Mike starts to flick through the VHS tapes that he'd quickly retrieved from home, when he'd slipped past the mumbling voices of his parents and Jonathan and Nancy (Argyle was safely tucked away from the Wheeler's home in the van – Jonathan introducing Argyle to his parents would probably not score highly with them whilst he's dating Nancy, an understandable truth when Argyle smells of weed a lot of the time.)

Jonathan had glanced at him, a question still staining his face, at Mike's obscure behaviour - because he'd hid away from the front door to enter only after Jonathan had squared his parents away into the living room as promised (listen, if he had the chance to avoid his dad's judgmental passing looks before he absorbs himself back into whatever's playing on the television – likely the news or a game – then he's going to clutch at it desperately).

Mike had given Jonathan very entreating eyes before they walked up to the house, explaining that he wouldn't be long and asking him to just keep his parents away whilst he slipped in (and he barely stopped himself from clasping his hands together to beg Jonathan to not mention Mike's presence, but he figured that was a given).

He'd heard his mom's honeyed voice ask for his whereabouts before he'd quietly followed the stairs up into his room – a necessary trip for his plan to apologise properly to Will as he needed to retrieve a few other things before heading for the basement. Halfway up he'd heard Jonathan mutter a plain: "Oh, I haven't seen him. Sorry Mrs. Wheeler."

He followed Jonathan and Nancy outside to head back for the cabin just a few minutes after his mom left the entryway after waving the two of them goodbye, a door closing softly behind her in a distant room.

So now there they presently sat, Argyle at the steering wheel this time (which slightly set Mike on edge – he had, in all fairness, seen Argyle high as a kite in the majority of the time he's known him).

He sees Jonathan peek at him through the rear-view mirror, and then snaps his eyes away, tightening his hold on the tapes, his bag scorching against his legs on the floor. He can feel Nancy's eyes flickering toward him too, and it just serves to make Mike more antsy, like everyone knows about him sobbing on Jonathan's shoulder, or something. Or there's a big red cross on his forehead somehow blaring the fact that he's in love with his best friend, who right now probably doesn't want to see his face ever again if he could help it.

Just when Mike resolves to look out the window in awkward silence, Jonathan turns around, raising curious eyebrows at him, "So, whatdya pick?"

Mike clears his throat, resists the urge to cower away again and stares Jonathan right in the eyes. He refuses to be embarrassed, because it means admitting defeat and he's always been best at being stubborn and headstrong, even when it got him beat up… and Jonathan had been accepting. So, what was there to be embarrassed about, really?

Or he just pities you, his mean inside voice whispers. He shakes the thought off resolutely.

"Top picks were The Shining, Ghostbusters, E.T., Gremlins…" He throws each one into the middle seat once he names them off.

Jonathan smiles reminiscently, "Remember when you guys all dressed up as the Ghostbusters for Halloween a few years ago? Still feels like yesterday sometimes, when you squirts were that age."

"Alright, Grandpops. Maybe save talk like that for when you're actually in your eighties." Mike crosses his arms, appalled. But remember he does anyway: the snap of a camera capturing his unamused expression, after his plying mom had roped him into it; Will's face lighting up when Jonathan decided babysitting was decidedly an embarrassing idea to stick to (and it was, in all honesty, but Mike had thought snidely of it at the time for a different reason… the reason being that he'd be fine protecting Will all on his own, and they didn't need Jonathan in the first place.)

And yeah, maybe he'd been a little in love with Will even then, and he tries to shoot down the hot flush to his face at the revelation.

And of course, that's also when he feels Nancy watching him, and he turns a blank stare at her to disguise himself. But she starts to smirk, which is just always bad news, and Mike glares at her as she opens her mouth, "What? You embarrassed by the flashbacks to your trick-o-treating days? God, I remember when you guys went one time dressing up as-"

"I'm literally not embarrassed," Mike shakes his head at her, "you're just being embarrassing by even talking about it." But Nancy just goes on to repeat herself after the brief interruption, acting nonchalant and blatantly unapologetic.

"-dressing up as Star Wars characters, oh you were just so excited," her tone is teasing. "I mean, you practically vibrated on the spot when you saw yourself in the mirror-"

"Nancy!" She ignores his protesting efforts, as he attempts to get closer whilst wrestling with his seatbelt to put a hand over her mouth.

"-as Han Solo. Have to say though, Dustin as Chewie was probably the best costume."

"Bro, my favourite character hands down!" Agyle starts suddenly, a hand flapping, "Like dude, that big guy could do anything, I mean it. He was a pilot, a smuggler, a mechanic…" Argyle whistles, "You gotta wonder where he got his smarts, man. An Einstein Wookie gracing our screens, and our hearts." Argyle nods and taps his chest twice to catapult his point, and Mike vaguely has his suspicions about whether he really is high right now, but no, this was just who Argyle was, apparently.

Nancy and Mike glance back at each other with matching almost puzzled expressions, and bizarrely… they just start to laugh, albeit incredulously. But still, they're laughing together.

"Cannot fault Han Solo either though, dude. Good taste Mike, he's a handsome guy," Jonathan starts coughing with wide eyes, and Mike's laughter is cut off sharply in surprise, "but more than that, a stellar best bud to Chewie." Argyle nods approvingly.

"What?" Mike blurts after processing the statement, mouth open in shock. It must've just been a passing assessment, right? Not Argyle actively thinking Mike's favourite Star Wars character was because he found him attractive, or something. Because Mike didn't. He didn't.

"Alrighty-o broskies," Argyle chipperly continues, paying zero attention except to turn the wheel as he pulls up to the cabin, "it's movie time!"

Mike clambers out of the van whilst feeling his hands go clammy.

Before they head for the front door, he pulls Jonathan by his shirt – a blue-green fuzzy shirt that looked worn, and vaguely reminded him of Steve (which made sense because he still doesn't think the Byers have all their belongings just yet).

He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation. He feels embarrassed, sort of. He's not really used to being honest with himself, with others. Trusting someone with his emotions. But he tries to now.

"Mike? You alright?" Jonathan asks questioningly.

He quietly whispers, hesitating slightly, "Fine. Look, I-I just wanna explain myself to Will properly in the van. Can you ask Argyle if it's okay, that he keep it unlocked for a while?"

Jonathan doesn't seem remotely surprised, and with a small smile, twinkling eyes, says, "Sure. 'Course I can." Then a little curiously asks, "Will you tell him the truth? Or…?"

Mike grimaces, "I. I think so. I don't know. Honestly? I might need to talk to El first."

At Jonathan's confused expression, he starts, "She deserves to know. It was probably best she had the guts to break things off, 'cause I don't know if I would have. I-" Mike pauses, wipes a hand on the front of his sleeveless jacket that he'd grabbed from his room, then plucks at the shirt underneath, "Sometimes, I think… I felt like I needed her. To feel normal."

Mike exhales, not looking Jonathan in the eye, "I guess that was pretty shitty of me, huh?"

He feels Jonathan watching his face for a moment, dropping a comforting hand down on to his shoulder, "Listen to me. If I've learnt anything about El since she started living with us, it's that she's – she sees the best in people, even when they do wrong, and – I don't think I expected it, for what she's gone through – but she's so… intuitive, y'know? She's really good at sensing people's emotions. I think she'll see how frustrated you are, with yourself, and she'll eventually come around. Just be honest, Mike, with how you feel. That's all anyone can ask for from a person, okay?"

Mike attentively listens to what Jonathan's saying, and he feels a surge of hope running through and up into his chest.

He hopes El will stay his friend. Because he does truly love her, but just not in the way he'd tried to convince himself that he did. He knows it for a fact, now.

"Supergirl! With her friend! Mad Max if I remember, right?" Argyle shouts out suddenly, waiting with Nancy for Mike and Jonathan to finish their somewhat private talk.

Nancy takes her eyes off the pair of them to see the two girls walking up with hooked arms.

Max rolls her eyes, "Has Lucas been talking to you, or something?"

"Sure has, Mad Max, sure has." Argyle teases, hand brushing through his long black hair. "Funny kid. Hey, where've you two been this whole time?" He questions, and they stop just ahead.

El makes eye contact with Mike, and it's an insistent gaze. Mike gets the message. They're talking now.

"We've been having fun girl time, away from all the nerds." When Max meets Mike's eyes too, her expression isn't… it's not one he recognises. She looks away.

Before his face forms into one of perplexity, El walks over to him.

"Right on, Mad Max."

"How many times are you gonna call me that before it gets old?"

"We're having a movie night for everyone; you might want to head inside now. It's a little cold for you two to have stayed out so long." Nancy tacks on mock disapprovingly, eyes warm.

Their voices trail off when Mike finds El standing in front of him, moving a finger to tuck a non-existent strand of hair. Her buzzed haircut already doesn't seem as blunt, anymore, and lately he's seen her run a hand over the top of her head, her face sad. But right now, she looks strong, steady. Like she knew exactly what they'll talk about.

He feels a little nervous because he doesn't feel that same confidence. But the conversation needs to happen. He wants to be a better person than he has been.

"Take as long as you need, guys." Jonathan says hesitantly, and then pulls El into a hug, with a throwaway warm look toward Mike over her shoulder. He squeezes her tight until she laughs.

"Thank you, Jonathan." She says sweetly.

He casts a salute to them before twirling around to walk over to where Nance waits with raised eyebrows.

"El."

"Mike."

They both begin at the same time, El soft-spoken and sure, Mike speaking a little woodenly, his neck burning up.

She looks up at him, through him, her face seeming… like she's searching for something.

"We heard you and Jonathan talking a few hours ago." She says spontaneously, her tone deliberate yet kind.

Mike feels his mouth flop open like a fish, "Uh, wait. What?"

He doesn't have time to panic before, "You're in love with Will."

He steps back but she takes his hands in hers and pulls him forward to the point where he tries not to stumble over his feet, his legs feeling numb, and she ignores how sweaty his hands are in favour of, "I think I understand now. You were… scared. Weren't you?"

Her eyes sear through his own, like she can see him clearly for who he is.

He feels his eyes well up, "El…"

He shakes his head to displace the rising emotions that are clouding his mind away from what he intended to say.

"I'm so, so sorry, El. I've hurt you." And it's a fact. Who wouldn't be hurt by learning… what she's learned? "I-I was going to – I wanted to tell you just now. You kinda beat me to the punch there." He laughs humourlessly, wants to hold his hands to his face and turn away so she can't see… how stupid he feels.

But Jonathan said to be honest.

"I've messed up so badly. And it's okay," there's a lump in his throat, "if you don't really wanna be friends anymore, after-"

El is shaking her head, "I still want to be your friend, Mike." She says it matter-of-factly, as if it's dumb to suggest anything else.

It startles him, "Why?"

He's shocked when she also starts to grin, "You're an idiot. If you date my brother, I want to be able to talk to you."

He stays unresponsive for a beat, "I – uh – wait. Just because… I like him-"

"Love him." She rectifies.

Mike nods, not looking at her directly for shame (how isn't she mad at him right now, brimming with anger?), "I love him. It doesn't mean… he does so back. In fact, I think he doesn't really like me at all, right now."

El notices when he goes despondent, as his shoulders drop and the ever-present tangling of emotions run across his face.

"I don't understand how you're so okay with all of this. Are you really okay?" His face scrunches, "You don't have to pretend for me."

"I'm… okay." Mike waits, "I was upset, before. When I learned." She adds on when he seems unwilling to believe her.

"How come you aren't now?"

"Because… I knew deep-down that you didn't love me like that. For a long time. And I have had time to pro-cess since we saw you and Jonathan." She says the word a little clunkily, it being unfamiliar to her.

"Wait, we. You said 'we'." She said that before too, he registers.

"Max-"

"Max-" He bursts. Max knows.

He quells his shock when he sees El's admonishing look in response, as she squeezes his hands to get him to listen closely. He gives her his full attention, standing a little straighter.

"Yes, Max. She explained it to me." She seems very bright talking about her, and Mike distantly feels happy that she has Max at all. Now that he's not blinded by the-the selfishness to have El be on his side always, to not be taken away… Well, he realises Max has always been good for her. Better than Mike, that much is true.

"W-What did she explain?" Mike feels his nerves building up yet again, knowing Max knows something so… so private about him. He doesn't know if he was ready for anyone else to know apart from El. And now… maybe Will.

"That it is very hard to come to terms with," El tilts her head, her eyes softening, voice quietening in pitch, "liking the same gender. And it seemed to Max that you've felt that way."

Tenderness sweeps through him, overwhelming in intensity. El reaches a hand to his cheek, thumb swiping at tears he didn't realise were falling. But he doesn't get embarrassed. El understands him.

"Y-Yeah. Yeah," it's tearful, emotional, pouring right out of his chest, "it's been hard."

The hug he's pulled into feels like it puts him back together, a feeling akin to broken pieces repairing themselves.

"I do love you," he whispers into her ear, "I couldn't say it before… because it wasn't the same-"

"The same love, I know." She whispers back.

He feels healed.

"I don't think I was in love with you either." El randomly utters out.

They're fixing up the back of the van for Mike's planned conversation with Will. He feels anxiety steadily picking up as time crawls on. He's fixing one of the ends of a blanket to lie flat (they'd found them in there, and El wanted it to look a little lovelier – which was a forethought he never entertained, and it had made him flush. 'It's more romantic this way, Mike.')

Romantic.

He feels like a fish out of water even attempting to be anything close to the word. Awkward.

He had told her he didn't think Will shared the same feelings, he'd pretty much projected his own bitterly onto Will for what feels like a lifetime now, though it had… it had started when he'd started catching Will's eyes for too long, felt flutters in his stomach when he sat close. Since the time before they moved away.

He doesn't know if there's any apology in the world to make up for it. He takes a single quick glance to his bag and hopes.

But he shakes himself out of it to respond to the very surprising news El's enlightening him with.

"You… weren't?"

El shakes her head, lips tightening, "I liked having a boyfriend to feel… safe."

Mike can certainly relate, but he doesn't know what she means exactly by that, "Safe, as in…?"

He felt safer with El because it felt like he could… push away the feelings he didn't want to acknowledge, the feelings that barely touched his actual thoughts for fear that thinking them would make them actually mean something. It had made him feel safe to be in a relationship with a girl so that he could grow up into someone he had wanted to be. Someone normal.

"As in… comfort. To feel like I was loved. Because I felt not made for it."

She crosses her legs, tugging a different blanket – this one a small yellow throw with tassels on the ends – across her lap.

Mike stares at her, bites his lip, remembering her saying whole-heartedly that he thought her a monster. An ugly word for someone as kind as her.

"You deserve all the love in the world, El."

She lets out a little hiccup of a cry, not expecting the words, and tearfully she looks right back at him, "Thank you, Mike."

He smiles gently.

"Hey brochachos, hope you didn' miss us too much?" Argyle comes in upbeat and chipper with Jonathan following just behind him. Then Nancy and Max enter too – with Max heading straight for Lucas – and he levels a beaming smile at the very sight of her, her red hair glimmering under the light as she bounds on over.

A grumbling Hopper mutters, "Oh joy."

Joyce smacks him with a look.

"Oh, uh, we sure did… miss you?" Hopper begins after snapping his head away from Joyce's reproachful look, then he parts a hand over to the seating area, "Goonies is on. Not enough seats for you all, though, so you'll have to make do."

"Floor's comfy enough for me, Mr. Hops."

Hopper cricks his neck and breathes in deep, as if finding the strength to hold back. "It's just Hopper." He says lightly.

Argyle nods slowly as if in deep understanding.

"Yeah, we'll be fine on the floor. Got some more movies to choose from for later." Jonathan reveals, waves one - E.T. - because he'd quite enjoyed it the last time he'd seen it, and they head on over to plop down, but not before Jonathan goes behind the couch to give Will a long ruffle to his hair. Will smiles at him nervously, and Jonathan tries to put him at ease with a squeeze of his shoulder.

Will doesn't dare ask for Mike's whereabouts again, even if it is confusing that he didn't come in with them. It already feels obvious that he cares too much, even after everything.

But when Mike eventually walks in, a quiet opening of the door to walk into the darkened cabin – the lights being turned off to create a cinematic atmosphere, as Dustin had explained painstakingly – Will is the first to catch his figure. And his throat jumps.

He darts his eyes away quickly to fix them on the television once he sees El walking in tow behind Mike.

And he tries desperately to not let that fact get to him.

He wonders if they got back together, if that's the reason they've been absent for a while – the film is soon to finish, so. Maybe everyone else had assumed the same and Will has just been slow to the realisation.

The two of them together again makes a tendril of jealousy curl in his stomach. And Will could almost beat himself up for thinking his feelings could ever go away, not when he's fallen this hard already.

But he's used to Mike and El, together. And he'll be happy for them, and still give Mike another chance to fix things, to explain. He knows he wasn't exactly forthcoming at the end of their fight today – had just wanted to get away, even. Like always.

It almost feels weird to be in the same room as Mike without them focusing their attention on each other via more yelling. And isn't that an upsetting thought to have.

"Oh, hey! You guys are back! We've been waiting, y'know?" Max says, and Will has the sense that she just barely snuck a look at him.

Mike snarks at her lightly, "Waiting as in cuddling up to Lucas without sparing us two a thought?"

She goes red, and Will almost can already hear the: Oh, like you two are any better… and then the teasing smacking lips to mime making out… But no.

"Let me live, Wheeler. Jeez." And she rolls her eyes.

The banter between them is unusually friendly, Will thinks.

And the light flicks on, with El stood at the switch where she's moved away from Mike. And Mike… his face comes into full view.

It reminds Will of his vision, but this Mike's face isn't bland and neutral of emotion, tinged with the deathly cold blue of the Upside Down.

His face is lit up, dark eyes and matching dark hair contrasting his pale skin handsomely. Full lips perking up into a warm smile.

He licks his lips, a nervous twitch Will recognises, before he turns his head to face Will. And their eyes lock.

Will feels a buzzing anxious energy between them and he chews on his lip. Mike's eyes slide down and Will wants to look away again, painful emotions tearing at him once again.

"Will, can we talk?" His tone is inviting, maybe edged with the fear of rejection.

But Will isn't gonna reject Mike reaching out to him. He doesn't think he'd have even if he hadn't had that conversation with his mom.

"Okay."

And that seals it. They're doing this. The last time.

Before Will goes, he thinks back. To the painting in his bag. Will doesn't think he wants to leave anything unspoken if this really could be the last time Will hears Mike out, or Mike hears him out (he's still surprised he even wants to talk, no matter what his mom said – surprised at the fact that he doesn't see the dreaded disgust he'd expected in his expression).

"Let me just grab something dead quick, okay?"

Mike nods unsurely.

So, he grabs it. And then walk on out, Mike brushing against his shoulder outside. Will doesn't think to step away, and he feels Mike's gaze on him until they reach the… the van?

The backdoors are swung open.

"I-I kinda wanted to talk in here." Mike reaches a hand to his neck, fiddling.

Will steps over to see blankets – blue, and a beige-kind-of-yellow, one that's a bright orange, (very mismatched, but Will likes it anyway) – lining the surface, the seats having been reclined back, the interior light turned on to cast warm highlights and shadows.

"It's nice."

"Comfy, right?"

A pause, and Mike does a high little laugh, "Uh, yeah. El actually helped out."

El helped Mike make a space for… for their talk?

At Will's confusion, Mike goes, "She wanted it to be more ro-" Will's confusion just gets added to as Mike stops, his eyes widening slightly.

"Uh, I mean-"

Will tries to help, eyebrows still scrunched at Mike's behaviour. "It's okay, you don't have to explain." Mike grimaces, "No, really. It looks nice. Comfy, like you said."

Will directs a hand, and Mike clambers in, seemingly embarrassed.

Will doesn't know whether to close the doors (because that would feel kind of weird to do, right? Or is he overthinking?), or to leave them open (but the cold is leaking in from the outside air, and he hates the cold.)

But Mike reaches over him, anyway, and pulls them shut. Will gulps as he feels the warmth between the short distance of their chests, and ducks his head away from under Mike's grazing chin on his hair.

When Mike sits back, he's closer than where he went and clambered over to.

Will gulps, "So…"

Mike breathes out, "So I have some explaining to do."

Will nods slowly, giving him his apt attention.

He doesn't think he's ever seen Mike like this, which is super weird when he's known him all his life. He's sort of flighty, nervous, fidgeting, yet looking him directly in the eyes, serious and soft as the same time.

Oh.

Maybe he has seen this before.

"We'll go crazy together, right?"

"Will?"

He shakes his head, "Sorry."

"That's supposed to be me saying that." Soft again, but teasing.

Will smiles at him, peering up at him and exiting his thoughts.

Mike gulps, "I said: But first, I want to-"

He's fidgeting again, and Will gets a little concerned. He didn't expect Mike to be so anxious over this. Not like how Will is, too. He hesitatingly places a hand on Mike's – that's laid across his lap and tightening and untightening in his pants.

"What is it?"

Mike's stare is bruising in its intensity, somehow. "I wanted to say that I'd-I'd never hate you, Will. For anything, and especially for not who you are."

Will's face wobbles at that declaration, and before he snaps his hand back, Mike seems to understand and then gets a firmer grip on it, their fingers interlocking. His hand is warm, and soft. Almost delicate when holding him, cradling him. It's stark noticing the difference between their skin tones: Mike's white like snow, Will's pinkish at the knuckles but more tan all around.

As Will stares at their hands on Mike's lap, he bites at his cheek to keep the tears at bay. He's had enough of crying, lately.

"I feel like you were right, that my 'Sorrys' do feel a little… old, now. I don't blame you for not really believing me." Mike is quiet in retrospect, and then flicks his own eyes up, because he's been staring at their hands too, and Will feels one of Mike's fingers twitching, and it sends a spark up his wrist, "Nothing can really make up for the fact that you… you believed I could ever hate you."

It's a lot to take in, Mike's steady grip, the seriousness in his expression, the glimpse of regret flashing, the remorse…

"You're okay with it, then." Will's voice is shaking.

He's been so scared. So scared. But his mom was right, after all. Mike… he doesn't see anything in his face but sincerity. And that's enough for Will in this moment.

Mike levies something heartfelt at him, through his smile and nod, the eyes never leaving his own, "I could never not be."

It's a moment Will thinks he'll burn into his memory forever.

"O-Okay."

Mike nods, deliberating, seeing if his words have sunken in, before he slips his hand from Will's begrudgingly, like he doesn't fully want to let go, and it sets off a flush behind Will's ears that he hopes doesn't travel to his cheeks too.

When Mike looks at him though, after a moment his eyes go raw, burning, and running across his cheeks.

Damnit.

Mike licks his lips, and then reaches over the flattened seat to reach for something. He brings out a rucksack.

"What's in there?" Will asks curiously, bulldozing over his own small embarrassment.

Keep it together, Will.

"Nosy." Mike jests, and unzips it, "I'm gonna show you, though. Just be patient." His teasing is a little rankling, but in a good way. Like old times.

He pulls out what looks like a binder, and then a thin plastic see-through folder holding… envelopes? He guesses so, anyway.

Will's dying to know, now.

But Mike seems to lose his bravado and goes nervous again, scratching at his head.

"Ha, so. This is meant to show you… that I cared, a whole bunch actually. Whilst you were gone. And I kind of didn't want to admit it, it was embarrassing, just how much, I guess. But it wasn't fair to you to act like I didn't care." He's rambling, but Will feels like he's missing a whole bunch of information, here.

Mike chews at his lip until it goes redder, and Will's afraid he'll make it bleed.

He opens the binder, first. And looks at it first, before he gifts it to Will.

"Go on, take it." It looks like Mike's blushing, now. The surprise at that is liberating.

What Will finds inside makes a short cut-off sound burst out of his throat. It's his drawings, paintings he's given Mike over the years, and he flicks through with wide eyes. He's got stuff in here from when they were really little, too.

When Will looks up, he finds Mike already looking at him, staring.

"You kept them?" The affection is just bubbling up. It's like the anger and sadness are a distant memory now, fading fast.

"I did," he nods, again, sharply this time. "Uh, I still… look at them? I mean, not like… creepily, but-"

"You kept them." Fuck, and here are the tears.

"Hey, hey, hey." Mike crawls over, and Will doesn't even feel the shock slide over him when Mike pulls him in until Will's head is buried in his chest, and when there's fingers sliding into his hair. Mike peels his face away to rub under his eyes with his thumbs, "I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not cry."

Mike hasn't been this affectionate in… He doesn't know how long, anymore.

"Will," Mike's voice is worried, "I didn't break you, did I?" His attempt at humour is shoddy at best, but it makes Will joyful anyway.

Will rolls his eyes, "I'm just," he shrugs, "happy, I guess. That you kept them. Why did you keep them, anyway?"

Mike's left speechless, and his hands are still on his face so Will raises his eyebrows, "Uh."

Will presses down the slight disappointment when Mike takes his hands away, and as he clears his throat.

"I kept them because they reminded me of you, duh. Also, because they're nice to look at." He says defensively, rocking on his knees with his hands fidgeting on the blankets now.

"Even the ones I made at like; eight years old?"

"Especially those ones." Mike smirks. Will shakes his head. He realises he's stopped crying, now.

"You've got terrible taste in art, then."

Mike lets out a pfft of air, "I have amazing taste, since yours is always my favourite to look at."

It feels like Mike is genuinely trying to make Will blush now, and Mike watches him, hiding another of his smirks as it works.

"Dick."

Mike outbursts with a laugh, "What?"

"You heard me."

"No, really. Say it again. Will Byers swearing," he shakes his head, "what's the world come to?"

"A bit dramatic."

Mike clamps his chest in mock hurt, proving his point.

"Thanks, anyway. For keeping them. But I'm definitely telling Max."

"God, don't give her more leverage against me, I beg."

Will laughs whilst shrugging, and Mike shoves his shoulder in amusement.

"I feel like I haven't heard you laugh properly in forever. It's nice."

"Oh my God, shut up."

"Seriously though." Mike's quickly shifting gears right into that serious mood of his. Will looks down, smiling.

Mike clears his throat, yet again, "Now for this." He grabs the folder and waves it, but it's more nervous than it is joking. He quickly brings it down from the air, inhales, and then stretches his hand out for Will to take it.

Will sets down the closed binder to the side. Gingerly, he takes the folder.

Mike seems a lot more anxious for this. It makes Will more anxious in turn.

He gulps, and then he opens it, reaching in for a random envelope like he's drawing a number for Bingo. The suspense seems to still the air between them, not a breath of sound can be heard.

He draws it out, and it's a plain white envelope. And it has his California address written on. The first line: Will Byers.

An envelope that was addressed to him, but never sent.

"I, uh. I tried to tell you. Back at the hospital, not in so many words but. I really do wish I'd sent them, now." Mike gulps, "I think I was just afraid to."

"Afraid?" That makes Will's throat close up. Why would Mike be afraid to send him a letter?

Mike nods jerkily, breathes a: "Yeah. Just-Just read them. It might make sense when you do." Will furrows his eyebrows, but he opens the envelope anyway, delicately so as not to tear it too much.

Mike took care to not let them wrinkle, even the slightest bit. Will doesn't know what to make of it.

Will slides the paper out, unfolds it with bated breath.

The first thing he notices is there's a lot of scribbled out sentences, of sharp, hard lines crossing stuff out, of rewrites. And that the letter is unfinished.

Mike looks over, wincing, "Yeah. Had to be that one, didn't it? Um, it felt like I was never saying the right things for that one. Well, for the majority of them it felt like that. I either had to have it perfect, which it never was, or…"

Will waits patiently.

"Or, I don't know. Sometimes I felt scared that I was saying too much."

"Saying too much." Will doesn't phrase it like a question, more like a statement, an observation.

Mike licks his lip, nerves on edge, then reaches over to root through the folder to slide out a seemingly specific one.

"Uh, this one. This one's probably the most… clear one."

Will licks his dry lips, opens up the letter inside once again.

Dear Will,

It feels like habit to write to you now, but not actually write to you. Because I never send them. And I probably won't this one, either. But I guess that takes the pressure off.

What's new? Well, Lucas joined basketball, and he's left Dustin and I. Cites that we came to High School wanting to start brand new, and he wants to take this super amazing chance. Which, it makes sense, I guess. Always feels like people are leaving, nowadays, though. Which isn't a slight to you! It's not like you had a choice. And it's probably better that you're away from here anyway, where it can't get you if it even has the chance to anymore.

Wow, I'm totally just droning on now, huh? If you were here, you'd know how to cheer me up again. I really miss you.

Will scrunches up his face to try to understand the last part, and Mike sidles on closer to sit next to him, side burning Will's. Will shifts on the spot, glancing at Mike's face.

Will points to the part he can't make out, and honestly, it's a miracle he can figure out Mike's chicken scratch at all, really, though it definitely has improved. And he's had practise reading Mike's handwriting with being his friend for as long as he has, anyway.

"It says: I really miss you." Mike ducks his head nearer to Will's as he whispers, and Will snaps his head up to find their faces quite… close. Mike's dark eyes are unwavering on his face.

"Uh…" Will's brain isn't really computing, right now.

"Go on, keep reading." Mike's voice is lilting, a little rushed and low in his ear. He nudges him, and his arm brushing him sets Will aflame.

Will reads on without question, trying to ignore their proximity.

He doesn't want to make Mike uncomfortable; God forbid. It still feels like a miracle that he accepted him coming out so easily.

He scans the text, just more anecdotes from school, and what Dustin said that was funny the day before, or how Mike third-wheeled Dustin and Steve at the cinema (which, pretty funny, Will can't even contest – Mike bemoaning his existence in that account makes Will's chest lighten with the humour of it.)

He can't believe Mike wrote all of these letters, was thinking about him whilst Will thought… he thought their friendship was just breaking apart.

It makes him feel sad for that past Will, and he wants to go back in time whilst knowing everything just to save himself the sinking feeling in his stomach every week El got one, and Will didn't.

Then, it's the last paragraph of the letter…

God, I'd do anything for you to come back Will. It's so depressing not being able to see you whenever I want. I feel like I did when I wanted you all to myself. Swear I got jealous whenever you mentioned hanging out with Lucas or Dustin without me. Distinctly remember them teasing me for it, those shits. Haha.

"What's that say?"

Mike coughs awkwardly, "Uh, never-mind that. Just me being dramatic."

"Pfft, whatever." Will smiles easily at him, and Mike blinks at him, smiles back like he can't help it. It makes his chest squeeze with joy. He's seriously missed this between them.

Will looks back at the page.

Love from,

Mike

Will's… confused, to say the least. What was Mike's point? "I-I don't get it, to be honest."

Mike gapes at him when he puts the letter face-down into his lap.

Mike snatches it, as if to check, "Right here."

Will looks over to see him pointing at the sign off, "Uh, so?"

"So, he says." He starts incredulously, "Christ. I said Love, from. Love, from!"

Will's not catching his drift. And Mike seems to notice, as he claps a hand onto his face to drag down.

"You-You are. So oblivious. I've forgotten that."

Will's taken-aback, "W-What?"

Mike seems to settle his shoulders, scrounging up courage, "I never signed El's letters off like that."

Will tilts his head, thinking Mike wants advice, or something, "I mean, it holds more weight with a girlfriend, I guess? It's okay if you're not ready to say that you love her-"

Mike looks incongruous, exclaims, "Yes, because I'm not in love with her. Because I'm in love with you!"

It's a sharp, silent moment.

In a delayed response, Mike slaps a hand over his mouth in horror, begins to stutter.

Will's ears are ringing, his head buzzing, and he scoots backward, shaking his head. What? Is he – what did he just hear?

"-I didn't mean to-to come out with it like that. Uh, Oh my God. Will? Can you say something, please?"

Mike's voice is as shrill as he's ever heard it, panicked clearly.

Will heads right into comforting mode, "Hey, it's okay. Calm down, Mike."

But, Will isn't sure where to place his hands.

Mike notices, and his face falls, "You-You don't feel the same, that's fine. I – fuck. I wanted that to go so differently. I'm sorry."

"Stop... talking," Will holds up a hand, watching him. "And, uh, don't apologise." Will can't hear his own voice over the storm brewing inside his head.

Mike shuts his mouth, staring.

"I thought you got back together with El."

The comment leads off to another long silence, "Will… I don't love El like that. She doesn't love me like that, either." He adds on after a thoughtful flit of an expression.

"I'm really confused." Will's voice is faint.

"O-Okay. El and I broke up, for good. And we talked – about how we never were in love with each other, like we thought. Or, I guess how we had both hoped we were, anyway." A pause, Will observes as his throat jumps with nerves, "Um, I'm in love with you. Have been, for-for a while now, probably."

His voice is tight as he says it, as if it pains him, eyes staring blankly over Will's left shoulder.

"Mike."

And Mike finally looks at him again, and oh. There're tears in his eyes.

Will gets closer, treading over the blanket and outreaches an arm to catch on Mike's hanging denim cut-off jacket.

"W-Will…" Mike's eyes drop.

"You – do you really… love me, like that?" He says it quickly, and then a little insecurely, voice going small, "You're not joking around?"

Mike stiffens, face scrunching up – hilariously appalled he'd think such a thing, ready to probably rant. And it's so much something Will recognises from what he'd see from Mike years ago – as a kid, when he was always so passionate and stubborn and furiously caring and thoughtful – that it makes Will grin, big and wide.

Mike's face goes slack again when he sees his expression, and hope curls up in blooms across his face.

"I really, seriously love you, Will Byers." And Mike drags him in, Will's hands now going to rest on his shoulders in surprise, Mike's hand curling into his neck.

Their lips meet, soft, slightly chapped. Mike makes a noise, and shoots up to get closer so eagerly that it sends a spark flying down Will's body – because it's like desperation, like he's been waiting. And where Mike's grabbed the back of Will's neck tight, he leaves goose-bumps in his wake – the total and complete juxtaposition to the way the other rests gently on his cheek.

Will could swoon.

Mike's thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, and Will lets his mouth fall open slightly, dazed, and Mike's thumb twitches in place. Mike nips carefully at his bottom lip and his mouth falls open lower, his mind blank but just trained onto the sensation as Mike crawls closer, flanking him in all the right places, and he slips a peak of tongue in. Pushes him down into a blue blanket which has Will fling an arm out, sitting up on an elbow.

Mike pauses, breathing heavy, leans off a little and takes away his mouth. Will whines, eyes squeezed close. He opens them to see Mike's mouth – that was so warm against his a second ago, and Will wants it back – but his mouth is downturned.

"Sorry." His hand burns a hole into Will's chest, in the place it rests on, "Got-Got carried away."

"I said: Stop apologising."

Will grabs him and slides down into the blanket, Mike falling with him in shock.

Mike's leg slots in-between his own, and Mike's gaze grows dark, hungry. A new look he's never assigned to Mike before, because he's never experienced it. Will thinks he loves it, wants to see it more often. Now that he apparently can.

He raises a hand again to touch Will's face, and he pushes into it, because the feeling is so nice, tickling at his cheek, but as Mike smirks at him, cognitive function returns and he glowers. He quickly loses it as Mike once again pushes his thumb against his mouth, eyes newly persistent on the spot, flickering up to meet his widened eyes.

Will gathers a hunch, and resolves to test it out. He opens his mouth a tad, just a tad, like before, flicks the thumb with his tongue just a touch as well; and Mike's breathing hitches.

Will unravels the grip he has in Mike's clothes, brings it up to the back of his head instead, sinking fingers into his curly hair, as soft as he often wondered it might be, and Will pulls.

It's a little while later, Will resting his head on Mike as the other boy cards a hand through his hair, and Will's so content with it he could burst, explode into a million tiny pieces.

"Hey." Mike shoots through the bout of silence, smile playing over his lips – red and swollen, still – and he smirks when he catches where Will's glanced down, before, "You never did tell me what you brought with you?"

Oh. Yeah. His painting.

Rather than the anxiety he'd felt before, Will's almost eager to pull it out, now.

"It's actually my latest painting, brought it with me from California."

Will turns to look at Mike, rolling a little, and Mike's hand stops in his hair, and his face… it looks the opposite of pleased.

Will sits up, a little hurt.

He snaps, "Wow, don't look too happy. I only painted it for you."

Mike's eyes widen in realisation, "For me?"

Will scrunches his eyebrows, "I mean, who else? I always paint for you, you know that." He throws a look over toward the abandoned binder.

Mike looks a little too self-satisfied at that, and Will nudges him for an explanation, "Oh, ha. I was… jealous."

"Jealous? What over?" Will's kind of impatient to know.

There's still a certain feeling in his chest – an incredulous one, almost – that Mike actually returns his feelings. It's like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Like for it all to be a well-concocted dream, that'll probably inevitably turn into a nightmare. Maybe it's the Mind Flayer's doing, and Will frowns at the unbidden thought. It's what he'd do, though. Make him happy and then take it all away.

Mike reaches out a hand and smooths Will's eyebrow, "You good?"

"Oh, uh. Fine. Now tell me."

Mike laughs, forgetting his worry in light of Will's fervent tone.

"Okay, okay. It's just, El mentioned it in one of her letters. That you were painting something, and it might be for a… a crush. 'Cause you were acting weird."

"Well, she wasn't wrong." Mike shoves at his chest, grinning.

"Yeah, well. Thought it was a girl you met, in California, or something. It just agitated me, y'know? I tried to put it out of sight, out of mind, literally." A little sheepishly, in order to explain, he goes, "I actually threw the letter out. I don't know why I tried to convince myself I wasn't in love with you, it's so obvious now." He groans in embarrassment.

Will feels emotional, hearing that. He clears his throat, "Well, you were wrong. Made it just for you."

That pleased expression again crosses his face, and: "Can I see it?"

Will gets up to grab it from his bag happily.

When Mike unfurls it, his expression becomes ravenous, soaking up the image. "Will, this is… amazing." His voice is admiring, and he snaps his eyes back up to meet Will's, infatuatedly.

It makes Will flush. "Thank you." He says softly, simply.

"That day still remains the best decision of my life, y'know?"

Will looks for any sign of deception, only sees stark honesty, and gulps.

Mike puts down the painting heedfully, and gathers Will up into an embrace.

He mumbles into his ear, voice low and beguiling, "Maybe we should join the Party now, since we've been gone a while?" It makes Will shiver from the vibrations of it, and Will feels the lifting of Mike's lips against his ear, and rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, probably." He whispers back, turning his head toward him.

They catch eyes, and Mike pecks a kiss to his nose, before getting up into a crouch and pushing the van's backdoors open.

As he jumps to the ground and turns around, he watches Will's stunned face amusedly for a moment, and says, "Well, what're you waiting for?"

Will quickly gathers all of their things and follows.