Archive of Our Own

Mike hates Valentine’s Day.

Honestly, he thinks that anyone who doesn’t hate it is a freak. Maybe he’s just painfully single. Though, it wasn’t much better while he was in a relationship— does it even count if that relationship was with a girl, when he very much does not like girls? Probably not.

Mostly, he just kind of forgets this holiday exists. It was fun as kids, when teachers would make every student decorate a little shoe box with pink and red heart stickers, that by the end of the day would be filled with cheesy Valentines and sweets. Mike still remembers going home with the Party every February 14th and counting their earnings like a half-way Halloween.

His mom would always go all-out with his Valentines, buying the cool superhero ones and taping on Fun-Dip, making him hand-sign each of them. Kids loved him— he was basically handing out pure sugar to a bunch of eight year olds. Mike would always save the extras to give to his friends, even though it was against the rules.

The rules were as stated: “If you are to give a Valentine to one kid in the class, you must give one to everyone.” It was a fairness thing, to boost kids’ self-esteem or whatever; making sure that no one ends up without anything. It was nice— especially for kids like them, who would definitely get left out if given the option.

Mike wishes that’s what Valentine’s Day was still about; shoe boxes, glitter, paper hearts, candy. Now it’s about flowers, and romance, and stupid, stupid crushes.

Not Mike’s crush— although, “crush” is a little trivial. It’s not about the love of Mike’s life. It can’t be. Not when that person is a boy, or is named Will Byers.

That doesn’t stop other people from crushing on him, however. “Other people”, as it turns out, is half the school.

The entire Party is standing around Will’s locker, like they usually do before heading home; it’s their meeting place, since it’s the closest landmark to the front exit. What isn’t usual is the sea of pink paper that falls out of it when Will opens the door.

“Damn Byers, you got some fans?” Lucas jokes, which is completely unnecessary.

“I wanna die,” Will complains, resting his forehead on the corner of his locker. That’s good. Not that he wants to die— but at least he doesn’t like the Valentines.

“Dude, you got the most out of any of us,” Dustin chimes in, again, unnecessarily.

It’s definitely the truth though, as much as Mike hates to admit it. Lucas is in second place, being a semi-popular basketball man now. Max got him nothing apparently, because she reasoned that her presence should be enough.

Lucas got her a box of chocolates, after Max insisted on absolutely no flowers, because “flowers die— do you want our relationship to die, Lucas?” Also, she can’t see, so Mike thinks that would be a bit cruel.

Dustin and Suzie set up some sort of package exchange— Mike doesn’t really know, but Dustin was going on and on about how he sent her all of her favorite things. It’s sweet, he supposes— for Valentine’s Day, at least.

El managed to get some for herself as well, from a couple of the boys in her class. It’s not surprising; guys have been falling all over her lately. She is pretty, nice, and kind of the best.

And Mike got… well, he got nothing. It’s okay though. He doesn’t care. The only Valentines he would have received would’ve been from girls anyway, so it doesn’t even matter.

“You can take them,” Will offers to Dustin, clearly not having it. That’s a point for Mike. Fuck you, random girls. He doesn’t even like you anyway. Not that he’d like Mike either, but it’s better than nothing. At least he’s not getting stolen away any time soon.

“Oh, come on,” Lucas nudges Will’s shoulder. “You’re hot dude. Embrace it. Everyone else has.”

That’s it. Everyone else has— fuck that shit. Mike has. Mike has known how amazing Will is, and where were these admirers? Bullying him? Whispering about him behind his back? But no, the second he gains a little bit of muscle, they’re all over him. It’s bullshit.

“They’re just stupid Valentines, they don’t mean anything,” Mike snaps, crossing his arms. How is it that he isn’t allowed to express his love to Will after he’s been there since day-one? It’s not fair.

“Mike,” El chides. “Don’t be rude.”

Shit, that was kind of rude. He didn’t mean it like that. Obviously Will is hot, and deserves all the Valentines in the world— just not from fakers. There he goes again, opening his big mouth. He should just shut up sometimes. “Sorry,” he mutters to the floor.

“You’re jealous,” Max realizes, smirking at him, and now she needs to shut up. He is, obviously, but she doesn’t need to say that in front of Will.

“Am not,” he argues anyway, like a two year old.

“Are too.” Ha, she isn’t any better. Immature ass.

He resists the urge to say am not again— because he is, in fact, fifteen— instead deciding on, “Why would I be jealous?”

That was probably the stupidest thing he could have said. He’s inviting her to spill his crush-slash-one-true-love to the entire group. Not that she knows… but she totally knows.

Mike burns his eyes into her skull, hoping she can feel it, at least, and choose to take sympathy on him. She’s not that cruel, right? She wouldn’t out him.

“I don’t know, Mike,” she shrugs innocently. “How many Valentines have you received?”

Oh. That wasn’t where he was expecting this to go. Maybe she has mercy after all. He can definitely work with this. Easy-peasy.

“I don’t do Valentine’s Day. It’s stupid.”

“Is it stupid because no one gave you a Valentine?” she pushes, and wow, she’s really going all-out on this cover story. They both know what she was actually talking about, she doesn’t have to dig this deep for a lie. They can move on.

“No, it’s just stupid,” Mike insists, making the mistake of glancing over at Will as he says this. Rule number one: do not, under any circumstances, make eye-contact with the boy you’re in love with while discussing your romantic prospects. That’s common knowledge.

Will tilts his head, activating that scary something’s wrong with Mike detection system he’s spent his entire life running away from. His eyes are swimming with heartbreak and pity, and Mike needs to look away now.

There’s nothing for Will to be heartbroken about. Mike is fine. He doesn’t care.

…Okay, maybe he does. Just a little bit.

It’s just that… no one has ever liked him before— other than El, and that was just a disaster waiting to happen. She never really liked him, she just thought she was supposed to. It was a very mutual feeling.

He’s not cool like Lucas, or smart like Dustin, or kind like El, or… whatever Max is— and he’s certainly not Will. Sweet, beautiful, talented, selfless, perfect Will. He’s just Mike.

He’s Mike “frog-face” Wheeler, who got a 2.0 his freshman year, aka the easiest year of high school. He’s loud, abrasive, and mean. He’s annoying because he talks too much, except for the times he talks too little, in which case he’s an asshole. He’s selfish, lazy, and average looking at best— downright ugly at worst. Normal people don’t get crushes on him.

Would it be nice to receive a Valentine? Sure, whatever. But it’s not a big deal. It’s understandable. He’s not bothered. This isn’t kindergarten anymore— there’s no school-enforced rules that his classmates have to give him a Valentine. He has to earn them. And he hasn’t.

Mike claps loudly— maybe a little too loudly, judging by Will and El’s synchronized jumps. He silently apologizes to them in his head. Loud, annoying, and selfish. “So, are we going home, or not?”

“Yeah, whatever, Valentine’s Scrooge,” Lucas pats him on the shoulder as he walks past, toward the front doors of the school, hand-in-hand with Max. Gross.

Dustin and El quickly follow after them, leaving Mike with Will, who picks his backpack off the ground. He looks over to Mike, making sure he’s beside him so they can walk together, because Will is an angel.

“Here,” he says, handing Mike a Pixy Stix. “I don’t like these.”

Mike didn’t need to be told this— he’s had every Will Byers fact memorized by the time he was eight. He hates candies that are just loose sugar, claiming they taste like flavorless sand. Mike thinks that’s outrageous, and a crime against children everywhere, but whatever.

Mike also knows that this isn’t why he’s been given it. Will is pitying him. He’s being pitied by his life-long crush because too ugly to receive an actual Valentine. On the other hand, his life-long crush just gave him a Valentine that was originally from another girl. Will likes him more— and yes, Mike is very smug about it. He chugs the sand-sugar in one go.

Clearly this satisfies Will, as he turns head-on with a pleased smile on his face. If only he knew the real reason why Mike was so happy with the gift.

Contrary to what one might think, the day after Valentine’s Day isn’t much better. Yes, the candy is half-off, but there are fifty more couples crowding the hallways than usual, that’ll all just break up by the end of the week anyway.

It’s sickening, really. They think that just because they’re straight and allowed to show their love in public, that they should. They should not. Seriously, Tyler— no one wants to see you shove your nasty ass tongue down girls’ throats.

They’re inescapable at this point. Every square inch of wall is covered by one kissing couple or another, borderline indecent for a school setting. He even just had to shoo one off of his locker. Disgusting. And more importantly, annoying. This is his space. His locker.

His locker, that something just fell out of.

That’s not surprising— shit falls out of here all the time. He’s not exactly a neat freak. If anything, it’d be weird if something didn’t fall out; a history worksheet, a granola bar wrapper, everything that one time. God, that was a mess— it took him ten minutes to shove it all back in.

But nothing this pristine has ever fallen out before. There isn’t a single wrinkle or crease on it. That means it definitely does not belong to Mike.

“It” is a small, neatly folded white paper, that’s surprisingly heavy once Mike picks it up. That, he discovers, is because there’s something taped to the back.

A lollipop. One of those flat, pink, heart-shaped ones that taste like lemonade. The ones that every middle school girl is obsessed with putting on their Valentines. He used to love these as a kid— they were the only lollipops he would eat, because he thought the others tasted too syrupy. (Also, he really just loves the taste of lemonade. Especially pink lemonade, though he readily denies it to everyone except Will, because Will is nice and not a bully.)

That brings the question though: why did someone put a heart-shaped lollipop in his locker? The answer is obvious, if he thinks about it for more than two seconds. It’s just strange— especially since he’s certain this wasn’t here yesterday. On Valentine’s Day. When you receive Valentines.

There’s a very simple way to find the answers to these questions. Maybe he should actually read the card that the person provided him with for the purpose of reading. That might help.

Mike,

I know I’m a day late, but I wanted to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day. I honestly wasn’t planning on telling you this, because I was way too nervous, but I think you should know. You’re really cute ♡

Well that was… okay, he didn’t really know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. He’s— what? Alright, pause. Rewind.

He got a Valentine. That’s cool. That’s nice. He’s not freaking out, because it’s a very average thing to have happened. His heart is not soaring.

The person who gave it to him was nervous. Nervous because of Mike. Is that a crush? Is it a crush thing? Or maybe it’s just a shy thing. It wouldn’t matter much either way, since he’s not going to date this girl, for obvious reasons, but he would like to know.

The last part… he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that last part. He’s not thinking about it. He’s not thinking about how someone thinks he’s cute, or how they felt so strongly on the matter that they wanted to tell him. And he’s not wondering about which specific features they appreciate, or if other people would agree with them as well. He’s not—

“Dude, are you okay?”

Mike spins around at the speed of light and almost slams his back into his locker with how hard he jumps. He takes a second to catch his breath, which mysteriously disappeared mid-jump, and tries to look as chill and normal as possible. “Cool. I’m cool.”

“Really?” Dustin asks skeptically, leaning in to examine his face. “Because you kind of look like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m not,” he insists, more to himself than anything. He’s not flattered by this. It’s just a stupid note.

“Oooh, what’s that?” Dustin teases, looking at the paper in Mike’s hands that he’s trying very hard not to bend with nerves; the paper that he doesn’t care about.

“Shut up,” Mike grits through his teeth, turning and slamming his locker. Dustin knows very well what it is.

“Mikey got a Valentine? Who’s it from?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, at least give me a name,” Dustin tries, as Mike books it to the cafeteria in an attempt to get away from him. His long legs have got to be useful for something, right?

Mike couldn’t give a name even if he wanted to. And he certainly doesn’t want to. “No, and if you mention this to the others, you’re dead.”

Dustin is apparently an olympic speed-walker, because his 5’5” ass doesn’t fall behind once. Not the entire way to the other side of campus, not through the lunch line, and not on the journey to their lunch table. He doesn’t let it go. Ever.

“Woah, why is Mike so red?” Lucas asks immediately after they sit down. Everyone else has already started eating, since he and Dustin had a bit of a… delay.

“I’ll kill you,” Mike whispers to Dustin, giving him his fiercest look.

Dustin shrugs in response. “I like to live life on the edge.” Unfortunately for him, there won’t be much life left for him to live, as he turns to the rest of the group and tells them, “Mike got a Valentine.”

Mike glares at him— which is basically the extent of how far he’s carrying out his previous threat— while the others all chorus their responses: a loud, disbelieving, “What?” from Max, an unsurprisingly supportive, “Aw, yay,” from El, and Lucas’s, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Mike rolls his eyes at Lucas. “It’s not that surprising.”

It kind of is. At least, to him. But he’s not going to let his carefully crafted image of self-confidence be flushed down the toilet because of some stupid note.

“No, no. I’m not saying that,” Lucas hurries to clarify. “It’s just that— it’s the fifteenth today. Is your Valentine bad at time management?”

“No, they explain it in the letter,” he responds absentmindedly, not realizing the implications of this sentence. Think before you speak, Mike.

“There was a letter?” El asks, excited. Fuck. “Can we read it?”

Mike looks at her like she lost her damn mind. What world does she think she’s living in? ”No, you can’t read it.”

“Please, Mike?” Dustin begs, hands clasped and everything. If he wasn’t sitting on a chair right now, he’d probably be on his knees. “I’m just curious. You can’t take away my paddles, can you?”

“Don’t get started on that ‘curiosity voyage’ shit, Dustin. I’m not going to show you.”

“Oh, it’s totally something embarrassing,” Max laughs.

Dustin nods like this makes perfect sense. “You’re right, it’s gotta be.” He turns to Mike, somehow even more intrigued. Thanks for that, Max. “What was it? Was it a poem?”

“What— no, it wasn’t a poem,” Mike objects, bewildered. That would be ridiculous.

“Well, I don’t know. Unless I see evidence with my own two eyes, I’m going to assume the worst. Maybe they wrote six whole pages on the way the sun reflects off your hair.”

“Oh my— fine,” Mike reaches into his jacket pocket, where he put the note on the way here for safekeeping (not that he cares), and slams it on the table. They’re making it out to be so much worse than it actually is, and he doesn’t want these baseless rumors floating around him. He will not he accused of being a poet’s muse.

It’s like Hungry Hungry Hippos, the way that four pairs of arms lunge for the paper— all except Will, who actually respects personal space. Or maybe he’s jealous— maybe he doesn’t want to read Mike’s note. No, that’s stupid. Will doesn’t like him; that’s just the fantasies in Mike’s head talking.

In the end, Lucas gets to the note first. He holds it out in front of him like an old man with the daily newspaper, and starts reading. “Mike—“

“Don’t read it out loud,” Mike whisper-yells, glancing around the room. This is probably the most mortifying moment of his life. Not only does he have to hear that part with his very own ears, but all of his friends have to as well. Including the boy he’s in love with.

Lucas, the asshole he is, completely ignores his wishes, and reads it for the entire cafeteria to hear. What if whoever wrote it is nearby? What if it was a prank, and they’re just waiting to laugh at him? Now that would be embarrassing.

There is no laughter though. Just awkward silence after Lucas finally shuts his trap. In actuality, it probably isn’t all that awkward to anyone besides Mike— it lasts maybe two seconds total. Two seconds of hell.

“Dude,” Dustin starts, staring at Mike incredulously. “That was what you were all flustered about? You turned into a goddamn fire truck because someone called you cute?”

Hearing it one time was enough, thanks Dustin. He’s sure the firetruck allegations aren’t looking too good right now.

“Aw, you like it,” Lucas teases. “You’re very cute, Mike.”

He’s decided that he hates Lucas, actually. And Dustin. And Max. The only people that matter are Will and El. The others can go fuck themselves.

“I can feel the heat radiating off your face right now,” Max tells him, which is such a lie, because she’s sitting diagonally across from him, far outside his rumored heat-zone.

The others start laughing nonetheless— even El, that traitor, who just bumped herself off his decent people list— until Will speaks up for the first time all lunch. Jealous, perhaps? “Alright guys, cut it out.”

Has he said that he loves Will Byers? A literal angel, he swears.

Mike turns to him and mouths a “thank you”, to which Will nods in reply. He’s looking a tad bit red himself, which doesn’t really make any sense, but whatever. Will has always hated when attention is on him.

“I think it is sweet,” El says, placing her hand over Mike’s. “Maybe you should date them.”

He doubts that. The only potential author of the letter he would go out with is the one person it can’t be.

“Wait, she left initials, right?” Dustin asks, grabbing the paper from where it had been thoughtlessly discarded back on the table. Mike kind of wants to warn them to be careful with it, but he knows that would end with an eternity of relentless teasing. “‘Q.M.’ Who’s initials are Q.M?”

He really doesn’t care who Q.M. is. He’d rather not know, actually. Less stress for him.

Lucas thinks for a moment, tapping his chin. “No one I can think of,” he concludes. “At least, in our grade.”

Max smacks her boyfriend on the arm. “They’re not going to use their actual initials, dumbass. It’s a fake name.”

That’s actually a good point. Mike didn’t think about that. He didn’t really think at all, but still. It would be kind of stupid to leave initials at the end of an anonymous note, when your first name starts with a letter as rare as Q.

“Hmm….” Dustin ponders, nodding his head slowly in consideration. “What does it stand for then?”

“Quest Maker,” Lucas suggests, making El laugh.

“Quaint Mouse,” she jokes, using last week's word of the day.

Dustin snaps his fingers, like he’s just hit a scientific breakthrough. “Quack Master,” he says resolutely.

From beside Mike, Will bursts out laughing. That’s a nice sound. It’s Mike’s favorite sound, actually. This torturous conversation is almost worth it, just to hear that; just to see Will smile. “I think you solved it, Dustin.”

“Thank you, Will,” he smiles triumphantly, like his dumb joke was actually funny. Will liked it though, so Mike supposes it was alright. “At least someone appreciates my genius.”

“We didn’t even say anything,” Mike points out, though he was thinking something. Dustin can’t read minds through, so his argument is still invalid.

“Wait,” Lucas, as always, ignores everything Mike is saying. “What’s the spade for?” he asks, pointing to the drawing next to the initials.

“Maybe that’s her thing? Like, she’s really into card games?” Dustin guesses.

“There is a heart as well,” Lucas nods. “Do we have a solitaire club at school or anything? We should check there.”

“Woah, check?” Mike interjects, holding out a hand in protest. “We never said anything about checking.” They are not checking. This was a one-time thing, and he really just wants to leave it in the past. He got a Valentine. That’s it.

“Why not?” Lucas asks, genuinely confused, like he can’t imagine a single reason why Mike wouldn’t want to take this opportunity. Good. He shouldn’t be able to imagine. It means that Mike is doing a good job in the secret keeping department.

“Because I don’t want to?” he reasons. “It’s just a note.” Drop it. Please drop it. Don’t ask.

“What, you don’t want a girlfriend? She’s clearly into you, dude.”

Uh oh. The dreaded question. Mike’s brain probably looks like a police station with the amount of alarm bells and flashing lights going off in it right about now.

“I mean— I don’t— not right at this moment,” he sputters, trying to come up with a semi-decent lie.

He doesn’t want a girlfriend ever. This is going to get bad, isn’t it? What if she reveals herself, and his friends all push him to be with her? It’ll be El all over again.

“Come on, man,” Dustin pushes. “You’ve been single for months, it’s time to get out there again.”

“No thanks. I’m really focusing on school at the moment.” That’s total bullshit. He hasn’t focused on school since seventh grade.

“Bullshit,” Dustin seems to agree. “I think you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Mike denies, which is a complete lie once again. He’s scared of a lot of things: he’s scared of where this conversation is going, he’s scared of having to reject whatever poor girl his friends rope into this mess, and mostly, he’s scared of being alone forever. People like him don’t get love notes from people like him.

“You are. You’re scared to get back into the dating game because El broke your heart.”

Okay, that’s not true. He’s way too worried about the whole getting into a relationship part, to start thinking about getting out of one. That’s the furthest thing from his mind, actually.

“I didn’t break his heart,” El corrects. Mike changes his mind— she’s back in his good graces again. “It was mutual.”

“I don’t know…” Dustin insists. “I still think he’s holding back from a potentially groundbreaking romantic experience.”

“Well I think that Mike shouldn’t have to date if he doesn’t want to,” Max rebuttals.

Did Max just stand up for him? What in the parallel dimension is going on? Is he in the Upside Down?

Whatever. Any opportunity to get out of this conversation, he’s going to take. “I second that.”

“I third it,” Will agrees, predictably. He’s always got Mike’s back.

“I fourth it,” El says.

“Majority wins. Sorry guys,” Max consoles Lucas and Dustin mock-sympathetically. “Democracy rules. We drop it.”

The irony of this isn’t lost on him— Mike being all butt-hurt that Max was democratically adopted into the party at thirteen, who’s now using the very same rule to help him out. Maybe democracy isn’t so bad, when no one is pitting against him. He did come up with the rule, after all.

“Alright,” Dustin sighs dejectedly. “We’ll drop it. Guess Mike will be single forever.”

Oh, he has no idea.

What Mike didn’t expect the next day while walking the halls with Will, was another letter sitting in his locker.

What he also didn’t expect was the way his heart sped up, and the butterflies that erupted in his stomach upon seeing it.

Does he like the letters? Does he like them? The person who’s sending them? He can’t— he doesn’t even know who they are. Besides, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance it’s just some random girl. Either way, he’s still kind of looking forward to reading it. Is that wrong? Whatever.

“Another one?” Will asks from beside him, and Mike jumps; he kind of forgot he was there.

Sometime in the last couple minutes, Mike must have picked up the letter and started spinning it around in his hands, because that’s what he’s clearly doing now. That’s embarrassing.

“Yeah,” Mike says calculatedly, trying to scope out Will’s reaction. “I guess.”

Is Will jealous? He didn’t sound jealous. He actually sounded completely neutral. Damn it. Mike will keep trying, though.

“Are you going to read it?” Will prompts, after another few seconds of Mike staring blankly at the note— it’s in an envelope this time.

He wants to read it, just not necessarily while Will is right next to him. What if he gets all red again? Would that make Will jealous? He should definitely read it right now, then; maybe gush about the writer a bit— say he’s in love with them.

Mike can feel Will’s eyes on him as he pulls the papers out (yes, papers. Plural.) Never mind, he can’t do this. This is weird. “Don’t… stare at me,” he says nervously.

“Well what do I do?” Will counters. “Look at the ground?” That’s a good point.

“Read it with me,” he suggests, before he can fully think it through. He should have thought it through. That was the most idiotic thing he could have said. Will is going to read his private love letter— there’s no telling what’s in this thing. Fuck, he wishes he could take that back.

“Really? You’ll let me?” Will asks, like he wasn’t expecting him to request that. Mike feels the exact same way.

No. “Yeah, sure.” Goddamn it.

Will steps slightly behind him, hooking his chin over Mike’s shoulder to get full, unobscured vision of the note. This is worse than the letter itself. How is he supposed to read like this? All of his brain energy is going into how Will’s chest feels pressed against his back. This is inanity.

“Read,” Will commands, and Mike can feel the vibrations of it on his shoulder blade.

No. Read.

Mike unfolds the papers the rest of the way, pausing for only a moment, just in case he gets lucky and a meteor decides to hit the earth right this second, before accepting his defeat and beginning.

Mike,

Hi again. First off, I want to say that I’m sorry if these letters make you uncomfortable in any way. I want to make it clear that I’m not expecting anything out of this. I’m not writing these to get you to date me or anything, I just want you to know how amazing you are. If you would like me to stop, throw this letter in the trash by your locker. I’ll get the message, no hard feelings.

I thought I should expand a bit on the last note, since “cute” doesn’t really do you justice. None of the adjectives do. While you certainly are handsome, and beautiful, and pretty, they all just feel like weak comparisons to how you actually look. I think gorgeous is the most accurate. Breathtakingly gorgeous.

I’m not a wordsmith like you are, but I’ll try my best to bring your beauty to light. I love your hair. I love how curly and bouncy it is, and that you’ve decided to grow it out. It looks kind of majestic, honestly, and I find it crazy how it always seems to fall in just the right way. I love how you it is: wild and complex, never curling in exactly the same way as the day before. Dark, like your eyes, both of which I want to get lost in forever.

Your eyes might be my second favorite feature of yours. They’re so warm and deep, and sometimes I can barely even tell where your pupils end and irises begin. I love how they crinkle when you smile, and how wide and shiny they get when you’re excited. Kind of like a puppy. It’s adorable.

I love how expressive you are, like you’re completely unable to hide how you’re feeling. I love your nose, and how it matches the sharpness of your cheekbones and jawline. I love how the smoothness of your skin balances that out, how you look like a statue carved by Michelangelo himself. I love your freckles, and how perfectly placed they are, chaotic and random, just like you. It’s like the entire universe is on your face. I love how tall you are, and how your long arms look like they’d give the best hugs.

I could probably write an entire page on just your pinky nail, so I’ll stop here, before I kill a whole tree. I hope to write to you again in the future, but if not, I completely understand. Have a lovely day, gorgeous.

What the fuck was that?

That was so much more intense than the first one. Like, infinitely more intense.

The first paragraph was a relief; at least he doesn’t have to worry about disappointing any girls. That’s such a weird thought— he’d disappoint someone by rejecting them. And the letters certainly don’t make him uncomfortable. This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to him all year.

The rest though— that was a lot. Three paragraphs detailing every feature on his face? And love; the writer didn’t say they liked those things. They loved them. Like, not just passing attraction. Mike actually impacted this person’s life.

They seemed to know him pretty well, too. That’s not too surprising though— he’s been in school with the same two-hundred kids his entire life. But still, how much attention have they been paying to him? Are they in the same class? They must be. No, wait. He’s not supposed to want to know their identity.

“Mike?”

He squeaks in surprise and spins around, once again forgetting that Will had been next to him this entire time. Reading his letter. His letter that just went on and on about how attractive he is.

Will looks him up and down— Mike’s defensive stance, fingers clutching the letter in a death grip, face even redder than last time— with an amused smile. “Mike, we have to go. Study hall is almost over.”

Mike practically shoves the note into his bag, not even worrying about the wrinkles anymore. He picks his backpack up and speed-walks down the hall— is this going to happen every time he gets a note?

“Stop making fun of me,” he complains to Will, who, like Dustin, has no problem keeping up with him. What’s the point of being attractively tall, or whatever, if he can’t even out-walk his friends?

“I’m not making fun of you,” Will denies, face still overtaken by a wide smile.

“You’re laughing,” he points out grumpily. This isn’t funny.

“I’m not laughing,” Will tries again, rolling his eyes. “I’m happy for you. I’m glad you kept it.”

Definitely not jealous then. Damn. “Why?”

“Because— Mike, can you slow down?” Will grabs his arm and pulls him to a stop, against Mike’s best judgment. Every cell in his body is screaming at him to run away— avoid embarrassment. “Thank you. Look, you put on this whole ‘self-confident’ act, but that’s not really who you are. I know how you feel about yourself. I think these letters could do you good.”

Oh. He picked up on that. Of course he did, it’s Will. Mike never said he was good at avoiding his something’s wrong with Mike scanner.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about this,” Will continues. “Everyone deserves compliments every once and awhile.”

You could give me compliments, Mike thinks bitterly too himself. If they’re that important. It would mean more. Which isn’t really fair, because Will doesn’t owe him compliments, but it would be nice.

“Fine,” Mike reluctantly agrees, more to get out of this conversation than anything else. “Can we go to class now?”

“Alright, let’s go,” Will sighs, clearly not buying it. Can he stop reading Mike like a book? It’s scary. “It was all true,” he adds, quietly. “The stuff in the letter. She was telling the truth.”

It was what?

Will thinks Mike is attractive? He said that with his very own mouth— or at least implied it. He probably just meant it on an objective level, to boost Mike’s self-esteem, but still. Will thinks he’s objectively attractive. Mike is never going to stop smiling. He’ll take vague compliments from Will over gushy letters any day.

The third letter was expected; in fact, Mike was waiting impatiently for it.

It’s the first time he’s ever looked forward to a Monday. He’d actually wished he could skip Sunday entirely. If fourteen year old Mike knew of this, he would be severely disappointed in himself— hell, so would've Mike of two weeks ago.

Is he getting too dependent on these letters? Probably— he doesn’t even know who’s sending them. They could be a creep for all he knows. It could be the janitor. Oh well, it’s an ego boost nonetheless.

Someone thinks he’s attractive; someone thinks he looks like a statue from the renaissance, which might be the most flattering compliment in the world. Aren’t those supposed to be depicting the most ideal, anatomically perfect humans? The implications of that are… wow.

He kind of feels like kicking his feet and twirling his hair, which is really embarrassing to admit, even to himself.

For the first time in his life, he’d tried to see something other than the tangled mess of curls on his head while looking in the mirror this morning. He tried to view his freckles as embellishments, rather than childish and asymmetrical. He tried to stop thinking of his limbs as gangly and uncoordinated, but instead as graceful and elegant.

Obviously his efforts were not very successful— but “not very” isn’t zero, so progress is progress. Even if he can’t see why this person likes him so much, that doesn't mean that they can’t. He’s handsome to one single person. That’s got to count for something, right?

No— he’s not handsome to them. He’s too pretty for words, apparently. Gorgeous. That’s a fun word. It might be Mike’s new favorite word, actually. It feels like someone reaching out of thin air and cradling his face.

He does his best not to blush at the thought as he walks down the hallway before school starts. He got here early today— which to him, equates to not late— in anticipation of the next note. He hopes whoever writes them has already dropped it off; he doesn’t know if he has the patience to wait until lunch.

He somehow manages to make it all the way to his locker without skipping like a lovesick teenager— which is actually a pretty accurate description of him on a daily basis, but whatever. To his delight, there’s a perfectly clean envelope sitting on top of his pile of crap.

This time, he decides to read it privately in the bathroom, away from the prying eyes of his friends. And the person who wrote it— how embarrassing would it be if they saw him smiling like an idiot?

Mike,

I’m happy to see that you decided to keep the letter. I think it’ll benefit both of us. You get to hear how fantastic and wonderful you are, and I can get my feelings off my chest. (I’ve liked you for quite a while now.)

Last time I focused on your looks (which I still love, by the way), but I don’t consider myself to be a very shallow person. There’s a million things about your personality that I love. It’s the reason I caught feelings for you in the first place.

You’re unbelievably smart. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever seen, actually. I don’t think you know this, which is really heartbreaking, but you are. You always look really upset when you get a test grade back, but I know you know the material. You could easily teach every single class in this school, I truly believe that. You’re clever, resourceful, and an extremely good leader. A genius.

Now, I’ve heard many of your friends complain about this before, but I love how loud you are. I’ve always admired how you’re so unapologetic and confident in your opinions. That’s something I’ve always struggled with, as you could probably guess from the previous letters. Also, you have a lovely voice, and I think that everyone should be thankful that they get to hear it.

While we’re on the topic, I also think it’s really cute when you talk about things you’re passionate about. You do these little hand gestures, and you start talking really fast, like your brain is moving too fast for your words. When you get too far into the zone, you start yelling a bit, even if the teacher glares at you from across the room. You never notice when you do it, which is even more adorable, and your friends have to shush you. I kind of want to dissect your brain to see what’s going on inside there.

Finally, before I write a novel (which I can do, if you’d like), I love how thoughtful you are. You’re usually pretty cold around people you don’t know— I’m not sure if that’s an act, or if you genuinely don’t like the majority of the kids at this school, which I don’t blame you for— but I’ve seen you around people you care about. Like last week in math, when you helped your friend Max with her books, because you could tell she was struggling but didn’t want to ask for help. You do small things like this all the time, and I don’t think you even realize it.

I wish I could fit everything I adore about you in one letter, but that’s impossible. I’m afraid I’ll just have to continue writing to you for a very long time. It could be years before we’re done, who knows?

Well, Mike was right about one thing: he’s grinning like an idiot.

Is the writer a mind reader? How did they manage to counter every negative thought Mike has ever had about himself? Maybe he just hates everything about himself. That’s more likely.

This note was nice. He might like this one the best, actually. It felt a lot more personal than the others— like this person seriously likes him, rather than just his appearance. They’ve liked him for a while, apparently.

Someone likes him. Him. Mike Wheeler. Someone that isn’t one of his friends, who kind of have to put up with him. Someone willingly likes him, platonically and otherwise.

Maybe he isn’t completely unbearable.

Mike’s good mood stays with him all throughout the day— a first for him. Thankfully, he always has his good old friends to bring him back down again.

“What’s up with you?” Lucas asks Mike the second he sits down at their lunch table.

“Nothing?” he replies, confused. He knows he’s not being grouchy right now, so he has no idea what Lucas is complaining about this time.

“You’re smiley,” Will informs him, with a small grin of his own.

“What, I’m not allowed to smile anymore?” Mike challenges, and okay, now he’s grouchy.

“No,” El responds seriously. “It is weird.”

“Wait,” Max holds out a hand, and sniffs the air dramatically, as if she were detecting something. “He got another note.”

How the fuck did she know that? She’s a witch or something, he swears. First the Will thing, and now this.

“What?” Dustin exclaims, like this personally affects him— which it does not, because he’s not getting involved. “You got a second one?”

Will shakes his head. “No, he didn’t.” Mike knew he could always rely on him to take his side. “He got a third,” he adds, smirking at Mike.

Traitor. Mike narrows his eyes at him, and Will just laughs. Asshole.

Dustin gawks at him, offended. “You got three? And you didn’t tell us?”

“Why the hell would I tell you guys? Last time, you made fun of me for an entire lunch period,” Mike argues, completely justifiably, in his opinion. “And besides, we said we’d drop it.”

“That was before you had a secret admirer,” Max reasons, unreasonably— her entire being is contradictory.

“I do not!” He does not have a secret admirer. He’s not in a rom-com. And even if he did, that argument doesn’t make any sense. The circumstances of the letters don’t affect the validity of their previous vote.

“Is their identity a secret?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Mike replies timidly. Fuck her, seriously. He doesn’t like where’s this is going.

“And are they admiring you?” This time, he flushes bright red, thinking about cute, and Roman statues, and love, and most recently, everything I adore about you. Evidently, that’s all she needs— maybe she can feel the heat radiating off his face— as she continues, “See? Secret admirer.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “We’re dropping it.

“Fine,” she relents, raising her arms placatingly. “It’s your life. Have fun with your little fan girl.”

“I don’t have a fan girl!”

“Dropping it,” Max promises, and then turns to Lucas. “How did the chem test go?” Nice subject change.

“Horrible,” he answers, exasperated, like they weren’t just bullying Mike for smiling two seconds ago. “Mr. Davis is the worst.”

“I do not like him,” El agrees. “He is creepy— he always smells like cat food. And he gave me a C on my homework because I drew in the margins.”

Will nods in agreement. “He hates me. I think he’s deliberately ignoring me when I raise my hand now.”

That should be criminal. How could anyone hate Will? There’s only one possible reason: it’s definitely homophobia— which is total bullshit, because Mike is the gay one, not Will.

“I don’t think he should be teaching. Isn’t he over the retirement age?” Dustin asks. He for sure is— he’s at least eighty.

“I think he’s over the death age,” Max jokes, which Mike doesn’t want to admit he almost laughs at. It’s undeniably true.

“Right?” Mike exclaims, throwing his arms out. “He’s so not fit to run a classroom. Once, he taught us the complete wrong formula, and he had the audacity to call me stupid when I asked a question about it!”

“Oh my god, Mike,” Max groans, burying her face in her hands. “Shut the hell up. You don’t need to scream it to the entire cafeteria. You’re giving me a headache.”

Was he yelling? Oops. He really doesn’t realize when he does that. It makes Mike chuckle a bit; if only she knew. Screw you, Max. It’s actually charming and cute.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dustin accuses, looking at Mike like he’s grown a second head. Everyone’s staring at him like that. What did he do?

“What?” he asks, looking around at their baffled faces.

“You giggled,” Lucas says, like that’s the most outlandish thing Mike could have done. It’s also a straight-up lie.

“I did not,” Mike denies, because he didn’t. “I chuckled.” Honestly, it was more of a tsk, if anything. A scoff.

“That was most certainly a giggle,” Dustin— the giggle expert, apparently— decides.

“Are you in love?” El asks, which is totally invasive and none of her business, and also one hundred percent true. It has nothing to do with why he laughed though, so he can still deny it in good faith.

“No! Of course not! Why would you think that?”

“Sure, Mike,” Max says sarcastically, and she needs to shut up now.

“Do you like your secret admirer?” Dustin gasps. Mike really doesn’t appreciate how the others have unofficially decided to call them that now. They’re not a secret admirer.

“No,” Mike doubles down, which isn’t even a lie anymore. He doesn’t like that girl, whoever she is. Seriously. She says pretty words, though.

“Don’t lie to us, Michael,” Lucas jokes. “We can see right through you.”

Apparently they can’t, because he does not like his secret admirer. Damn it, now he’s saying it.

“What do you not understand about ‘drop it’?” he emphasizes warningly. Is it a crime for him to want compliments? Are gay people not allowed to have that without being accused of liking a woman?

“Jeez, someone’s sensitive about this topic,” Lucas rolls his eyes. “Wonder why.”

Not for the reason you think.

Mike looks over to Will for his unwavering support, only to find him pale as a ghost. “You alright?” he whippers, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, grimacing in a sorry attempt at a smile, unable to meet Mike’s eyes.

Did he do it? Did succeeded in making Will jealous? Maybe he wasn’t concerned before, because he didn’t actually think that Mike would be into her. He isn’t, but that’s besides the point.

The point is, Will is acting strange. Mike is going to get to the bottom of it.

The fourth note is short.

Mike isn’t disappointed by that; he has no right to be. He isn’t entitled to long rambly essays on the exact shade of his eyes. It’s fine.

This one doesn’t arrive until after lunch. He can sense that something is wrong the second he picks it up. It’s not in an envelope like the last two— it’s on a single sheet of lined paper. He catches a glimpse of one of the words while it’s still folded up: “sorry”.

Instant dread fills up his stomach. Is this the end? Is his secret admirer ending it? He really hopes they aren’t. He doesn’t know what he would do without this. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so used to it.

Why would they end it though? Did Mike do something wrong? He couldn’t have— he’s never even interacted with them. Presumably, at least. They’re in his math class, right? Does he have an ugly thinking-face or something? Did he get a question so unbelievably wrong that they decided they don’t like him after all?

Only one way to find out.

Mike,

Hi. I’m not really sure how to say this, but I’m sorry. There’s something I should have told you from the beginning, but the truth is, I’ve kind of been taking advantage of you. I knew that you would be uncomfortable receiving these kinds of letters from someone like me, but I did it anyway. I thought that the words would mean more than the person behind them, because I would never try to pursue a relationship with you, but I didn’t consider the flip side of that: maybe you could end up wanting to pursue a relationship with me.

I guess I’ve just drilled it into my head so much that you’d never like me, that I forgot that you could. At least, anonymous me. Maybe you don’t. But then again, maybe you do. I realize now that I shouldn’t have taken that chance, and I’m sorry. I never meant to lead you on. I especially never meant to trick you into falling for me. Falling for a boy. Even if you haven’t, it was wrong of me to think it was appropriate to hit on you. I’m sorry if this makes you feel gross, or weird. It was never my intention.

Again, I’m really, really sorry. Like before, if you would like me to stop (which I completely understand), throw this letter in the trash. I promise I’ll try my hardest to get over you. All I ask is that if you figure out who I am, please don’t tell anyone. I’m so sorry.

Oh.

Well this might be the best news he’s ever gotten. Better than when he found out he was going to have a little sibling. Better than when he found out Will was moving back to Hawkins— okay, maybe not that good. He cried that day.

But still, this is pretty damn good— so good that he’s frozen in place, and has been for the past three minutes. He thinks the bell rang a bit ago, but he’s not sure.

A boy likes him. A boy thinks he’s cute, and gorgeous, and smart, and sweet. A boy wants to date him. Mike wants to date a boy. He completely changes his mind— he might be in love with whoever wrote this.

Contrary to popular belief, Mike isn’t an idiot. He has a hypothesis— not a very strong hypothesis, because there are about a hundred boys in his grade alone, but a hypothesis nonetheless. Maybe it’s just hope. But there’s one boy who stands out to him. One boy who’s never had a girlfriend, and who knows him better than anyone.

A boy who knows he likes lemonade lollipops; who is aware of how insecure Mike is, and would do anything to fix it; who never got jealous of Mike’s secret admirer (though, that could also be because he doesn’t like Mike like that). Could these all be explained away as simple coincidences? Sure. But that’s what hypotheses are— coincidences, until they aren’t.

And what do you do with hypotheses? You test them out. So that’s exactly what he does after school on this random Tuesday in February.

“There’s been a development,” Mike drops subtly, while playing board games with the Party. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of his basement, circled around a game of Trouble.

“What, with the secret admirer?” Max guesses, ever inciteful.

“Yeah,” Mike nods, then holds his breath— if his hypothesis is correct, he’s basically coming out to one person in this room. A person who knows what the letter said. A person who would also, in this scenario, be gay. It’s fine. “I like them.”

”What?” Will exclaims, snapping his head toward Mike.

Bingo.

“Is that a problem, William?” he asks flirtatiously, because he’s flirting now. He’s unabashedly flirting with Will.

“No!” Will insists, turning pink. Interesting color. “But, did you get a letter today, or something?”

“I did,” Mike confirms. “They just keep getting better and better,” he adds mischievously. Will’s eyebrows raise for a split second, before he carefully schools his face back to normal. Very interesting.

“Did she say something to change your mind?” Lucas asks, bringing Mike back to earth. “Because you seemed pretty against the idea yesterday.”

“You could say that,” he figures, shrugging. She did not. He most certainly did. Especially if this is going where he thinks it’s going.

Max gasps, suddenly looking way more interested in the conversation than she was a minute ago. “Is it what I think it is?”

She one hundred percent knows. For a blind girl, she sure does see everything. Assuming she’s talking about the author being a boy, of course. “Knowing you? Probably,” he answers, because she’s always been smart like that.

“Do you think it could be…” Max pauses, leaning in to whisper, even though everyone can still hear her. “Them?”

“I’m not sure,” Mike shrugs again, grinning widely, the way he does whenever he so much as thinks about Will. “I hope so.” He really, really hopes so.

He’s trying not to let his expectations rise too high— the evidence is only circumstantial after all. There’s a good chance he’s right, but there’s also a decent one that he’s wrong. That would crush him, he thinks. He needs to keep this purely scientific.

“Mike Wheeler, do you have a crush?” Lucas gapes, astonished. “And you didn’t tell us?”

No, he has an everything. He has a Will.

“Yeah, and why does Max know?” Dustin adds, offended.

“To be fair, I didn’t tell Max either,” Mike defends, throwing his hands up in surrender. This is totally not his fault. She’s just a secret detective, or something.

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “He’s just really obvious.”

“I am not!” he protests, even though he definitely is— especially considering what he’s about to do. “Will, tell her I’m not obvious.”

“You’re definitely not obvious. I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Will admits, his face looking like the entire emotion wheel that they were taught in kindergarten all at once. Mainly he just seems confused— and scared out of his mind. Hopefully Mike can make a big enough fool out of himself to ease Will’s worries.

“Really?” Mike asks, smiling teasingly as he leans a bit into Will’s personal space, who’s eyes widen in surprise. Well, at least he’s not scared anymore. God, Mike is begging that it’s actually Will. For the sake of his dignity, at least. “No idea at all?”

“Um…” Will blushes, going a bit cross-eyed from their proximity.

“Wait,” El blurts, and then whispers something to Max— guessing who his crush is, no doubt.

“Ask Mike,” Max replies, and yep, El definitely knows.

He could deny it. He probably should deny it, with her being Will’s sister and all. But then again, today is all about being brave, right?

“Yes,” Mike confirms, before she can even open her mouth.

“Oh, yay!” El claps. That’s a good sign, right? If anyone knows Will’s romantic prospects, it’s El. Well, it would probably be Mike, actually, but when he’s the subject in question, that’s kind of not realistic.

“Hold on, do you know too?” Lucas accuses, pointing at El.

“I do,” El nods. “Max is right. It is very obvious.”

Okay, well fuck her then. Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean it needs to be addressed. Those two are totally going to gossip about him behind his back.

However obvious he was before, that’s about to increase tenfold— for science. He can only hope that Lucas and Dustin are more oblivious than Will is, because Mike doesn’t really feel like coming out to any more people today. Three is enough, thank you. Also, if this goes south, the less people that know, the better.

Besides, even if he did want to tell people, he can’t do it like this. The writer of the note specifically said not to tell people if Mike found out who he was. He has to protect Will’s privacy first and foremost, even if his hunch ends up being wrong.

“Can we keep playing now?” Mike changes the subject, gesturing to the board in front of them. The others nod as Dustin takes his turn, bumping out a red piece. They’re playing teams, since it’s a four player game— Max with Lucas, and Mike with Will, obviously, since he volunteered them the second it was suggested. All part of the plan— stay as physically close as possible. “I’m tired,” he complains, resting his head on Will’s shoulder.

Will stiffens for a moment before relaxing into the touch, pushing back into him. They don’t do this anymore— at least, Mike doesn’t. Not since he discovered his feelings and panicked like an idiot, avoiding anything that made him feel weird and unnatural. Mike of almost-sixteen hates Mike of fifteen.

“You need a nap?” Will jokes, a bit shakily, and Mike can practically see that nervous little smile he does.

“Yeah, I do,” Mike agrees, completely serious, and lays down on the floor, resting his head in Will’s lap. “Goodnight.”

Will stills in shock, while Mike just smiles up at him, watching the realization slowly dawn on his face. He knows Mike is fucking with him. Huffing an annoyed breath through his nose, Will looks resolutely ahead of him, and starts running a hand through Mike’s hair. Payback, it seems. Not that Mike would really constitute this as a punishment— he’s thoroughly enjoying it. He kind of wants this moment to last forever.

Mike smiles even harder as another realization hits him, and leans into Will’s hand. “You smell like garbage,” he teases. Digging through the trash, was he? What could he have been searching for? A letter, perhaps? A letter that’s tucked safely into Mike’s backpack?

“That’s not very nice,” Will mumbles, blushing furiously. He’s still staring insistently at absolutely nothing on the wall. Adorable.

“Yo, lover boy,” Max shouts to Mike, snapping him out of the daze he was in. Right— there are other people here. Lucas and Dustin barely spare him a second glance, like having his head on Will’s lap is an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe he really isn’t subtle. Like, at all. “It’s your turn.”

Mike reaches out and lazily places his hand on the popper. “Press it with me?” he asks Will. “It’s good luck.”

Will rolls his eyes— liar— and leans over to rest his hand on top of Mike’s. He presses down until the die pops, and moves their pieces accordingly. Mike has no idea if it actually turned out to be good luck or not— he’s too focused on the fact that Will’s chest is hovering inches above his face.

They play through a few more rounds, and all the while, Will pays criminally little attention to him. He’s avoiding Mike’s eyes like the plague, and Mike can’t have that. How is he supposed to flirt with someone that won’t look at him?

He reaches up and pokes Will on the cheek; nothing. He does it again, three times rapid-fire. Still nothing. Again, six times, going for a seventh, when Will finally looks down at him, exasperated. He raises his eyebrows in a what? fashion, and Mike just winks at him.

Will throws his head back onto the cushions of the couch behind him, trying to seem annoyed, but Mike can see the red creeping down his neck.

That’s really all the information he needs— apparent knowledge of the contents of the letter, nervous body language, trashy smell, and major fluster-ability.

Overall, he’d call this experiment a success.

Mike doesn’t even bother hiding his excitement this time around.

Letter five— a week exactly since Valentine's Day. He’s fairly confident it’s been Will this whole time. He actually reread his collection last night with this new information, and screamed for hours. He wasn’t squealing— he was being very manly about it.

This note, as well, didn’t arrive until after lunch. For a moment, Mike was concerned he scared Will away with his flirting. Maybe he realized he didn’t like Mike like that. But no— sometime between fifth and sixth period, an envelope has appeared in Mike’s locker.

He practically tears it open.

Mike,

I hate you. Did you know that? You’re evil sometimes. An evil genius, unfortunately for me.

I’m pretty sure you already know who I am, but I wanted to write you a final letter nonetheless. I knew you would be able to figure it out. I told you that you’re smart, but you never listen. I kind of want to kiss your brain.

God, this is weird now that you know who I am. I’m really hoping that you weren’t just joking around before. I know you wouldn’t do that, but still. If you were, please pretend I didn’t say any of this. If you weren’t, then maybe I can start giving these compliments to you in person from now on.

I guess I should leave you with one last one. You are the most genuine person I’ve ever met. You’re so yourself all the time, which is great, because you’re fucking amazing. You never put up with people’s bullshit, or act polite because you’re told to be. You never quiet down when told to shut up, and if anything, it makes you even louder. You’re so against lying (even though we’ve all hit a couple bumps along the way), and it kind of came as a surprise to me, but you’re incredibly optimistic. When you love someone, you always assume the best in them. You have the purest heart of gold, and I would love to protect it, if you’d let me.

I know you love your riddles, so I set one up for you. I’ve actually signed my real initials at the end of all these letters (besides the last one). To see them, do something that reminds you of me.

I’ll be at my spot after school. I hope to see you then.

That was definitely Will. No one else would start a love letter with “I hate you”. He is so fucking cute, this is insane.

Did Will just ask him out? He kind of did, right? At least a little bit. Will Byers just asked him out. Mike is going to die.

Before he gets ahead of himself, he should check one million percent that this is, in fact, Will. Besides, he does love his riddles.

To see the true initials, Mike has to do something that reminds him of Will? What the fuck does that even mean? He said he signed his initials, so he must be talking about the Q.M. Maybe he’s looking at it wrong? Will is an artist— he probably did some weird perspective thing with it. It’s signed in lowercase without periods, which he would never do otherwise. Maybe he needs to separate the lines? Something like C. L. N. N?

But something that reminds Mike of Will?

…Upside down.

That asshole. He thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he? He kind of is, to be fair. Mike just knows he was all smug about that one. Will’s probably kicking his feet as he speaks.

And the spade is a little heart with a crown, holy shit, Will is the cutest person ever. He’s so— Mike can’t do this. He’s skipping sixth period, he doesn’t care. He’s already late as it is.

Will’s spot. He has to get to Castle Byers.

When Will found out that Mike had rebuilt Castle Byers after he left for California, he had been ecstatic. One that had inevitably fallen down approximately two weeks into his return to Hawkins, Jonathan built Castle Byers 3.0– new and improved. This one is a lot better. It’s quadruple the size, and twice as stable. It could actually work as a small house.

There’s no doubt that this is Will’s spot. It has been for months— it had been for years. It’s their spot. Mike has always frequented it more often than the others, ever since they were ten. He’s definitely the only one who still goes there now.

It’s a thirty minute walk that Mike manages to make in fifteen. He might have started running at some point, he’s not sure. He’s definitely out of breath though, which is why he lingers a few yards outside the door for a while. The last thing he wants to do is show up gasping for air.

When his lungs stop feeling like they’re on fire, he opens the curtain and ducks through the doorway, to see Will already sitting there waiting for him. Of course he skipped class as well. Mike knew he would have.

Will seems shocked by his presence, as if he didn’t know that Mike would run here as soon as he got the letter, which is totally untrue— he definitely knew. Still, he startles, standing up hastily, wide eyed and nervous.

Mike stares at him for a moment, unsure of what to do now that he’s actually here. He’s nervous, he realizes, now that the shock has worn off. This is real— this is actually happening. Will likes him, and he was too distracted to think of what he was going to say. His best friend of ten years is standing in front of him, hopeful and waiting, and whatever happens next will change their relationship forever— for better or for worse.

Suddenly, he starts moving on autopilot— thank god, because that might be the only way he can move right now— as he crosses the few feet of distance between them. He cups Will’s cheeks in his hands, like he’s always dreamed of doing, and presses their lips together.

It’s strangely gentle, yet insistent, Mike’s confidence coming from absolutely nowhere; confidence that only grows when Will places one hand on the back of Mike’s neck, the other around his waist, and kisses him back.

His lips are rough and warm, and he tastes like pink lemonade, and school pizza, and Will. Mike can’t even come up with any analogies for how it feels when Will pulls him in closer, because his head is just constant TV static. He’s kissing Will Byers.

Until he’s not. They pull back as minutely as they can— to the point where Mike can still feel Will’s breath against his mouth— and rest their foreheads together.

“You’re really cute,” Mike mumbles into the space between them, still holding him by the face.

“That’s my line,” Will complains, though he’s smiling; Mike can see it in his eyes.

Mike leans in to kiss him again, and again, and again. This is so incredibly addicting. He doesn’t know if he can ever live without it— he doesn’t know how he ever did.

“Shouldn’t we talk about it?” Will asks between kisses. Normally, Mike would protest— he has much better things to be doing with his mouth. But this is Will, and Will likes to sort things out before enjoying them— like when he orders his M&Ms by color, and eats them one-by-one until each group has an equal amount, shoveling the rest into his mouth all at once. Mike loves him.

“Alright,” he steps back, sitting on the floor next to Will’s feet, motioning for him to do the same. “Talk.”

Will complies, pulling his knees up to his chest like he does when trying to make himself smaller— a nervous habit. He pauses, trying to find his words, as if he hasn’t been practicing a speech since last night. Mike knows him— he probably wrote it on notecards and everything. “I really like you,” he starts.

Mike gathered as much, but it’s still nice to hear. And he knows that Will needs to say it. “I really like you, too,” he assures, grabbing onto one of Will’s hands that was resting on his knee.

Will relaxes at the confirmation, like Mike hadn’t just started making out with him two minutes ago. “I got the idea on Valentine’s Day, obviously, because you seemed really upset that you didn’t get anything.”

“Honestly, I was more jealous of the girls that sent you stuff,” Mike interjects, causing Will to look shocked— this is definitely brand new information for him. Luckily, Mike isn’t going to stop proving to Will that he loves him, until he believes it. And even then, he’ll keep proving it— ideally until the day they die.

“Okay, but don’t pretend like you didn’t want one, too,” he counters, and Mike isn’t going to argue with that. “Anyway, I didn’t want you to think that no one likes you, because I like you. So much. And I figured that a Valentine from me would be better than none at all.”

Mike can hear the self-deprecation in Will’s voice, no matter how much he tries to hide it. “A Valentine from you is better than anything in the world,” he promises, squeezing Will’s hand. “You know, even if I didn’t like you like that, I still wouldn’t have minded. I would’ve thought it was sweet either way.”

“Really?” Will asks disbelievingly. Mike hates it. He hates how Will can’t see how precious he is. He’s the most perfect boy in the world, but he can’t seem to understand that. He doesn’t know that Mike hangs on to his every word, just because they’re his.

“Yes, really. You’re my best friend— my favorite person ever.”

“Oh,” Will squeaks, surprised. Then, as if snapping back into action, he throws his head back against the wall and shoves his hands into face, groaning. “I was so sure you were going to throw that letter away yesterday. I was scared that I lost it. I had to dig through the garbage because I thought it got pushed to the bottom, or something.”

“I could tell,” Mike jokes, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Shut up, I didn’t smell that bad.” Mike would argue that he did, in fact, smell pretty foul— on par with Lucas’s dumpster escapades during the whole Dart incident— but he’ll cut him a break. “I had to tell the janitor I lost my retainer,” Will continues meekly.

“You did not,” Mike protests, and Will pokes his eyes out from behind his hands. “Will!”

“Okay, in my defense, I wasn’t under the impression that you would be willing to accept compliments from guys,” he counters, throwing his arms up.

“I mean, I accepted them while I thought it was a girl, too. I’m not really in any position to be picky.”

Will frowns at him, narrowing his eyes, before apparently finding whatever information he was looking for, and leveling his face determinedly. “You’re pretty, Mike,” he says casually.

Woah. Hearing him say that out loud is a lot different than reading it in Will’s voice in his head. Mike is pretty sure his mouth is hanging wide open right now, like a loser.

Will laughs, because he’s mean and evil, and grabs Mike’s face, cupping his cheeks. “You’re gorgeous,” he smiles, staring into Mike’s eyes like he’s worthy of being loved. This is what that word feels like. Just like he’d imagined it.

This time, Mike admits that he might have, maybe, possibly—

“You giggled again,” Will marvels, absolutely beaming.

There isn’t really a comeback to that one, because he did in fact do that, so Mike just pulls him in by the collar for another kiss. They’re done talking if Will is just going to start teasing him. He definitely doesn’t seem to be complaining though, as he kisses Mike back with just as much enthusiasm, all earlier reservations gone.

At some point, Will ends up on his lap— he has no idea how or when this happened, but he’ll take it. It’s a nice angle, Will tilting Mike’s head up, kissing down at him, and Will is certainly very eager. Mike’s hands are wrapped around his waist, and he thinks he might die, actually. Kissing has never felt like this before.

And then Mike thinks that he really might die, and realizes that he has to breathe at some point. He ducks his head back, and Will chases after him until Mike puts a hand to his chest.

“Hey,” he pants, taking in the sight before him— Will, sitting on his lap, eyes dazed and breathing heavily. His hands have slipped down to Mike’s neck, and he’s— he’s a vision, really. Mike plants another quick peck onto his lips for good measure; and then two more, for even better measure.

“Okay, Mike!” Will laughs, trying to wiggle free of his grasp, but Mike’s got his arms trapped in a tight hug.

“No,” he denies, kissing Will’s cheek, and then his nose, and then anywhere on his face he can reach.

“Mike!” he yells again, and look who’s giggling now.

Mike pulls back, smiling proudly at the blush coating Will’s face. “Can I give you compliments now?”

“Fine,” Will sighs, like being praised by his boyfriend is the most tedious thing in the world— are they boyfriends?— but there’s a small smile fighting to break through.

“I love your eyes,” he starts, since they’re right there in front of him. “They change color in the sunlight— they sparkle. I love your hair, even though you hate how your mom cuts it. I think it’s cute. I love your smile, and your laugh, and your little mole,” he says, kissing the spot below Will’s nose. “And obviously I love your lips,” he jokes, pecking them as well, and Will does his beautiful little laugh.

“I think you’re light,” Mike continues, twirling a piece of Will’s hair. “You’re warm, and nice, and cheerful, even when the world gives you every reason not to be. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met, and you’re so unbelievably brave; I don’t think I could have done all this. You say that I’m genuine, but that’s totally you. You’ve always known who you are, and you don’t try to hide it. I love that.

“I love how reserved you are around others, but how loud you are with me. I love how observant you are, and how you memorize everyone’s favorite things, just so you know them. I love how patient you are. I love that you’re secretly kind of mean, but only to people who deserve it.” He understands now why Will had a hard time keeping his letters short. He could keep talking for hours. “And I love you,” he concludes, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

“You love me?” Will gapes, astonished, like Mike hadn’t made that plenty clear before.

“Of course I do,” he shrugs easily. Because it is easy. Loving Will is the easiest thing in the world. Trying not to love him was the hard part.

Will smiles wider than Mike’s ever seen him before— because of him. “I love you, too.”

Oh, okay. He understands Will’s reaction now. That might replace Will’s laugh as his new favorite sound. He wants to trap those words in his ears and listen to them on repeat forever.

This time, it’s Will who initiates the make-out session, and that’s a different feeling entirely, being led rather than leading. It’s slow and lazy, and it’s clear that Will has never kissed another person in his life, because each movement is sloppy and inexperienced. He’s amazing. Mike loves that he’s Will’s first kiss. He’s his first… something.

“Will?” he mumbles against his lips, since apparently they’re doing an entire roll-reversal now, with Mike being the one to interrupt them with senseless uncertainties.

“Yeah?” Will sits back, giving Mike his full attention— not that he wasn’t before, but it was a different kind of attention. He’s so patient, Mike wants to scream.

This feels kind of unnecessary now. It seemed like life-or-death in the moment, but it definitely could have waited until later. Although, Will is looking at him with nothing but love and understanding, so maybe Mike needs to stop overthinking for once in his life.

“Are we dating?” he asks.

“Oh,” Will blurts, looking a little caught off guard. “I mean, I thought so? I don’t know.”

That’s good enough for Mike. “Okay, cool,” he smiles, leaning back in for a kiss.

“Wait!” Will exclaims, pushing him back by the shoulders. “You want to date, right?”

“I really, really, really want to date,” Mike emphasizes. He would rather die than go another day without dating Will.

“Okay, good,” Will accepts, moving closer for what Mike assumes is going to be another kiss, but turns out to be a hug instead. That’s nice, too; he likes this. Will rests his head in the crook between Mike’s shoulder and neck, and wraps his arms around his waist. “We’re dating then.”

Mike loves him. He loves him so bad it’s painful— a good kind of painful, this time. Like his happiness is so overflowing, it’s trying to break through his skin. Like there’s this energy flowing through his veins that he needs to get out immediately. The best way to do this, he theorizes, is to squeeze him back tightly, and maybe plant a kiss to the side of his head. It works— at least somewhat. He still feels like he could run a mile.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Will says after a few minutes, standing up entirely. Mike makes a noise of protest, and tries to grab onto Will’s arm to pull him back down; he was comfortable. Will laughs, walking to the other side of the fort. “Hold on, I’m just getting something.” He rummages through a box in the corner, then pulls out something small and crinkly, running back over to Mike with an excited little smile on his face. “Here,” he holds his hand out proudly.

It’s a pink heart lollipop— the same one that was on the first letter a week ago. Will is so cute.

“I had Mom buy a whole bag of them,” Will continues after Mike grabs it out of his hand. He sits back down— not in Mike’s lap this time, which he’s kind of upset about— and leans against Mike’s side. This is alright then, he guesses. “I wanted to give you one today for the last letter. Full circle.”

“You’re so adorable,” Mike says, more to himself than anything. Will blushes anyway, so he’ll count it as a win. He starts unwrapping the candy, but pauses halfway through, a very important thought crossing his mind. “Am I going to be needing my mouth?”

Will furrows his eyebrows for a moment, before settling into an unimpressed stare. “Mike!” he complains, even through a small laugh.

“What?” Mike protests. “It’s a valid question. I don’t want to be preoccupied if a kissing opportunity arises.”

Will rolls his eyes fondly. “No, you don’t need your mouth. Eat your stupid candy.”

Mike shrugs and tears off the rest of the wrapper, popping it into his mouth. “You had one of these before I came in,” he realizes amusedly.

“How do you know that?”

“I could taste it,” he teases, and Will shoves his face back into Mike’s shoulder, embarrassed. He’s so easily flustered. “I actually have a question,” Mike brings up randomly, thinking back to something that never made sense to him about the letters.

“What is it?” Will mumbles into his shirt.

“That wasn’t your handwriting. I would have recognized it.”

Will smiles sheepishly, lifting his head back up to look Mike in the eyes. “I disguised it. It took me like, five minutes to write a single sentence.”

“How long did you spend on them?” Mike asks disbelievingly.

“Pretty much all afternoon,” Will admits. “Two hours for the rough draft, and two or three to write it.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says apologetically, suddenly feeling very guilty. Mostly he’s just flattered, though.

“I wanted to,” Will assures genuinely. “I liked telling you that stuff. It helped me as well.” He did say that in one of his letters; maybe that’s alright then. If it benefits Will. “My turn to ask a question,” he decides. “Which one was your favorite?”

That’s a tough one. Impossible, really. They’re from Will. That’s like trying to choose a favorite parent— for most people. Mike could make that decision in an instant. But Will’s letters? Never.

“Well, I liked them all for different reasons. I liked the first one because it was a surprise. I didn’t know that anyone liked me, y’know? It was shocking. The second one was nice, because I’ve never really been able to see myself like that— it was like, I realized that maybe I’ve been too hard on myself, or something. The third was my favorite compliment-wise. It felt more personal, I don’t know. I guess I kind of just thought you guys didn’t actually like me. Like, you just put up with me, or something.”

Will isn’t going to like that one. He probably shouldn’t have said it at all, but oh well. Truth’s out now.

“The fourth one,” he continues, “was when I found out that I could actually make something of this whole thing, and that I might have had a chance with you, so that one’s pretty high up there. It was kind of sad though— don’t talk about yourself that way. And then there’s the fifth one, for obvious reasons,” Mike finishes, taking Will’s hand and giving it a squeeze for emphasis.

Will immediately wraps his arms around Mike’s side, encasing him in a hug. “You’re everything I could ever want in a person, Mike,” he says, kissing his cheek, before resting his head on Mike’s shoulder. It’s nice, but he’s really not in the mood for a lecture about how he should love himself, or whatever. That discussion requires talking about years of bullying and neglect— he wants to keep everything light-hearted right now. This is a happy moment.

“You’re everything for me, too,” he returns, wrapping an arm around Will’s waist, and leaning his head on top of his. “Which letter do you think is your best work?”

Will clearly isn’t happy with his deflection, but takes the bait anyway. “Two or three,” he answers pretty much immediately. “I was shitting myself during that first one, four was my worst nightmare, and five was just embarrassing.”

“Well I loved it,” Mike counters, removing his lolipop to kiss Will’s hand, because he’s all chivalrous like that. Turns out he did need his mouth after all. “I love you.”

“You’re so sappy,” Will says, but it doesn’t sound like a complaint. “I love you, too.”

“Next Valentine’s Day, I’m going to get you the biggest card you’ve ever seen,” he decides. He’ll go all out— flowers, chocolate, love letters, everything.

“Oh, so it’s not a stupid holiday anymore?” Will looks up at him teasingly, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s a day all about loving you,” Mike reasons, squeezing Will’s waist. “It’s my favorite holiday.”

Maybe that makes him a hypocrite. Maybe he’s just as bad as those annoying couples in the hallway— but he doesn’t really care, to be honest. For once, he understands. For once, he has someone to kiss up against lockers, and write sappy letters to. For once, he’s in love with someone who loves him back.

On Thursday morning, Will and Mike show up to school with big, dopey smiles on their faces— this might be a bit difficult to explain away.

Truthfully, Mike doesn’t even know if they should explain it away. They never really talked about whether they’re keeping their relationship a secret or not. That probably should’ve been conversation number one, but in their defense, they were a bit preoccupied— they didn’t exchange many words after Mike finally finished his stupid lollipop. He knew that thing would be a problem.

It’s no surprise that when meeting with the Party, the first words out of Dustin’s mouth are, “What’s got you in a good mood? Any news on your secret admirer?”

This is fine, right? He’s allowed to talk about it, he just can’t say who it is. Right? Yeah, that makes sense. Just, whatever he does, he can’t look at Will. That’ll give it away. Rule number two, after all: do not, under any circumstances, make eye-contact with your secret boyfriend while discussing your romantic prospects.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” he starts, and Lucas groans from beside Dustin.

“Dude, you’re still on this? Just admit it already.”

“I don’t,” Mike insists. “I have a boyfriend.”

Was that the smartest idea? Probably not. Definitely not in the middle of a crowded hallway. But they never would have let it go if he didn’t give them an update— and it’s certainly clear that there has been an update. Besides, he can’t find it in himself to care. He has Will, everything else seems kind of unimportant.

“You asked him out?” Max gasps. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Did he? Mike thinks it was more Will’s doing. Maybe it was mutual. It doesn’t matter— the point is that they’re dating.

“Wait, wait,” Dustin holds up his hands, signaling to pause. “You have a boyfriend?”

”Shhh,” Mike puts a hand over Dustin’s mouth, swiveling his head around the hallway to check for eavesdroppers. “Dude, don’t yell that.”

“Sorry,” he says, muffled through Mike’s hand. “You have a boyfriend?” he whispers, once it falls away.

“Um… yeah,” Mike admits hesitantly. He’s kind of regretting not thinking this through all the way. Why did he decide to do this? He didn’t, really. His big fat mouth started speaking without his permission. That might be cute or whatever, but it certainly isn’t practical.

He feels Will place a hand into the crook of his elbow in support, and instantly relaxes. He has Will. It’s okay.

“That’s cool, dude,” Lucas reassures, rushing to give Mike a hug, who lets out a small breath of relief. He doesn’t know what he would have done if he lost the Party just like that. He should have known they’d be supportive— as much as they bug the hell out of him, his friends are the best.

“Right, yeah,” Dustin nods quickly. “We’re happy for you. Just kind of shocked.”

Mike is shocked; he has a boyfriend.

“Sorry,” Lucas steps back, brushing off Mike’s shoulders. “Don’t want to make your boyfriend jealous.”

“I don’t really think he’s the jealous type,” Mike guesses, considering he’s been trying to get a reaction out of Will all week, and nothing. Then again, he can’t really get jealous of himself, can he?

“Eh,” Will mutters beneath his breath, only for him to hear, and Mike smiles to himself. He has a jealous boyfriend. Will loves him. Maybe he’ll get all possessive and angry; that would be cute. Mike is Will’s now.

“Aw, he’s all happy,” Dustin coos, reaching up to poke Mike’s check, but gets swatted away. Only Will can touch his face.

“Happy, huh?” Max asks conspiratorially. “Exactly how excited for you should I be?”

Mike grimaces; of course she’d figure out it was Will. They were literally flirting two days ago. He’s said too much already— he should have just kept his mouth shut from the beginning. “I shouldn’t say.”

“You can say,” Will pipes up from beside him. For the first time since they’ve arrived, Mike chances a glance over to him. Will is smiling up at him like he’s proud of him, and Mike almost melts on the spot. He has a boyfriend. A boyfriend named Will Byers. He’s never going to get tired of saying that.

“Oh,” Mike blurts, almost on accident, still staring him lovingly in the eyes. “Well in that case, very excited.”

That’s that problem solved. Will just came out. They came out together. Because they are together. He guesses that’s how they’ll be doing most things from now on.

“Fucking finally,” Max exclaims, throwing her head back. “I’ve had to deal with Mike pining over you for years!” she tells Will.

“I’ve only known you for two!” Mike rebuttals, snapping his head back to face her.

“Yeah, and you’ve been a mess the whole time. No one else noticed, I thought I was going crazy.”

He can’t really argue with that— he was a mess. He was a mess long before she arrived, too.

“You’re dating Will?” Dustin asks, eyes bugging out of his head.

“Yeah,” Mike crosses his arms defensively, stepping in front of his boyfriend. “Is that a problem?”

“Dude, calm your ass down,” Dustin rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to beat him up or anything. You’re our friends, we love you.”

Right, of course. They just had this discussion. He doesn’t need to be protective-boyfriend-mode right now. But he can be, if he wants to. Because, if he hasn’t said it enough, he’s taken.

“Actually, this makes a lot of sense,” Lucas decides, nodding in acceptance. “I don’t know why we were so shocked before. You’ve always been kind of different around each other. I guess we just got used to it.”

“We weren’t different around each other,” Mike grumbles, which is definitely a lie. Will has been special since day-one.

“Second grade,” Lucas supplies. “You almost had a panic attack because Will fell off his bike.”

That one was not his fault. Will was bleeding, and crying, and Mike didn’t know what to do. He was worried. “Shut up.”

“You don’t seem too shocked, El,” Dustin points out.

“I’m not,” she confirms, which was expected. She’s very perceptive. “Will told me.”

Well that was not expected. Mike turns to him, surprised. “You did?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Will winces, scratching the back of his neck. “She found out about the letters on the first day, and she could tell something happened last night. I figured it was alright since you kind of told her on Tuesday. You did tell her, right? Shit, sorry, I should have asked—“

“Will,” Mike interrupts, placing his hands on his shoulders. “I’m not mad. I did tell her. I just didn’t know she knew about you.”

“He was not very sneaky,” El informs. “Mom came home with the same candy that was taped to your letter. And he was even redder than you were when Lucas was reading it. I am surprised no one noticed.”

Mike did notice, a little bit. He was kind of distracted though, with the mortifying shame of the entire situation.

“Oh!” Will exclaims, reaching into his jacket pocket, and pulling out another lollipop. “Here,” he hands it over to Mike with a big smile on his face.

Mike wants to kiss him right here in the middle of the hallway. He’s not going to, because the last thing he wants to do is put Will in danger, but it’s tempting.

“Are they making heart-eyes?” he hears Max ask, but he doesn’t really care, because he’s too busy making heart-eyes at Will.

“Yep,” Lucas confirms. “Wow, we’re dumb.”

“Gross,” Max gags. “I change my mind. I miss when Mike was hopelessly single.”

“Fuck you,” Mike flips her off, even though she can’t tell. It’s the thought that counts. “Come on, Will. We’re leaving.”

Will laughs as he’s dragged away by the wrist. “Bye!” he calls to the others behind him, because he’s thoughtful like that, before turning back to Mike. “Where are we going?”

“Class,” he answers, though he wouldn’t mind taking a pit-stop. He does have the keys to the AV room.

“Wait,” Will says, and are they actually going to sneak away before class? “You should stop by your locker first.”

Oh. Well that’s suspicious. Mike thought they were done with the letter thing. He’s not going to complain though— they’re really cute.

“Why’s that?” he teases, changing course.

“Dunno,” Will shrugs innocently. “Maybe you need some new books.”

“Right,” Mike agrees, nodding his head. “Of course. Books.” He stops in front of his locker, raising his eyebrows at Will before putting in his combination. “Would you look at that,” he says sarcastically, as he picks up a piece of paper sitting inside. “I wonder what this could be.”

“Guess it’s a mystery,” Will plays along. “You should see what it is.”

Mike shakes his head fondly, and unfolds the paper.

Mike ♡

Hello to my amazing, beautiful, smart, sweet, darling boyfriend. I hope you have a wonderful day. I love you so, so much!

“How am I the cheesy one?” Mike asks, smiling wide and stupid. He can’t believe he got this lucky. He has the cutest, most thoughtful boyfriend in the world.

“Shush,” Will retorts, shoving Mike’s shoulder.

“How did you even do this? We came to school together.” Will has literally been with him the entire time. Maybe he really is a wizard.

“I had El put it in there this morning,” he admits sheepishly, looking at the ground. Or that— that too.

“Well, thank you,” Mike says softly, almost a whisper, leaning in closer. “It was very cute. I loved it.” Instead of kissing Will right then and there, outing them to the entire school, he stares Will in the eyes as he lifts the letter up to his lips, and kisses it. “I love you, too.”

“Don’t do that,” Will complains, exasperated, as he blushes heavily. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m sweet, and kind, and perfect, actually,” Mike argues teasingly. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Clean your locker,” Will deflects, crossing his arms and walking away. Mike smiles to himself, watching him get further and further down the hallway; Will loves him.

Predictably, Will pauses once he realizes that Mike isn’t following after him. He turns around, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “You coming?”

Mike carefully places the note into his backpack, and throws it over his shoulder. Of course he’s coming. He’d follow Will anywhere.