reach an anatomy book, reference material for his art portfolio, having an arm outstretched, hand splayed, a drop of sweat crawling from his forehead to chin, straining himself. 

Mike doesn’t want to startle, fearing if he warns louder than a whisper, Will’s footing would slip. He moves cautiously, light on his feet, inching toward Will whose eyes are only trained upward. 

“Will.” Mike’s voice is hushed, his eyes challenging him to not hone in on Will’s lips with the poking tongue. “Lemme get it. I don’t need the ladder.”

“Mike?” Will turns his head, looking slightly down at him with gratitude.

Smiling, Mike holds out a hand for Will to take. Stabilize him as he moves down the ladder which doesn't have Will that high above the ground. He hasn’t seen Will up this close if they’re not in the cafeteria or stopping by at each other’s lockers during passing period, much less touch him, and the grazing of their calloused hands nearly sends him over on a one-way ticket to nirvana. Will matches Mike’s smile, his focus elsewhere than on making sure his feet skip over a rickety rung which crumbles under his weight, the ladder giving out with a splinter. 

Heart in his throat, Will’s face becomes alarmed, and Mike thinks fast, pulling a falling Will into him. He used more force than desired, both of them hitting the floor, with Mike on his back and Will straddling him, legs enclosing thighs. Mike guaranteed to break Will’s fall and act as a cushion even if it did knock the wind out of his lungs. He’s born with a hard head, so he can rule out having brain damage or a concussion. 

Will’s torso is entrapped in Mike’s arms and there’s no space between them, bodies welded. They’ve never been this close. Not since they were innocently napping in kindergarten, both wild sleepers and cuddle monsters.

The commotion alerts a passerby classmate studying two aisles over, bored out his mind and who is a member of the newspaper club. When inspecting the aisle they’re in, he discovers Mike and Will in an iffy position on the library floor far away from being spied on. In a fairly secluded and popular hookup spot. This classmate of theirs could only manage to recognize Will Byers in detail, who glanced over his shoulder to incidentally lock eyes. Mike’s face is being shielded from sight, Will rushing and caging him with his hands on purpose. In a flash, their intruder has run off.

Will humbly apologizes, scrambling to his feet and putting space between them now that he knows Mike wasn’t identified by intrusive eyes.

“S’fine.” Mike says, patting the dust off his clothes. He reaches the book for Will, no problem.

Silently, Will accepts the book and refuses to look Mike in the eyes, cheeks flushed.

“You don’t think that guy got the wrong idea, do you?” Mike asks, belatedly musing on what just happened, not believing it could be an issue.

Will clutches the book to his chest, blinking away unshed tears. “I hope not.”

The next day the rumors spread like wildfire. The school paper has labeled Will gay with a scathing headline. Claims that he was fooling around with some mystery boy in the library. Will walks the hall as if he’s Moses parting the Red Sea, the way his peers give him ample room, gawking at him like he’s infected. Mike can’t get to Will, the daring souls beating him to the punch, accosting Will with burning questions setting him aflame in social execution. Nosy. Meddlesome.

Mike vocally tells everyone that it’s not true. Will isn’t like what Troy Walsh spewed daily at them in elementary and middle school.

But Will denies. 

He denies that he was doing anything abominable with a boy on school grounds.

He doesn’t deny that he’s gay, though.

And it’s always what one doesn’t say that people latch onto.

Will Byers is the first out gay person in the history of Hawkins High. Division is caused with those that see him as a walking disease and those that claim he is innovatively gutsy. All agree that Will lacks common sense and care for his safety.

He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind bearing the brunt of it. If it means that Mike is free of accountability then Will thinks it’s worth it. He won’t let Mike come forward as the mystery boy in the library with him. He won’t let Mike get burdened with the same stigma Will had persevered through since they were kids even when no one had any proof. Will can handle it, but he couldn’t live with himself if Mike were to have his reputation ruined for once again being in Will’s presence. He won't drag Mike down with him to hell.

“I was there, too. Why’d he only publish you in the paper? It’s all bullshit! They’re misunderstanding everything and if you’d just let me explain, Will, then you don’t have to do this alone.” 

Mike complains in the deserted Hellfire club room, making a move to hold Will’s hand in camaraderie, but Will smacks it away like the action itself is vulgar, and to add extra emphasis, he shoves Mike an arm’s length away. As if there was some straggling club member around that might get the wrong ideas about them.

The unforeseen violence disturbs them both, openmouthed and frozen. Before Mike can tell Will he forgives him and that it didn’t even hurt, he is met with harsher words from Will that feel like a whip cracking into his bare flesh.

“I don’t need you.” He lies, heart shattering to pieces when looking at Mike’s betrayed face.

Such a thing makes Will ashamed to witness the result of his lashing out, and like a coward, he flees into the solace of Art Club to immerse in his projects.

Will won’t let Mike come clean and undo his sacrifice.

He’d rather die than have Mike suffer along his side.

Chapter Text

Blurry vision clears once Will collects his bearings, the stinging memory leading him to the present where he’s kneeling on a cold tile bathroom floor. He’s sniffling bad, nose rivaling the reindeer Rudolph in hue. Heels of his palms wipe his face semi-clean from the salty tears. Will’s gone from the floor to clutching at the sink, eying the mirror’s reflection. He’s greeted to Mike’s blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes. It registered in Will’s mind that he hasn’t seen or heard Mike cry since they were in middle school. Even in his saddest moments, Mike never broke composure, sliding on the mask of his father Ted, a precise fit. It’s only through Will and his emotions does Mike’s visage appear vulnerable. 

In the background, Will finds it strangely quiet, ears not hearing the banging knocks on the door. A part of him assumes that Mike obeyed his orders and left. A part of him prays Mike stayed waiting. But, he recalls, when has his prayers ever been answered? Splashing cold faucet water on his face, Will breathes in his nose and out through his mouth, counts to ten. His feet carry him to the door, posture downright horrendous and discouraged. It’s only when he steps out to the rest of the basement is Will addled to see Mike is still here. Still waiting like Will prayed for (to whatever higher power is listening). 

Mike’s sitting on the floor, back propped up on the wall, patient, right next to the door for Will to emerge at who knows what hour. Will tentatively peers down at him, observing Mike’s unyielding expression, like troublesome Will’s worth the hassle.

“I’m staying the night.” Mike says in a no nonsense tone. Will can tell he can't get rid of him.

“Why.” Is all he can simply muster in a hoarse voice that doesn’t belong to him.

Mike doesn’t immediately respond. He stands up and pivots back to the couch, probably wanting his butt to sit on something more comfortable. “I don’t think you wanna be alone right now.”

Will sucks in an audible breath. He lowers his head, trailing behind like a puppy dog with its tail between its legs, body language subdued. For too long, Will’s opposed his genuine feelings and thoughts about Mike. He wore intangible chainmail, lugged around an invisible shield, thinking if he kept away from those he loved the most, from Mike, then he’d be protecting them. But Will’s no knight or paladin. In reality, Will was only protecting himself, keeping his distance first before everyone else got privy and forsake him like the anomaly he is. 

This time Will sits on the couch without a space between him and Mike. Will humors his urges and lets their knees touch. He can practically see the steam rising from the contact.

“You’re right. We got unfinished business.” Mouth dry, Will reignites their previous conversation. The hard pill Mike was willing to swallow while Will stubbornly refused to stomach it.

Mike’s eyes are glued to their touching knees. He has a heated, aroused sensation settling in the pit of his belly which is weird because he’s having this hormonal reaction to his own body part that he’s seen a bajillion times over and never spared a second thought. Mike’s in Will’s body, getting turned on by his own body. He wonders if a smidgen of that is because he knows for certain Will’s attracted to him in more ways than one, and because Mike himself, is hyper-aware of how physically close they are, when before they were fearfully flirting with the possibility of going beyond small talk.

“I don’t actually want to get over you.” Will confides, rubbing his temple.

“Really?!” That enraptured Mike tenfold and he latches his eyes onto Will, staring lower to fixedly look at lips.

“I played with the idea. Tried to be realistic, but I couldn't do it. No matter how much I hype myself up, I still had childish optimism that we could be together. That you could be mine and make me yours.” Will subconsciously copies Mike, also making time to gape at lips amid speaking.

Mike beams, liking the idea of belonging to Will and Will to him. “See we're a match made in heaven cuz I’m so into you.”

“No, shit?” Will giggles charmingly at Mike's eagerness. Swiftly after, his smile drops to a thin solemn line and his eyes harden. The softness Will brings to Mike’s features is eviscerated. Returning to how Mike normally looks, stoic. “I get what you meant that day. At Lover’s Lake. I get where you’re coming from now. I shouldn’t have gotten so pissy at you for not telling me why El and you broke up. Admitting you like a boy is scary. Admitting you like a boy, to that very boy’s face, is scarier. And admitting to that very boy, who is your ex’s brother, is just a whole different can of worms altogether.”

Will wouldn’t know what to do if he had to live Mike’s struggles, failing to keep the peace merely for it all to end regardless.

“I really was gonna tell you that night, Will.” Mike murmurs, repentant.

“S’okay.”

Mike scowls. “No, it isn’t. So much time's been wasted from me dicking around, finding myself. Being a bad friend and boyfriend.”

Will pinches his wrist and crosses his ankles. “It is okay. Just… Tell me why you kept postponing it when you knew I’m gay? There’s a 50% chance of success for you confessing to a known gay guy, over me confessing to a guy I thought was 100% straight.”

“Um, it’s kinda sad and pitiful.” Mike chuckles sheepishly.

“Lucky you, that’s my type. Lay it on me.” Will smirks.

“I didn’t think I had a shot. Just cuz you’re gay doesn’t mean you don’t have standards, ideals, criteria. And the few times we were hanging out with the party, it didn’t seem like you had the hots for me, so…”

“That… Makes sense to me. Guess from your perspective, it did look like I was head over heels for Lucas. Haha.” Will laughs.

Mike mocks the laughter, piggybacking off Will's energy. “Haha. Just like how from your end it looked like I was so gone for El. God, it must’ve been excruciating watching me date her.”

“I survived.” Will shrugs at the shared misunderstandings and pettiness. “Was super jealous, though.”

“You handle it better than me. I was such a bastard to Lucas and you guys weren’t even a thing.” Mike blanches.

“You better make it up to him.” Will scolds half-heartedly.

Mike salutes. “On it.”

There's a pregnant pause. No sense of urgency to fill the void with mindless chatter. Every sentence spoken is chosen carefully, thoughts marinated until ready to be served.

“You know you’re not a mistake to me? I can’t picture my life without you.” Mike just had to get that off his chest. 

He’s so used to being hard on himself, being unkind, and it’s a bucket of ice water falling on him for Mike to see how much he doesn’t actually agree with his perception after hearing Will talk down on his own self.

Will's mouth is like a fish, opening and closing, no words bubbling out. He tries to say something. He can't with how quick Mike grips his shoulder and starts flapping his gums.

“Lemme finish! I’m serious here. I… I don’t feel wrong for being in love with you. A lot of things, a lot of people, make me feel like shit, but knowing that I’m good enough for you to want as is. Just as I am. Man, does that sure boost a guy’s self-esteem at warp speed.”

He’s never done this. Let someone in. Not his parents, or his sisters, or the rest of the party. Hell, Mike didn’t even let Eddie in and Eddie is a godsend for a wretch like him. The only person that Mike told his doubts, his uncertainties, and afflictions to was Will. And with each confession, Will remained by him, no judgment (unless of course it was to give solid advice). 

“Mike, look at me.” Will says when Mike pretends that his shoelace is much more interesting than it is.

“Yea—” 

Mike’s cut off when he feels his own large calloused hands cup the sides of his face— Will’s face —and his mouth— Will’s mouth —is silenced.

Will’s kissing Mike! He’s kissing Mike, and it’s not only their first time, it’s also the first experience ever that Mike can describe what his own lips taste like with graphic descriptions. 

Zeal and devotion, that’s what Will has, going full throttle, but he’s still a novice to kissing. Tremendous in Mike’s opinion. He’s happy to teach, feeling honored that he could get a reticent Will to make the first move. Fired up, Mike pushes Will off him and further onto the couch. He climbs over him, ignoring that he’s staring down at his own mantling pink lips, and flushed freckled cheeks, and blown out pupils. 

This position almost resembles the one they literally fell into at the Hawkins High library. That was sinless, misinterpreted to be more than it was. This, right here and now, is scandalous. Sultry. Seducing.

Will can just look above at his own face coated in lust, veneration, and a steadfastness that screams Mike Wheeler through and through. He vaguely thinks about how it feels for his own body to be pinning him to the cushions, the pressure of his body’s legs pressing into Mike’s thighs. He’s feeling tingly and gung-ho all over from head to toes. Will has no time to do anything, Mike diving in for the kill. His eyes enlarge, a moan from the depths within escapes, the warmth of their carnal lips smashing together magnetic.

Nothing and everything exists all at once each time they connect. Underneath them, the couch vanishes and they are floating in the air, no gravity, like they’re submerged in the lakewater of that time they went swimming in their underwear, or are astronauts harmoniously drifting through space with no burdensome weight on their backs to carry. Will can’t breathe, nor does he want to. He’s addicted to the burning in his lungs and the noises stuck in his throat if not eaten by Mike’s gluttonous appetite.

He embraces Mike possessively, lounging pliantly and turning into a puddle as he’s peppered by his own lips with Mike’s tempestuous smooches branding the skin just shy of a hickey. Will keeps his eyes shut, not thinking of how he’s essentially making out with himself in a convoluted and twisted expression of self-love. All he can feel, can distinguish, is that he is at the whim of Mike’s deliberate ministrations.

Will’s not foaming at the mouth to find out exactly when Mike started to yearn for him in this way. He’d rather focus on basking in the moment that he chalked up as make-believe. Hell, Will himself can’t pinpoint when his attraction to Mike formed. One day, randomly, he scrutinized Mike when playing a campaign and mentally categorized him as crush-worthy. Plain as that. 

There’s many things Will doesn’t know the why or how. Fine by him. He likes mysteries. He’ll manage if this is the end result. Mike’s on the same wavelength and also likes mysteries. He knows one thing for certain about this mystery he’s brooded over daily deep in his thoughts. This is the best kiss he’s ever had! Put that down as his testimony! 

Mike’s a bit frustrated. 

Okay, he’s a lot frustrated. 

There’s so much he aspires to do for Will and to Will zooming in his brain, but alas, he’s not in his body. He’s just in a vessel. This isn’t the physically primal contact he’d hoped for when he realized that his wet dreams kept showing an overly sensualized Will, with a beseeching stance telling him to come hither, that’d have Mike shoot straight up in bed needing to wash his sheets and boxers from the release. 

All Mike can think about is that if it feels this phenomenal to be with Will now, when they’re in each other’s shoes/bodies/places, Mike can only picture what it’d be like when they returned to normal.

Entangled limbs forcibly separate when the basement door’s hinges squeak unexpectedly and the padded sprinting of Holly Wheeler barrels down.

“Dinner time!” Holly naively brakes herself at the bottom of the step, walking into Mike and Will haphazardly adjusting their clothes on opposite ends of the couch.

“C-Coming!” Will, posing as Mike, replies. He grabs a pillow to cover his lap, rectifying the flow of blood that darted to his pants by ruminating on turn offs. He doesn’t need Mike’s little sister to be scarred this young.

Holly makes a curious face, tilting her head at her brother’s frazzled appearance. “Why’s your face all red?” She looks to what she perceives to be Will, but it’s really Mike. “Are you guys roughhousing? That’s such a boy thing to do! Ew!”

Mike snickers at Holly’s assessment, nerves uninhibited now that he just kissed the life out of a boy he thought he’d never be able to have. He decides to save an inexperienced-at-being-a-big-brother Will from a clumsy explanation as to why they’re panting like they ran a marathon.

“Yup! We wrestled!” Mike squeaks.

“Oh. Okay!” Holly gives it zero seconds in her head and runs back upstairs.

The duo let out a breath of relief. Will’s secure enough to remove the pillow from his lap. He’s not sure if Mike’s body is that sensitive, responsive, or if it’s him that reacted to Mike’s dazzling touches that had the other head stirring in his pants. It’ll be obvious with their swollen lips, messy hair, and wrinkled clothes that they were up to something definitely naughtier than horseplay. 

Fortunately, Ted and Karen operate on a Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy, never missing an opportunity to overlook a topic that’d have Holly spouting questions a mile a minute while Nancy glares daggers at the Wheeler parents censoring whatever is a difference of values at the table. 

“We better get up there.” Will’s foot briefly hits the bottom step when Mike grabs him by the belt loop of his pants, once again pulling Will into his personal space, chests colliding, their noses nudging and lips caressing in an almost kiss. 

“We should date.” Mike blunders, making his intentions crystal clear. Will’s never cared to know what he’d look like worked up, but seeing his own face look insatiable under Mike’s influence has his brain short-circuiting. “I know it might be pointless. We’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the country. We could get shunned or even worse. It’s a risk and I’m okay with it. Cuz it’s with you.”

Will is still awestruck, gradually comprehending what Mike just said, never having been asked out before by a guy. These aren't the shallow girls thinking it's a waste that he's gay, or the closeted guys that want to use him as an experiment. This is Mike, who is sincere and safe.

“You want us to be… Boyfriends?”

Mike nods, staring Will in the eyes. “Yeah, boyfriends has a cool ring to it. Don’t ya think? I mean, I don’t want to leave what we just did down here, on the couch. I want this all the time.”

“How can we date if we’re in the wrong bodies?!” Will never planned for any of this. He can’t fathom dating his first ever boyfriend while being in his boyfriend’s body.

“Cross that bridge later. This is the perfect time to do it, anyway.” Mike lids his eyes, pressing a delicate kiss to Will’s mouth to sway him. It’s working. “You’re going to college early, whether we switch back or not. We need to make the most of what we got while we’re finally on the same page. So… Date me?”

Will sharply inhales at Mike staring up at him with his own hazel eyes, all doe-like, all puppy dog-like. Pure temptation.

“You’re crazy.”

“That a problem for you?” Mike grins.

“No. No, it’s my cup of tea actually.” Will scrubs his face, blushing. Mike’s always had this power over him, to convince him to trust, and my how things don’t change.

“Guess that makes you crazy, too.”

Together.

They kiss one last time before facing the music upstairs.

Day three. That’s how long since they’ve swapped bodies, and went head-to-head with trials and tribulations.

Yesterday, Mike endured being a lifeguard, and two days ago he almost went no contact with his now reconnected best friend turned boyfriend due to pent-up emotions exploding. 

Today, after clocking out from a grueling shift, and a night where none of the party reported any shooting stars in the sky when on watch duty, is the day Mike and Will are to move in together. 

Temporarily.

On day three Mike and Will are dating and rooming together in Hopper’s cabin. The cabin is as Will remembered. Old and forgotten except for the few times the sheriff brought his family there for the annual upkeep after a Hawkins winter snowstorm.

“Good luck.” Their friends tell them, bailing immediately on helping tidy up the place.

Mike sighs, getting a broom while Will reluctantly unpacks their groceries to fill the empty fridge. It’s not that bad. Cobwebs, dust, centipedes and spiders are easy to get rid of. They air out everything by opening the windows for circulation. The electricity’s good to go, prompting Mike to set up the TV, manhandling the bunny ear antenna. Will lets the shower and faucets run until the rusty brown water comes out see-through clear. Their muscles ache from the extra labor to make the cabin suitable for living short-term, ghosts of their 9-5’s putting a toll on them.

When they’re halfway done, Will instantly departs to the bedroom and passes out. More tired than hungry. Mike joins him on the singular mattress. He’s never shared a bed with anyone before that wasn’t his sisters. On family vacations, when visiting Nana or staying in a hotel, Mike would share with Nancy and fight over the covers in a typical sibling spat, then when Holly was born, he’d play up the mature big brother role in keeping away the closet and under the bed monsters with his nightly inspections so she’d sleep with no nightmares.

It’s not that Will’s body is that small or short. He’s of average weight and height. Compared to Mike’s stature that takes up so much space on the mattress, they have no choice but to snuggle up to fit. Mike nestles between the cool wall and heat magnet Will. They’re only options are to sleep on their sides; either facing each other, be back to back, or spoon. Regardless of what they’d do, it’s guaranteed they’ll be cemented together in some type of way with their legs enmeshed. 

On the nightstand are a pair of radios, powered by brand new batteries in case their friends spot a shooting star from any of their stationed positions. Unlike Will, Mike is a light sleeper and can run off zilch perfectly fine. He doesn’t need coffee to get through the day, naturally wired to be an early bird, balancing Will’s professional Sleeping Beauty and Master Napper status. 

Funny, during sleepovers Will used to be the first person to knock out, then it became untrue as they got older and Will silently stressed out, suffering from his self-deprecating thoughts, only able to get his recommended 8 hours when totally drained. Now, Mike knows Will was worried about being gay, feeling unsafe and abandoned even when surrounded by loyal loved ones. Will must feel safe now, or at least, safe with Mike near as he’s snoozing peacefully, none of his night owl traits coming forth. 

They went to sleep facing each other. Being back to back felt too coldhearted and Mike had to gather up courage for spooning or he’d spontaneously combust at being held by Will from behind all night long. Mike instead enjoys the front row view to his laxed unconscious face, Will still making Mike’s gangly build look unnecessarily adorable and appealing. Mike takes comfort in the fact that most likely, through Will’s eyes, he sees Mike as cute as a button.

When it’s time to wake up, the alarm going off for them to start their day, Mike and Will find themselves in each other’s arms cuddling tight and drooling on each other.

“I’ll drop you off at the pool.” Will yawns, rubbing the crusties from his eyes. El’s excited to have the car she shares with Will all to herself. Mike’s station wagon is going to be their main mode of transportation from in town to the cabin. 

Will’s nose is treated to the delicious scent of coffee and breakfast cooking. Mike is in the kitchen at the stovetop, frying pan filled with melted butter and pancake batter.

“Made the coffee the way you like. Hopper’s good for something, yeah?” Mike waits for the bubbles in the batter to form before flipping the chocolate chip pancake to the other side, golden brown.

“Don’t be mean. He’s not so bad.” Will smiles, beelining to the coffee mug and having his insides heat up against the morning chill. The cabin isn’t insulated that well.

“Took my shower. It’s all yours.” Mike jerks his head across the way, eyes never leaving the stove. Will appraises how hot Mike makes Will’s body sporting an apron and wielding a spatula.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in.”

“How could I not when you kept whining ‘5 more minutes’ ?” Mike mimics and Will rolls his eyes, laughing all the way to the bathroom.

As Will showers, Mike finishes cooking and plating the table. He takes stock in how decent they cleaned up (by their standards) the place in record time. There’s a couch with a blanket, a recliner propped ahead of the TV, and a stack of board games El swore were better than complicated D&D. 

Mike chews on his pancake and fantasizes about a bigger place, apartment or house maybe, where he and Will can decorate with all their nerdy special interests, calling it their own and making it a home they never had in Hawkins. Camping out in the cabin is a test run, Mike thinks, of how it’s going to be if he and Will chose to be domestic in the isolated woods or in a more tolerable setting where it wouldn’t be dire that they hold hands and hug for a moment too long.

“What’cha thinking about?” Will slides into the chair in front of Mike, scooting the plate of pancakes closer.

Mike doesn’t answer right away. He looks at how unkempt Will’s made his still drying curly hair, towel dangling off his shoulders.

“Thinking how I really should’ve taught you how to style my precious curls.” Mike leans over, fluffing out the inky dark tresses that Will hasn’t managed to rip out with a brush.

Will leans forward, letting Mike pet him like a dog, eyes slightly fluttering at how nice that feels. “Show me, then. Show me everything about you.”

“Only if you do the same for me.”

“Deal.”

It becomes routine.

Outside in Hawkins with their friends, Mike and Will on paper seem like really good pals rekindling their fragmented bond when not at the job. Inside in the cabin, Mike and Will stoke the flames of their budding relationship dawdling in the honeymoon phase. 

They haven’t told the party yet. Not that they planned on it being a secret, it’s just all so new. Will’s been gay and single for years. Mike’s been deep in the closet, sorting his repression, and unfairly, unawarely leading El on. Lucas and Max have an inkling, though they don’t have anything concrete to base it on and they won’t pry. El is still wary of Mike’s intentions to not drag Will into a rabbit hole of stupidity and Dustin’s been busy conversing with Suzie through Cerebro on calculating when a shooting star will strike.

What has Mike and Will truly hesitant in coming out to the group as boyfriends isn’t just the sticky switcheroo circumstance that should be their top priority. It’s that both Mike and Will’s sets of parents know the nature of their relationship without any exchange of words. They know a drastic turning point of events has occurred between their sons to go from seldomly hanging out all of high school to buddy-buddy at summer’s inception. 

Mike and Will thought they covered their bases, thought they were being smart by claiming to sleep over each other’s houses for the next few weeks when they’d really be at the cabin. Joyce and Hopper minded their business, Hopper biting his tongue on Mike cozying up to Will and Joyce telling them to have fun while they can before it’s back to the schoolbooks. Karen is a more progressive housewife than she lets on, quietly handing Will (who she thinks is her son Mike) a box of condoms to “be safe”. Something she never did when El was Mike’s girlfriend. Ted, crass as always, offers unsolicited advice for his son to get it out of his system while he’s still young so he can finally grow up and be a functional adult.  

The initial days and nights in the cabin soon become a routine for Mike and Will. They cook together, watch TV together, and lay snug together in bed or on the couch together all within a week. In the crisp mornings they go to their summer jobs and in the humid nights they stargaze on the porch/hood of the station wagon/on a spread blanket on the ground, hoping to come across a shooting star that'll grant their wish. Amid all that, they trade kisses and strengthen intimately in the shadows of the woods. 

Playing house. Shacking up. Living in sin if the residents of Hawkins ever knew. 

Becoming less concerned with switching back, or weathering college, or contesting life. In their bubble they can be whoever, do whatever, as they please freely.

Dating makes them more unapologetic and more exploratory. Mike and Will are not as shy when showering now, giving in to temptation to trace each other's borrowed body, basking in the goosebumps and shivers and aftershocks.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine.” Will would casually mention, stroking the many noticeable freckles on Mike's skin, like the line he’s found from wrist to shoulder when rubbing sunscreen on Mike, prepping him for lifeguard duty.

“I didn't know you had a scar here.” Mike would be in the middle of getting undressed for bed, shedding the fast food chain restaurant uniform, palming Will's lower torso and thumbing the raised skin, beckoning for Will to nuzzle under the sheets. 

Eventually, after a week and some days of keeping it under wraps, they are comfortable with telling the party. As if it's their own dorm room or rented living quarters, Mike and Will invite them to the cabin for drinks and a round of board games. The fun kinds like Monopoly or Scrabble, not D&D, much to Max and El’s pleasure.

They're fine with skipping a night of stargazing, considering it's cloudy with a high chance of rain tonight. Sick of eating leftover pizza and ice cream from half of the party's food court mall job, they combine their paychecks for Enzo's takeout.

It's when Lucas and Dustin are having a contest on who can stuff the most marshmallows in their mouths, with Max the judge, and El the cheering audience, that Mike and Will jump in with both feet.

“Me and Will are dating!” Mike yells while Will holds his hand, standing with him.

Lucas and Dustin start choking on the marshmallows instantly. Max and El hurry to do the Heimlich maneuver, saving them from turning blue. Mike and Will look worried, thinking their news almost killed their friends, but luckily Lucas and Dustin are able to breathe again.

“Y-Y-You gotta be kidding me?” Dustin stutters and pants. He points at them. “How does that even work?”

“Hey! Don't be a jerk.” Max hisses, easily accepting, her hunch proven correct that the air was charged between Mike and Will ever since she moved to Hawkins from California, and saw them interact.

Dustin looks cluelessly at her and when realization hits him, he explains, defensive and penitent. “Oh. I don't care about them being dudes, if that's what you mean. Y’know, in this biology book I read once, apparently some mammals have same sex attraction. Science isn’t archaic like the rest of the population, and since I’m a man of science, but I digress. What I'm talking about is how one can do, like, romantic stuff when staring at your own face.”

“Isn't it just like practicing how to kiss using a mirror?” Lucas rubs his chin in askance and Max looks at him teasingly.

“No way! Did you makeout with your mirror?”

“Pretend you didn't hear that, MadMax.”

“You’re a couple!” El's hollers in disbelief and everyone shuts up, feeling the tension encompassing.

She stands there on the floor, cheeks ruby, and eyes sparking. El marches towards an immobile Mike and Will, anxious about what she’d do when looking them both in the eye. It has to be colossal, finding out your ex and brother are together. That they found unconventional love in such an unconventional way. She’d be the most affected by their relationship out of their friends. She’d have a right to denounce them in their opinion. 

Mike gulps and Will has a contrite expression. El wastes no time, grabbing solely Mike by the wrist and yanking him outside to the porch for a talking to. None of the others dare to follow the exes. Will stays where he was at. Not getting the impression that El would be cruel or temperamental. Trusting that Mike and El would hash it out, this unspoken beef between them.

“El—” Mike begins when they're alone and El shushes him.

“I'm happy for you guys. I really am.” She pockets her hands and leans against the porch railing. “Might not seem like it, but I’m not that mad at us breaking up. Just wish you would've told me, been honest enough to say that you're in love with Will after I had asked… Who you were thinking about when you're with me.”

Mike is painted in indignity, heart clenching. “I'm sorry. I was scared.” He looks at her with exposed eyes and a faint voice. “To be fair, I do like you. I really tried to make it work, but I just couldn’t.”

“I get it.” El doesn’t need to hear the rest. “After what Will went through. I get it.”

It haunts her. How complete strangers could have such an abyss of hatred for Will off of his sexuality. She longs to punch whoever started that rumor in the face.

“Listen, I know we're not on the best of terms, but I love Will. I don’t want to be stupid with him. Just crazy cuz I’m crazy for him.” Mike doesn’t need it, but he’d appreciate it if he got her blessing.

El looks more like Hopper, maybe a tad like Jonathan too, how she squares her shoulders to shoot Mike a penetrative stare. “Then you better treat him right. I've got my eye on you.”

She feels like such a hypocrite. El wanted Mike to be truthful with her, but she lied too. She lied to both Mike and Will. When El and Mike broke up, it wasn’t just because he couldn’t love her. She found out later on, after Mike and her had another juvenile fight, after recognizing the pattern of Mike and Will becoming attached at the hip every time there was a blowout between the couple—El saw the looks between and knew then she had to dump Mike. She finally picked up on what’s hidden in plain sight, that Will’s in love with Mike.  

“I mean it. Be a better boyfriend.” El warns.

Mike brightens up and vows to her that he will. He decides to test how far his luck can go. “Probably not my place to ask, but can we bury the hatchet and be cool? Like, be friends? I hate that we're known as the bitter exes to the rest of the party. I don’t feel that way towards you.”

“Cheater.” El pouts and lightly pushes him on the shoulder. “You can't ask me that while looking like Will. Makes me go soft on you.”

“So, is that a yes?” He’s impish and El rolls her eyes, corners of her mouth smiling.

“Take it slow, but yeah, we can go back to being friends. It’s a probation period. One strike and that’s it.”

Hopper’s rubbing off on her nicely. They shake on it. When they return inside, they find Will getting accosted by Dustin and Lucas at either side, who jokingly criticize Will's taste in men as they deem themselves much more compatible than Mike. Max is having a fit, laughing bowled over at Will's flustered face at the sportive flirting.

“Just saying, I've got muscles and can flex my pecs!” Lucas demonstrates, both Max and Will locked in on his chest like dogs begging for meat.

“Forget about bronze. It's all about brains.” Dustin hip checks Lucas out of the way to remind Will of all the times he tutored him for science and math. “I'm practically your hero. Isn’t that sexy?”

“Are you guys seriously trying to steal Will from me behind my back?” Mike is faux mad, scurrying to block his boyfriend from their mutual friends’ badgering.

And it's blithesome. They're all ribbing each other. They're friends are going along with it. Mike and Will being a couple is less strange than the supernatural body switching. Who cares if they like men.

Despite their bliss, the clock is ticking. Next week, Will is supposed to be driving to the West Coast with a car full of junk, moving into the dorms prematurely.

And he and Mike are nowhere near changing back to normal.

Chapter Text

They've come to terms with it. That they might never change back ever. Mike and Will have been watching the sky religiously, the twinkling stars faithfully staying still. 

Lucas and Max are losing morale. Dustin isn't giving up, going so far as to contact Suzie. El has sought to make her own wish for them to be cured; throwing coins in a well or fountain, eating chicken breasts to crack the wishbone, plotting to hijack a child’s birthday party just to blow out the cake’s candles.

“Maybe I can apply for a gap year. If we don't switch in time.” Will suggests, attempting to sketch and no matter how much effort he puts into it, he can’t make Mike’s hands draw in the way he’d desire. There’s simply no visual artistic skill in Mike’s fingers. They’re meant for writing only.

“We're gonna be fine.” Mike is calmer, performing his own trial run, amazed that with Will’s hands he can draw gorgeously yet when it comes to descriptively writing out a scene, his brain lacks the words, unable to produce them. His extensive vocabulary is foggy.

“I dunno. We might fail each other's classes and get kicked out of our dream schools.” Will is spiraling, paranoid. He’s never acted so much like a Byers until today.

Mike discards Will’s sketchpad and tosses it to the other side of the cabin. “Relax. Read a comic. Listen to that mixtape Jonathan made. Wait a minute! Do you still have that joint he gave you?”

Within an hour the cabin is hazy. Purple Palm Tree Delight in their sinus and their lungs stinking up the air and their clothes. They lay on the floor, on top of the circle rug, staring up at the ceiling with glassy red eyes and husky voices. Will is mellowed out. Mike matches his mood, smoking the last remnants of the joint and rolling over to straddle Will’s lap.

He's gotten used to it. Used to hearing his voice come out through Will's lips and seeing the world from a new perspective. Colors are more dynamic and it’s par for the course that Will can paint unseen masterpieces if this is his 24/7 vision. 

“Being you isn’t so bad.” Mike endears, slanting forward to steal a kiss. 

Automatically, Will parts his lips and lets Mike glide his tongue in the cavern. Tastes like Reese’s Pieces and weed. He brackets Will, kissing and nibbling. They have extra energy. This is a rare occasion when their days off coincide. Will brushes his hands on Mike’s sides, up and down, from the top of the ribs to the hips. Getting more adventurous with swapping spit, Mike threads his own curls and tugs. He learned the hard way that he likes his hair played with when Karen took him to a salon and it made him feel things that made him a fool in front of the hair stylist.

He guesses, with Will in his body, that those urges can be felt too. And they are. Will widely opens his eyes at the hair tug, scalp prickling, and it must’ve been intense because he rolls Mike over. A first in their relationship, Will pinning Mike, throwing caution to the wind, and biting the neck, teeth gently gnashing.  

Tonight’s a scorcher. The cabin’s hot. What’s growing between Mike and Will is even hotter.

“We should do it.” Mike’s strained voice sobers Will’s brisk animalistic dalliance.

He stops biting, awe in his eyes. “Do what?”

“You know.” Mike takes Will’s carelessness as a sign to reposition back on top, rolling them over.

“For real?” Will swallows.

“Yeah. I've always wanted to. T-That’s if you want to, too!”

“Won't it be weird? We've never gone that far beyond kissing. Plus we're high as kites.” Will thinks this is the type of behavior one does clear headed.

“We can try.”

“And if it doesn't pan out?”

“Then we just try again later. I don't mind looking like an idiot with you.” And Mike means that on his life and his love of all things nerdy.

Will giggles at the sincerity. “Me, too.”

They resume kissing. Something safe. Something they know how to do. Slowly but surely, Mike finds the courage to start undressing. Will follows his lead. They’re shirtless and meticulously touching shoulders, arms, chests. Will can feel how hard his own heart is pumping, hand splayed. From the vibrations under his palm, Will can tell that Mike’s nervous, and it soothes him that they’re in the same boat. They’re winging it and it’s idyllic. 

Until it isn’t.

Mike and Will were born naturally awkward. Adding sex to the mix just quadrupled that. 

Figuring out how to go farther is difficult when the munchies are kicking in. That and their weed delirious minds have them speaking philosophically to each other on if this would even be considered sex or masturbation since they’re in switched bodies. The query has Mike and Will cease all lustful movement, throwing in the towel as they overthink that spoils their good time.

“—zzzt…. Earth to Mike and Will. Over!”

Mike sluggishly blinks. Will looks around having heard a voice that suspiciously sounds like Dustin.

“—zzzt… Helloooo! Earth to Mike and Will. Over!”

Mike sits up. He climbs off Will, propping himself up using the couch. When he’s at his feet, Mike jogs to the night table in the bedroom for the buzzing radio.

“This is Mike. Over.”

“Fucking finally! Dude. It’s happening! There’s a shooting star! Get your asses in gear. Over and out!”

Damn, they lost track of time smoking that they forgot the sun had set ages ago. Mike and Will trip outside, jumping off the cabin’s porch to frantically look above. Not a cloud is in the sky. The moon is hanging. There are stars that twinkle and shine. None of them soar across the horizon like a flare gun going off.

Mike looks East to West. Will looks South to North. Nothing. They must have missed it, not hearing Dustin’s message in time. They foolishly missed their shot. Worst of all, they don’t know what to tell Dustin or the others about their flub after they spent weeks plotting.

Dejected, Will holds Mike’s hand. “It’s okay. Like you said. We’re gonna be fine.”

Mike squeezes his hand back and looks at him forlorn. “I wish you could go to college like you planned and become a bigtime artist.”

“And I wished you could go to the college like you planned and become a bigtime writer.” Will wistfully says.

They promise, pinky promise, to be there for each other come what may in these bodies of theirs. They have no idea, however, while re-entering the cabin that another shooting stars passes overby. A rarity yet still feasible. This shooting star appears soaring in the opposite direction, burning in a blaze before dying out.

They go outside, but have missed it. Dejected, they hold hands and promise to be there for each other. Just then, above, another shooting star appears in the opposite direction when they don't notice.

It’s tricky for them to get up the next morning. They don’t want to tell the party they failed. Mike wakes up before Will, like usual, and is ready to skirt around to get breakfast started. He is going to push himself off the wall, proceeding to scoot downward to the foot of the bed, or scale over Will’s sleeping figure. He realizes, though, that he isn’t in between the wall and Will.

Mike is between Will and nothing, laying on the edge of the bed. He furrows his brows, looking down and seeing a scruff of syrupy brown hair. Straight hair. Not curls. Mike is holding onto a smaller body, a recognizable one. He halfway sits up and is pleasantly surprised to see Will Byers in the flesh.

He looks to his own hands and dashes from the room to a mirror where Mike is presented with his own reflection. He doesn’t know how. Doesn’t care. It’s a miracle! They’re back to normal!

“Will wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

“5 more minutes.”

“Upupup!” Mike chants, grabbing Will by the arms and pulling him.

Will dazedly crawls to the edge of the mattress, feet planted on the floor as he sits up. He can barely apprehend what’s happening when he sees that Mike is standing before him, looking down happily.

“Wait.” Will yawns and his voice is gruff. Oh. It’s his voice that comes out. Not Mike’s. “Wait!”

“I know! We’re back!” Mike cheers and gesticulates his lanky arms.

Will laughs, touching his own torso and face, tears of joy wetting his eyes. He wraps his arms around Mike’s waist, hugging him tautly, and Mike leans over until he thrusts Will backwards on the mattress.

“Wha…?” Will bewilderedly gawks at Mike’s crafty grin.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you normally. Make up for lost time.”

“But we have work.”

“Screw work.” Mike drops his head lower to whisper directly into Will’s ear that leaves him trembling. “And screw me instead.”

When they’re unreported no-shows at lifeguard duty and at Scoops Ahoy/Surfer Boy Pizza, the party race to the cabin wondering what went wrong with the shooting star last night. Before they could barge in, the sounds of their car engines alerted Mike and Will to get dressed, or get caught in their birthday suits.

“Our wishes were granted!” Mike, whose hair is disheveled and jeans unzipped, says out of breath.

Will bashfully peeks out the door wearing Mike’s jacket and sporting a hickey dotted neck. He waves. “Hi.”

Ignoring what they walked into, Max trying her best to not crack jokes at their expense after they saw her walk of shame from Lucas’s, the party rejoiced in their teamwork.

Still, Mike and Will have a long road ahead of them being a long distance couple, but they know they can handle it. 

1993

Once, there was a time where Mike abhorred the rain, claiming it to be an enemy of all children that longed to play outside, even going so far to compromise with stomping in muddy puddles and getting drenched. He knew rain was needed, what it's purpose was, however in his kid brain the inclement weather only served as a barrier to be with Will for their moms wouldn't let them bike to each other's houses.

Mike adores the rain, at the young age of 22, sitting in a quaint diner while he writes furiously in his journal. He's at the window, side-eying with interest the pedestrians walking with vibrant umbrellas and raincoats, avoiding the curb so as not to get splashed on by a passing car or bus. Instead of having a coffee, he's ordered a hot chocolate with whip cream and checks his watch every so often for his meeting.

This is the one time Mike isn't running late.

“Refill?” A waitress taps the tabletop to get his attention.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

She shuffles with his empty mug, dodging other waiters tending to customers scattered in all corners. Mike delves into his writings, working on a rough draft of a children's book based on his old toy, Rory the Dinosaur. After he graduated college, he got a decent job editing literary pieces from networking well with his professors. It pays the bills and he's able to fund publishing his own book independently whenever he stops being a perfectionist about it.

The diner door opens up. A familiar face appears. Mike hasn't looked up from his journal, not even when the waitress returns with his refill. 

“Yo.”

Mike stops and frees his eyes from his draft. He blinks and breaks into a toothy smile. Will Byers in all his glory is here and slides into the seat across from him, a bit damp from the rain.

“You're late.” Mike sneakily surveys the distracted customers and waiters, hooking his ankle around Will's underneath the table.

“Meant to come here sooner. Just got in town.” Will grabs Mike's refilled hot chocolate and sips from it.

“Which hotel are you staying at?” Mike’s got to phone his roommate of the month that he won’t be home tonight.

“Motel. Cheap, but entertaining. That girl owns it. The one Dustin knows through Steve. Robin Buckley.” Will mentions, taking another sip of Mike’s drink.

“I know of her. Motel? Off 75th?”

“Uh-huh. They don't poke their nose where it doesn't belong so…”

“I'll drop by. If you don't mind.” Mike looks back to his journal, then peers up through his long lashes.

Will finishes Mike’s hot chocolate, not caring if the drink could scald his tongue. “I don't.”

Mike’s lips split into a grin. “That's why you're my favorite ex.”

Four years have gone by since they had the uncanny experience of trading places, being in each other's bodies. It's a summer they'll never forget. Even if they tried, they're friends are their witnesses to the drama. What started out as Mike attempting to confess his truth and Will attempting to flee from it all, became a journey of how they came back together as a team, best friends, and holder's of their hearts.

Will left for college early and despite both absolutely loving each other more than anything on Earth, the distance proved to be too much. It was inevitable that they broke up to focus on their studies, though they remained strong friends, motivating each other through weekly phone calls and sending letters monthly. Holiday breaks were joyous with Mike saving up to buy a ticket and visit Will, buying a room for them both at a hotel near his campus. For the summers, Will would visit Mike and crash at Jonathan's apartment, given that his brother was living in the same city as his ex-boyfriend. 

Those times they did make time to physically see each other, old habits die hard, and the line between friendship and ex blurred, with Mike and Will becoming friends with benefits for the brief visits they shared throughout the years.

When they weren't together, they dated around at school. Nothing serious. No one could compare to Mike whenever Will ended a frivolous fling. No one could compare to Will whenever Mike got dumped for being in consistent contact with his first ever boyfriend. They'd never ask each other about the replacements. 

Mike just knew that in the end, when life threw them a bone and they entered the workforce with a degree they fought tooth and nail for, that Will would be his once more and he'd stay his.

Same for Will. He tamed his jealousies knowing that Mike would always update in his letters or phone calls how disappointed he'd been that even the prettiest, kindest, charismatic soul paled to Will's personality and prowess.

Good to know that even as exes, they're friendship survives the test of time constantly.

“I'm actually your favorite person.” Will corrects, saucily.

“That you are. And me?”

“My favorite person, too.” Will grins at Mike's smug face. He loves that face.

Mike folds his arms on the table. “Let's talk business then. I'm writing a book. I need an illustrator I know is good for it.”

“Oh! You're about to become bigtime?” Memories of their Lover's Lake excursion before it turned sour looms over them like a hurricane turned drizzle.

“Can't become bigtime without you.” Mike assures, staring longingly in Will’s eyes.

“Quick question. Is this meeting strictly business or is it personal too?” Will has a hunch this could be it. That their wrist watches were finally synchronizing and they’d be on time for once.

Mike taps a finger on the table. “Was gonna wait for a more romantic setting, but I'll cut to the chase. Be mine again?”

Will scoffs, as if Mike didn’t already know the answer. “I was always yours.”

“Fantastic cuz when I saw you all I thought about was what our future would be like with a cat, a dog, and kids.” Mike rattles, his business persona peeled off to reveal his hyperactive daydreamer side.

“Kids?” Will can definitely see Mike as the doting dad type. “Jesus, Mike we're fresh outta college. Who knew you'd be such a family guy?”

“You bring out a lot in me. What can I say?” Mike gives Will a very purposeful onceover.

They chat for hours about it all. Creating Rory the Dinosaur into the next big thing. Hunting for a place to lease together. Babysitting Lucas and Max's ankle biting rugrats. Pet sitting Dustin and Suzie's parrot that Erica taught all the curse words in the book. What time should Mike drop by at Will's motel so they can graduate from exes that bang to partners that make love?

They take their conversation outside, walking in the rain with their umbrellas. Neither knowing until later, that they both carry the same picture in their wallets, of them as children.

A kindergarten photo of Mike grinning with some missing baby teeth, hugging Will tight, cheek to cheek, both uncontrollably giggling.

On the back of their photos, written in marker, the very idea they've managed to live up to: Mike and Will best friends forever.