Chapter Text
It’s a sunny day, which means the movie theater is quiet. Not that it isn’t always that way—people watch movies here, usually, which means they’re occupied with other things than talking, especially the teenage couples in the back rows—but Will means that figuratively more than literally.
Everyone’s out enjoying the sun by the lake, or getting ice cream at Benny’s, or lounging in the skate park. Will knows the party is there somewhere, biking around Hawkins probably, or hanging out near the woods. But he’s fine working the day shift, because of the aforementioned quiet.
Quiet also means Brian is the one working the shift with him, which is amazing because Brian is probably Will’s favorite coworker for exactly the following reasons:
Firstly, he always takes the box and attendance. Which, in turn, means that Will can laze around behind the concession stand, nose tucked into the latest issue of Wolverine—or, like today, his newest sketchbook, edges all worn already—and the Squawk playing quietly from his portable radio.
Secondly, Brian’s kinda cute.
Will keeps drawing him, keeps telling himself it’s anatomy practice, when in reality it’s just nice to draw someone else for once. He can’t usually occupy his mind with anything other than black curls and a crooked, freckled nose. So, whenever Will gets to draw Brian, it’s like a blissful break for his lovesick brain. Not that he consciously thinks about that. He’s become a master of shoving-down-his-feelings over the past few months, and he plans on keeping it that way for the rest of the summer. Probably all throughout college as well, but he’s kind of banking on the distance to do his job for him by then.
Will sighs and flexes his hand, putting the pencil down to observe his work. He’s been sketching for what feels like hours but can’t be longer than ninety minutes. Brian, in various poses around the foyer. Hunched over the cash register, counting coins. Mopping the floors after a nasty Gatorade spill. He’s caught Will staring on more than one occasion, does so right now, but he never questions his glances. Just smiles and waves, like a fucking Golden Retriever. Will waves back, fingers moving stiffly. Shakes his hair out of his face, bangs sticking to his forehead. Returns his gaze to the page, surveying the sketches in front of him.
They’re not half bad, considering Brian has been moving around a whole lot while Will has been rooted to the same spot for the past hour and a half. Will moves his pencil over the page again, hatches in some shading on the uniform. It’s a crime to be forced to wear a collared button-up on a hot day, actually, but Brian somehow pulls it off without a single sweat stain. (He’s pretty sure the same can’t be said for himself.)
“Whatcha drawing?”
Will yelps and slams his sketchbook shut. He looks up and Mike is there. Just there. Like he always is, curious grin playing at his slips as though it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to just show up when Will is working.
Will doesn’t even try to suppress the smile pulling at his lips, pressing his palm to his beating heart. He doesn’t have to, not when Mike smiles back easily, hair falling into his eyes. His pulse doesn’t slow yet. “Holy shit, you scared me.”
“Ah. So it’s something scandalous?” Mike grins and fishes for Will’s book across the counter, but Will snatches it away. “C’mon, lemme see your dirty little pictures!”
“They’re not—Why should I when I know you’re only here for free popcorn?” says Will, cutting himself off before he can fall for the bait, and tucks the book safely behind the counter. He might pretend to be mad, but his hands move automatically, reaching for one of the striped paper bags. He knows he’s too indulgent. Mike knows it, too, judging by the self-satisfied little smirk on his face.
“Be grateful. I’m getting it for our movie night.”
Will rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. “I could’ve just brought it after my shift.”
“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see you all day.”
Mike’s smirk turns to a smile, eyes softening. And, really, what is Will supposed to say to that? Admissions like these knock the wind from his lungs, and Mike gives them out with practiced ease lately.
He doesn’t answer, can’t find one. So, he just turns away, busying himself with the popcorn instead. Two scoops sweet and one salty, just how Mike likes it.
When he turns back around, Mike has the sketchbook open in front of him, because he has no sense of personal space or privacy whatsoever. Not when it comes to Will, anyway. Will suppresses a groan. Mike is staring at his drawings—The new ones of Brian.
“Whoa,” says Mike. “These are really good.”
Will shrugs, aiming for nonchalant. “It’s good anatomy practice. Not much else to do.”
Mike glances up at him, then back down at the page. Darts another look over his shoulder, to where Brian is counting change inside the box office. Then back at the drawings, and up at Will again.
Will knows that look on his face.
“Nope,” he says before Mike can do so. “No. Stop it right now, whatever you’re thinking needs to go.”
“You like him.” It’s not a question. Will flushes.
“I don’t like him,” he says, folding the paper bag shut at the top. Some of the popcorn spills onto the counter. Mike’s stare is intense. “I don’t!”
“Uh-huh.”
Mike does this sometimes. Picks out guys for Will. He calls them ‘potential boyfriends’, and it makes Will want to die in embarrassment because it is equally parts mortifying and flustering to hear Mike talk about boyfriends, especially concerning Will. He really needs to get a grip.
“He’s kinda cute, I guess,” says Mike. He’s watching Brian again, body half-turned so he can look over his shoulder. “I mean, objectively.”
Will tries not to stare at the way Mike’s neck stretches out from beneath the collar of his shirt. “I guess,” he repeats because he has nothing better to say right now.
Mike turns back to him, eyebrows raised. “You should ask him out.” He looks awfully earnest saying it.
Will huffs out a laugh.
“I don’t think Brian is interested,” he says, avoiding Mike’s knowing stare.
It’s not even that Will doesn’t find Brian attractive or anything. He is handsome enough, with his dark mop of hair that swoops over his eyes, making him glance at Will from underneath. The sight does make Will’s heart flutter from time to time. He’s tall and lanky, too; towers over Will just enough to have to bend down slightly whenever he’s talking to him. His glasses are just the right amount of too big for his face. And he’s kind. Always helps Will out with the cash register when it gets stuck. Sneaks him candied almonds in between showings, when Chris from the projection booth isn’t looking. And he always takes over admission when the old ladies from the nursing home come down for a showing, pinching and prodding at the “handsome young man” working the theater. Just so Will doesn’t have to. Just because he knows how Will hates it.
He’s the perfect, gentlemanly guy. Or rather, he should be. To anyone, really.
But Will knows that it’s not Brian he wants.
He likes the idea of him. The perfect fantasy he’s painted for himself. Images of a Brian that is exactly the type of guy he wants. But he can’t indulge in them. Not when he knows with complete and utter certainty that he isn’t, not really. Not when said guy, the exact kind that Will wants, is standing in front of the counter with his mouth pouting in a way that makes Will want to strangle himself.
Mike doesn’t know any of this, though, which is why he’s leaning his elbows on the counter, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the display cup sizes.
“So… You should make him jealous.”
Will stares at him. “Why would I do that?”
“You know.” Mike shrugs, waggles his eyebrows. “Make him think you’re a hot commodity.”
Will scoffs. “Yeah, well. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not.”
“You don’t actually have to be. Just pretend. Tell him about the hot date you have tonight.”
“Stop saying hot.”
“Come on.” Mike waggles his eyebrows again and Will can’t help but laugh at the sight. His fingers find the corner of the paper bag, folding it down and up, then down again.
“I don’t have a hot date tonight. I’m hanging out with you in your basement, watching a movie we’ve seen three hundred times.” Will’s neck flushes at the implication, and he tries really hard not to think about the words Mikeand hot date in the same sentence, and also in any regard to himself.
Luckily, Mike doesn’t seem to notice Will’s torment. He scratches at the small-sized cup with the nail of his thumb, seeming pensive. “Well, Brian doesn’t know that.”
Will glances at Brian over Mike’s shoulder. Brian catches his look. Pushes his glasses up his nose. Waves at Will, small and smiley.
“Will you stop bugging me if I say that I’ll think about it?”
Mike grins and grabs the popcorn. “Totally. I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” Will sighs as he watches him leave. “Later.”
Mike brings it up again that night.
They’re sitting on the couch in the basement, bare calves sticking to the leather. Will has been trying awfully hard to ignore the brush of Mike’s sugar-sticky fingers against his own every time he’s reached into the popcorn bag. On the screen, Venkman is stepping out of the cab, rose bouquet in hand, and the topic of datesseems to remind Mike of their conversation earlier because he leans over and nudges Will’s shoulder with his own.
“So…”
Will decides to play dumb. “So…?”
“Will.” Mike drags out his name, voice whiny. It would be cute if he wasn’t so insistent about it. “Tell me what happened with Brian.”
Will sighs. “Nothing happened with him.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because!” He wrings his hands in his lap. “I can’t just—I mean, it’s not as easy for people like me.”
“Brian’s nice, though. You said so.”
“Yeah, but, I still don’t know that he’s even—That he’s—”
“He definitely is,” says Mike, voice swelling with conviction.
Will’s eyes are staring insistently at the TV to avoid rolling them at Mike, voice flat. “Okay. Who made you the expert?”
“I have eyes, Will. He waves at you all the time, like,” Mike raises his hand in a poor, goofy imitation of Brian. “Hey, Will! How’s it going, Will? No, you stay behind the counter. I’ll just let Sharon smooch all over me again, no worries!”
Despite himself, Will snorts. “He doesn’t sound like that.”
“He totally does,” Mike insists, but there’s a smile playing at his lips, too. “I bet it wouldn’t even take much to make him jealous.”
“Come on, Mike, that’s so dumb.”
“It’s not!” Mike protests. “I know it’d work. You just need to tell him about all the cute guys—” He scoffs at Will’s insistent glare. “Okay, people you’re seeing. No need to get specific or anything. Just to see.”
Will is still glaring. He’s quiet for a moment. Reaches for another handful of popcorn.
“It’s not like he would believe me, anyway,” he says after a moment. “He knows that I only have, like, five friends. I can’t just brag about something I haven’t even—I’ve never even been on a date! What if he, like, asks me stuff? About dates or—or kissing or something.” His voice is brimming with (what he hopes is) a tone of finality.
It, apparently, is not.
“Well, that’s easy,” says Mike. “Just have someone give you a hickey or something. That will definitely make him believe you’re dating. And you won’t even have to explain anything.”
“Right, because there’s a dozen guys just lining up to suck on my neck.” Will’s face is in a deadpan. He grabs blindly into the bag again, stuffing his mouth before he says more self-deprecating things that Mike can be annoying about.
“It’s not that hard,” Mike continues, completely ignoring the issue at hand. Which—okay, unfortunately it does make sense for him to be somewhat of an expert on this specific matter, because he’s done this before. To El. Will swallows around something salty. He blames it on the popcorn. “I could totally give you one right now.”
This makes Will choke on a kernel.
“Oh my God,” he wheezes out in between coughs, feeling his head swell with redness. “That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t even joking!”
“You’re not giving me a hickey, Mike.” Will lowers his voice when he says it. As if anyone could hear them down here. As if anyone would bother to listen to two teenage boys squabbling in a basement.
Mike continues to seem unbothered. “Why not? I know how to do it right. And it won’t even take long.”
“It’s just—It’s weird!” Yeah. Right. Weird. The traitorous blush staining Will’s cheeks has him feeling anything but.
“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” Mike points out. “It’s just me, man.”
Will knows this is supposed to sound comforting to him, but all it does is send his heart into a near cardiac arrest. He keeps his eyes very pointedly not on Mike. He’s almost sure that if he looks at him right now, there is no way that Mike won’t know the traitorous thoughts running through his best friend’s mind.
“And I just want you to be happy. I mean, I know you don’t need a boyfriend for that,” Mike continues, once again oblivious to the effect his words have on Will. “But I figure it can’t hurt, right? You deserve to have someone, too.”
Affection slams in Will’s chest with every pulsing beat of his heart. Mike is staring at him openly now, eyes big and round. Will knows this is such a dumb idea. Stupid, really.
“I’ll be going to college soon. It’ll be different there.”
“Can’t hurt to go on a practice date, though, can it?”
He curses Mike’s insistence. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Will finds himself trying to find the reason in Mike’s words anyway. Because he desperately wants to, not because it’s actually there. He feels himself nodding before he makes a conscious effort to. “Alright.”
Mike’s lips split into a grin. He nods back and swallows. Scoots a bit closer on the couch. “So… You wanna do it now?”
His face is open. Searching. Waiting for Will to set the pace. Will feels like he is going to die. “Just do it before I change my mind.”
“Yeah.”
Mike licks his lips and shifts even closer. Moves the popcorn out of the way, to the floor.
“Yeah,” he repeats, and for a second it seems like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. Settles for one of them propped on the backrest of the couch and lets out a breath. He’s close enough now for Will to feel him next to his own body. It makes his skin tingle.
Mike’s face moves even closer, enough for his breath to hit the skin of Will’s neck. It makes Will’s head tip back automatically, squeezing his eyes shut to steel himself.
Still, nothing could have prepared him for the first, tentative brush of Mike’s lips against his skin.
“This okay?” He can feel Mike’s mouth move against his neck. Will exhales a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” says Mike, still hovering. “I’ll just—”
And just like that, his open mouth is on Will’s neck.
Something hot and coiling flashes through Will’s body instantly. Mike is burning wet on his neck, tongue running over the sensitive skin there. Will is glad his eyes are closed, because he’s certain they’ve rolled back into his skull from the feeling. He chokes on a sound that could pass as surprise and, for lack of better self-restraint, clutches his fingers into the back of Mike’s shirt.
Mike doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he appears to see this as encouragement, because he opens his mouth impossibly wider and grazes his teeth over Will’s skin.
Will’s mouth drops open at the feeling. He’s panting hard, fingers digging into Mike’s shoulder blades. He can smell the shampoo in his hair, can feel the sugary stickiness of Mike’s mouth. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced.
He never wants it to stop.
Either Mike can sense this, or he’s just genuinely invested in doing the best job he can. Whatever it is, it makes him bring one of his hands up to hold the back of Will’s neck, resting there to angle his head better. His fingers are long enough to curl up into Will’s hair as he sucks the skin of his neck in between his teeth, and it makes Will see stars.
It’s all a little much. But it’s also so, so good, which is why Will doesn’t realize that first part until it’s too late. Mike’s tongue is warm and wet against his neck, suckling on the bruise that is surely forming there, and Will tries not to, he really does but—before he can do anything about it at all, a high pitched and desperate sound rips from his throat.
Mike stills. Will’s heart is beating fast, like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. For a second, he’s afraid Mike can hear it because they’re so close. Will swallows, closes his eyes and opens them again. Waits. Tries so hard not to make it weird, like Mike said.
There’s a wet, popping sound as Mike pulls back. His eyes are darker than Will has ever seen them and are not looking at his face. Instead, they linger on Wills neck for a long moment, on the spot that Will is sure must be blooming dark red right now. The damp skin on his neck is pulsing faintly, immediately cooling without the warmth of Mike’s mouth around it. His heartbeat rushes in his ears.
“There,” Mike says and has the nerve to run his thumb over the bruise. Will shivers at the feeling. He’s pretty sure there’s goosebumps raising beneath Mike’s hand.
“Does it look okay?” he asks. His voice sounds small. Breathless.
Mike’s eyes darken impossibly more. When he speaks, his voice comes out a little strained. “Yeah. Looks… Looks good.”
His eyes flit up to Will’s taking in his disheveled form. “You alright?”
“M-hm.”
“Good.”
They finish the movie and the popcorn, but the air feels charged. Mike keeps stealing glances at Will and every time Will catches him, his eyes are glued to Will’s neck, eyes dark and unreadable. It makes something heavy curl in Will’s gut. Something he decides not to examine further right now.
By the time Will heads outside and picks his bike up from the lawn, they’ve returned to mostly normal.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Will asks. His voice sounds embarrassingly hopeful, even to his own ears.
Mike smiles. “Yeah.”
“Cool.” Will swings onto his bike. “Bye.”
“Bye, Will.”
Will pushes off into the driveway and down the badly lit road. He fights the urge to look back over his shoulder.