Mike waits two weeks before he brings up to Will again the possibility of him going to Sullivan to visit.

It feels like torture to wait as long as he does. Now that Will is back in Mike's life, even if only for ten minutes on the phone every night, Mike looks forward all day to their talks and can hardly wait to see him again in person. Considering their history, it's surprising how easy it is to talk to Will about nothing these days. It almost makes it feel like their whole relationship is easy, too—like they're not dancing around each other's emotional baggage at every turn.

Mike just wants to skip to the part where they're beyond the bumps and he doesn't have to be afraid every day that Will's going to walk away from him again. He wants to skip to the part where they're happy and together, whether that's as friends or as…

He can't get his hopes up, he reminds himself. Nothing is probably going to happen, and Mike will be better off if he doesn't expect Will to give him more than he can. He doesn't want to push Will, knowing that, if he does, he's just going to drive Will away.

So he waits two weeks to ask again about visiting. When he does, he stumbles over his words and is fully expecting Will to turn him down, so Mike is caught off guard when Will hesitates and then answers, "Yeah, I think that would be okay."

"Really? You talked to your therapist about it and everything?"

"Yeah. Are you doing anything on Saturday?"

He's supposed to see Lucas and Dustin on Saturday, but he sees them on literally every Saturday—they can stand to go one weekend without Mike around to keep them company. "No, I'm not busy. I'll be there. How's eleven o'clock?"

"Eastern?"

"No, Central. I can probably make it by eleven Central if I leave by nine Eastern, which isn't too bad. I'm used to waking up even earlier than that for school most days."

"Okay," says Will quietly. "Eleven on Saturday. Where do you want to meet? Would it be weird for you to come over here with El around?"

Mike pauses. He didn't actually consider until right now that Will living with El might make it difficult for Mike to visit. Mike and El had a good talk in the car ride from Sullivan to Hawkins last June—cleared the air a little—but he knows that one conversation doesn't pave over how hurt she probably still is that he broke up with her.

So he suggests, "How about I pick you up? We could go get lunch. Or—Sullivan has a movie theater, right? The Terror Within will be out by then if you want to go see it."

"Yeah, we've got a theater. That sounds good."

A meal and a movie—that sounds exactly like a date to Mike. He tries not to think about it like that, but he can't help himself: it's too tempting. He pictures being in the dark in the back of a movie theater next to Will and shivers.

Saturday can't come soon enough. Thanks to Will's particular brand of mental illness, Mike keeps doing self-checks to make sure he's not too desperate for his not-date with Will to arrive, that he's excited without needing it, because the last thing this friendship (…relationship? whatever) needs is for Mike to develop an unhealthy dependency, too. So he throws himself into writing his next D&D campaign for the Hellfire Club, working on his science fair project, studying for his physics exam—anything to keep him grounded and his mind from obsessing about seeing Will.

He's excited, but he's nervous, too. What if their fragile truce backfires when they see each other face to face? Will Mike lose Will altogether? God, he hopes not. Every moment he's had with Will in the last month has felt like a gift.

Dustin and Lucas aren't happy with him when he cancels their plans for Saturday afternoon. It's obvious that Will hasn't told either of them much of anything yet—Mike is sure they'd be a lot more sympathetic if they knew. Mostly, they just seem irate that Mike is blowing them off for somebody who they until recently thought hated him.

Or, at least, that's what Mike assumes at first. On Friday night, he feels like an ass when Dustin complains, "I just don't get it. He said he wouldn't stay with me for Christmas because of you, and now he's having you drive over three hours to Sullivan to see him without me or Lucas. You barely spoke to him when he moved away. I'm the one who's talked to him every week for years now, and he wants to see you and not me?"

"I'm sorry," says Mike weakly. "It's not like that, I swear. We just—there's a lot of history. It's complicated—a lot more complicated than anything between you and him."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "I'm used to him shutting me out, but I never thought you would start doing it, too."

"I'm not shutting you out!" Dustin and Lucas both scowl at him. "I swear I'm not. I just—there are some things he should be the one to tell you, not me."

"Right," Lucas drawls, "like that's ever going to happen."

Mike feels guilty, sure, but not guilty enough to stop himself from feeling topsy-turvy as he tries to fall asleep that night, anticipating seeing his once-best friend for the first time since June. It's all coming to a head now, and if Mike can just break through—

He wakes up at seven on Saturday morning, scarfs down his breakfast, and hops in his Jeep by half past seven. It's too early to call Will, especially with the time difference, but once Mike's been driving for a couple of hours, he calls up the Byerses on his car phone. "I'm going to be early," he says breathlessly. "Like, a lot early. That okay?"

"Yeah," says Will, sounding windswept. "Yeah, that's totally fine."

"Okay. I guess I'll see you soon, then."

"Okay."

It takes forever for Mike to get to Will's house, where he waits outside in the car for Will to join him. Mike reaches for the car phone again, but he sees the front door open and Will trek outside before he's finished dialing.

Will looks good—better than he did in June, anyway. Obviously, he's not covered in bloodstains this time around. More importantly, some of the worry lines in his face have cleared up; he looks nervous, sure, but also excited. It's comforting because that's exactly how Mike feels, too.

When Will climbs into the passenger seat, Mike isn't sure whether to hug him or not. He kind of half goes for it, and Will doesn't react at first, so Mike starts to draw his arms back awkwardly, but then Will makes a decision and goes for it anyway. Mike ends up with his arms wrapped around Will's back for a second that's much, much too short.

Is Mike nervous because he hasn't seen Will in forever and doesn't want to screw it up, or is he nervous for another reason? (Is it really necessary to keep thinking in euphemisms now that he's told the truth about the feelings he might be having to Lucas and Dustin?)

But as Will directs Mike to the theater and they buy their tickets and refreshments, things are going well—shockingly so. In fact, it's not until the movie begins that things get interesting.

It starts innocuously enough: Mike puts his forearms on his armrests after he finishes his popcorn and feels his elbow brush against Will's. He almost fidgets so as to break the contact, but after a second's consideration, he leaves his arm where it is so that he can feel the heat of Will's elbow bleeding through their clothes onto Mike's own skin.

Mike shivers.

Will obviously notices because he twists his neck to look sidelong at Mike, but Mike doesn't look back. He's gripping the armrests hard, and after a few long seconds, he almost jumps when he feels Will pull his right hand out of his lap and set it on his own armrest next to Mike's. Will's pinky finger settles against Mike's. A moment later, Mike hears Will take a deep breath, and then Will hooks his finger around Mike's.

He couldn't tell you the first thing about what's happening onscreen right now. All he can think is that he can't do anything to mess up this relationship—that Mike hasto be damn careful if he doesn't want every little move he makes in this theater to backfire. He sits frozen like that, just breathing, scared to move even a millimeter closer to Will—but his self-control isn't good enough to last.

He slides his whole hand over Will's and interlocks all their fingers.

And suddenly, Mike is reminded precisely of sitting in the back of his Jeep with Will as Jonathan drove them to Ruth, putting his hand on top of Will's in Will's lap. At the time, Mike had thought—he'd kissed Will the night before, and they'd only stopped because of Jonathan, and Mike had wanted—and then it turned out that he was still bad for Will, and almost as soon as they got back to Hawkins, Will told him they couldn't talk anymore.

Is that how this is going to go? Is Mike going to move too fast and ruin everything?

But before he can pull his hand away, Will looks at him again, and this time, Mike looks back. "Will?"

"Mike…"

"I can let go," Mike whispers. "I can let go right now if you ask me to."

Will lets go. Mike feels a crushing sense of guilt and disappointment—but Will doesn't put his hand back in his lap. Instead, he puts up his armrest, nudges Mike's arm out of the way, and puts up Mike's armrest, too. Sucking in a breath, Will tilts his head to the side so he can lay it on Mike's shoulder, leaning his whole body against Mike's side.

They're sitting all the way in the back row of the theater; it's not really private, but there's nobody next to or behind them, and everyone else's attention is focused on the screen. He's really doing this, and he's doing this in public, where anybody—anybody—could turn around and see.

Mike gingerly lifts his arm and drapes it along Will's shoulders.

It feels nice, having Will's body pressed up against his own. It's weird, yeah, because this is Will, and Mike knew him forever without ever thinking of him this way—but somewhere along the way, he started thinking of him this way. Is he just feeding back on Will's own feelings? If Mike hadn't known what Will thought of him, would he ever have considered Will romantically at all?

Again, Mike's mind jumps back to the Mind Flayer—how good it felt to be the one to rescue Will. Was that normal? Do straight guys feel that way about their male best friends? Of course, Mike shouldn't be feeling that way about saving Will at all, not when he knows it's already gotten Will into so much trouble.

Will is hot as a furnace against Mike's side, and Mike allows his fingertips to rub careful circles along Will's shoulder. It feels really different to hold Will than it did to hold El all those years ago. His body is harder, leaner, than Mike is used to—but it's not bad. If anything, it's kind of… interesting.

Mike can barely breathe. He's cuddled right up to Will in the dark, and he can barely breathe.

Very, very carefully, he takes his free hand and raises it to Will's cheek, the one that's not squashed against Mike's chest. He doesn't hold it there for very long: his hand is shaking too badly.

The movie ends and the credits start to roll way, way too soon. As the lights come on in the theater, Mike suddenly realizes that they're going to be within eyeshot of anybody who turns around while they're standing up to leave the theater, and he jerks his arm away from Will's body and pulls his hand back into his lap. Will propels his whole body away from Mike's and starts putting on his coat.

For a very uncomfortable moment, nobody says anything. Then Will asks, "What did you think?"

"What?"

"Of the movie. What did you think?"

"Oh. It was fine, I guess." Honestly, most of it went all the way over Mike's head—he was too distracted to pay very much attention to it—but he can't tell Will that, not when the balance between them is still so precarious.

The date (if that's what this is) isn't over yet: they've still got to go get lunch before Mike takes Will home. Mike's thinking, shit. How is he supposed to act normal for a whole additional hour before Will leaves his company? At least the drive back home will take at least three hours, maybe four if Mike drives slowly and doesn't speed like he usually does. That should give him some time to decompress and process before he has to act normal in front of Mom and Dad and Holly.

He's pretty convinced that anything Will might possibly say to him about their relationship is going to be negative—that Mike can only have anything as long as he shuts up about it. Unfortunately, shutting up about anything isn't Mike's strong suit.

They're quiet the whole walk out of the theater and into the restaurant down the block. Mike knows he's shooting himself in the foot—he knows that—but he can't help but ask after they finally sit down, "Was that too…?"

Startled, Will looks up at him. "Back there at the…?"

"Sorry," says Mike automatically. "I probably shouldn't have—"

"No, it's okay," says Will quickly. "It was… it was nice."

A hopeful little bubble starts to rise in Mike's chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We just shouldn't… I might have to wait a little while before I call you again."

"Oh," says Mike, deflating. "Okay. Whatever you need."

"But it was nice," Will repeats, firmer this time. "It wasn't bad or anything. It was nice."

"Yeah," Mike says wistfully. "Really nice."

Will seems to detect something in Mike's voice because he frowns, furrowing his eyebrows, and then reaches across the table to hold Mike's hand in both of his own. Mike has a moment of blind panic—the lights are on in here, and they're surrounded by people who could see. He tries to reason with himself. He doesn't know anybody else in this town, and even if he did, being caught in the middle of something with Will wouldn't be anything to be ashamed of. He thinks he's partly ashamed, yes, but that's not really the thing: it's that it feels too personal to give anybody else in the world a glimpse of himself and Will that might make them make assumptions about what they mean to each other when Mike doesn't even know what they are, not yet and maybe not ever.

"You don't have to leave yet," says Will, and Mike tries to focus on his voice instead of on everything rising up inside of him. "I'm going to need some time away from you to make sure I'm going about this the right way, but you haven't… you don't have to go. We can still…"

Mike feels a sudden stab of indignation that Will even has to take breaks from Mike to sort out his feelings. Why can't they just be normal—or whatever passes for normal when you're dating someone of the same sex, anyway? Why can't they just be happy? Why does it all have to be so difficult?

And then Mike feels like an ass. It's not Will's fault that relationships are so hard for him. Mike knew what he was getting himself into when he decided to pursue this thing in spite of Will's hangups: he's got no excuse to want more from Will than Will can give him.

It occurs to Mike that maybe Will isn't the only one who needs space to process. Maybe it would do Mike some good to figure himself out, too.

Mike retracts his hand. Will looks wounded for a second, but he recovers quickly. Mike smiles weakly and wonders once again whether they're ever, ever again going to have something stable.