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Mike was blue. Not that any part of his body had any unnatural characteristics, no, his soul was blue. Like the ocean, so very big and complicated, impossible to navigate. Being shut out when you got too deep. Scary, intimidating, but still so beautiful. Rippling waves and soft to the touch, with so many people devoted to it, worshipping its beauty. Will could understand them, praying to the sea, for he was like them in a way.
For Mike, Will was on his knees, worshipping the kindness, the humour, the eyes, the hands, the scent. Mike was a religion and Will was its sole follower.
One morning, Will asked Mike what colour he thought Will was, expecting a confused huff and an uncertain answer. Mike responded immediately with his answer: yellow, like the sun. When Mike followed with the question back, Will told him blue, like the ocean, biting his tongue from saying that he wanted nothing more than to dive in it, to baptise himself in the life of it. He wanted to be submerged in the water, letting it fill his lungs. Will didn’t say that though, he just smiled at Mike and continued eating his cereal.
-
So when the basement was empty, Jonathan having walked upstairs to his love, Will painted. He had no good sweaters, they were all lost to the carnage and sun of California Dreams, so his arms were bumped with chills. His brushes dragged across the canvas, creating a single-coloured background of cerulean. The world, the ground, the trees, all blue. I'm not in love played over and over in Wills Walkman, trying to convince himself of the words.
It’s just a silly phase I’m going through
His shaking hands finished the center of the piece, an amber swing-set. Childish, naive, surrounded by the world in blue. A stark contrast from the mature surroundings, it painfully unsophisticated. Innocent, fragile. Stupid.
Will felt a cold streak run down his cheek, and with that, he turned to the side to turn off his Walkman, flinching harshly when a figure stood slightly behind him, staring at the painting. It turned to Will and smiled softly.
“You’re cold”, Mike said, before he braided his hand with Wills' and lead them upstairs. They walked through the silence of the house. Will felt as if he was drowning.
In Mikes room, Will got to the closet and picked out a shirt. Dark blue, knitted with dark red squares as patterns. It was Wills favourite shirt of Mikes'. He pulled it over his head, which messed his hair up, letting it be ruffled by the collar. When he turned, Mike stood close, mere inches apart. Mike looked down quickly, as if burned, when he saw Will’s shock, and after a moment grabbed his hand up to examine. Mike took one of his fingers to his tongue, before he rubbed it in the crevices of Wills hands.
“You’re green”, he whispered as an explanation, then going back to cleaning.
After what felt like hours of Mike rubbing at spots on the calloused hands, he looked up, into Wills eyes, not letting go. Will hated him. How could one ever try to get over someone, someone who would stand so close and tend to him in the darkness? It was unfair. Will started to let his hand fall, trying to get it out of Mikes grasp, and Mike grabbed it more firmly, still he looked deep in Wills eyes.
“Mike, what are you doing?”, Will asked, the crack in his voice betraying him.
“I liked your painting”, Mike murmured, barely opening his mouth.
“Oh, I—“, Will stuttered. “I just thought about it the other day and wanted to paint it, let go of childhood and all that.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“You know I’m a bit childish. Maybe it’s time to just, I don’t know, mature”, Will said. “I mean, you said I’m like the sun. Aren’t suns supposed to be for like, kids? I don’t know. I’m being a bit childish right now, honestly.”
Mike looked almost agitated at what Will was saying. There wasn’t anger, just a sorrow and something akin to annoyance in the scrunch of his eyebrows.
“The sun isn’t childish, it’s not childish. It’s the light of the whole planet, Will.”
Will, blushed at the comment, his disgusting greed controlled his body. He wanted and wanted and wanted, but he couldn’t want. To joke his way out of the conversation seemed to be the only viable solution.
“Are you saying I’m the light of your life or something?”, Will said, huffing out an awkward laugh.
“Yes”, Mike replied, stunning Will. Subconsciously, he gripped Mikes hand harder.
“Will, if you’re the sun, I’m Icarus”, Mike said, before he leaned down and pressed their mouths together.
Maybe it was because Will had been waiting for so long, so very long, to let his body feel the coolness of the ocean, that he reacted so quickly. Mike had tried to lean away after the quick connection of mouths, but was stopped by Will having grabbed his face and pressing back. Mike gave a tiny sound before he pushed back with more desperation, and he pulled them out into the room, away from the closet.
Their lips pressed on each other over and over, heads tilting, noses brushing. Mikes hand snaked up under Wills shirt, and Will buried his hand in the black curls, eliciting a sigh from its owner, making Will push harder, opening his mouth slightly. Mike responded with passion, opening his own and letting their tongues dance and taste.
When Mike pushed his hand under the clothes covering Will, grabbing his naked hipbone, the surface broke. Will leaned away in panic, not being able to get away due to the grip Mike had on him.
“Mike—“, he breathed heavily. “We can’t—, we can’t, I-, what about El? We—“
“We already committed a sin. What’s a few more?”, he said, before leaning down again.
Their lips gained a new desperation, more aware of the implications of what was happening. Harsher breaths, teeth hitting teeth. Mike bit down on Wills bottom lip, making Will give a whine, which in return made Mike grab him more roughly. Mike walked backward toward the bed, starting to fall backwards, when in the last second he flipped them, never breaking the kiss.
Mike was kissing Will with the fervour of a caveman seeing the light for the first time. Will was kissing Mike like thirsting man, allowed to drink for the first time.
Mike pushed his hands under Wills shirts, grabbing at the skin, and letting his mouth wander down to Wills jaw, and then neck. Will had one hand tangled in the raven curls of Mikes hair, one around his back, sighing at the touch. Mike began to kiss and nip at his neck, sucking in a particular spot, making Will let out an embarrassing sound.
Mike abruptly stopped his work and leaned up, looking down at Will lying on his bed, hair spread and ruffled, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen. Mike had wide eyes, mouth parted, staring with a previously unknown intensity and surprise. Will began to panic, but suddenly Mike grabbed at the shirts Will was wearing and he pulled them clean off.
And maybe this was what all the lovesick people were on about, the deep breaths turning into quick gasps and the sounds of them together. The quiet reassurances, the soft hands. Their colours mixing, blue and yellow turning into a messy green. Will understood why people would want to have this all the time. He understood that this was what had been missing between them these past few years, what had been stopping them from blossoming. This, was carbon dioxide, permitting the sun and water to create their energy. This was photosynthesis, the land between sun and ocean finally bursting in green life.
And after, when they were lying side by side, looking into each other’s eyes, hands tracing up and down arms, stomachs and cheeks, Mike began to cry. First a few tears, dropping down on the sheets, then full blown sobbing. Will tried to comfort him, hugged him, asked him what was wrong. It was met with more tears, Mike hulked in Wills arms, snot and tears combing in a disgusting mix.
Will adjusted himself to a sitting position, and dragged Mike to be lying on his chest, clinging like a koala. Soon, Will felt tears run down his own face, and he clutched him back.
Will grabbed Mikes face, forced him to look up. Hazel meeting black. After what they did, there was no way Will could ever ignore what had happened. He had left the safety of the home of repression the second Mike put his lips on him. He could never go back now.
“Mike I—“, Will began, voice cracking before being cut off.
“I know”, Mike replied with a sore throat, in a tone so painful it made Wills heart ache.
“I… I didn’t say anything.”
Mike let out a little huff of laughter, a tiny sign of joy, but oh so filled with pain still.
“You didn’t have to.”
They cracked matching grins, both shaking in sadness and grief, for Will had come to understand that this moment would come to pass. Clouds would cover the sun and the sea would ice over.
Will had let the water surround him, had let it fill his lungs, let it drown him.
Mike had flown to close to the sun, it had burned him, it had made him fall toward his death.
When this came to pass, both dreamed of a future. They dreamed of a future where people would appreciate the world, where people would appreciate nature, its greenery, for its beauty.
They dreamed to have a this again, where Mike didn’t have to say to Will that he’d rather see Will mauled to death by a demogorgon than being beaten to death by local churchgoers.
They dreamed to have a this again, where Will didn’t have to tell Mike that he’d rather die being free than not.
-
And when the apocalypse starts again, for real, death looming over their shoulders, the number of soft looks increase. Maybe Mike thought seeing Wills body carved out by claws would be preferable over dents from baseball bats. Maybe he changed his mind when Holly went missing and Will started having visions again. Maybe their last moments of life would come soon. Maybe they would be watching the world burn. Maybe they would have their bones broken, eyes bleeding out. And maybe, Mike finally wanted that to be with Will. Maybe he wanted to have his limbs torn apart with their hands intertwined.
So when Robin asks if he needs help trying to understand if someone wants so make out with him, he clarifies. He knows what Mike wants. He just wants to know if wanting is enough.