#ill move it to ao3 soon. maybe tomrorwš«”š«”š«”š«”š«”š«”š«”
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[runs in after abandoning my blog all week and throws this on the table] HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYLI @wayward-sherlock PLEASE ACCEPT THIS FICLET AS A SYMBOL OF MY GRATITUDE TOWARDS HOW FUCKINF AWESOME U ARE ALWAYS <3 I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BTW!!! anyways i hope u enjoy 2k of college byler shenanigans :) mwah
home (is wherever you are tonight)
āOh, my God,ā Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. āThereās another reason, thereās a huge reason you're here, youāā āItās Valentineās Day, right?ā The shift in Willās expression is instantaneous. It mightāve qualified as comical, too, if Mikeās heart wasnāt about to explode.
Youād think Mike would have scrounged together a better sense of how to backpedal when heās about to do something incredibly stupid.Ā
Heās trying not to think too hard about how quickly they rattle off in his head, the worldās most inconvenient list of reminders. What is wrong with you? Weāre justā¦ not in the mood right now. Youāve been on the bench all year. Not for the first time heās gritting his teeth and wondering if it would have been entirely too much to ask for him to have acquired, by now, some intricate sixth sense for recklessness. Heās well aware that thereās no cosmic cure against the potency of his own mistakes, but heād take anything to help him generally steer clear of these specific situations.
Encounters with murderous, eldritch entities ought to do that to a person. In his āfor the record, totally impartialā opinion.
No goddamn dice, he thinks as he raises a fist to knock.
Maybe it is different, he supposes, because heās less consumed by a wave of defensive volatility and less likely to bury the truth at the first sign of scrutiny, recoil at any chance of being left behind, and more willing to stop before he gains too dangerous an amount of momentum. It still happens, obviouslyā (case in point: now, loitering in an empty corridor, bland wallpaper finding a way to make it look like itās laughing down at him, shifting his weight as he waits) heād just convinced himself he had it more under control.
Itās ridiculous anyway. This whole thing is clearly careening towards a setup for a copious amount of slip ups on his part. But, itās whatever.
Willās probably out, anyway, he considers, belatedly.
Itās Valentineās Day, āgranted, a Wednesday evening dragging by with a sluggish, hazy qualityā but a significant date all the same. Will is, Mike hedges, almost definitely out, maybe with the mystery guy in their joint history lecture, whose name Mike neglected to wheedle out of him last week. Maybe theyāre both walking home from some fucking cafĆ©, and Will would be getting cold like he does when the threat of snow looms at every waking moment, and to make matters worse, the other guy might do something sickeningly romantic like wind his scarf around Willās neck, all while Mikeās standing at his dorm door like an idiot.
Itās possible heās not very committed to the whole ābreatheā thing El suggested, the day before the sky turned blue again, the day he was most convinced it never would again.
He threads a nervous hand through the disaster-prone section of his hair, hoping to smoothen it out, as he lifts his clenched hand, setting his face in concentration and aiming to knock one more time, andā
He has to flinch back to avoid accidentally punching Will in the face with his knock. Needless to say, that would be pretty counterproductive.
Will. Standing in front of him, soft furrow between his brows, loose sweater, lips parted.
Heās beautiful.
He shoves the thought to the side. Itās not the safest one to have when Will is less than two feet in front of him.
āMike?ā
It hits him about an hour too late: Maybe itās ironic, how this holiday, composed entirely of spontaneous lovesick bullshit and cordiform chocolate boxes, doesnāt warrant him showing up at someoneās door unannounced. Not when itās already 7pm.
It isnāt that he hadnāt brought that into consideration, just that now itās not just an inkling in the back of his mind he has to ignore if he has any hope of getting ready with minimal distraction, but a real, pressing concern, andā
Willās face splits into a grin, and the thought vanishes as quick as it came.
āHey,ā Mike tries, too hastily. The longer Will stands, just blinking at him, the further Mike burrows his hands into the pockets of his jackets.
He snaps out of it fairly quickly, and the expression has melted into something pleasantly surprised. Mike can work with that. Heās done much more with much less. āUhā hi.ā
āAre you busy?ā Mike cranes a neck to peer around Willās shoulder, unsure of what heās looking for but appreciating the lack of anything all the same. āIf youāre busy, Iāll totally come back, toā fuck, maybe not tomorrow, you have thatāā
āMike.ā
āYep.ā
āIām not busy,ā he says with bright eyes, stepping back from the door to accommodate him. āIā donāt just stand there, come in, of course Iām not busy. Why, whatās up?ā
āThought maybe you were off at a candlelit dinner,ā Mike remarks, because itās easier to get out than the other thing, kicking off his shoes and trying not to think too hard about Will, the same Will in the same shadowy alcove as him, whose expression is tinged with fondness, at dinner; with warm lighting and a muted hum of chatter and someone else sitting across from him. āWith the fancy napkins.ā
āI think I wouldāve mentioned the horrors of scraping together enough money for anything like that,ā he says, and Mikeās efforts at miming cradling the aforementioned, hypothetical napkin receive a raised eyebrow. āSeriously, is something going on? If Maxāā
āNothingās happening,ā Mike tells him, passing him out and swiveling around to keep walking backwards, reversing into the couch and pretending he didnāt whack his knee as he drops onto it, picking at the edge of the nearest cushion, sprawling out as much as he can manage to. āWhich is precisely why Iām here. Well, one of the reasons.ā
Will hums, folding his arms and leaning on the back of the couch, contemplative. It has no right to be as endearing as it is. āAre there a lot of reasons?ā
āIām not allowed to visit you anymore?ā Mike jokes. āShould I have called and given you a weekās notice?ā He sits up, relishing the back and forth. āShould Iāā
āNo, youāre justā¦ I dunno.ā Will pokes his shoulder and skirts the couch, settling in the space Mike makes for him. āYou seem nervous. Like thereās something youāre not telling me.ā
Shit.
Mike lets out what may be considered as the fakest laugh heās ever mustered, darting his eyes away and plastering on a frown. He gives a half-hearted attempt at an unconvinced, hopefully somewhat assuring scoff, tugging free the crease thatās formed at the ankle of his jeans. āWhat makes you say that?ā he asks. Heād like to describe it as nonchalant. Maybe heās not as good at hiding as the boy in front of him, but heās been sidestepping the obvious for what feels like his whole life. Heās had more than enough practice.
āOh, my God,ā Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. āThereās another reason, thereās a huge reason youāre here, youāā
āItās Valentineās Day, right?ā
The shift in Willās expression is instantaneous. It mightāve qualified as comical, too, if Mikeās heart wasnāt trying its damndest not to explode. Again, counterproductive.
Willās mouth drops open a little, the line of his body stock still, and just hovers there, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes Mikeās face, and the room slips into little more than a backdrop. Mike searches his eyes for a sign thatās not there. He lifts a hand from where itās resting on a dark green cushion, weighing the implications and consequences of reaching out against the part of him that doesnāt want to consider technicalities until far, far later. The moment stretches, engraving itself into Mikeās memory.Ā
And then it shatters.
Will slumps back, clearing his throat twice in rapid succession, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in diplomacy. āI mean, youāre not wrong.ā
Mikeās throat feels unreasonably dry. āNope,ā he says, omitting any mention of the crisis heād had marching down the hall, questioning whether heād gotten the date wrong and everything would blow up in his face tenfold, and just drumming his fingers against his thigh.
āSoāā Will frowns, āwhat are you trying to say?ā
This was all going much smoother during the numerous rehearsals in his head. āItās Valentineās Day,ā he parrots, trying not to think about Willās sharp inhale too much, āand I havenāt done something on Valentineās Day for years, and youāre free, and Iām free, andā¦ā he trails off, searching for the right words. āI donāt know, I thought we could hang out.āĀ
Silence.
Itās about to backfire, he can sense it, so he rushes to add: āIn solidarity.ā
āRight,ā Will says, faraway. Mike sort of needs to run outside and scream for an untold amount of time.
āDoesnāt have to be super special,ā he says, sensing the need for a prompt change in subject. āUnless you want it to be special, but I just figuredā like, what were you gonna do before I came?ā
Will glances at him once, quizzical, but drops it.Ā
ā
Itās a short walk from the dorm to the closest Circle K, and one spent wrapped up in pleasant, amicable conversation, catching up on the various aspects of each otherās lives that arenāt entwined already, and about halfway there Will stoops to tie his shoelace. As Mike waits he considers how scary it could be if he dwells too long on how noteworthy the most mundane tasks become in Will Byersā company.
They wander inside, Mike leaning on the door to open it for Will in what he hopes is a courteous manner, and trails down an aisle beside Will, the faint beat of a trashy pop song barely covering the echo of their footsteps on the tiles.
āJust the sodas?ā Mike checks, swerving to avoid a display stacked high.
āYeah,ā Will says, nabbing a coke and gesturing to the fridge. āTake your pick.ā
Mike reaches for a 7Up.
āKnew it,ā Will says, something indecipherable in his tone. And then heās extending a hand, covering Mikeās for a split second ā long enough for an odd sensation to bloom in his ribs, but short enough for him to want to say, fuck it, and tangle their fingers, but Will teases the can out of his grip, leaving Mike with a cool smear of condensation on his palm.
āWe can pool our resources,ā Mike quips as Will deposits the cans on the counter. The cashier flicks a lazy glance at them and tells them the price. āI have a quarter.ā
āGenerous of you,ā Will observes, producing a crumpled dollar note from his back pocket.
They settle on a wall outside, and Mike kicks the solid stone intermittently with his dangling heels, sipping away as Will starts to talk. The sky runs like spilled ink above them, perforated with only a smattering of stars and a few dark clouds, but Will is bathed in the gold ring of a streetlamp. Thereās a lull in conversation, but itās fine. Mikeās content to stay here all night.
āThis was nice,ā he says, in lieu of everything else.
Will bumps against his shoulder. āYeah?ā
A tiny droplet of rain lands on Mikeās nose, and three more freckle more of his exposed skin. A low fizz kicks up, drilling into the gray landscape surrounding them, and more dots pepper on the wall.
āYeah.āĀ Will turns away. Mike scans the area around them, but theyāre alone save for a few empty chip packets strewn across the concrete. Willās gorgeous. Mike canāt explain it, but he knows when warmth floods your veins itās a sign that merits extra morosis, and his intentions are in the right place, and itās so hard to steer himself in any direction other than pitching forward and propping up a hand on the other side of Willās jaw. Mike doesnāt let himself think too much of it as he presses a kiss to Willās cheek.
Itās as short-lived as it is sweet: Willās answering gasp, all wide eyes and questions in every line of his face, the beads of rain on his skin, near lucent in the orange lighting, the tickle of his bangs getting in Mikeās eyes a little when he turns.
And then Willās breaking away to set down his Coke, and closing the gap between them.
Truthfully, Mike didnāt know that kissing could feel like this. It seems like something so untouchable, so far from whatās in his own comprehension of the world, that finding this kind of warmth could happen, but Willās slinging an arm around his back and all coherent thoughts promptly dissolve in the now steadily falling rain.Ā
#fun facr! writing this i discovered that valentines day 1990 (aka when this is set) = wednesday#and valentines day 2024 Is Also = wednesday#which makes me suiuper happy for no damn reason i just .YEAAG thanks universe. thtas awesome#byler#i hojpe this isnt exeptionally ooc !! i tried ot edit it more but iam a litle bit tired n i fear i am about to start hearing colors#so witg that im signing off goodbye yall. ily wayli#ill move it to ao3 soon. maybe tomrorwš«”š«”š«”š«”š«”š«”š«”
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