Archive of Our Own

Mike has been preparing for tonight. Extensively.

He has been preparing for weeks, months almost, with the sole goal of making the teachers’ Christmas party his occasion, the one he has been waiting for since September, when the handsomest man he’s ever seen decided to bless and curse Mike’s life by joining Hawkins High as the new art teacher. 

Will Byers had charmed his way into Mike’s stupid heart in five, maybe ten minutes, thanks to his unspeakably beautiful green-hazel eyes, smart jokes, and those fluffy hair of his. Mike has been an absolute gay mess for about four months now, head over heels for a man he can barely look at, for he turns into the most chaotic, embarrassing version of himself anytime he tries to talk to him, because Will Byers is so pretty it breaks Mike’s brain, apparently.

Granted, Mike doesn’t exactly have a list of romantic conquests, but he knows how to talk to men he fancies— only that, apparently, this doesn’t apply to Will Byers, because anytime he all but walks into the room Mike forgets the entirety of the English language in the blink of an eye, despite him being a goddamn English teacher and a published author. Really, not even at fifteen was he this awkward. (Perhaps simply because he had no Will Byers, at fifteen. He strongly suspects he would have been reduced to the same state, if they would have known each other then, because the problem is not Mike himself, but how Will makes Mike feel. Namely, a queer mess. So, all things considered, it is perhaps better that he met Will at thirty-two: at least he can now deal with his crush as an adult, aka by putting all of himself into ignoring it and hoping for Will not to hate how weird Mike gets around him, with his sweaty hands and beetroot red face any time Will all but glances in his general direction with that cute smile curling his pretty lips. Oh God, his lips—)

Despite Mike turning into chaos whenever Will is around, he has somehow managed to grow at least a bit closer to him since the beginning of the school year: he can now bear being in the same room as Will, which is progress in his book, as he’s not fleeing as soon as he all but hears Will’s voice, scared of making an idiot of himself. 

However, the situation still is nowhere near what Mike would like it to be—  they’re not even friends, really, but Mike wants it: he wants to be able to talk to Will any time they cross paths in the hallways (yes, Will always does his best to start a conversation with him whenever they bump into each other, but that’s just because he notices how awkward Mike gets and simply wants to help), he wants Will to smile brightly at him whenever he catches sight of Mike (and yes, Will does this too, but surely it doesn’t mean much, he’s just being nice and has a blinding smile that he somehow decides to greet Mike with), and he wants to share his coffee break with him (Will actually approached him one time in October while Mike was nursing his own cup of coffee, then promptly spilled said coffee everywhere once he realised Will was talking to him. Needless to say, he started avoiding Will even more after that). 

Mike wants, wants, wants. That’s why he has been preparing for the teachers’ Christmas party for weeks.

Truth be told, he was actually considering skipping it, at first, as he doesn’t need an extra occasion to make a fool of himself, like spilling his drink on his own clothes or, God forbid, on Will’s. But then, he started thinking, plotting, and preparing, treating the event like one of his DnD campaigns, turning it into a challenge, as a series of tasks he had to complete in order to slay the monster (Mike’s own awkwardness), save his companions (spare Dustin, Lucas and Max from yet another night of moping about his hopeless love), and kiss the princess (well, the prince— yes, Mike might have been referring to Will as a prince in his own mind because, have you seen him? It’s a biblically accurate description). 

So, he was ready for this damn party. He really was. He even started feeling a bit excited about it, if he’s honest, like this might really be the occasion he had been waiting for for months: Christmas is a festive time, and Mike supposes it could be a romantic one, too. Not that he feels particularly romantic tonight, but that’s simply because everything has been feeling romantic as of lately, because of Will. Like last week, when Mike was passing by the teachers’ room and caught sight of Will, busy at the printer, and Mike almost walked straight into the wall because of how the late winter sunlight was bathing Will’s features in a fairytale-esque light, making his hair sparkle with specks of silver.

Despite Mike not being the best judge of tonight’s atmosphere, he supposes Christmas could be a good occasion for a declaration of love, or just a handholding, he’s not picky, honestly he would be over the moon simply by spending the night listening to Will talk about his favourite art piece or the last painting he’d been working on. Really, he’s not asking much: any crumbs he would get, he’d be happy with.

Only that, now that he’s finally here, at the damn party, there’s one, huge problem that singlehandedly made all his mental preparation and pep-talks evaporate into thin air: Will showed up with a woman. A stunning woman too, because of course Will Byers is perfect (a real life prince, as mentioned), so why would this young, attractive woman not want to be his? Mike is no woman and he wants to be Will’s, so he can’t blame her, though that doesn’t stop him from throwing murderous glances her way. He knows he’s being childish, but sue him: his prince apparently already has a princess (who’s not Mike), and is holding her close with their arms comfortably linked together, like this is what they normally do whenever they are on a date, which means Mike got it all wrong, Will is probably not even queer, and he’s an idiot who’s gonna die alone.

Thank God he did not make a complete fool of himself by declaring his crush to Will two days ago when, in answer to Dustin and Lucas discussing their next campaign, Will had enthusiastically piped in the conversation, off-handedly mentioning that he too used to be obsessed with DnD as a kid, and didn’t Mike think his Paladin and Will’s Sorcerer would make a fantastic duo, complimenting each other’s strength so well? Mike had been this close to drop onto one knee and ask for Will’s hand in marriage, right then and there, and was only stopped by Dustin rushing to tell some random fact about their latest campaign, probably noticing how Mike was already brainstorming names for his and Will’s firstborn in his mind, saving him from making an utter fool of himself.

“What’s that face, man?” Lucas interrupts his self-pitiful train of thoughts, bumping his elbow against his side.

Mike forces himself to look away from Will and his perfect wonderful date, on the other side of the room, but oh God, Will looks stunning tonight, in his blue suit and pale yellow shirt, the sleeves pushed up, leaving his forearms exposed. Mike faintly wonders if this is what Victorian men felt like when catching a glimpse of women’s bare ankles. 

He takes a generous sip of his drink. 

Lucas bumps him again, harder. “Earth to Wheeler.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“So your mood has nothing to do with Will Byers showing up with a plus one who’s not you, right?”

“Why should it?”

Dustin makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Maybe because he’s been your only topic of conversation for months.”

“And because you are obsessed with him.” Lucas adds.

“And because he’s just as obsessed with you, and it’s getting unbearable to watch the two of you circle each other like two animals doing a complicated yet unhelpful mating dance. Daily.” Max concludes. “I don’t understand why you can’t just kiss him and end this torture.”

“I’m not gonna— do that.” Mike’s ears burn at the mere thought of kissing Will Byers. “There’s nothing that makes it seem like he might be wanting that too, guys, we’ve been over this already—”

“We did, and we’ve given you plenty of proof that he wants exactly that.” Lucas points out. “With pictures. And footnotes.”

Dustin nods at once. “Like that time he purposefully waited for you at the end of the day just to give you back the marker he borrowed from you, and you specifically.” He frowns, “I mean, who cares about markers that much?”
“He’s an artist, he probably thought it important or something,” Mike reasons. “It’s not like I was special—”

“Or that time he brought you coffee, getting your order right at the first try.” Lucas unhelpfully adds.

“After having heard about your coffee order just once before.” Max finishes. Lucas looks proudly at her. She winks at him. Mike scoffs.

“My coffee order is not that complicated, he probably just overheard and remembered.”

His friends ignore him.

“Or that time in October when he asked you to go as the Mulder to his Scully at the school Halloween party.”

“Oh my God, that was so obvious it was painful to witness.” Dustin says, looking genuinely traumatised by the memory. “I still have no idea how you didn’t clock that one.”

“Guys, he’s just a nerd and wasn’t really close to anyone in school yet, so he noticed I was without a costume plan and asked to do it together, it’s not that deep.” Mike insists. “And in the end we didn’t do it anyway because he came up with a different plan—”

“Because you panicked and begged us to group-costume.” Dustin corrects him.

“I didn’t panic! It was just nice to go as a group, since we’ve been doing it every year.” He points out. “Sorry I’m a good friend.”

They all stare at him like he’s stupid.

“Or that time when—”

“Alright, I get it, thank you.” Mike stops them before the conversation can turn into a detailed list of all his failures when it comes to Will Byers.

“Look, it’s fine.” He tells them. “It’s not like I ever stood a chance anyway. It’s fine. It’s not even that important. It’s probably just a stupid work crush that’s going to go away on its own at some point. It’s totally fine.”

“Maybe if you say it’s fine one more time you will actually believe it.” Max says, making him groan. 

Look, the thing is, it really is fine. It is! He just has to survive the night, and then he won’t ever have to see Will Byers in the company of his gorgeous girlfriend/partner/wife/soulmate ever again, he’ll hopefully forget everything about tonight, and that will be it. End of the story. (Except that Mike’s story can’t end with his prince kissing anyone but him—)

He needs a drink.

“I need a drink.” He declares, pushing away from the wall he was depressingly leaning against.

Max stops him with a hand on his elbow. “You need a dance.” 

Mike frowns, perplexed. “Absolutely not, and not right now. I need to forget what I saw.”

She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe men rule the world.”

“Look what we’re reduced to.” Dustin agrees. 

Max tightens her grip on his arm, almost painfully so. “Let’s dance.”

Mike almost forgets about his broken heart. “With you?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t sound too excited, you’ll piss your pants.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He honestly apologises, though still taken aback by her proposition. “But, genuinely, what?”

“You’re so blind, Wheeler.”

“Wh—”

“Just come with me.” She forcefully pulls him along by the arm, only turning to Lucas to say, in her sweetest voice: “Be right back. I’m gonna put an end to this torture, for all our sakes.”

“Thank you!” Dustin joins his hands in prayer in front of his chest.

Lucas blows her a kiss and a wink. “Take your time.”

“What—?” Mike asks, lost. “It’s fine, Max, really. I’m sorry I’m making it a problem for you guys, but you really don’t have to stick with me tonight.”

“It’s not just tonight, it’s every single night.” She says, dragging him to the center of the dance floor. “Plus, you’re an idiot, but you’re also my friend. Unfortunately. So I can’t ignore this any longer.”
It makes him smile, despite the weird situation they are into— namely, Max placing her hands on his shoulders to dance. Ew.

“Look, this is not necessary—” He fumbles with his own limbs around her, feeling awkward as hell. Max is like a sister: he loves her, she’s a menace, and he does not want to have her this close, thank you very much.

“Place your hands on me, come on, Wheeler.” She impatiently instructs him. “Pretend you’re into women for like five minutes.”

“Wh— where, why—” He groans, not feeling up to any mischief Max is plotting in her mind. “Do I really have to?”
She stares at him dead in the eyes. “I hope this is not how you’ll treat him once you get in his pants.”

“Max!” He yelps, panickingly looking around to check if Will is anywhere nearby. Luckily, he catches sight of him on the other side of the room, still talking to his gorgeous partner or whatever, and to some other colleagues of theirs. And then—

“Fuck!” He swears, gaze snapping down. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, he saw me looking at him— wait, fuck, he saw me dancing with you!”

“Bingo!” Max throws her head back with a laugh, like Mike said the funniest thing ever. What the hell?

“What the hell?” He asks, frantically looking in Will’s direction to check if he’s still there, if he’s still looking at him and Max, all while trying not to make it too obvious that he’s actually checking. 

Max stops him by grabbing his chin: “Eyes on me, Wheeler. You’re on a mission. Focus.”

“Mission?”

“Getting your man so you’ll finally stop moping around the entire school like yet another heartbroken teenage girl. We got plenty of those.”

“Wh— Max.” He splutters. “We’re not— getting my— my man.” He feels himself blush just saying it out loud. God, he wants Will to be his man, he really does. 

He tries to look around, checking where Will is, but Max’s grip redirects his gaze on her.

“Do not look at him, you idiot. Come on, it’s not that hard.” She says, with another coy smile and a bashful laugh, like Mike just made her laugh—

Oh. 

Wait. 

Hold on.

“Are you trying to make him jealous?” Mike screeches, half-shouting, half-aggressively whispering at her.

“Exactly that!” She exclaims again, battling her eyelashes at him and playfully pushing at his chest. She’s a really great actress, Mike has to give her that. It kinda freaks him out. “Took you only half an hour to realise. You man is so lucky.”

“He’s not my man, Max, and if we keep doing this he’ll never be!”

She does roll her eyes this time. “You two are like two kids who have no idea how to behave around one another.”

“Listen, I appreciate your effort, I really do, but this is not going to work.” He’s starting to seriously feel anxious about her mission or whatever. “He’s with someone else, so this is useless. He’s probably not even into men anyway—”

This time, Max’s laugh is a genuine one. He looks at her, dead in the eye. She stops. “Oh, wait. You’re serious.”

“Yes?” He arches an eyebrow, feeling like he’s missing something here. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Do I— oh my God, you really are blind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He hisses at her.

“It means that if you haven’t noticed him checking you out every five minutes since he came in, you’re as dense as a concrete wall— no, don’t look, you’re gonna ruin my hard work.”

“Nice to know that faking having a good time with me is hard work, way to make a guy feel better.” He says, with no real annoyance, his mind fixed on Will checking him out, which of course is not what’s happening, Will was probably just looking around the room and it just so happened that his gaze skimmed over Mike a couple of times, that’s all. He has no reason to look at Mike at all.

“Shut up.” Max tells him, somehow affectionately. “I’m your friend, I’m doing you a favour. You'll repay me soon enough”

“That sounds threatening.”

“It’s supposed to.” She says. Then, her gaze quickly snaps to Mike’s right, and back on him at once. She smiles triumphantly at him. “You can thank me later.”

“Thank you for wh—”

“Hey, MadMax.” 

Oh, no. 

Oh no, no, no. 

Mike’s heart jumps right into his throat at the sound of Will’s voice. He turns around like a bolt, not dropping his hands from Max’s shoulders just because she has them in an iron grip. 

“Will! So nice to see you!” She enthusiastically greets him. “How are you doing? It’s such a nice night, isn’t it? I was just about to go back to Lucas, you know, my partner.” Even Mike, in his ameba-like Will-Byers-induced state can hear the emphasis she puts on those last two words. God. “Mike is all yours. Have fun, I’ll see you around!” 

Just like that, she drops Mike’s hands and disappears at once. Which means—

“Well, that was fast.” Will comments, sounding a bit surprised. He seems to recover though, if the smile he greets Mike with is anything to go by. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Mike croaks out. Okay, one word out, this is good, just keep adding more, we can do this.

“Hi.” Will repeats, his smile widening. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you guys or anything—”

“No, no, you didn’t! You didn’t interrupt anything, we were just talking, and well, dancing, but I’m not really good at it anyway, so it’s not like I really mind, plus Max is just a friend, you know, so that’s fine, it’s not like this was an important dance or anything—” Oh my God, I asked for words, yes, but not a bunch of random ones. 

He wonders if it is too unrealistic for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. 

Luckily, Will only seems amused by his babbling. “Well then, I’m glad I didn’t interrupt anything vital.”

Mike takes a breath— right, that’s a thing he always forgets to do, whenever Will is around. “You didn’t. Definitely.”

“Good.” Will says, taking a good look at Mike, from head to toe. “Hey, we’re matching tonight.” He smiles timidly, pointing at Mike’s dark blue button-down with golden buttons and golden details, and back at his own blue blazer and pale yellow shirt. Which is unbuttoned down to his chest now, dear God, eyes up, Wheeler— “Yellow and blue.” He adds, because Mike forgot to talk.

“Yes!” He rushes to reply. “You kinda stole my style.”

“I mean, it looks better on you, so you have nothing to be mad about.” Will says, looking up at him through his lashes.

Mike scoffs, trying to fight the blush he can distinctively feel on his cheeks. He’s about to ask something like if Will is having fun tonight, or if Will would like to marry him, when the light catches on Will’s cheekbones.

“You have…” He gestures to his cheek. “Something— Glitters? Gold? On your face.”

“Oh! Yes, my sister suggested it. She said it would look good with the yellow in my outfit and, well, in theme for Christmas.” He smiles, ducking his head down. “I don’t wear make-up that often, but glitters are always a good choice, in my humble queer opinion.”

There’s so much to unpack in that one single sentence that Mike is left speechless for a moment. (Will sometimes wears make-up? He’s wearing glitters? Queer?!)

Eventually, everything he manages to say is: “Your sister?” 

Will nods, pointing at the young woman a few feet away from them, who Mike assumed to be Will’s lover/partner/soulmate for life. He gives her a tiny wave. Fucking hell, he’s so cute Mike is going to scream. He waves at Will’s sister too, following his example. 

Max was right: he’s an idiot. 

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” He says, which makes no sense, because of course he didn’t know, it’s not like they’re friends, so why should he have known Will had a sister— “But she was right,” he blurts out before he can catch up with his own brain, “the stuff— glitters, on your face, I mean— you look good. Not that you normally don’t, you always look good, but like—” Jesus Christ, not again— “Glitters. They’re good. You wear them well. Ehm.” He finishes lamely. He’s about to take another sip of his drink, only to remember he’s not even holding a glass anymore. Right. Great. He lowers his hand back down.

Will is staring at him, looking as stunned as Mike himself feels. Then, his face opens up in a teasing smile. “You think I normally look good? Like, on a daily basis?”

Oh, fucking hell. 

“Er. Something like that?”

“Well, thank you.” Will says, nipping at his bottom lip. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well. Now you do.”

“Indeed.” He pauses, looking more intently at Mike, who’s five seconds away from stealing a drink from a random person. “Would you like some glitter for yourself too?”

“Wh— for me? Like, now, to put on my face?” His thoughts go in a million directions at once, conjuring images of Will gently applying glitters along his cheekbones, on the centre of his forehead, with the tip of his fingertip, while leaning dangerously close to him. Would Mike be able to make out all the different shades of green and brown in his eyes, like that? Would he be able to breathe in Will’s cologne, and his own scent? And what would Will look like, tilting his head up slightly toward him, painting Mike’s face as he pleased? 

“Yes, now.” Will nods, gently putting Mike’s thoughts in the right order without even knowing he’s doing it. “I have it with me, you know, just in case I wanted to do some touch-up, but there’s still a lot. I can definitely share with you.” He triumphantly fishes a little transparent container out of his pocket. It is indeed filled with golden specks, matching the shade on his cheekbones. “What do you say?”
“I’m— not really sure that’s my style?” He has never put glitter anywhere on himself before, and he doesn’t want to risk looking ridiculous in front of Will, so a no sounds like the safest option, though a part of him mourns the chance to do something like that with Will. Something special, kind of unique, different from the awkward small talk he always messes up in school.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry, because Will seems to have a strong opinion about this.

“Bullshit.” He straight up says, almost startling Mike with how sure of it he sounds. “Everyone looks great in glitter. You would, too.” And then, taking a step toward Mike: “Trust me, I have an eye for visually pleasant things.”

He distinctively feels his face blush, because what do you mean Will Byers just called him pretty in a very fancy way? He splutters something in answer, but Will has already taken hold of his wrist (oh my God, oh my God—) and is dragging him out of the dance floor, God knows where, and Mike is helpless but to follow, because this is one of the longest conversations they ever had, plus Will’s hand is warm, tightly wrapped around his wrist, like he would never let anything come between them, and well, that’s more than enough for Mike.

Will ends up dragging him to the restroom, which makes him feverishly wonder what they might have look like, running around hand in hand. He prays his friends didn’t see, because obviously nothing is going to happen now, and they would never let him live it down.

Will still hasn’t let go of his wrist. He can probably feel Mike’s rapid heartbeat at his pulsepoint. 

Mike tries to take a breath to calm himself down and act like the adult he is supposed to be and not the utter loser Will Byers reduces him to, but he can’t stop noticing how sinfully pretty Will looks tonight, even here under the unforgiving restroom light: his cheeks are lightly flushed, probably from the alcohol and the warmth of the bar, his hair more disheveled than usual, and his neck— the way his unbuttoned shirt leaves part of his collarbones exposed— Mike is almost drooling on the floor.

Will leads him to the sink counter, cocking a hip against it. He turns toward Mike. The restroom is much quieter than the bar, and the clinking noise of Will placing his half-empty glass and his little golden container on the sink resonates loudly in the space. Or perhaps it is just Mike’s blood rushing in his ears, thinking about the insane situation he’s in. 

“You should dip your head down a bit.” Will says, gently tugging his wrist. “I’m too short for you.” 

Mike can barely think, at this point, can only follow his instructions dumbly, which is apparently enough, because Will smiles at him, satisfied, and only then lets go of his wrist, when he needs both hands to unscrew the container. Mike misses the touch at once.

“Are you sure I won’t end up looking ridiculous?" He asks. “I mean, I never put anything sparkly on my face or anywhere else on me, so I don’t know what I’ll look like.”

“You’ll look great.” Will simply says, like it’s that easy, like he knows. “I promise I won’t make it look bad. But in case you’ll hate it, that’s totally fine and we can wash it off. I’ll help you with it, of course.” 

It’s sweet how he reassures Mike of it, making sure he knows Will won’t push him to do anything he’s not comfortable with. Not only is Will the most handsome man ever, he’s also sweet, thoughtful and caring. 

Mike is doomed.

“What if I end up looking like a Christmas ornament?” Apparently the alcohol has finally entered his system and all the things he’s been wanting to tell Will and shoved down for the past months are coming up. Only, a bit tangled and delirious.

Once again, Will miraculously doesn’t seem put out by his weirdness. His soft laugh fills Mike’s chest like a balloon, and he has to grip the sink to avoid floating away with how light he feels.

“I think looking Christmassy is kinda the point of the night?” He asks, dipping his index finger in the golden mixture.

“Christmassy, maybe. But not like a sparkly, inanimate object.” Mike doesn’t even know what he’s saying at this point, dazed by having Will’s attention on him. He’s just shooting random shit that will hopefully make Will laugh, and by some miracle they really do, because Will snorts. “What would be so bad about that?”

“I don’t know, am I ready to make this important transition to a new life as a decorative ornament?”

The look Will gives him then is different from anything he’s seen before, somewhat darker, sharper. “You mean if you are ready to stay right where someone puts you and sparkle prettily for them?” 

Mike ends up gaping at him.

“Ah—uh.” He eventually says, something in his brain breaking irreparably at Will’s words, at Will’s tone. “I— sorry. What?”

“Nothing.” Will’s gaze stays on his lips a moment too long, but surely Mike is imagining it, for how desperate he is for him. “Just fantasising.”

“Right.” Mike says. Then he thinks, fuck it. Now or never. This was supposed to be his chance, his night, after all, so let’s make it. “I think I wouldn’t mind that.”

Will’s gaze snaps back to his eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Mike pushes himself to say again. “Never done it before, but it doesn’t sound bad.”
“I think you’d be good at it.” Will says, voice low. It makes his skin feel on fire. 

Will seems about to add something to it, when the restroom door slams open, breaking the tension Mike didn’t realise was building between them.

Will clears his throat. He’s not looking at Mike’s mouth anymore. “So,” he eventually says, “how much glitter do you want?"

Mike makes the split decision of taking Will’s glass and downing the last of his wine in one go, feeling Will’s eyes on him as he swallows and places Will’s now empty glass back down on the sink, close to the glitters, their fingers brushing. 

“Go crazy.” Mike says, looking at him, “I’m your canvas.”

*

As it turns out, it’s a great night.

After Will has put a tasteful amount of golden glitters on the tips of Mike's cheekbones and nose, they leave the restroom together (what a thought) and get somehow separated while heading to the bar. Will is pulled into a conversation with some colleagues Mike’s not so close with, so he takes it upon himself to go in search of more alcohol for the both of them, but is intercepted by Dustin, Lucas and Max, who aggressively interrogate him about the glitters on his face, and about what, exactly, happened after Will dragged him off the dance floor (“holy shit, Mike!”), with Mike following him like a lost puppy (Max’s words). As he recounters his biggest adventure to date, they get another drink to both celebrate his progress and mourn what he didn’t accomplish (yet), and the evening is good, is great, Mike is thankful for his friends and is still reeling from Will’s fingertips leaving a trail of gold on his skin. He even made peace with the fact that maybe that’s it for tonight, because he doesn’t catch sign of Will for a while, and when he does, he’s talking animatedly with his sister, moving his hands and all, and well, Mike is not an asshole, he’s not going to interrupt just because he’s hopelessly crushing over the guy. 

This is until Dustin grabs him by the arm, shaking it like he wants to detach it from his shoulder.

“Jesus, Dustin, what is it?”

“Look.” He points at a corner of the room they haven’t ventured in yet, where an unmistakable branch has been precariously taped high up on the wall. “You know what that is, right?”

Mike’s thoughts go once again on their own, presenting him a million different scenarios of him and Will under that very branch. 

He swallows. “Mistletoe.” 

He looks at Dustin. Dustin looks back at him.

“You have to try.” Dustin solemnly tells him.

“Do it.” Lucas agrees at once. “I mean, he put make-up on you, and didn’t kiss you just because some guy interrupted, and—”

Mike doesn’t even hear the rest of it, already marching toward Will. He hears his friends cheering behind him as he silently thanks all the alcohol he had throughout the night, that’s making it so uncomplicated to make a decision and just go. 

But really, it is that easy: Mike wants Will. He’s been wanting him for four months now, since the very first moment he laid eyes on him, and he’s had enough. He needs to know what Will thinks, what he feels. Worst case scenario Mike will make a fool of himself, Will will gently reject him, Mike will have to leave his job, move to the other side of the world and live as a hermit forever. No big deal. Will is worth the risk.

Will catches sight of him way before Mike actually makes it there, his eyes somehow finding him in the crowd. 

“Mike!” He enthusiastically calls even before Mike is at ear-shot. “Where did you end up? I lost you.”

“I was busy showing off my new glittery look to everyone.” He smirks, making sure to look at Will and Will only. Sorry, Will’s sister. “They compliment your artistry, by the way.”

“I told you you’d look great in it!” Will says, eyes shining, obviously pleased. Then, his sister coughs. Loudly. Will seems to remember she’s there too. “Sorry— Mike, this is Jane, my sister. Jane, this is Mike, he teaches—”

“English Literature, yes, I remember.” She says with a pointed look to her brother. Mike has no idea why she knows about his job, but he doesn’t think too much about it, entirely focused on Will. Jane still smiles warmly at him. “Nice to meet you, Mike. It’s nice to put a face to such an important name.”

“Jane.” Will says, and some kind of silent conversation passes through them, but Mike is too tipsy and distracted by the way Will’s hair falls over the tip of his flushed ears, to really understand what that means. Plus, he’s on a— what did Max call it? A mission. He’s focused.

(On Will exclusively. But still.)

“It’s great to meet you too, Jane.” He tries not to sound like he’s rushing through the introductions, though he is totally rushing through the introductions. “I just need to show Will something, I hope that’s okay? Because it’s something like, kinda cool, and I really want Will to see it. It won’t take long, promise.”

Will perks up, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Oh? What’s that?” 

“Come and see.”

“Lead the way.” Will shoots him an excited smile.

“See you later!” He hears Jane say as he’s already dragging Will along. Apparently, that’s how they move together in the world: hand in hand, bringing each other to secret places, showing each other sparkly treasures and magical plants.

When they make it there, exactly there, only then does Mike turn around. He doesn’t let go of Will’s wrist, though, just like Will didn’t let go of his after dragging Mike to the restroom.

“Hey.” He says, mirroring their earlier interaction. 

“Hi.” Will says, doing the same, smiling up at him, his pretty doe-eyes shining like Mike is the best thing he’s ever seen. Mike is pretty sure he would kill for him, if Will asked.

“Hi.” He says, feeling the butterflies in his stomach rushing everywhere in his body. 

“Why are we stopping here?”

“Because.” He makes it a point to look upwards, where that one single branch of mistletoe is hanging right above their heads.

“Oh.” Will says.

“Yeah.”

“My kids did the same in our class.” Will says in a soft voice. “They really got into decorating, yesterday.”

“Of course you call your students your kids.” He has to close his eyes to survive the wave of cuteness. He's gonna choke on it if Will doesn’t stop being this lovely.

“I know, it’s a bit much.” Will smiles, ducking his head down, embarrassed.

“It’s adorable.” Mike replies. “Every new thing I learn about you is painfully sweet. It’s horrible. I’m gonna die.”

Will’s breath catches in his throat as he chuckles. “Mike,” he says, “how much did you drink?”

“A normal amount. You don’t have to put me in detention, I promise.”

“Are you sure? You’re… much looser than normal.”

“And you’re the prettiest teacher I’ve ever seen.” Fuck, he wasn’t really planning on saying that out loud.

Will’s eyes widen. He licks his lips; Mike watches him do it.

“That’s a lie.” Will says, at last.

Mike frowns. “No, it’s not.”

“It is,” he insists, “because you are.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Will leans toward him: “Make me.”

Mike swallows. “You mean—”

“For fuck’s sake, Mike.” Will says in a rush, before closing the already small distance between them. 

A tiny sound escapes Mike’s lips, his brain catching up with what’s happening, finally happening after four damn months of pining for the most handsome, most interesting guy he ever met. 

Will kisses him softly, placing a hand on his elbow to stabilize the both of them, because they are leaning towards one another more and more, the distance between them erased by Will pulling him in. Another soft sound leaves Mike’s lips. He can’t seem to do anything about it but kiss Will more, while Will’s hand moves upward, cupping the back of his neck to tilt his head to the side, slotting their mouths deeper together. Mike’s breath hitches in his throat. His hands fly to Will’s hips, can’t believe he’s doing it, touching him like he’d been dreaming every single night, during class, truly in his every waking moment. 

Will’s lips are delicious. Mike sucks his tongue into his mouth, and the sound Will makes should be illegal in all fifty states.

“Mike—” He whispers against his lips.

“Yeah?” He strokes his thumb over Will’s hip.

“Took you long enough. I’ve been wanting you to do that since the first time I saw you.” Will confesses, his chest heaving against Mike’s.

It makes him regain a bit of presence of mind, because— “That was four months ago.”

Will nods with a shy smile. “Yeah.”

“So— hold on.” Hold the hell on— “Four months ago you thought about kissing me?”

“You’re not listening, Wheeler.” Will rolls his eyes. “I said I thought about you kissing me.”

“Sorry if my comprehension skills have slowed down, my crush just told me he’s been thinking about me kissing him for four months straight.”

“Not straight, that makes it sound like it was my only thought, twenty-four seven.” Will laughs, batting a hand on Mike’s chest.

“Uh— shit, yeah, that would be too much, right.” He quickly corrects himself, because of course he was the one spending his every waking moment fantasizing about Will, not the other way around.

“I mean, it isn’t that far away from the truth, actually.” Will says at once, making Mike’s heart skip a beat. “But I have been having meals and, I don’t know, went to the gym once in a while, so maybe it was a seventeen hours a day type of obsession, instead of twenty-four seven?”

“You— thought about me.” He repeats, dumbly. “And you go to the gym.” He adds, feeling about to faint. “I knew it!”

“You’ve been looking at me that much, uh?” Will teases, pulling him close like that’s the most normal thing in the world.

“I mean— it’s just, your arms look incredible.” Mike splutters, face warm. “Like, your biceps, you know?” Great, now he can’t stop staring at his arms like a creep. “And I hate the idea of going to the gym with every fiber of my being, so I wasn’t totally sure it was actual gym muscles or you’re just built like a god, but I figured, hey maybe it’s that.” 

Will arches an eyebrow, looking intrigued by his rambling. “Sounds like you gave it a lot of thought.”

Mike tries to brush him off, his face boiling hot. “Says the one who was spending days thinking about me. Sounds like you have a crush on me or something, Mr Byers.”

Will actually groans at this. “Don’t call me Mr Byers when I’m wearing tight pants, Mike.”

All the blood rushes to his groin. “Do you— are you serious?"

“About what, being attracted to you like there’s no tomorrow? I’ve been since day one. Keep up, Mr Wheeler.”

“Fuck.” Mike says, about to explode. “You’re telling me I could have spent the past four months dating you and I didn’t?”

“Tragic, I know!” Will agrees, throwing his hands in the air. So dramatic. Mike is obsessed. “That’s why we need to fix this as soon as possible.”

“Well then, Mr Byers,” he ignores Will’s murderous glance, “would you like to go get milkshakes with me?”

“Only if we’re sharing.”

“What’s your favourite flavor?”

“Chocolate.” 

Mike groans in pain. “Why are you perfect?”

Will chuckles, shaking his head. “Chocolate is not that special.”

“No,” Mike agrees. He places a hand on Will’s elbow, gently guiding him closer again. “You kinda are, though.”

He bows his head down, letting Will pull him in for another kiss. 

Later, when they eventually manage to stop staring at one another for more than five seconds, Mike will interlace their fingers together, guide Will out of the bar, push him against his car, kiss him silly, bring him to his favourite milkshake spot, and ask for one chocolate milkshake, two straws.