Archive of Our Own

It’s Will’s birthday, and like every year before it he blows out his candles and wishes for another year of Mike by his side, even if it’s not the way he hopes. It seems to work, as after the fire fades into streaming smoke Mike whoops loudly in his ear, even though he’s basically hanging off Will in the first place.

The rest of The Party– and extended Party– follow in suit, and Jonathan immediately goes to cut slices for all involved. It’s the first birthday that has happened since the apocalypse, lovingly named ‘The Fall of Hawkins™’ by Dustin at the start of it all, which means it’s also the first excuse to eat as much cake as possible–the oncoming sugar crash be damned.

The event is nice, really nice, everyone mingles and gawks at the over-the-top decorations he's sure Mike picked out– the other is still trying to make up for the shitshow that was Will’s last birthday, even after apologies were expressed and forgiven. Speaking of, the boy was now across the room, unabashedly trying to entice Will into karaoke by performing an off-key rendition of ‘Head Over Heels’. It is, unfortunately, working way too well.

Deeper into the night–after the soda was definitely spiked and spread around like a virus and was recruited as a dangerous duo to the aforementioned sugar crash–everyone clambers into the Hopper-Byers’ new, very massive, living room. It can host the remaining participants with ease, though The Party are exiled to the carpeted floor. Will keeps to his own world, observing how the others get into a fierce battle of what to watch. In the end, Mike’s voice next to him comes out the loudest, cutting through the war.

“It’s Will’s birthday! Shouldn’t he get to pick!?” He looks ready to die on this hill, even grabs Will’s hand and scooches a little closer, like he’s hurt than anyone even dared to voice any other opinion. The fight dies down, everyone now eyeing the birthday boy, he panics.

“Uh.” He looks around the room, willing the objects around to give him any ideas, his eyes landing on Mike–as it always does–and his dorky pajamas. “Could we do a Star Wars marathon?” It comes out meek, and his gaze never strays from the boy in front of him, like he’s asking Mike in particular. He gets an equal chorus of cheers and groans in response, and Steve is kicked off the couch by Robin to set it up. After a bit of bickering, he does what’s asked.

-🎞-

They’re about ten minutes through ‘Return of the Jedi’, the adults all knocked out on the plush couch above them, when Mike softly elbows his side.

“You want to get out of here? I have another gift for you.” His tone is sweet and low, suspiciously eyeing the clock above the television. Will doesn’t need to be asked twice, never when it comes to Mike. He silently scoots to the end of the neighbouring armchair, inhabited by a very bored looking Max, and crawls in the nook between the set of furniture, making sure to check Mike’s following. He has to stop himself from chuckling at the deathly-serious expression on his face, if Will knows Mike, and he does, he’s probably envisioning them both as spies on a secret mission, he would bet anything that there's a background theme from ‘Firefox’ being hummed under the other’s breath. 

They both get to the hall with no road-blocks, and stand up to grab their shoes, now stiff as they try to squeeze their fluffy-socked feet into them. It feels like they’re seven all over again, preparing to convince Mrs.Wheeler to please give them ten more minutes outside, swear they wont catch a cold! In the end, they both would,–and gifted muddy pyjamas to their respective laundry piles–but still spent the sick days on their walkie-talkies chatting nonsense back and forth, just the two of them. In the present time, the lesson is learnt, and then add their thickest jackets to their get-up. Will is put on door-duty, just gentle enough to not alert the guest of their descent. Mike, however, is on don’t-trip-and-alert-the-whole-house duty, as it’s constantly the main reason they ever get caught. Thankfully, both are executed with grace–ignoring the little stumble on the porch–and they begin their adventure, smiles childishly wide across their faces.

Mike convinces him that they only need one bike for their travels, and that he’ll chauffeur him to their destination. Will takes the opportunity presented to him, birthday wishes be damned. Once he’s secured, arms wrapped tightly around the other’s middle and head laid on his shoulder, Mike begins peddling feverishly. The sun is low in the sky, and it seems as though he’s trying to beat it in a race against its orbit.

Due to his frantic peddling it’s a short trip, and halfway Will starts to guess their destination, Lover’s Lake . He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he foolishly does anyway, because it just feels so right . He’s not delusional, all these things they’ve been doing; Running off from the rest of their friends, sitting on the same bike even though both of theirs were in the shed, fucking duetting ‘Out of Touch’ and blocking out the rest of the world for those few personal minutes before they had even a lick of that spiked soda. That’s romantic, it’s the type of actions he’d see when watching rom-coms with El, or the occasional telenovela with his mother. Spending time at Lover's Lake–just the two of them–of all places? Could he get his hopes up any higher?

But isn’t it just that, hope? Mike’s always been the touchy type, at least with him. He’ll go out of his way to make sure Will is as happy and comfortable as possible, because that’s who he is, the type of best friend he is. Maybe the telenovela’s have affected him more than he’d like to admit. These things can–in fact–be written off as platonic since they happen so often and are so standard for their relationship. His rose-tinted ‘evidence’ can be circumstantial, easily refuted.

The bike comes to a stop and effectively shuts up his routine spiralling, both boys stumbling off it in a gaggle of limbs. Will was right about the location, as the boys began their ascent up the small hill leading to the lake, the trees slowly clearing. 

Mike turns to him before they can get there, having to tug at his hand to get him to come to an abrupt halt, he doesn’t let go. “Wait.” His whispers merge with the howling of the forest as he takes out a light bandana, placing it on top of Will’s eyes. After a slight flinch at how cold Mike’s hands were, he leans into it, letting out a humorous breath at the others' dramatics.

“What’s this?” Will tries to question, but is led by a hand on his waist into a more windy section of the area in response, and shuts his mouth indefinitely for the rest of their travels. With the prickles of chill biting at his face becoming more frequent, he concludes that they are near the edge, right at the point of the lake that dips and curves into the flimsy heart shape he enjoyed trailing when tasked with holding his father’s hunting map as a child. The weight of Mike’s pressure vanishes and after a few seconds of standing there lost he’s positioned in place, pliable under the touch as he’s rotated by the hands on his shoulders, a direct contrast to that memory all those years ago.

Steadily, he feels the bandana begin to loosen, and then all at once it falls off his face and his next breath is stuck in his throat, caged from the wind. 

It makes sense that the timing was such a stressor on Mike, the Sun sets on the edge of the lake–the trees curving around the light like a frame–and affects the water below kaleidoscopically, a prism of colours dancing in celebration. It looks like a secret, a once-in-a-lifetime event, a hybrid eclipse of every creation nature has delivered coming together for this one silent moment. It looks like hope given physical shape.

“I know, right? I used to come here when you were in Cali. I only ever saw this when I missed you particularly badly though, I think it knew.” To be honest, Will completely forgot about the other boy for a moment, too lost in the scene playing out in front of him. But when his words register he almost pulls a muscle at how fast his head swivels, because he can not say that and expect a blasé response. All he gets is a nervous smile in the form of a reply, and then he observes the scene behind him as well.

A small, cheap pack of candles scour the picnic blanket Mike stands on, their flames taking the brunt of the lake's storm. In the middle, there’s every snack Will has ever deemed as his favourite, from Reese's pieces he has adored since he were five to the no brand strawberry flavoured wafers he’s been binging recently. Embarrassingly, he has to will the tears forming in his eyes at the action, and instead feels an almost painful grin stretch across his face.

“Hey.” Mike starts as he fiddles with his jacket zipper, flushing the prettiest colour that Will has to mix one day.

“Hey.” Is the watery reply given, he bears witness to the way Mike melts at it, finally making eye contact as he walks forward and takes both of Will’s hands into his own this time.

“ This–the picnic–isn’t all the gift, and I really hope i’m not reading this wrong and am about to fuck up everything. Because–because us, we’re so good . We’re so good and it scares me how much you not being next to me affects me. And, if I am reading this wrong, please just shut me–”

“Michael.” The boy in question ceases his rambling, hanging on to every word. “Please, for the love of God, give me my gift.” Mike’s eyes grow the size of saucers, and if Will wasn’t so incredibly fixated on how lucky he is to have this breathtaking presence in his life he would’ve laughed.

“You’re gorgeous, Will. You’re so gorgeous, and it’s not just me that knows it. Ask any of those girls in our year for even a pen and I bet they’d swoon like you’d asked for their hand in marriage. But it’s not just your looks that sucks everyone in, it's who you are. Pure, graceful, so incredibly loving even though the world has been the hardest to you. Like seriously– you could calm a feral fucking tiger with just your attendance alone. You’re so kind, and giving, and way too good for me if i'm being honest–” he ignores the angry grunt that sentence gets. ”–and i feel selfish for spending time with you because of it. But in the end, you make me a better me, whether it’s helping me clean my stupidly messy room or teaching me to think before I speak, because something as idiotic as words that come out my mouth in a rage could lose a blessing like you.” It’s at this point that Mike breaks, shaking as he bites back sobs. Will doesn’t fare off any better. “I ask so much of you–I always do, and you-you give so willingly, you give me everything–every irresistible part of you. And so, I want to ask one more thing, and if you do nothing else than just give me an honest answer.” Will’s affirmative nod makes Mike give both of them a second to compose themselves before continuing. He cradles Mike’s face, wiping a few drying tears.

“Will, you’ve given me the greatest title I've ever been given and the greatest thing I've ever done, asking for and receiving the label of ‘your best friend’ , and I've fought for my place ever since. Would you give a title just as important, and agree to me being yours?” 

It takes about a millisecond for Will to pull Mike in and crash their lips together. It’s one of the most ground-breaking thing he's ever felt, even with how their teeth knocked into each other, and yet so normal . He can’t even muster up even a sliver of care, because with one word everything he’s ever wanted can be his . Right now . He reluctantly pulls back to do exactly that, it’s almost poetic at how the same word that started their friendship can start something so much more.

With the same courage he had pulled together all those years ago, he looks the love of his life in the eyes he had met with curiosity all those years ago, and says yes.

It’s the best thing he’s ever done.