Work Text:
You’re the first place my mind goes,
and the last place I wanna go tonight
If God was real, he had a personal agenda to make Mike Wheeler’s life as hard as possible.
He’d already woken up that morning with a feeling in the pit of his stomach. The kind of feeling that makes you groan and throw your head back into the pillow, wishing for the bed to swallow you whole instead of having to get up and face the real world. It was late January, and upon opening his eyes, his sight still blurry, Mike was blinded by the flat grey light falling through his curtains, specks of white dancing in the wind just outside the window.
Sleepily, with one eye closed, he caught a glimpse of the alarm clock on his bedside table. 7:38. Mike groaned and tossed the blanket aside, then got out of bed in a daze. He had seventeen minutes to get ready if he wanted to make it to class. He had Literary Theory first thing in the morning, and his professor was keen on locking the classroom doors at 8:15 on the spot, inevitably shutting anyone out who showed up just a second too late.
Humming in disapproval of the early morning hour, Mike made his way to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes that still refused to fully open. He had to accept that he wouldn’t have time to grab coffee before class. But that didn’t seem to be an issue, seeing as he was properly woken up by a sharp pain in his toe that stretched up into his foot. He heard the bang only after he’d already smashed his toe into the console table.
“Motherf— what the fuck?” The pain jolted him awake, and as Mike lifted his foot —as if that would keep his toe from falling off— he stared at the piece of furniture with a pained expression.
He’d forgotten about it. Will and him moved in only three days ago, and most of the apartment was still a mess. More importantly, though, it was unfamiliar. While Mike had spent the past three years learning how to blindly navigate the walls of the dorm he’d lived in, he was now in an entirely new environment, an environment that required him to open his eyes before shuffling toward the bathroom.
Mike sighed, suddenly remembering the time pressure he was under as he tried to ignore the pain in his foot. He slipped into the bathroom, ready to get through his morning routine. It wasn’t much of a routine, really —washing up, brushing teeth, an occasional shave. Mike kept it simple, mostly because he didn’t really give a damn about how he looked.
He reached for his razor and, moments later, found himself with blood dripping from his chin into the sink. “Ugh,” was all he had in him when he realized he’d cut himself. He washed the spot off and pressed a towel to his face until he reached the roll of toilet paper, quickly sticking a piece onto the cut before rushing out of the bathroom, back into his room so he could get dressed.
Once he’d slipped into his clothes, Mike took a look into the wooden full-length mirror and groaned. There was a ginormous coffee stain on his plain, white shirt.
He should’ve left it at that, really. Should’ve slipped back out of his clothes and retreated back into his bed, where he’d been safe from the horrors of the world. He couldn’t die while standing up if he was sunk into the mattress, covered by the softness of his blanket. Alas, Mike was an adult now and had to actually put some effort into his studies. The student loan was expensive and he couldn’t let it go to waste by staying home and playing video games, as much as he wanted to.
So, he changed into another shirt, something that was stain-free, layered a sweater on top of it, then put on his shoes and jacket. Mike peeked at the clock again —8:58. He was running three minutes behind. “Shit,” he hissed, throwing his backpack over one shoulder and hurrying to get out of the door.
The apartment Will and he moved into was closer to campus than their dorms had been. They didn’t require a ride on the crowded subway anymore, it was a walkable distance now. The week prior to moving in, Mike had spent a concerning amount of time walking back and forth between the new apartment, college, and his workplace, trying to figure out how long it took to commute between the places under different circumstances. Fifteen minutes to college, twelve minutes to work, in different directions. It was a twenty-seven minute walk between college and work now —or two subway stations.
Mike hated showing up early to things, hated waiting around, hated being there without a purpose. Back home, he was a regular late-comer, always the last to show up at the function. If it hadn’t been for Will, who was anxiously scrambling with time and showed up to everything at least twenty minutes early, he would’ve probably been late to every class, too. But he’d cherished the time they spent with each other before school, so Mike was never late at the intersection they’d met up at every morning with their bikes.
Will tried getting him to be a little more punctual when they moved to New York for college, but it was helpless. Mike had a hard time getting going in the mornings, and since Will and him had classes in different buildings in different parts of the city, they couldn’t commute together.
Mike had to learn the hard way that tardiness wouldn’t get him far. The first few times he showed up late to Literary Theory and was met with locked doors, he hadn’t thought much of it. He thought maybe there was a mistake in the schedule and that class didn’t exist yet, until he heard his classmates talk about assignments and learned. He’d failed a class because he showed up at 10:08, when the essay was due at 10:00. He was threatened with cuts to his payment if he continued showing up late to his shifts, and when he actually received a hundred bucks less than he should’ve, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t warned.
Mike had been chronically late to everything in his life, and college forced him to adjust. So he became eager to show up on time, almost on-the-dot. Five minutes early for classes, sometimes two. Three minutes early for work. It worked out on most days now, three years into college and Mike Wheeler had somehow become a punctual person.
Except, not really. The crushing weight of his student loan inspired him to be on time for classes. The cost of living and the fact he actually needed to fill his stomach made him actually show up for work before his shift started. In his private life, Mike remained as late as ever. They’d agreed to meet up at 8:00, and Mike showed up at 8:17 with a smile on his face. The movie started at 9:00, Mike showed up at 9:21, unfazed, knowing he’d only missed the trailers. If the store closed at 7:30, Mike would arrive at 7:37, rattling at the doors, trying to get in.
It was mind-boggling that he’d managed to mostly show up in time for classes. After his first week of perfect attendance, he and Will sat on the edge of Mike’s bed in the dorm room, and Will had actually applauded him. “Maybe you’re not hopeless, you’re on your way to become a functional part of this society.”
Mike had laughed then, nearly melted at the way Will was so giddy and excited. But he’d hated the meaning of Will’s words, because they implied he wasn’t a functional part of society under certain conditions —like he only mattered if he performed correctly.
Mike stepped outside, right into the cold winter air. The city reeked of traffic and snow, the scent of coffee seeping from the cafés, lingering in the air and calming Mike’s senses. He wished he could grab a cup before heading to class, but the clock was ticking. He set one foot onto the stairs, and immediately slipped. Before Mike realized what was happening, his butt hit the concrete beneath him. He toppled down the stairs like a skipping stone on still water.
Bypassers were staring as Mike cursed under his breath and got up, carefully, to avoid slipping again. Mike was never the religious type, but today he felt like God was teasing him. When he was back on his feet, wiping the snow and dirt from the back of his jeans, he looked towards the sky. “Man, are you kidding me?”
He’d given up hope for making it to college in time. The pavement was a mix of dirty, melted snow and road salt. If Mike hadn’t paid attention, he’d have missed the occasional slippery spots and landed right on his ass again. His tailbone was hurting from the fall on the stairs, and his toe still ached from being smashed against furniture. He hadn’t even been up for an hour yet, and the universe had already conspired against him. Mike missed the comfort of his bed, the warmth of his apartment, and Will —who had an entire day of no classes ahead of him and would probably unpack moving boxes until Mike got home.
When he finally made it into the college building, Mike nervously checked the hallway clock. He had ten seconds left. Although ten seconds weren’t nearly enough, Mike decided to run for it. He sprinted along the corridors, taking an occasional sharp turn and dodging other students on their way to class. He arrived at the destination, out of breath, chest heaving. Mike pushed down the handle of the classroom and was surprised when the door actually opened. He was eye to eye with his professor now, whose hand was already holding the key, ready to lock the door.
He stepped aside with a single raised eyebrow, allowing Mike into the room.
Phew.
*
It was a long day. Mike had fallen asleep six times throughout four different classes —he knew those late night gaming sessions would catch up to him. On lunch, he nearly choked to death on a single pea and once again cursed the Universe, which was really out to get him today. Classes ended, and when Mike left the building, the sun was almost fully set. The snowfall which he’d watched through the windows all day had stopped, and there was an abundance of workers in the streets, pouring masses of road salt onto the pavements.
As much as Mike wanted to go home, his day was far from over. He’d hurled his ass to the library, where he gathered resources for his thesis for about an hour. Then he checked out, a tote with four heavy books draped over his shoulder, and made his way to work. He considered stopping at home for a couple of minutes, maybe, to drop off the heavy books at least. He’d chosen against it when he realized the streets were decently walkable, and decided to walk to work instead of being squeezed to death in a subway full of people.
He allowed himself a cup of coffee —black, with way too much sugar. He’d rarely permitted himself the luxury of coffee shops, especially not now that he lived with Will. Rent had to be paid. Mike couldn’t keep stacking it onto his already suffocating student loan, and he liked eating more than grilled cheese for an entire month. But tonight, he’d desperately needed the coffee.
The first sip burned on his tongue, and left behind a sizzling feeling in his throat. Good, Mike thought, swallowing the burn down with another hot gulp. He pondered on whether he actually needed the coffee, or if he just needed the pain to make him feel something, anything other than the undeliberate agony he’d endured all day. He washed those thoughts off with another mouthful of bitter, way-too-sweet liquid.
When Mike finally made it home around 2:00 in the morning, all the life seemed to be drained from his body. His shoulder hurt from hauling the books around on the short way home. He reeked of burnt burger patties and frying oil, and hiding beneath his thick jacket was a sweater covered in stains because he’d forgotten to bring his apron. Mike wasn’t the best cook, but it was enough to flip burgers and fry potatoes for six hours straight. He hated his job, but he made money, didn’t have to talk to many people, and could be as miserable as he wanted as long as he got work done. Tonight, however, he’d been so fed up with his day that he contemplated sticking his head into the fryer several times.
He made it up the stairs without another incident, and as he stepped into the building, he thankfully accepted the warmth on his face and hands. On his way back, the snow had picked up again, full force, blowing into his face, making his cheeks burn and eyesight blurry. Mike took his sweet time making his way up to the apartment, unzipping his jacket on the way. He knew he was close to his bed, where he could sink into the mattress, maybe have a quick wank before drifting off to sleep knowing he had a day of no classes or work ahead of him tomorrow.
When Mike entered the apartment, the first thing that hit him was the strong scent of roses. There was a smell lingering beneath it, something raw and unpleasant Mike couldn’t quite make out. He thought back to when he was thirteen, taking a huge dump in the bathroom, and trying to cover it up with Nancy’s irritating perfume —it hadn’t worked, ever.
With his brows furrowed, he dropped the bag of books on the floor next to the door, just as it fell shut. The apartment was mostly dark, except for the soft, pink light falling through the crack on Will’s door and… a strange light in the kitchen? Mike hummed in confusion, taking off his jacket and carrying it all the way. When he walked into the kitchen, he figured the door of the fridge was opened, throwing its shine onto a figure standing in front of it.
It wasn’t Will. Mike knew Will. Even from the silhouette, he knew this wasn’t his best friend of fifteen years. He reached for the light switch, tilting his head. When the bulb lit up, Mike’s eyes took a second to adjust to the brightness. Then, his eyebrows shot towards his hairline. He was staring at the back of a very big, very muscular man, with a nice tan and his long hair in a bun. His full back, mind you, ass fully exposed. Here, in Mike’s kitchen.
Drained from his already incredibly bad day, Mike sighed. He was surprised, but also not really. Most of all, he was irritated. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The stranger froze and turned around, frowning at Mike before his face expanded into a smile. A smile Mike was extremely distracted from, because now that he saw the front, he caught a glimpse of the stranger’s massive dick. Mike blinked rapidly as he tore his eyes away and stared into the stranger’s face. He was holding a single slice of cheese which he’d obviously already bitten into.
“Oh, hey!” He said almost too enthusiastically. “You must be the roommate. I’m Jordan! Nice to meet you.”
The roommate.
That stung.
Will didn’t even bother letting Jordan know his roommate had a name.
“Just my luck,” Mike mumbled under his breath. Then, a little louder, tilting his chin towards the slice of cheese with a blank expression. “You enjoying my food?”
Mike wanted to add, did you enjoy fucking my best friend, too? The guy I’ve been in love with for nearly ten years? Or is he just another face you’ll forget by tomorrow night? Jesus, have you even looked at his face before fucking him?
He didn’t, though. Instead, he watched Jordan’s expression shift into confusion, his eyes wandering to the food in his hand. When he responded, he talked to the cheese, not to Mike. “Yeah, it’s great.”
Mike scoffed. “Do you usually raid a stranger’s fridge after coital activities?”
Jordan looked back at him now, eyebrows raised. “He, uh, said it was cool.”
“He?” Mike raised an eyebrow. Obviously, he knew who the guy was talking about. Other than Mike and Will, no other person lived in this apartment.
“Yeah, uh, the guy.” Jordan gestured towards the direction of Will’s bedroom, visibly getting nervous, uncomfortably shifting in his spot.
“The guy?” Mike’s voice was a pitch higher now. “Are you not embarrassed? Do you not ask for people’s names before cracking their backs?”
“Hey, man, sorry. I’m just—“
“Oh, fuck off,” Mike interrupted him, grimacing. “Good night, Jordan. Promise you won’t forget my name? It’s Mike.”
His last word, his own name, was more of a hiss. He’d kept his grimace as he backed out of the kitchen, making way to his room as quickly as possible, leaving behind an embarrassed himbo.
The door fell shut as Mike slumped against it, his back pressed against the cool, wooden surface. He dropped his jacket on the floor. He wanted to laugh, scream, cry, curse, all at once.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he bumped the back of his head against the door and clenched his fists on his sides. His eyes trailed towards the window.
It was just him now, Mike and the dancing snowflakes just outside the glass.
*
He awoke to sirens wailing outside. It was a sound Mike had long gotten used to, this is what came with living in New York.
For a moment, Mike felt calm. He looked towards the window and saw the clouds making way for the sun, the snow on his window slowly melting away. Briefly, the blissful knowledge of having a day off washed over him, and he wiggled his head into the pillow with a satisfied hum. He’d promised himself nothing would ruin his mood today. He’d stay in his room, read comics, maybe do a little writing, and finally have that long overdue date with his right hand.
Nothing would ruin his mood today.
Except maybe the realization that kicked in when he’d heard the vacuum just outside his door. Groaning, Mike pulled the blanket over his face, recalling the memories of last night. Jordan, whose name felt like an insult now, with his perfect ass and monstrous cock and beautifully defined abs. With his stupid, long hair and strong shoulders, nibbling away at the cheese Mike had bought from his hard earned money. Right after fucking his best friend.
Here’s the thing. Mike knew what Will was about since their very first week at college. The move from Hawkins to the big city had gotten to both of them, in entirely different ways. While Mike was trying to adjust to the traffic fumes, noises, and the irritating public transport system, Will couldn’t wait to finally get out and live.
In Hawkins, Will felt like a bird trapped in a shoebox, there was no way out, no holes in the carton that helped him breathe. He was gay, lonely, and inexperienced. And it’s not like there was a way for him to gain experience, not in a place like Hawkins. Not after all the trauma he’d endured there, not while people would still occasionally shout ‘zombie boy’ upon seeing him.
Mike, however, was hoping that their move to New York would put a twist on their relationship. In hindsight, that was stupid, because he’d never actively done something for that. He’d kept his feelings for Will bottled up, supported him on every step of his way, and watched him unfold like a gay little butterfly. And as time passed, Mike kept feeling sillier about his emotions. He’d seen the guys Will had hooked up with and realized he’d never been a match.
In their first week, the day after their very first ‘Welcome to campus’ frat party, Will had excitedly burst into Mike’s dorm room, dropping the bomb while Mike’s roommate was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, cutting his toenails.
“Guess who had sex!” There’d been a smile on Will’s face so bright it nearly burned Mike from the inside —or maybe that was the jealousy. When Mike had just looked at Will completely mortified, with his roommate’s eyes boring into Will’s back, Will’s face dropped. “That’s… good, Mike. You can be happy for me.”
Mike had downplayed it, then. The guttural feeling in his stomach, his dangerously increasing heart rate, the shaking feeling in his hands. “We’ve been here for five days, Will.”
“And?” Will had sat down on the mattress next to him then, raising his eyebrows, clearly demanding a proper response.
“Have you even fully unpacked, yet?” Mike asked then. “I mean, yay, you’re out here being able to, like, be yourself. But don’t you wanna try finding connections? Love?”
Mike knew Will hadn’t been looking for love, because he’d seemed completely blind to it for as long as Mike could remember. He’d been right here, all these years, and Will had always entirely overseen the affection Mike had brought towards him.
Will groaned. “Mike, let me live a little, okay?” He’d smacked his lips then, expression turning somewhat prideful. “Also, it was great, thanks for asking.”
Since then, it had been something they barely talked about. Sure, Mike and Will never kept secrets from each other —except for the one Mike carried with him like an open book Will refused to read— but while Mike knew what Will was up to, he never asked for the details. He couldn’t bear hearing about all the ways Will would bend for other men, while Mike was there, only ever yearning for his best friend.
Will had brushed on the topic once, asking for reasons. Mike hadn’t said much, so Will concluded Mike just didn’t want to hear about it because he wasn’t into gay sex. And Mike had nodded his head on it like a fucking idiot, entirely diminishing whatever chances he’d ever had with Will.
Now Mike knew without knowing too much. Will liked to get laid. A lot. In the past three years, he’d hooked up with so many guys, Mike slowly began questioning the gay population of New York City. Meanwhile, Mike had pretty much stood by, hearing Will babble about all these random guys without going into too much detail. And every time, there’d been a sinking feeling in Mike’s stomach. He’d convinced himself that all of this only happened because he was too weak, too cowardly, and if he’d only open up about his feelings for Will, things could change.
But Mike never did, because he wasn’t entirely convinced it was true, maybe Will wouldn’t even want him, and then he’d fuck up their friendship for nothing.
So, Mike proceeded to be the best supportive friend he could be, smiled when Will mentioned another rough night, encouraged him to go and live the slutty life of his dreams. Because Will really did seem to enjoy this life, and as long as he was happy, Mike couldn’t and shouldn’t intervene.
There were exceptions, though. Will didn’t like to get drunk, claiming it reminded him too much of his father. But every now and then, he had a couple too many drinks and was a giggly mess with no boundaries and a mind-boggling inability to say no. There was one night, when Will was so drunk Mike questioned his ability to stand up. Mike had let him go with some dude, being extremely wasted himself. The next day Will had showed up at his room with no recollection of the last night, shaking and in tears.
Since then, whenever they went out —which was typically once a week— Mike kept a close eye on Will. He knew if Will started the night with a beer, he’d stay sober as a nun, knowing to intervene when Will drank too much and some random guy put his hands on him. In these rare cases, Mike would pick Will up, drag him into a cab, and bring him back to the dorms, where he could sleep safely in his own bed. Will had thanked him for that many times, completely unaware of how bad these nights were for Mike.
Every time Mike tucked Will into bed, he’d talk to him in drunken slumber — praising him, talking about how good of a friend Mike was, that he wouldn't know what he’d do without him. And Mike hated it. He didn’t want to be a good friend, he wanted to be so much more. There was one night, when Will could barely hold himself up, relying more on Mike’s lanky body than his own, when he’d looked at Mike with so much love in his eyes it nearly tore Mike apart. “I wish I could find a guy like you.”
Mike’s body had gone numb. He hadn’t responded, just told Will to please just go to sleep. His hands and feet were tingling, there was acid bubbling in his chest, and on his way out his vision got blurry. I am a guy like me, for fucks sake, he’d thought. I’m right here.
When they’d finally started talking about moving in with each other, Mike had to face reality. Will had been very honest about probably bringing guys home, and Mike thought it would be okay, because he’d still be living with Will. They could watch movies in the evening, have breakfast together, and maybe Mike could sneak in a little shoulder brush here and there until he finally had the guts to tell Will how he felt.
And it was okay, until last night, when Mike stumbled upon one of Will’s hookups in his very own kitchen. Now, it was real. Of course, it had been real before, every time they went partying and Will would leave with some random guy, leaving Mike behind like a moping toddler. But this… this was different. Mike thought he was braced enough, but nothing could come close to the way he felt the floor was pulled out from beneath his feet when he spotted the stranger by the fridge.
He tried telling himself it was just some guy, but it was of no use. Anger bubbled in Mike’s chest as he recalled the way Jordan couldn’t even remember Will’s name. Will deserved so much better. He deserved someone who’d carry him in his hands, pluck him the stars from the sky. Someone who’d love him right, who would remember his name, who would take care of him after sex.
Will deserved someone like Mike.
“No, no, no,” Mike mumbled to himself, “don’t let the thought get to you.” He clenched his jaw and pressed his palms against his closed eyelids, watching the colorful specks flicker in his vision, listening to the noises outside his door.
The vacuum was still running, and through the sound of it Mike heard the radio. He couldn’t make out what song was playing, not even when he heard Will singing along. Will was cleaning, so it was unlikely that he planned on leaving the house today. Usually, Mike would bask in the knowledge of that, but right now, he wanted nothing more than to sink into his mattress, so far that the bed would eat him whole.
With sweaty palms, he eventually pulled the blanket off his body. He told himself that he was being childish, Will was his best friend, and he could definitely confront him about something like this. Maybe not with the whole truth, but with the fact that Mike doesn’t want to stumble across random naked men in the apartment they shared.
Mike wasn’t sure why, but he tiptoed out of his room. Will was vacuuming the living room, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that Mike had emerged from his cave, with ruffled hair and a suspicious stain on his shirt (he’d been trying to wash it off for weeks now, really).
When Will looked up from the carpet and spotted Mike, his face spread into a smile. He turned off the vacuum with his toes. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Mike mumbled back, thinking he couldn’t possibly sound less alive.
“Well, aren’t we in a good mood today,” Will expressed, tilting his head. “Bad shift?”
Mike huffed a laugh, pouring some instant coffee powder into a cup. “Bad day, bad life.” As Will showed up next to him, Mike threw him a glance, eyebrows raised. “I think you owe me two slices of cheese.”
“I owe you cheese?” Will crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So, do we like, split groceries now?”
“No,” Mike responded blandly. He ran some hot tap water into his cup. “I don’t mind sharing groceries with you. But I do mind sharing them with your lovers.”
Mike’s palms were so sweaty, the cup nearly slipped his hand twice. And when he looked at Will’s face, he wished he hadn’t said anything at all. Will was blushing. His hair was damp from cleaning, and the sudden blush on his cheek made him look worn out. Mike wished he could've brushed some strands of hair out of Will’s eyes.
“Oh,” Will said.
“Yeah, oh.” Mike leaned against the counter now, sipping on his —admittedly disgusting— coffee, not breaking eye contact with Will. His heart hammered in his chest and he hoped Will didn’t pick up on his nervousness.
Will’s brain seemed to buffer for a couple of seconds, before he inhaled deeply and stood up straight, a look of confidence spreading across his face. “Okay, so, I told you this would happen, right.”
Mike furrowed his brows, his lips still on the cup. “I don’t remember hearing about Jordan, who would raid our fridge butt naked, gnawing on my cheese like a mouse in a trap.”
“The sex, Mike,” Will said, rolling his eyes at him.
“I don’t give a fuck about the sex,” Mike shot back. Great, that was a lie. “I just don’t want to see them running around this apartment naked. This is my safe space, too, you know?”
Will pursed his lips, nodding. “Okay, noted.” He turned around to return to the vacuum. “I’ll replace the cheese.”
Mike hated feeling like he’d fucked up, wanted to make amends so badly. But what for? He’d done nothing but speak his mind. He was a person with feelings and boundaries that needed to be respected.
But this was Will.
“You don’t need to replace the cheese, I just, uh, wanted to put it out there.” He put the cup on the counter. “Besides, that guy’s junk was huge, are you okay?”
“Oh my God, Mike!” The shout made Mike flinch. He’d never gotten beatings as a kid, but he assumed this was how your body reacted if you saw that flat hand racing towards your face. “Shut up, I’m fine,” Will hissed.
Mike took a deep breath, picking up his cup again. On his way back to his room, he mumbled against the rim. “Talk about being in a good mood.”
He was halfway through the door of his room when Will shouted. “I was in a good mood until you had to get your nose in my business.”
Mike didn’t respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, spilling some coffee on his carpet before setting the cup down onto his nightstand. Then, with his chest heaving and knees bucking, he fell into his sheets, head first. He couldn’t feel the tears coming, they just did. Mike hugged his blanket as the fabric soaked them up. He was hiccuping and shaking, the cheap mattress wobbling with every sob that tore through his chest.
Will’s reaction was nonsensical. The two of them had always been able to openly communicate about their discomfort. They were good at setting boundaries and finding middle grounds where they could both settle down. They didn’t fight, like, ever. They argued at most, and it would always end up with both of them feeling so bad they’d stand in front of each other, scrambling for an apology where one wasn’t needed. So what was Will’s reaction just now? Did Mike hit a sore spot? Was he too intrusive?
The fact that he couldn’t get to a proper conclusion, couldn’t find an answer, filled his body with rage. Great, now he was angry, at Will and himself, on top of feeling like a god damn fuck-up, when technically Mike knew he’d done nothing wrong. And it was too simple, letting his mind spiral when he was already down. So he cried a little harder as he recalled all the nights he’d left a club or party on his own because Will left with someone else —because ultimately, Mike let him leave with someone else.
Mike recalled sitting in diners across the city at 4am, a sinking feeling in his stomach, his sweaty palms clenched into fists as he barely paid attention to the fries he’d ordered. He recalled the mornings after, when Will would either call him up or drop by Mike’s dorm room, because they’d agreed Will would always get back to Mike the day after a hookup, just so Mike knew he was alive and well. He only ever wanted to know Will was okay, let Will do his thing as a silent bystander, offering support where it was needed. And now that he asked for the same care back, not even to a crazy extent, he felt like the villain.
Mike couldn’t remember how long he was crying for, but when he finally lifted his head from the blanket, leaving behind a wet patch in the fabric, he felt dizzy. He had a headache and his body was stiff from hugging the blanket so tightly. He peeked at the alarm clock. 12:39. He hadn’t been up for long, but he struggled with the feeling of losing time on a day he could’ve had for himself. Now he was wasting the minutes away by sulking in his bed, the mood of doing just about anything entirely drained from his body.
Another feeling crept in, and Mike wanted to hate himself for it. And maybe he would, if he hadn’t just once again established that Will was the center of his universe.
He felt the need to apologize.
His heart rate picked up again at the thought, because ultimately, Mike hated confrontation. He didn’t even know what to say. But he was determined to leave the comfort of his room to find Will and tell him he was sorry. Mike sat up, positioning himself on the edge of his bed, and wiped his face with the palms of his hands, making sure it wasn’t obvious he’d cried. The coffee on his nightstand was cold now, and he grimaced as he downed the rest of it in one go.
He got up on wobbly legs, like a baby giraffe that just learned how to walk. When he got to his door and twisted the knob with a sweaty palm, it slipped his hand twice before he could finally get a proper grip on it. The door swung open, and Mike flinched.
In front of him, right outside his door, was Will. His arm was bent and lifted, hand balled into a fist, as though he was just going in for a knock. He looked back at Mike, just as surprised, with his lips slightly agape and eyes wide.
“Oh, sorry,” Will mumbled, “I just wanted to check on you.”
Mike’s chest tensed up. He took a sharp inhale, then nodded. “Yeah, same.”
Will was gnawing on his bottom lip, eyes shifting toward the cup in Mike’s hand, before he looked back at his face. “Sorry. I was kind of a jerk, I think you just caught me off-“ Will’s brows furrowed. “Your eyes are puffy. Did you cry?”
Well, shit.
Mike let out a small sigh. He could’ve lied, but Will wouldn’t buy it. “Yeah, I did.”
Will’s face twisted. It was a pained expression, as though he just thought I did that. “Shit, Mike, I’m so sorry.”
“No.” Mike shook his head, shrugging slightly. “It wasn’t just you. It’s just, yesterday was draining, absolutely beat me. Then I come home to… this guy. And then earlier, something just snapped, I guess.”
Will had his lips pressed to a firm line, attentively listening to Mike. When it was his turn to speak, his features softened. “Again, I’m sorry. You’re right, you shouldn’t have to see that, I’ll be careful, okay?” When Mike nodded almost immediately, Will smiled. “So, about that bad day. You wanna talk about it?”
“I think I’d rather die,” Mike responded, his lips curling into a small smile.
“Okay, then what about pizza and a movie?” Will tilted his head, now fully smiling back at him.
Mike ran a quick calculation of his finances through his head, trying to figure out how many days of grilled cheese he’d have to endure for a single pizza order. Many, he concluded, but surely it was worth it if he could spend the afternoon with Will. He shrugged, the tension in his chest finally lifting, leaving behind a feeling Mike chose to address another time. “Sounds good, I’m in.”
Mike did end up telling Will about yesterday. They were on the couch, Mike in the corner with the pizza box balancing on his stretched legs, and Will by the armrest, cross-legged. Terminator 2 was playing on the TV, but neither of them paid attention.
“…so, I get outside, and slip down the stairs. Everyone was staring. Everyone, Will.” Now that he talked about it, it was somewhat funny. Mike rambled on about his day while Will was attentively listening, occasionally smiling or grimacing around a piece of pizza. “And then I get home, and there’s this guy, almost twice my height, and definitely… twice my length.”
“Hmm,” Will hummed. “He wasn’t twice your length, though. I’d say you’re even.”
“Will!” Mike exclaimed, and if the pizza in his lap hadn’t dangerously wobbled, he would’ve reached out to throw a pillow at his best friend. “Definitely not even,” he mumbled instead, feeling his face turning red.
Will laughed. A genuine, loud laugh that made flowers bloom in Mike’s chest. “I’ve seen you naked, Mike. You can’t just lie to me like that when I know the facts.”
Mike’s face surely must’ve been tomato red then. There was no way they were talking about his dick right now.
“Besides,” Will continued, “I genuinely think I would’ve had more fun with you than this guy.”
Mike nearly choked on a bite of pizza. Surely Will didn’t actually imply what he thought Will implied. Wheezing, he responded, “What do you mean?”
Will’s mouth shaped into a smirk. He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, now you want details?”
“Well,” Mike started, trying to regain his composure, “we were just talking about my dick. So, yes.”
Will sighed then, dropping the pizza crust into the box and brushing the crumbs from his lap onto the couch. There was a sudden blush on his cheeks, and the way he tried busying himself with the crumbs and his hands, was typical Will-Byers-is-nervous behavior. And Mike saw right through it. He pretended he didn’t, though, just watched as Will shifted in his spot trying to act as nonchalantly as he could.
“There’s not much to say, really,” Will said eventually, avoiding eye contact. “He was very focused on himself. Had to finish myself, because he couldn’t make me come, or didn’t want to after spilling his load on my ass, I don’t know.”
“And you think I could’ve?” Mike barely could hear himself talk over his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. He tried focusing on Will, but his thoughts were spiraling. Were they really talking about the same thing? Had Mike read the implications wrong, absolutely making a fool of himself in this conversation? He regretted his question the moment it was out, gripping the cardboard box in his lap as tightly as he could in order to stop his hands from shaking.
Will’s eyes finally met Mike’s again, and in them was a flicker of something Mike had never seen on his best friend’s face before. It was dark, almost hungry, to a point Mike wondered if he was reading it wrong, because best friends wouldn’t look at each other like that. The features around Will’s mouth softened and his lips slightly parted before he pressed them into a firm line and audibly sighed.
“I don’t know, Mike. Maybe?” He shrugged and slightly shook his head, tearing his gaze away from Mike again. His eyes landed on the pizza in Mike’s lap. “It’s not like we’re going to find out, right?”
Mike’s eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly as his brain buffered, trying to process what he just heard. He wanted to tell Will that they could find out, that he wanted to find out. He wanted to show Will what it was like to be truly, wholly loved by someone, regardless of whether the act lasted three hours or thirty seconds —and with the built up tension in Mike’s lower body, the latter would definitely be the case.
Feeling the silence stretch on for too long, Mike took a deep, stuttering breath. This was hypothetical. Will didn’t actually want to find out. He couldn’t have. In the past years, Mike had calculated all the possibilities, and there was no route that led to him and Will turning into what he wanted them to be. His chances were zero, although the last five minutes had been very misleading.
So, instead of actually answering Will’s question, the implications of it still threatening to make his chest burst, Mike leaned back and deliberately softened the features of his own face. “Does it happen a lot?” When Will looked up at him, puzzled, Mike added, “That they just, uh, leave you like this?”
Will kept up the eye contact when he started nibbling on his lower lip, his brows slightly furrowed. Mike knew he was thinking hard about what to say, about whether or not he was in the mood to be vulnerable right now. Mike’s heartbeat was doing cartwheels in his chest as the seconds passed. He hoped Will didn’t catch onto his nervousness, hoped Will knew he could tell him. Will couldn’t know that the knowledge would shatter Mike’s heart into pieces, because that would immediately destroy the tent of trust they’d carefully spanned over their friendship.
Eventually, Will nodded. When he spoke, his voice was as low as a whisper. “Yeah, actually. You’d be surprised to hear how many selfish dicks are out there.”
Mike hummed. “Does it not… bother you?”
“It does,” Will responded, his gaze shifting towards a point above Mike’s head. “But it’s better than being lonely.”
Mike’s heart didn’t just shatter. It burst into a million little pieces, which then dug into his insides like sharp needles. He felt the urge to dig his own hand into his stomach to somehow try and soothe the pain, and desperately tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He couldn’t cry, not right now.
There was genuine hurt in his voice when he spoke, the words came out all husky and ragged, like he’d just stood on a mountain top screaming for two hours straight. “Will, you’re not lonely.”
Before another second could pass in which either of them could’ve said the right (or wrong) things, they were both startled by the shrill ring of the telephone.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mike yelped, putting a hand above his heart. He hadn’t thought it could possibly beat any faster, but here he was.
As he got up, he saw Will in his periphery, running his palms over his eyes. Had Mike missed the tears? Or had Will just been about to cry? The thought of it made Mike’s stomach twist further.
He went to pick up the phone.
The call lasted exactly three minutes, and thirteen seconds, as Will pointed out later. The first twenty seconds or so, the person on the other end of the line had introduced himself. The rest of it was used up by an angry Mike shouting down the telemarketer, a row of curses leaving his mouth that would probably make his grandmother turn in her grave.
Yeah, maybe it had been too much, maybe Mike forgot that, on the other end of this line, was some poor guy who was just trying to do his job. But he couldn’t help the inability to tone down his frustration, because this call really came at the worst of times. They’d been so vulnerable and honest with each other, and Mike knew he couldn’t go back to that after having hung up the phone without making it weird.
He regretted picking up in the first place, really, cursing himself for it as he angrily slammed the receiver back onto the phone.
When Mike turned around again, he felt like one of those cartoon characters, those that were always stomping around with their heads red, steam shooting from their ears. He couldn’t believe he’d just wasted minutes of his life on this call, and hated that his and Will’s conversation had come to such an abrupt end.
When he spotted Will’s face, though, Mike stopped in his tracks, a small “huh?” escaping his mouth. Will had put the pizza back onto his crossed legs and stared at Mike with an expression that could only be read as a mix of amusement and fascination.
“Wow,” Will said then, his eyebrows raised. “That was impressive. I didn’t know you still had it in you.”
“Come on,” Mike scowled, trying to ignore the funny feeling in his stomach. “Who the fuck tries selling dental insurance to college kids? I can barely afford a bottle of Pepto if I need some.”
“Judging from how much I know about these jobs, that was just another college kid that can’t afford Pepto if they need it.” Will shrugged, taking the last piece of pizza from his box. “Anyways, the most amusing three minutes and thirteen seconds of my life.”
“You timed it?” Mike slumped back into his spot on the couch, stretching his legs again and pulling his pizza box into his lap. “Why would you do that?”
“I wanted to see how long it would take for you to come back to me.” Will avoided eye contact again, luckily. Because if he’d looked at Mike, he’d seen the visceral reaction his best friend had after hearing his words.
Mike was blushing and his chest heaved as his heart rate picked up again.
What the fuck was that?
His first thought was that it made sense, followed by the thought that no, it absolutely fucking didn’t. His ears were ringing when he looked at Will, trying to process, and his palms turned slick again. Had Will actually missed Mike’s presence next to him, or was this a callback to their conversation minutes ago? Was Will really this scared of being lonely? But even then, it didn’t add up, because Mike had still been in the same room, just six feet away, shouting into the phone.
Feeling as though all the air had left his lungs, all Mike managed to get out was a breathy “Oh.”
It wasn’t much, but it caught Will’s attention. His head snapped up from the empty box in his lap, and his eyes met Mike’s. “What?”
Mike’s brain went shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
Telling himself to get a grip, he huffed a laugh, sounding so fake he could’ve probably won an anti-Oscar. “Nothing, I just didn’t know you’d miss me so much.”
Really, Wheeler? he’d asked himself. Flirting is all you can come up with?
He expected Will to grunt, maybe break into laughter. He expected Will to tell him not to think too highly of himself and get off that high horse. Never in a million years could Mike have seen Will’s response coming.
Will blushed and gave him a one-sided shrug. “I always miss you when you’re not here.” His fingers were softly tapping on the fabric of the couch next to him, as though he was deepening the meaning of ‘here’.
It hit Mike like a fucking tornado. He was soaring and sinking at the same time. He didn’t know what to unpack first. The visible blush on Will’s face, or the twenty different potential meanings of his words. Mike’s stomach was churning and in combination with his rising blood pressure, he’d felt like throwing up the pizza he’d spent a whopping $14 on.
Trying to tone down the nausea, he pressed out a quick “You do?”
Will chuckled, making himself a little smaller in his space. “I mean, yeah. You’re… Mike.”
Mike couldn’t help but laugh at that, and it’s a laugh that somehow loosens some of the tension within his body. At the same time, he wouldn’t have been surprised if butterflies had left his open mouth. “Wow, I’m so glad you remember my name after a solid fifteen years of-“
It lay there on his tongue, but he couldn’t say it.
Friendship.
Mike hated himself for it. He hated that he’d gotten his hopes up so high that he felt like saying it now would set him back by a hundred years. Because right now, it felt like there was more, something unwritten between him and Will.
Luckily, Will didn’t catch onto it. He was too busy hurling a pillow straight towards Mike’s face. He laughed. “You’re an idiot, Mike.”
The pillow dropped from Mike’s face into the open pizza box in his lap, catching a couple stains from the last two pieces he wasn’t going to eat anyway. “Hey, what the fuck?”
He was laughing, but his entire body threatened to go into overload from all the feelings he’d felt at the same time. He was glad to be here with Will, he was so irredeemably in love with Will, he was so scared of whatever the fuck was happening right now.
So scared he’d set himself up for heartbreak again by allowing hope back into his mind.
They laughed for a moment, jokingly arguing over who’d pay the laundromat for the pillow (neither, they’d just throw it behind the couch and forget about it). When they were done, Mike’s toes were touching Will’s upper thigh, his pizza box with the pillow still in it tossed aside to an empty spot on the couch.
Will gently placed his hand on Mike’s shin. He was still smiling, flushed from the laughter, eyes fixed on his own fingers. “No, but really. No one knows me better than you do. You’re the only person I can comfortably be myself around.” Will’s eyes finally find Mike’s. “You’re my best friend, but-“
Will stopped there, eyes wandering towards the ceiling, thinking about his next words carefully. As Mike tried to stay calm, waiting out the pause, his thoughts raced between ‘best friends’ and whatever could follow after the ‘but’. The flicker of hope in him threatened to die out, like a match that was never supposed to burn this long.
“I think it goes deeper than that, like, soulmate level deep.” Will smiled, drawing patterns on Mike’s shin with his index finger. “I think- god this sounds stupid.”
Mike shook his head. “No, go on.”
“I think about all the Mikes and Wills out there in different timelines and universes. And I like to believe they all found each other.” Will pursed his lips then, focusing on his fingers on Mike’s shin as though he tried really hard to not mess up a painting. “Because that’s what it’s supposed to be like. Every Will deserves his own Mike, someone who’s just there, and unapologetically loud for Will when he can’t be loud for himself.”
Mike raised his eyebrows, his body and mind feeling strangely calm. “And what about Mike?”
“Mike,” Will said, tilting his head, a soft sigh leaving his mouth, “doesn’t really deserve Will. He deserves a lot more than that. Will just exists in his life, like salt on the table. You’ll use it when it’s there, but you wouldn’t notice when it wasn’t.”
Mike sat up straight, careful not to move his leg because Will’s fingers drawing on it had a somewhat calming effect. He furrowed his brows. “You don’t really think so, do you?” When Will just shrugged, a feeling appeared in Mike’s chest. It wasn’t quite anger, but a form of desperation that slightly shifted into it. “Will, you don’t actually think I wouldn’t miss you if you were gone, do you?”
Will sniffled, a single tear running down his face. He shrugged again. “I don’t really bring any value into your life, do I?”
Mike wanted to tear his own hair out. He wanted to grab Will by the shoulders and shake him so hard his thoughts fell back into the right place. He wanted to cry and scream and punch a wall. He threatened to fall apart, but at the same time, he wanted to hold Will so tightly that all his broken pieces stayed in place.
Mike drew back his legs and crossed them, scooting closer to Will on the couch. Once their knees touched, Mike boldly reached for Will’s hand. Will’s face was now a damp mess, his body shaking from quiet sobs. Mike wanted to join him, wanted the tears to come, but he decided to stay strong for now. For Will.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. It was a tone he hadn’t used in a long time. It was the “What happened, are you hurt?”, the “Will, are you okay?”, the “He’s a sorcerer, a real life, honest to god sorcerer!” tone that he’d only ever used on one person — Will.
“Hey, please look at me.” As he waited for Will to look at him, he locked their hands together, putting his fingers in between Will’s with no resistance at all. When their eyes met, Will was sniffling, having a hard time blinking through the tears. “You’re Will. The only kid that wanted to be my friend in kindergarten. The only person that wants to be my friend right fucking now.”
Mike realized this sounded a lot like he was only friends with Will because Will was the only one wanting to be friends with him. He backtracked. “You’re incredibly smart, talented, funny. You take all these fucking messy cords in my brain and untangle them, no questions asked. I don’t need to make sense when I’m talking to you, because you just get me. You read my stupid essays even when they bore you to death.”
Will chuckled. “Come on.”
“You’re a good cook, you’re extremely attentive. You choose to live with me despite knowing I’m a fucking goblin. We’ve lived here for three days and you have already cleaned my room twice.” Mike took a breather for a second, giving Will’s hand a firm squeeze. “You get comfortable silence, you can pretty much pick up on each and every single one of my moods. You’re always there when I need to crash or vent or just be miserable in silence. And, I agree, you’re the only person I can be a hundred percent myself around.”
“Mike, please stop.” Will was smiling now, the tears were still coming. He was visibly flustered, and touched.
“And,” Mike concluded, “you’re so fucking strong, Will. I probably would be sulking for the rest of my life after enduring the shit you went through. But you’re still here. You’re learning and healing and growing. And I love to be a part of this journey. I love being your friend. Please don’t ever think you don’t bring value into my life, for fucks sake.”
Will couldn’t talk. A sob left his throat, mixed with a genuine laugh. He untangled his fingers from Mike’s, only to throw his arms around Mike’s neck and pull him in for a hug. It was liberating, and none of Mike’s silly little feelings mattered at that moment. He felt like he’d actually managed to convince Will that he chose to have him in his life. That Will’s multiverse metaphor applied to both of them.
Will’s cheek was wet against Mike’s, his breath hot against his ear and Mike stroked Will’s back with the palm of his hand until his body stopped shaking and the sobs died down. The room was filled with Will’s irregular breathing and the static of the TV —the movie ended a while ago, they’d probably attempt to watch it again.
It was quiet afterward, they’d detangled from each other and Mike had wiped Will’s tears off his face with his hands, ignoring the tug in his chest. Will had given him a thankful smile. Shortly after, he fell asleep curled up on the couch. Mike made sure to cover him with a blanket, then moved the pizza boxes into the kitchen, throwing the stained pillow behind the couch. He placed a glass of water on the coffee table and turned off the TV before retreating into his room.
Back in his room, the entire afternoon hit him full force. Because he didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know where they stood now. Mike knew their bond had deepened, but which bond exactly? Their friendship? For sure. You don’t throw around words like ‘soulmate’ without meaning. But what did this mean for Mike’s repressed feelings? What happened to the hope that was lingering in the air for a long moment, so strong Mike felt like by tomorrow morning Will and he could skip over flower fields holding hands?
He sunk into his mattress the same way he’d woken up this morning. The same, ruffled hair, shorts, and stained shirt. There was a lingering sensation on his shin where Will had drawn lines earlier, the skin feeling tingly and sensitive. He looked at his hands, which were visibly shaking now, remembering the way he’d stroked Will’s back, wiped off his tears. Mike couldn’t find the curiosity. He brought his hand to his face, tracing the bottom of his thumb with his tongue. Salty.
He hated what happened when the realization really settled. Those were Will’s tears on his palms. One second, Mike was staring at the palm of his hands, the saltiness of Will’s tears spreading in his mouth. The next, he felt an uncomfortable tension in his lower body. Mike sighed. He wanted to lie there, pulling at every string of conversation they’d had tonight, trying to make sense of everything.
But his mind kept tracing back to Will’s tears on his hands, and the thought that he could, he could, he could.
Defeated, Mike reached into his shorts.
Tonight, they’d established that neither of them was going anywhere. What was a little masturbation with your bestie’s tears dried on your palms? Will would forgive him for this, if he ever found out.
Wouldn’t he?
*
The days went on, and Mike felt heavier and lighter at the same time. It was a confusing sensation —he still dreaded waking up in the mornings, going to classes and work, but he couldn’t wait to get home and spend time with Will. Their life in their apartment felt a little domestic now, so peaceful that Mike could almost pretend.
They’d fully unpacked their moving boxes the day after the couch conversation, and there was so much laughter, Mike still felt his stomach ache by the time he’d clocked out. Will had cooked for him for two days, entirely unprompted, and Mike had felt like he lived in his own, personal Michelin restaurant (Will had blushed from the praise, claiming that really, it was just lasagna and a mixture of leftovers). They spent their free time together on the couch, sometimes watching a movie, sometimes each busy with their own schoolwork. On top of that, Mike could finally jerk off again, guilt free, no interruptions. Not necessarily with Will on his mind, but the fact that the mood inside their walls had lifted was a big help.
Mike could almost pretend, because at the end of the day, they each went back to their own rooms. And also because Friday night drew near.
Their first couple months at college were wild. They’d gone to two, sometimes three parties every week. It was something they’d never gotten to do in Hawkins, and now with the freedom of college and New York City in front of their doorsteps, they got the full experience. It was where Mike allowed himself to let loose, smoke a little pot here and there. And it was where Will eventually found all his possible candidates for hookups.
There was one specific night, when one of Will’s classmates told them she could sneak them into a club. They’d agreed Mike would pick up Will in his dorm room, and upon laying his eyes on his best friend, he nearly had a heart attack. Will had worn incredibly short jean shorts, and a colorful, patterned shirt was tucked into them, most buttons undone. There was a navy blue handkerchief hanging from his right back pocket, and Mike found it to be a questionable fashion choice with all that Will already had going on.
He’d leaned against the doorframe, nodding his chin towards Will’s but as he was checking himself out in the mirror. “Why the tissue?”
“It’s a handkerchief, Mike. Hanky code,” Will explained blandly, as if Mike would automatically just get it. When he caught Mike’s puzzled expression in the mirror, he’d just smiled and said, “Gay stuff, mind your business.”
Mike hadn’t asked any more questions, but as the night went on, he slowly understood. They’d actually gotten into the club and weren’t left outside disappointed. Once inside Mike realized quickly, through the haze and the beat, that Will had been bait. Mike had gotten himself out of the danger zone when the third guy was hitting on Will. He retreated to the bar, where he’d successfully ordered a beer for the first time in his life, and watched from afar. He struggled seeing through the flashing lights, but he was determined to keep his eyes on Will. After ten, Mike stopped counting, the men just kept coming, and Will, who was an entirely different person when partying, had turned them down, one by one.
Mike wondered what his goal had been, because usually, Will hadn’t been this picky (he’d once seen him leave a party with a bear old enough to be his father). But then he’d noticed they all had something in common. They all had handkerchiefs hanging from their pockets or chains attached to their pants. Mike had wondered about the different colors, especially as he watched Will flinch when someone presented him the brown fabric hanging from his left pocket, shooting his arms up in defense and taking a step back. Will had eventually left with someone wearing a light blue handkerchief tied to a chain on his left leg. Mike had been impressed with himself for actually recognizing the colors through the strobe, on top of his usual feeling of misery once Will left with a guy that wasn’t him.
Mike understood. This was probably one of the only ways gay adults could safely connect in heteronormative spaces. He was curious to find out more, dive into the meanings of different colors, but he figured very soon that wasn’t easy as someone who wasn’t moving in queer spaces. Only weeks later, during research on social studies, he stumbled upon a book, in the library of all places, explaining hanky code and the importance of it in gay subspaces.
He found out why Will had flinched that one time (brown, right side, scat top) and wished he didn’t know what scat meant. He found out the meaning of light blue (left, wants head), and eventually also the meaning of Will’s navy blue handkerchief (right, loves to get fucked). He’d made a mental note on that, as if it would ever be of any importance to him. He’d sat there for a bit wondering which color he’d choose for himself, just for shits and giggles, of course. Maybe he’d oppose Will’s, with a navy blue in his left pocket —not that he really knew, he was a freaking virgin, after all. He’d realized he’d exclusively wear his hanky in his left pocket, probably. He could maybe enjoy some of those things. Eventually, though, Mike slammed the book closed. He was simply too inexperienced for all of that. All he knew was that he was glad Will had an opportunity to get himself out there without being targeted.
They hadn’t gone clubbing for a while after that. Will’s classmate who’d sneaked them in dropped out, and neither of them were too eager to go back to a club, not as long as they could join frat and house parties around the cities. Will didn’t bring a hanky to those, and still managed to leave with someone almost every time. Mike didn’t ask how Will just knew, but was wondering about whether gay people could just look at each other and go “Yep!”
After about a year of partying, they’d slowed down. They were worn out and drained, physically and mentally (Will from all the fucking, Mike from all the damn pot), and their grades had taken a turn for the worse. They’d stuck to Saturday nights at first, then Sunday nights, choosing clubs over house parties once they’d both turned twenty-one. Will brought back the hankies —Mike being caught off guard one night when he noticed the beige fabric in his left pocket. He was too close to actually go “rimming, really?” but then remembered Will had no idea how informed he was on the matter.
Eventually, they switched to Fridays, because their jobs paid better for weekend shifts, and they’d planned on moving in with each other.
And that’s where they were now. Mike didn’t have the heart to tell Will he was so over clubbing and preferred staying in for the night, or maybe going to the movies instead. He feared that Will would go on without him, entering a club without Mike’s guarding presence nearby, and Mike couldn’t bear the thought. So their Fridays usually were a repeating pattern. They showed up to a club at 9:30, Mike would stay at the bar, watching Will from afar without his knowledge, and around midnight Will would leave with some guy, and Mike would stay left behind, sulking in his misery, downing whatever was left of his drink, and leaving soon after with a broken heart. A broken heart that he needed to put back together with bandaids every Saturday —just to be shattered again by the next Friday night.
This Friday would be different, because this was their first outing since they’d moved in with each other. Previously, Will had always gone with someone. Now, he was the one able to take someone home with him. Jordan had been bad enough, but Mike thought he hated this more. The uncertainty of whether or not he’d have a random collision with one of Will’s lovers —because the chance he’d come back to an empty apartment was still there. Mike had to brace for impact. And he had no clue how to do that.
On Friday night, he was a nervous mess. While Will was showering and carefully assembling an outfit, Mike threw on whatever and prepared some pre-clubbing grilled cheese. He made sure to make some extra for when they came home hungry, painfully aware that one of them might go to Will’s one night stand. Mike tried to shake off the feeling. They had a good week, came clean about what they were to each other (except not really, the soulmate talk still sent shivers down Mike’s spine whenever he thought about it), and established a healthy environment in their newly shared apartment. He wasn’t going to fuck that up over a situation he’d brought himself into by not talking about his feelings.
When Will stepped out of his room, just past 9:00, he looked Mike up and down, eyebrows raised. “Don’t you want to get ready?”
Mike briefly looked down on himself. Jeans, a plain shirt, and a belt that he even managed to buckle this time. He looked back at Will and tilted his head. “I am ready. You want some grilled cheese?”
“You’ll never get laid like this,” Will said, quietly accepting the food on the counter. “You’ll die a virgin.”
“Hey!” Mike exclaimed. “How do you know I’m not fucking like a rabbit every Friday night? You always leave me behind, I could find someone.”
Will swallowed a bite, then grinned at Mike. “Well, are you fucking like a rabbit every Friday night?”
“No,” Mike sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.
Will gave him a nod, putting his pointer finger towards him. “See.” While chewing on another bite, he eyed Mike up and down. He seemed to have come to a conclusion when he put the grilled cheese down on the plate again. “You should let me give you a makeover.”
“What’s wrong with all this?” Mike pouted, gesturing towards himself with both hands. He tried covering up the twist in his stomach, that all too familiar feeling of not being enough, not for anyone, and apparently not even for Will. Will who, mind you, had called him his soulmate earlier this week.
Will made a tzz sound with his tongue, then stepped right in front of Mike. He cupped Mike’s face with his hands, and his brain short circuited. What was happening? “Nothing is wrong with this.” Will moved his hands from Mike’s face towards his chest, where he’d undoubtedly felt Mike’s heavy heartbeat. When he spoke, his hands wandered from Mike’s chest to his stomach. “Or this.” Will smiled before going on, which should’ve been a clear indicator for Mike to brace himself. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the way Will’s arms reached around his body, or the way his hands firmly grabbed both of Mike’s asscheeks. Mike yelped, freezing for a split second, causing Will to chuckle. “Or this.”
Their chests were touching now, and Will didn’t remove his hands from Mike’s butt just yet. He smiled up at Mike, a playful, teasing smile, almost mischievous. Mike’s palms were sweaty now, and he was dizzy, god, so dizzy he felt the urge to hold onto something in order to not topple over. All he found, though, were Will’s upper arms. Feeling Will’s biceps tense under his hands when he gave him another firm squeeze did not exactly help the situation. Mike’s breath stuttered, and there was an all too familiar feeling in his lower body. Mike swore to himself that, if his body would betray him now, he’d leave the country, change his name, and marry a German woman named Gisela.
With his voice a pitch too high, he finally asked, “Then why the makeover?”
Will shook against him when he laughed, and Mike almost did something stupid. But he was the king of self-control, so he resisted. “Well, maybe to make you more appealing to other people, Mike.”
Mike might’ve entirely misinterpreted that. He was sure he did, because there was no way Will had just implied that he’s appealing to him. He tightened his grip on Will’s arms, sure he may faint any second now, telling by how lightheaded he felt. His breath was ragged when he spoke, he wasn’t sure if Will had understood him at all. “What if I don’t want to appeal to… other people?”
He knew the pause was too long. Will's expression shifted to something else, something barely readable, so brief Mike thought he may have imagined it. But he caught it, and the fact he couldn’t tell what it meant made his stomach churn.
Will pulled back, and Mike’s arms just flopped to his sides. Grinning and not breaking eye contact, Will reached for his grilled cheese again. “Well, then you’re going to die a fucking virgin.”
Mike stood entirely still, as though not moving would stop the heat in his groin, or slow down the pace of his heart. If Will did all of this intentionally, he was doing a pretty good job. As if nothing happened, Will finished his food, then grabbed another piece off the plate, chewing on it as he got strangely invested with an eye laser pamphlet they hadn’t thrown in the bin yet.
Mike liked this version of Will, the untamed, flirty version of him that only showed when they were going out. He’d never fallen victim to it before, though, but now he understood why it was so easy for Will to find someone to spend the night with. A part of Mike wished he would’ve had the confidence to dive in right there, when Will was squeezing his ass. He could’ve flirted back, gone in for a kiss, and maybe they wouldn’t have had to leave tonight. Maybe they could’ve just spent the night here, all over each—
No, he had to stop his thoughts right there. This wasn’t going anywhere and only put a damper on the whole mood they’d built this week.
Then again, Mike’s pants were getting uncomfortably tight.
“Uhm,” Mike stuttered, “I’m gonna go get my stuff, then we can leave, yeah?”
Will looked up from his pamphlet, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
“Not hungry,” Mike mumbled, rushing past Will, trying to get to his room as quickly as possible.
He let the door fall shut behind him and began walking circles into the carpet. He tried counting, lost track at twelve, then sat down on the edge of his bed, digging his fingers into his knees. He tried telling himself to calm the fuck down. It was an ass squeeze, nothing more. A friendly, firm ass squeeze. Mike tried blending out the memory of Will’s biceps beneath his fingers, or the warmth of Will’s body against his own. He desperately needed to get rid of this boner before Will got suspicious of him taking too long.
He wondered if there was still snow outside his window. It had slowly melted away throughout the week, but if there still was some, he could shove some down his pants. Or maybe the water in the glass on the nightstand would be cold enough? Mike tried imagining a scenario in which Will walked in on him and he just stood there, pants and boxers down to his knees, his dick hanging into a half-empty glass of water. The thought made him snort, but at least it helped release some tension in his crotch. “Come on, Mike, stop being such a loser.”
He heard Will’s footsteps outside and closed his eyes. Not yet, please not yet.
“Mike, are you okay in there?” Will was right in front of his door.
He scrambled up, trying to find an excuse. “Uh, yeah, I think you were right, I’m changing my shirt! Don’t come in!”
Mike’s body glitched for a moment. He reached for the glass of water, then stopped in his tracks to turn toward the window, no, that didn’t feel right. He said he was changing his shirt, wasn’t he? Maybe he should actually change his shirt.
Just as he’d slipped out of his shirt, his door swung open, the handle inevitably crashing into the wall. Will entered, now a coat layered over his perfectly assembled outfit. He stared at Mike’s naked torso for a second, and Mike could catch that very brief look on Will’s face again, the one that had driven him nuts earlier. It was gone in an instant. Will actually looked him in the eyes then, head tilted and brows furrowed.
“Don’t come in?” Will almost sounded offended, but not seriously. “Mike, I’ve seen you naked, and now I’m not allowed to see you shirtless? What, are we devolving? Did you get a giant dragon tattoo on your back? I promise I won’t get mad, turn around and let me see.”
“Uh.” Mike’s brain buffered. He felt the need to cover his chest, but his hands were still clinging onto his shirt. “Bold of you to assume I can afford a tattoo of that size?”
“Was that a question? It sounded like a question.” Will smiled, a trace of confusion left on his face. “Seriously, Mike, what’s going on? You’re acting weird?”
Mike wanted to scoff. He was acting weird? Hasn’t Will just firmly squeezed his butt like a stress ball in the kitchen ten minutes ago?
“No, nothing. I guess it’s a dorm room habit.” He shrugged, finally dropping his shirt to the floor. “Hard to shake off, it’s only been a couple days.”
“Right,” Will responded, dragging out the word as much as he could without making it sound weird. “Can I pick a shirt for you?”
Mike nodded. “Sure.” He stepped aside so Will could access his closet, just glad he wouldn’t have to scramble for an excuse anymore.
His boner was dismissed, the bomb was defused, and his best friend slash soulmate slash secret love of his life was now picking him an outfit for clubbing. Everything was fine.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Mike immediately said as Will reached for one of the button-ups. “That one almost got me laid once.”
Will hummed. “Yeah, you look really good in it. It really, like, hugs your figure.”
“And that’s a problem.” Mike barely thought he had a figure to begin with, and that shirt perfectly captured his lack of figure. Most of the time, he felt like a single piece of asparagus.
Will let go of the shirt, then turned to Mike, pouting. “Mike, believe it or not, you’re handsome.” As Mike felt the heat rise to his cheeks, Will continued. “Like, generally. You could seriously land if you got a little more out of yourself.”
“I don’t want to land, I just want to chill, really.” Mike dismissed the compliment before his head went into a downward spiral again —or worse, his dick into an upward spiral.
Will sighed and eventually reached for a plain black t-shirt, which was much more to Mike’s liking. He slammed it against Mike’s bare chest. “Now get dressed so we can get going, for real this time.”
When Mike left his room, Will was hovering over the console table in the small hallway, pondering over an opened drawer. Mike stood beside him, and for some reason he wasn’t even surprised about the amount of handkerchiefs in there, neatly folded and color-sorted. He was more so being stabbed in the heart with a metaphorical fork, knowing what it implied when Will pulled a light blue hanky from the drawer and lifted his coat to stuff it into his right pocket.
Mike didn’t have time to spiral about it, though. Will opened the front door and stepped aside, letting Mike leave the apartment first.
Why do I always do this to myself?
I let you go with someone else,
when all I want’s my body on your mattress.
While the New York winter air was cold, the air inside the club was different. The air was humid and sticky, reeking of sweat, beer, and cigarettes. They left their jackets as the wardrobe, then quickly made their way through the dancing crowd. Their first stop was the bar, as per usual. Mike always let Will order first to determine how the rest of the night would go. There was a tug at his heart when Will ordered plain Sprite, knowing the implications of it. Will wasn’t going to drink tonight, he was on the hunt. Mike sighed and ordered a beer. He would’ve gone for something harder, but the prices on the chalkboard were dizzying .
They had their first drink together. They always did. Will had once stated that this was important to him as to not neglect Mike, because they came together, so they should definitely indulge in activity with each other. Mike always felt very taken care of in that first half hour or so. Will and he loved making fun of the pop music blaring from the speakers, singing along in a mocking tone, and judging the people who’d looked a little too deep into their glasses.
Mike always felt like this was what it should’ve been about. Them doing something together. Maybe that was also part of the reason he’d always felt so betrayed when Will left him behind and walked toward the dance floor, ready to mingle with whatever man got to him first —besides the obvious reason.
The night went on just as Mike expected. He kept watching Will from afar, watching the way his body moved in the strobing lights. He was approached by girls, who clearly didn’t catch onto Will’s entire demeanor. It didn’t take long for Will to actually be approached by a guy, though.
“Here we fucking go,” Mike mumbled to himself, the opening of the beer bottle pressed against his lower lip. He got painfully aware of the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The air was so thick Mike struggled to breathe, and the music so loud his head threatened to burst.
The guy was a tad shorter than Will, but apparently carrying the confidence of a king. He’d placed his hand on Will’s shoulder and immediately went for a dance move that Mike couldn’t help but categorize as soft porn. As they grinded on each other, Will leaned down to the hanky in the stranger’s left pocket. Mike couldn’t make out the color, the lights were too much and the music was too loud, he couldn’t focus. But he caught the look on Will’s face, the way he burst into a smile and almost immediately dropped his face into the stranger’s neck.
Mike was pissed enough to ask the girl next to him for a cigarette. He barely smoked anymore, but right now he needed the burning sensation in his lungs to make up for the sticky club air and his dry mouth. She eyed him up and down, then shrugged and handed him one, before turning to her friend again.
When Mike turned his gaze back towards the dance floor, finding Will in no time, he wanted to throw up. His stomach was churning at the sight offered to him. Hanky code safety or not, he was pretty sure two guys openly making out on the dance floor was catching attention. He’d never seen this much tongue before, that guy was almost swallowing Will whole, and Mike wondered if it was really going to be Will giving head tonight. Mike took a look around as he inhaled some smoke, and to his surprise, no one was paying any attention to Will and the stranger. He exhaled, and with that a bit of the tension also left his body, although the initial feeling of impending doom didn’t leave.
It was like an accident. Mike didn’t want to look, but also couldn’t turn his eyes away from the scene. Their groins meeting with every thrust perfectly timed with the beat, the stranger’s hand on the back of Will’s neck, Will’s teeth against his jawline. Mike wanted it to end, and at the same time dreaded the ending, because he knew what would follow. He knew that, once Will was out of his line of sight, he’d go and spend the night with someone who wasn’t Mike.
He had all week to brace himself for the impact of Will potentially dragging a stranger into their home, getting railed just a few feet from Mike’s bedroom. He hadn’t thought of the all too familiar moment in which Will would leave. Frankly, he’d tried bracing for it in the past, but the anger, guilt, and frustration washed over him every time, anyway. His grip around the bottle neck tightened as he watched Will grab the stranger by his shoulder, leaning in to speak directly into his ear. Mike took a deep breath, as Will’s words were met with a nod and the two of them pulled apart.
The stranger reached for Will’s hands, slowly dragging him off the dance floor. And Will did something he’d never done before.
He turned around, one last time, and his eyes immediately found Mike’s. There was no searching the bar area to find him, no puzzled expression because he couldn’t spot Mike, their gazes locked without delay. It was as though Will had been aware of Mike’s spot this entire time. Mike swallowed thickly as a hint of helplessness brushed over Will’s face, almost like a plea, with a strange tension around his mouth. But then Mike was blinded by a yellow light. He’d blinked, rapidly, a few times, and when he opened his eyes again, Will was gone. Mike stared at the spot where his best friend had stood in mere seconds ago, then turned around to order himself another beer.
He’d tried convincing himself he’d imagined it. That Will looking at him had been sheer coincidence. That Will didn’t need saving, and sure as hell didn’t need it.
He wasn’t able to fully convince himself.
*
Mike did not stop at the diner that night. He thought it would be best to just go home and rip the bandaid off immediately. Additionally, he really couldn’t afford stale fries after ordering pizza this week. In theory, it would’ve only taken him twenty minutes home, but Mike dragged on the way, deliberately stopping in front of shop windows and billboards, faking an interest in the contents.
He couldn’t figure out what would be worse —coming home to an empty apartment, or to the sounds of Will getting fucked, with the potential thread of his lover then eating the grilled cheese Mike had so lovingly prepared earlier tonight.
When Mike finally walked around the corner and saw the apartment building from afar, his heart dropped to his stomach. The faint, pink light of Will’s nightstand lamp was falling through the shutters. Mike had a visceral reaction to that observation. His hand found the brick wall of the building next to him as his knees started to buckle. His ribcage threatened to burst, and Mike’s head started spinning.
Maybe he would’ve preferred an empty apartment.
Mike stood there for a couple of minutes, palms sweaty, the cold night air making his face sting. He tried regulating his breath, tried remembering the outlines of his room to figure out where he’d put his walkman. When the realization hit him that his walkman was very likely in Will’s room because Mike had asked him to record a song for him on the radio, he burst into laughter. Oh, the irony of it all.
With his legs still shaking, Mike pushed himself off the wall. With tunnel vision, he crossed the street, which was painfully quiet for New York City on a Friday night. He felt dazed by the time he reached the apartment building, as though he was just coming down from smoking a blunt. Once he opened the front door, he froze for a moment. Mike shouldn’t be scared of going home, yet he was. He felt like a gazelle walking straight into a lion’s den.
Mike made it up to the apartment by muscle memory alone. He couldn’t remember his legs carrying him all the way, and he felt like a drunkard, missing the keyhole a whopping four times, before he was finally able to unlock it.
He quietly closed the door behind him in order to not disrupt anything, then just stood there for a couple heartbeats. At first, there was nothing but the pink light from under Will’s door throwing its shine into the hallway. Mike wondered if the ring in his ears was drowning out all the other sounds. But then he heard it.
“Oh, fuck yeah.”
It was a low, guttural growl that immediately helped Mike’s mind snap back into reality. Not the reality in which he was anxiously and miserably in love with his best friend, although that definitely played its part. It was the reality in which there was a random stranger in Mike’s apartment, blowing his load into said best friend.
Mike grimaced, a face of sheer disgust, as he heard another groan. It wasn’t Will, he knew for sure. If Will’s voice could drop this low, Mike would call an exorcist. “Ew, gross,” he mumbled into the darkness, slipping out of his shoes and crossing the short distance to his room.
The low moans drag on, even when Mike closed the door to his room and changed into different clothes, keeping on the shirt Will had tossed at him earlier. Just to make sure, he checked the upper drawer of his desk for his walkman, a disappointed hum leaving his throat when it was, indeed, missing.
Mike crawled onto his bed, pulling the covers up, and placing his pillow over his head. If he was lucky, he may suffocate and wouldn’t have to endure, what, minutes, hours of that guy’s sounds? Mike lifted the pillow slightly to glance at the alarm clock, which was now glaring at him with neon numbers. 2:46. He’d surely given them enough time for a head start, right? He’d taken his sweet time, had another beer at the club, and walked home at a hauntingly low pace. Surely, they almost had to be done.
He pulled the pillow over his face, harder now, pressing its edges onto his ears. It helped muffle out the low groans, to some extent. But then something else got through to him, something that threatened to make his heart shatter, at the same time sending an inevitable jolt towards his lower body.
Will was moaning.
It was unmistakable, a voice significantly higher than the one Mike heard before. It was a sound Mike had never even dared to imagine, had always tried to shove the thought away, but now that he heard it, he felt wide awake. For a moment, it didn’t matter who’d been the one luring this moan out of Will, because Mike’s brain was spinning with the realization that this is what he sounded like when he felt good.
As Mike’s heartbeat picked up, he removed the pillow from his head, tossing it onto the floor. Now, he was even risking being exposed to the stranger’s moans, if that meant he’d get to hear Will again. And sure as hell, there it was. A soft, yet loud moan, climbing through the walls, spilling through the wood of their doors, making its way to Mike’s ears, like the music he’d been craving just moments ago to drown out the noise.
Suddenly, Mike was glad his walkman was out of reach, so glad he hadn’t been able to put on headphones. He knew he should’ve felt bad, intrusive even. But he couldn’t help it. He pressed the palm of his hand to the base of his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants for some friction, promising himself (and silently also Will) that he’d leave it at that. He exhaled a sharp breath through his teeth, involuntarily chasing his own touch as he pulled back his hand.
For a moment, Mike just stared at his ceiling. This was wrong. But then again, what did Will think would happen on these nights when they lived with each other? That Mike would walk the streets of New York until seven in the morning, waiting? Or had this been Will’s reasoning for wanting Mike to get laid? So he wouldn’t be home, or busy himself, while Will was having sex with strangers? No, that didn’t make sense, there surely would’ve been better ways to ask for this than flirting with your friend in the shared kitchen. Right?
When Mike heard Will again, all the restraint was drained from his body. His heart was racing, limbs tingling, and his cock was now monumental proof of how much his… everything reacted to hearing Will like that. It was almost overwhelming. He wished he could be the reason for those moans, the sole reason for Will to feel pleasure. The feeling was suffocating, the blanket and his clothes causing him to feel claustrophobic and way too warm.
Mike kicked off his blanket, and with one smooth movement, pulled down his sweatpants and boxers. His cock sprung free, and he blinked at it for a moment, fascinated, as though he, himself, couldn’t quite believe how hard he was. Mike said a silent sorry to whoever was listening, before running his palm over the tip of his cock, hissing at the touch. He pulled back again, looking at his palm, almost mesmerized, as if this was the first time he’d been erect and was just getting to know his body. The precum in his hand was glistening in the light of the alarm clock.
Mike reached for the bottle of lotion on his nightstand with an urgency he’d only ever felt when he heard his parents pull up in the driveway and he’d forgotten to unthaw the chicken, then nearly dropped it when another one of Will’s moans tore through the silence. His cock twitched, and Mike was sure he was three seconds from coming untouched. With unsteady hands, he pumped some lotion into the palm of his hand, left the bottle on the mattress next to him, and finally wrapped his hand around his length.
Will’s moans grew more frequent, and Mike tried adjusting his speed, counting the seconds between them. He knew he wouldn’t last long, there was an entire day’s worth of tension behind him, and this was Will. Mike was so lost in Will’s sounds that his brain had entirely dismissed the low voice of the stranger.
Right now, it was just Mike and Will, although not entirely the way Mike wanted them to be. If Will had been here with him, if he had been the one in Will’s room right now, they could’ve touched each other, breathed each other in. Mike could be the one luring those sounds from Will’s mouth. He recalled the light blue hanky Will had stuffed into his pocket earlier, and imagined Will’s lips on his cock. He circled his own tip with two fingers, trying to envision Will’s tongue in their place, and the thought sent shivers down his spine.
Mike was way past the point of feeling bad, although it lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, ready to catch up to him. Right now, though, Will’s moans were music to his ears. A whimper escaped Mike’s throat as he tightened his grip on his cock. Embarrassed, he brought his free arm to his face, biting into his wrist to muffle his own sounds.
It was too much, too fast. Mike couldn’t think, couldn’t consider moving up his shirt before his toes went numb and the heat in his groin was unbearable. Will’s last moan had almost been a scream, loud enough to potentially wake up the neighbors, but Mike didn’t give a fuck. He bit into his flesh so hard, he knew it would leave an impression the next morning. He didn’t care, didn’t mind, all that was on his mind was Will.
Will, who’d squeezed his ass. Will, who’d told him he was handsome. Will, who’d thrown him a look across the club. Will, who was now in a room six feet from Mike, releasing moans into the night for all of New York City to hear.
Mike came, just as Will’s voice got through to his ears again. His toes curled into the mattress, and with a muffled moan into his own skin, come spurted all over the shirt Will had picked for him earlier. He rode out his orgasm with a couple softer strokes, his breath ragged as he realized Will’s moans turned softer again.
He lay there for a moment, his cock softening, twitching in the aftermath. Mike finally allowed his arm to drop from his face, and with a heaving chest, he stared at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath as the moans coming from Will’s room slowly died down. Mike checked the clock again. 3:19. Over half an hour had passed that felt like a split second at most.
The post-nut clarity hit him like a brick. He’d just jerked off to the sound of his best friend’s moans. Not just that, he’d actively imagined Will’s lips around his dick. Surely, there was a special place in hell for people like Mike Wheeler. How was he ever supposed to look at Will like that, after hearing what he’d heard and doing what he did? There was a knot in Mike’s stomach, and he felt the urge to cross the six feet distance between his room and Will’s, just to kindly ask Will to punch him in the face.
Disgusted it himself, Mike sat up, carefully pulling his shirt over his head. He contemplated whether he really wanted to bring it to the laundromat, or if he should just accidentally drop it into the garbage bin. He reached into the top drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a pack of wet wipes and cleaning off everything his shirt hadn’t caught. He still felt sticky, specifically on his thighs and the crook of his neck. It was the sweat, Mike knew, but a part of him hoped it was the shame he was never going to be able to wash off, as a perfect reminder of what he’d done today. He deserved it.
Mike was tired. Emotionally drained. There was another feeling tearing up his stomach, one that he couldn’t possibly ignore now that he’d spent this amount of energy: hunger. He groaned, thinking of the grilled cheese that was still on the kitchen counter. If this were his dorm room, there’d been a stash of snacks in a shoebox under his bed.
But no, he was an adult now, with his own apartment where snacks had their designated space. The kitchen. Mike grimaced. He couldn’t sleep hungry, and had never been able to go to bed with an empty stomach. He hesitated before shifting off the bed, considering if he really wanted to risk leaving the safety of his room. As though his body was responding to him, Mike’s stomach growled. Yeah, he had to.
Mike got up and pulled his boxers and sweatpants back into place. Briefly, his eyes wandered over the carpet, studying the battlefield he left behind. On top of the pillow he’d tossed aside earlier was now his come-stained shirt. Four used wet wipes were wildly scattered across the floor. Mike should’ve picked them up to avoid them drying against the carpet, but he just didn’t have it in him. He didn’t even bother putting on another shirt before leaving his room.
The apartment was almost in the same state as it was when he came home. The light in Will’s room was still on, but there was no noise anymore. There seemed to be a faint scent of roses coming from Will’s room. Really, again? Mike shook his head and ignored the tug in his chest. He might’ve imagined it. He shuffled into the kitchen, quickly finding the plate of grilled cheese on the counter. No one had eaten any, and realistically, Mike knew they’d taste better if he warmed them up. But he just lifted the plate and held it as he leaned against the counter and bit into one of the stale sandwiches.
Just as he was about to take another one off the plate, the hallway lit up in a soft, pink light. The door of Will’s room had opened, and Mike’s mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry. It closed again, the pink light diminishing, and shortly after, a figure appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Mike could tell from the silhouette, undoubtedly, that it was Will. Relief spread through his body, then the memory of what he’d just done, and the panic returned, heat spreading through his body.
“Oh, you’re home.” Will didn't move, just stayed in the doorframe. There was a kind of tiredness in his voice that made Mike’s heart sink.
Mike took a deep breath. “I mean, yeah, I didn’t really have a reason to stay after you left.” He realized the tone of his voice was a bit too harsh. “Sorry.”
“Why are you in the dark?”
“Big light makes eyes go ouch.” The way Will just stayed in the doorframe was unsettling. Mike uncomfortably shifted in his spot.
Will hummed. “Can I turn it on? Please?”
“Go ahead,” Mike responded, heart hammering in his chest. He saw Will’s silhouette move, his arm lifted to find the light switch.
When the light turned on, Mike rapidly blinked against the brightness. It took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust. When he did, Will was still in the doorframe. Naked. Mike hoped it wasn’t too obvious how flustered he was. He felt the heat stretch from his cheek into his neck, fighting every urge to look down, keeping his eyes locked on Will’s face. Mike’s brows furrowed once he really looked at Will. His entire demeanor wasn’t that of a man who just had sex. His eyes were puffy and almost expressionless, the corners of his mouth turned down. There was a slump to Will’s shoulders that hinted at him being tired, drained, unmotivated.
Mike’s features softened, as did his voice. His breath was a little shaky when he spoke. “Hey, are you okay?”
Will said nothing. Instead, he crossed the distance between them and took the plate from Mike’s hand, staring at the sandwiches on it as though they held the answers he needed. “I’m gonna warm them up, okay?”
He didn’t wait for a response. Mike watched him walk toward the microwave, keeping his eyes on Will’s back. Will was avoidant, and something about it felt like a dagger to Mike’s heart. What on earth had happened in that room? Had Mike been jerking off while Will was absolutely miserable? He didn’t sound miserable. Mike’s head was spiraling over questions he wouldn’t get an answer to, at least not tonight.
“Mike?” Will was still turned to the microwave, watching the plate spin.
“Yeah?”
“Do you always go home after I leave?” Will turned to him, a curious expression crossing his face. It didn’t overplay the tiredness, but it lingered there.
Mike pursed his lips, his eyes finding the floor. “Yeah. I usually went to Cornelia’s once you were gone, got myself some fries, then went home.”
“Past tense,” Will noticed. “Not tonight?”
“No.” Mike shook his head, shifting his gaze back to Will. He wanted to cry seeing him like this. “I just wanted to go home.”
“You heard us.” It wasn’t a question, Will was letting Mike know that he knew.
Mike raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Yeah. You sounded… good. Can I say that?” Will’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. Mike pinched the bridge of his nose with closed eyes, taking a deep breather before his eyes found Will’s again. “I mean, what I’m saying is, what I heard doesn’t match this.”
With his last words, he gestured toward Will’s body. The microwave behind him was aggressively beeping, but neither of them gave it any attention.
Will sighed, his shoulder slumping further. “Oh, Mike.” He broke eye contact, his gaze now wandering off to Mike’s exposed upper body. Mike felt the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest, but instead steadied himself on the edge of the counter. “I’m so tired of being tossed aside like a used towel.”
There was a silence between them, only filled by the sound of the microwave. Mike didn’t know how to respond. His mind was spinning with ‘I would never do that to you’, and ‘I would make sure you’d always feel good’, but after what just happened in his bedroom, he felt just as responsible for Will feeling this way. He felt the need to apologize, but wouldn’t that need to entail a confession?
He studied Will’s face closely. His mouth was twisted, almost as if he was in pain. Mike’s gaze shifted and he noticed the bop of Will’s Adam's apple, realizing he was fighting tears. Mike’s sweaty palms felt cold all of a sudden, and he wanted to run. For the first time since they’d known each other, Mike wanted to get as far away from Will as possible, because obviously he was just another threat to him. Years of guarding and protecting, just for one moment of weakness to set their tent of trust aflame. His mind circled back to an apology.
So, with an obvious hitch in his breath, Mike said, “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t an empathetic apology, it was personal. He made it sound less like condolences, and more like he was the sole cause of Will’s emotional state. It had been hard to keep eye contact, and Mike had dropped his eyes to the floor as soon as he said it, but he did it. He’d apologized.
Will huffed. Without looking up, Mike knew it was a sound of disbelief. “Don’t be stupid, Mike. You’re the one person who doesn’t toss me aside.”
Mike looked back up at him. Will seemed… angry? His jaw was tightened and his eyes sharpened. Mike felt a sting in his chest, and wanted to backtrack, overexplain like he normally would. He didn’t know what came over him when he decided to go for raw honesty.
“Sure feels like it after I jerked off to-“
“Oh, who wouldn’t have,” Will interrupted him, lifting his arms and balling his hands to fists in front of his chest. “But you weren’t in there with me, Mike. You didn’t spread your load on my face and went straight to sleep. You weren’t telling me how good I was, and then turned your back on me when it was time to clean myself up.”
Mike’s throat tightened. He felt the tears well up in his eyes, fighting them as best as he could. The hurt was a lot, tearing through Mike’s chest like a paper plane made of razor blades. And although Will had practically told him to not feel guilty, he still did. Because Mike didn’t know for how long Will had been stuck in this cycle. When did Will stop enjoying these nights? When did he start feeling like this? Why had he never talked about it? Had Mike failed letting him know he could trust him?
Mike sniffled, feeling miserable. He couldn’t make this about himself. But he couldn’t help but feel like he failed as Will’s self-proclaimed guardian. He kept letting Will go with these guys, who treated him like shit, thinking it was the only right thing to do. Will was looking at him, crying, silent sobs tearing through his body, and the sight of it was too much for Mike.
Mike swallowed hard. “Will,” he started, having to pause to keep his voice from breaking, “what do you need?”
Will’s hands were trembling when he threw them in the air before letting them fall to his sides. “I don’t know, Mike. A hug? A kiss? Someone who actually cares about how I feel?” A loud sob tore through the room, and Will leaned in, steadying himself on the counter.
Instinctively, Mike pushed himself off and slung his arms around Will’s waist, catching Will right before his knees buckled. Mike wasn’t the strongest guy around town, but he managed to soften the fall as best as he could. Will’s knees hit the floor, but didn’t crash into it, and as Mike went down with him, Will slumped against him, his warm forehead pressed against Mike’s chest. Without pulling back, Mike adjusted his legs to be on either side of Will’s body, making space for him to shift closer.
Will shook his head, struggling to speak through his sobs. All Mike understood was his own name and the hard emphasis on the word ‘naked’.
“I don’t care,” Mike said, moving his own body toward Will’s instead, tightening the grip around his waist and placing his mouth on the top of Will’s head, making him hiccup against Mike’s chest. “I don’t care. I’m here, okay? I’m here.”
Will draped his arms around Mike’s body, his fingers digging into the soft skin on Mike’s back, while Mike drew patterns just below Will’s shoulder blades. He allowed himself to soften under Will’s touch, allowed Will to feel the tension leave his body, hoping it would help him calm down.
They sat there for a while, all limbs and tears, until Will’s sobs turned into whimpers, and then died down entirely. And even then, when Will’s fingers stopped digging into Mike’s skin, and he started mirroring the movements of Mike’s fingers on his own back, they didn't pull apart yet. Mike kept his mouth on the top of Will’s head, smelling roses and the faint scent of his apple shampoo, his heart being surprisingly calm.
Eventually, it was Will who drew back, and when they pulled apart, he placed his hands on each of Mike’s thighs. He looked at him, his face in absolute shambles —red and damp and swollen. But he was smiling, so softly Mike had felt like his heart was going to explode.
Will was hoarse, even when his voice was merely a whisper. “I need to find me a guy like you.”
Mike closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath through his nose, the corners of his mouth slightly curled up. He brought his hand to Will’s face, wiping off a stray tear with his thumb. He let his thumb sit there for a second, thinking very carefully about his next move. Yes, they were both drained. But there was a feeling lingering in Mike’s stomach. He knew if he didn’t say anything right now, he might as well never. Will’s expression shifted as Mike studied his face —eyes widened, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted.
Mike dropped his hand and placed it on Will’s knee, the warmth and steadiness of it grounding him a little. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his breath hitched before he finally spoke. “Will, I’m right here.”
Will sniffled, then huffed a laugh. “No, not like that. I mean-“
“Exactly like that,” Mike interrupted him, tilting his head, a soft smile forming on his face. “Exactly. Like. That.”
Will’s breath audibly stuttered. “But you-“
“Never disclosed what I was into,” Mike interrupted again. “Or who.”
Will blinked, rapidly, another stray teardrop falling from his lashes. If Mike would’ve had the energy to look closer, he probably could’ve seen the gears shift behind Will’s eyes before his mouth took on the shape of an O. “Mike, I had no idea.”
“Oh yeah, I know.” Mike nodded, his lips slightly parting, completely in awe at how calmly Will took this. “Painfully obvious. But I don’t think we should have this conversation right now. You need sleep. We both do.”
Will’s brain buffered for a moment. His eyes kept switching between Mike’s eyes and some other part of his face —Mike refused to acknowledge it could’ve been his lips, ignored the butterflies in his stomach.
Then, Will nodded. “I do need sleep.” A quick pause. “The microwave stopped beeping.”
Mike looked past Will, shifting his attention towards the microwave. “Yeah, and the sandwiches are probably cold again.”
They both chuckled at the absurdity of addressing stale food after what they’d just gone through on their kitchen floor. They did end up eating it cold, too hungry to go to sleep right away. They didn’t speak a word as they ate, all that needed to be said that night was said. But they were calm, occasionally throwing weak smiles at each other as they finally accepted the tiredness into their bodies.
When they were done, Will placed the plate in the sink before turning around and shuffling closer to Mike again. “Mike?”
Mike raised his eyebrows, his lids heavy now. “Hm?”
Will brought a hand to Mike’s face, removing a crumb from the corner of Mike’s mouth with his thumb before speaking again. “One more thing. I kind of, uh, really don’t want to sleep in my bed with that guy in there.”
Will put emphasis on ‘that guy’, mouth twisting in disgust as he did so. Mike’s first instinct was to walk in there, wake the stranger up, and kick him out. On second thought, he had a better idea. “Want to sleep in my room?”
Will nodded without hesitation. In no time, they were out of the kitchen and in Mike’s bedroom, where Mike looked at the floor in sheer terror, and Will followed his gaze with a similar expression.
“Don’t,” Mike said, his face turning red with embarrassment as he leaned down to pick up the used wet wipes. “Don’t say a word.”
Will stepped into the room, taking a big leap around the pillow. “Is the bed safe? Or is all of this a safety hazard?”
“Listen,” Mike groaned, now lifting the shirt off the pillow and throwing it into the laundry basket, “I had a moment, okay?”
“Mhm, a moment.” Will eventually sat down on the edge of the bed.
Mike lifted the pillow and examined it for stains, then decided it was better to place it next to the laundry basket. The whole thing needed a proper wash. When his eyes find Will’s, there’s a look there Mike can’t quite decipher.
“Please tell me what you’re thinking about. I can’t read your face and it’s making me nervous.” Mike was surprised by his own honesty.
And telling by the slight twitch of Will’s eyebrows, so was he. His face dropped before he spoke, a hint of sadness spreading on it. “It’s just- this is what you felt bad about?” When Mike just shrugged, Will added. “Mike, this is the most innocent form of intrusion I could’ve ever imagined.”
Mike blushed at that, mind scrambling for a funny response, but coming up blank. He was simply too tired to converse any longer. He reached into his closet, grabbing a shirt and shorts Will could wear to sleep. Then, he grabbed a set of extra pillows —the remains of the times Mike needed a mountain of pillows to sleep on, and put them in mismatching pillowcases as Will got dressed.
Mike didn’t have an extra blanket, but Will didn’t mind sharing. They each got one half of the blanket, knowing one of them would end up claiming the whole for himself, but not addressing it.
Mike was already drifting asleep, when Will spoke again.
“Mike?”
“Hmm?” He tried desperately to keep his senses awake.
Will scooted closer, draping one of his legs across Mike’s, pressing his lips to Mike’s still bare shoulder. “Thank you.”
Normally, Mike’s body would’ve reacted to the closeness, the touch, Will’s soft voice. But he could merely manage a hum before fully blacking out.
*
When Mike woke up, his room felt significantly emptier than the night before. It was past noon, and the other side of the bed was empty. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked around. There was something else missing, but Mike couldn’t figure what it was, it was unsettling. Like someone kept taking your keys from the console table to place them somewhere else just to piss you off.
As the fog lifted, Mike remembered last night. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach, but this time it wasn’t anxiety or guilt, or the crushing weight of existence. It was uncertainty, a tad of sadness, and the unshakable feeling of having crossed a line he shouldn’t have. With that feeling, he slid towards the edge of his bed, placing his feet on the carpet. For real, why did his room seem so big right now?
Mike shook the feeling off, getting up. Almost mechanically, he moved towards the door. When he opened it, the cold hit him immediately. “What the fuck,” he hissed, instinctively retreating back into his room and closing the door. He was shuddering now, goosebumps forming on his upper body. Had Will turned their place into a freezer? Had the entire building gone cold or was it just them?
Quickly, Mike pulled a sweater from his closet, worry settling in his stomach. If he was in here, where last night’s heat was still preserved, that meant Will was out there.
He stepped into the hallway. The door to Will’s room was wide open, and Mike could tell that the sheets were entirely pulled off. He shuffled towards the room and came to a halt in the doorframe, noticing the opened window. The cold finally made sense. Even now, with Will’s room at almost freezing point, Mike could make out the faint scent of roses.
He hummed, and with his brows furrowed he turned around, making his way towards the kitchen. Will wasn’t here. And neither was he in the living room. Mike considered calling Will’s workplace, but he knew his shift wouldn’t start before 6:00. Then, maybe the library? The coffee shop around the corner? The local hospital?
No. Mike took a deep breath. It was fine. Will was probably fine. Mike was just still overwhelmed and his previous panic settled in over the fact of Will not being home.
Shivering, Mike returned to the kitchen. In theory, he could’ve closed Will’s window to stop the cold from seeping in. But everything inside of him rebelled against the thought of entering that room, so he had to settle with the cold. In a daze, Mike looked into the sink, realizing the plate Will had placed there last night was gone.
Mike’s thoughts snagged. Will’s sheets pulled off, the open window, the missing plate. Was Will trying to clear the apartment of last night’s happenings? Something in the back of his mind clicked. He went back into his room, an unsettling heaviness landing in his stomach. His laundry basket and pillow were gone, explaining the uncanny feeling he had after waking up.
“Oh,” Mike said under his breath.
A lump formed in his throat and he felt the strange urge to check if Will’s clothes were still in his closet, if Will hadn’t just packed his bags and left. The thoughts were soon washed over by rationality, when Mike realized that Will probably wouldn’t leave town with Mike’s come-stained shirt and pillow.
He tried regulating his breathing when he walked back to the kitchen and filled a cup with water. Everything is fine, he thought, unsure of whether he actually believed it. Absent-mindedly, he poured some instant coffee into the cup, then put it in the microwave. He needed it hot now, warm tap water wouldn’t do. As he waited for his coffee to heat up, Mike leaned back against the counter, scanning the room. His eyes lingered on the floor where Will and him had sat the night before, and the feeling of uncertainty returned, making his stomach twist.
They’d both certainly said things that couldn’t be unsaid now. From Will falling apart, to Mike’s semi-confession, it felt like a blur, but at the same time, Mike remembered it vividly. The way he had instantly reacted when Will’s knees bucked, held onto him as they sank to the floor. Will’s tears against Mike’s chest, warm hands on his back. And the unbearable feeling of wanting to fight the entire world just to ensure Will was okay.
The microwave beeped and interrupted his thoughts, triggering another memory of last night. This one was nicer, though. It was the way Will had pointed out the beeping had stopped, putting distance between the floor and the future. Not to get away from it, but so what had shifted could breathe, as they chewed on their grilled cheese in silence.
Mike reached for the cup and nearly burned his hand on the handle. He hissed, pulling back his hand in an instant. At that very moment, he heard keys rattle against the front door, followed by the click of the lock. Mike froze, eyes locked on the door as it slowly pushed open, his heart threatening to burst through his ribcage.
In came Will, a heavy bag in each of his hands, pillow squeezed under his arm. He was heaving, not noticing Mike at first. He dropped the bags on the floor, placed the pillow on top of them, then kicked the door closed with his foot. Will took off his green beanie, running a hand through his hair, and then he looked up, his eyes finding Mike’s.
Mike felt caught, almost embarrassed. He stood there, wearing almost the same clothes as last night, waiting for his cup to cool down, while Will had been busy all morning. His eyes darted from Will’s to the doorframe, then to the floor, then back to Will. “Uh, hey.”
Will tilted his head, unbuttoning the front of his coat. His voice was soft when he spoke. “Hey. I did laundry.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, Mike’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “Yeah, uh, no. I mean, cool. Kind of figured after I saw my laundry basket was missing and your bed was stripped.” He took a deep breath. “I totally didn’t assume you randomly decided to leave the country.”
Will laughed, wholeheartedly. He took his time, slipping out of his coat and hanging it up, before he walked into the kitchen, crossing the distance between him and Mike.
“Yeah, Mike,” he said, a playful tone in his voice, “because if I left, I’d take nothing but my stained bedsheets, your entire suspicious laundry pile, and a damp pillow.”
He reached over and pinched Mike’s side. Mike flinched, and Will’s smile grew bigger. Mike shrugged, ignoring the urge to reach for Will’s hand. “That’s what I concluded.”
“You know, you could’ve closed the window.” Will brought his arms around himself, tilting his head and grimacing. “It’s freezing in here.”
Mike bit down on his bottom lip. After a split second of scrambling for an answer, he decided he was over the facade, and chose honesty. “I kind of didn’t want to enter your room.”
Will’s smile faltered. His features softened as his eyes found the counter. “Yeah, same. You should’ve seen me power walk through my room earlier. I just… wanted to get out again as soon as possible.”
“You could’ve just closed the door.”
“Nah,” Will shook his head, looking back at Mike. “Imagine you need to live with the thought of a rotting body in your basement.”
Mike looked back at him, puzzled.
“It’s just-“ Will sighed, his shoulders falling slightly. “I think I’m over it, Mike. The pointless sex. I mean, the whole nothing that comes after. And this morning I woke up, and I looked at you, and it just snapped. There was a version of me decaying in that room.”
Mike’s breath hitched as he reached for Will’s hand after all and was met with a firm squeeze. “Are you okay?”
“I mean, kind of?” Will gently strokes his thumb over the back of Mike’s hand. “I just think, uh, this bed, these walls, it doesn’t feel like mine anymore, you know? The thought of going back in there right now makes me sick.”
“You’ll get there,” Mike said, voice soft.
“God,” Will groaned, inching closer and dropping his forehead against Mike’s shoulder, his hand still clasped around Mike’s. “We literally just moved in.”
“Exactly,” Mike said, placing his other hand on Will’s arm. “There’s enough time to make it ours.”
Mike knew it was bold to put it this way, but deliberately chose these words anyway. He felt Will’s warm, shaky breath against his shoulder, and a firm squeeze to his hand. And at that moment, that was enough.
They stayed there for a couple of moments, their thumbs caressing each other’s hands, Will’s head against Mike’s shoulder. Mike knew he had to be patient, and would probably have to live with the uncertainty of it for a bit longer. Will had to pick the pace. And Mike would wait. Absent-mindedly, he traced his fingers along Will’s arm, feeling the muscles tense under the touch, and Will’s breath shudder against his shoulder.
When Will pulled back, it was a short movement, not putting too much distance between them, so as to not lose Mike’s touch on his arm. He smiled up at him. “Mike?”
“Yeah?” Mike looked back at him, a soft smile playing around his lips.
“I’m hungry. Can you make grilled cheese?”
Mike huffed a laugh. “I thought we’ve established that you’re the better cook.”
Will playfully rolled his eyes at him. “But you make the best grilled cheese. And we’re out of ingredients.”
Mike pursed his lips, then nodded. “I’m gonna close that window first, okay?”
They finally pulled apart, and Mike immediately missed the warmth of Will’s body. Composure, Wheeler, he’d told himself, almost nearly sprinting to Will’s room so he would be back sooner.
When he returned, Will was perched on the counter, bread, cheese, and butter laid out neatly on the surface next to him. With his legs dangling from the counter, Will beamed at him. “I prepared.”
Mike couldn’t help smiling as he made his way toward the counter. His eyes landed on the separate ingredients, and he hummed in surprise. “You bought the cheese.”
Of course Will would buy cheese if he saw they were out. But this wasn’t just any cheese. It was the cheese Mike treated himself to every other month, requiring an hour on the subway to get to that one grocery store that sold it. Six dollars for five slices, which he could barely justify. It was the cheese Jordan had raided earlier this week.
Mike wasn’t expecting that.
Will hummed, the smile on his face turning into a satisfied grin. “Skipped Art History for this noble quest.”
“Will Byers!” Mike faked a dramatic gasp. “Are you entering your rebellious era? Skipping class to buy cheese?”
Will laughed, his body shaking, and slapped Mike in the shoulder. “Shut up.”
“No,” Mike teased back, poking Will’s stomach. Then, his features softened. "Thank you.”
They held eye contact a second too long and Mike’s heart did a little flip. He struggled to tear his eyes from Will, and when he managed, his attention shifted to the ingredients on the counter.
Mike made grilled cheese, and with Will right next to him, it felt intimate. The way Will joked about Mike’s technique to spread the butter (“Are you having a session with the bread? Should I leave?”) and his soft giggles when Mike groaned felt domestic. Like maybe it could always be this way.
And instead of Mike’s heart tightening in his chest, this time it seemed to bloom, spreading every inch of his body with warmth.
*
On Saturdays, their shifts started at the same time. Six o’clock sharp. They’d previously argued about the timetable before moving into their shared apartment, knowing they’d have to get ready at the same time. Although Will was going to show up to work twenty minutes early anyway, he insisted on blocking the exact window Mike needed for his own routine.
Now, though, they were standing by the sink, both shirtless and brushing their teeth, their elbows and hips brushing as they got ready together. The cold had seeped out of the apartment, the faint smell of grilled cheese still lingered in the kitchen and living room. And Mike and Will shared a look in the bathroom mirror, laughing for no reason.
It felt… normal. And Mike loved it. It was almost like back when they were kids. Before he had caught onto his feelings for Will and overanalyzed his every move. An eight-year-long tension finally lifted off his body. And Will seemed different, too. He seemed lighter.
In the hallway, when Will slipped into his shoes and Mike put on his beanie, Will had looked up at him while tying his laces. “Mike, I’ve done your laundry today. Please don’t forget your apron.”
Mike stopped in his tracks and looked back at him, wide-eyed. “Shit, you’re right.”
He jumped to grab his apron from his closet, and when he returned to the hallway, Will was standing by the open door, waiting on him. They left the building together, leaving behind the scent of roses and apple shampoo and grilled cheese, and stepped out into the cold New York evening air.
“I could walk with you and take a turn from there,” Will offered.
Mike was startled. He quickly ran the math in his brain, brows furrowed. “You’re headed the opposite way, Will. You’d be late by, like, twenty minutes.”
Will shrugged. “I wasn’t late once yet, didn’t call in sick a single day. They’re lucky to have me. It’ll be fine. Besides, Saturday nights are insane and I hate it.” He nudged Mike’s elbow with his. “And I really want to walk with you.”
For a moment, Mike just stared at Will in disbelief. He was really offering to break a three-year streak of perfect attendance, just to spend twelve more minutes with Mike. He smiled. “Yeah, okay, if you really don’t mind.”
“Let’s go,” Will responded, hooking his arm into Mike’s.
Mike’s brain short-circuited, he entirely missed the cue, and only started walking when Will pulled him forward. They walked like that, mostly in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s company. Mike had tunnel vision, he couldn’t tell if people were staring. He was too busy focusing on the weight of Will’s arm around his, and trying not to trip over his own feet.
When they made it to the diner, Mike’s face twisted as he saw the abundance of people tonight. He knew his arm was going to be sore tomorrow from all the burger flipping and potato frying. Will followed his gaze, keeping his arm hooked with Mike’s.
“Are the burgers good?”
Mike’s expression shifted to confusion. “I’ve been working here for almost three years and you’ve never had a burger?”
Will chuckled. “Did you ever have a slice of Ray’s pizza?” When Mike just shook his head, he shrugged. “I think we just never paid attention to that part of our lives? Like, you just went to work and I was sulking in my dorm room because I couldn’t hang out with you. I could’ve come over to spend your breaks with you. Why did I never consider that?”
Mike spaced out for a couple of heartbeats, trying to recall whether he’d actually never stepped foot into the pizza joint Will worked at. He hummed, then. “Neither did I.” He looked at Will, slightly amused. “Kind of silly, isn’t it?”
Will hummed back in agreement. “We can change that.” He finally unhooked his arm from Mike’s. “You should head in, it’s six.”
“Yeah.” Mike smiled. “Thanks for walking me.”
Will squinted at him with one eye, corners of his mouth curled up. “You know, I could do that more often, if we manage to leave the house twenty minutes early.”
With that, he turned on his heels, patting Mike’s back before finally walking off. Mike stared at him until he crossed the corner, then turned towards the door of the diner. Suddenly, the masses of people didn’t bother him all too much.
Mike had never found himself flipping burgers with this much enthusiasm, hadn’t even burned a single patty. Even his supervisor, Helen, had picked up on it, complimenting his work and throwing in a promise of potential raise if he managed to keep up like that. Mike liked the idea, it would mean fewer shifts —or the same amount of shifts and more money. While he usually restrained from talking to his coworkers, especially the supervisors, tonight he’d actually asked Helen if he could take home a burger or two. She’d looked at him, confused, explaining that this was a given for everyone at the end of their shift. And Mike had to settle with the realization that he missed out on three years of free burgers.
Mike got home first. Will usually worked overtime on Saturdays, Ray’s pizza joint was in a pretty crowded area and a typical go-to for partying people after a night out. Will occasionally complained about them behaving like wild animals, and after long discussions with his boss they’d come to an agreement that Will would stay longer and help cleaning up for extra pay.
Mike calmly turned on the lights, stripped himself off his jacket and hat, then put the diner’s takeaway bag on the kitchen counter. He stopped for a minute, recalling the plan he made in his head while flipping burgers. With a deep breath, he moved towards Will’s bedroom. He grabbed the laundry bag from beside the door (they’d put away Mike’s laundry earlier, but neither of them went into Will’s room), opened the door and stepped inside.
Mike put away Will’s laundry, then pulled a different set of sheets from the closet, not wanting to use the ones Will had stripped off the bed earlier today. He made Will’s bed, fluffing up the pillows, shaking out the blanket, and when he was done, he gave himself a satisfied nod, smoothing the mattress once. He turned on the pink nightstand light, and switched off the ceiling light, leaving the door wide open.
When Mike returned to the kitchen, he switched off the light in the hallway, where the bright yellow of the kitchen bulb and the pink from Will’s room were now illuminating the space. He placed himself on the kitchen counter, right where Will sat earlier today as Mike made grilled cheese.
And then he waited.
Mike hated waiting, because it meant he had too much time to think. He was easily irritated, especially by his own thoughts, and it was so easy for him to spiral. Soon after he’d sat down, his palms turned sweaty, and he started doubting his choice of making Will’s bed. Was that too personal? Should he have asked for Will’s permission? Should he just close the door?
Mike stayed put. He watched the clock on the wall as the minutes passed, fighting the urge to return to Will’s room and strip the bed off the sheets again. After nine long, agonizing minutes of waiting, he finally heard Will’s keys unlocking the door.
The door opened and Will slipped in, holding a pizza box in his hand. Mike’s heart dropped to his stomach in fear, and simultaneously did a flip over the mutual thought of bringing home food.
Will stopped in his tracks even before he could close the door. The pink light had instantly caught his attention. His eyes flickered towards his room, then, slowly, to Mike, and back to his room. When he finally closed the door, he seemed like a deer deciding whether to bolt. His gaze kept wandering toward his room, then back to something else, as he wordlessly put the pizza box on the console table, took off his coat and shoes, and hung them up.
When he picked up the box again, Will sent one last look towards his bedroom, visibly sighed, and then walked past it, into the kitchen, where Mike had been watching him from, heart hammering in his chest. Will put the pizza box down next to Mike’s takeaway bag, corners of his mouth twitching. Mike’s hands were holding on to the edges of the counter, knuckles turning white as Will moved into the space between his legs and placed his hands on Mike’s thighs.
He stared at Mike’s chin when he spoke. “You made my bed.”
“Yeah,” Mike responded softly, breath hitching.
“And put away my laundry.”
“Yes.”
“And brought food.”
“Mhm.”
Will’s thumbs dug into Mike’s skin through his jeans, and he finally looked up at him. The softness in his face knocked the air out of Mike’s lungs. Will’s cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, a shimmer of something unrecognizable in his eyes.
“Why?” Will asked then.
Mike’s brain was scrambling for a response, putting his very first thought to the back of his mind.
Because I love you.
He inhaled sharply, a faint smile on his face. “I told you we’d reclaim it.”
Will hiccuped, but the tears were left out. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he brought one of his hands to Mike’s face. With his index finger, he traced the line of Mike’s eyebrow, smiling as it twitched beneath his finger. He moved them to his cheekbones, Mike shuddering under the soft touch. Will trailed the crook of his nose, then drifted to Mike’s cupid's bow. As his finger traced Mike’s upper lip, Mike’s breath hitched, and Will sighed at the brush of warm air on his hand. When Will’s finger traced over Mike’s lower lip, he briefly brushed the wet spot, before drifting down to Mike’s chin.
Mike watched, mesmerized and reacting to every new touch, as Will followed the movement of his own finger. When it rested on his chin a second too long, Mike couldn’t stop himself. His voice was as low as a whisper, but it sounded like a plea.
“Will.”
Will’s grip on his thigh tightened slightly as his eyes flicked to Mike’s, then back down to his lips. Will’s breath stuttered. Then, leaving his finger on Mike’s chin, he leaned in, and Mike could feel the soft, warm breath against his mouth before Will kissed him. It was short, a split second in which Mike caught Will’s lips with his, his eyelids fluttering closed before Will drew back. But Mike felt electrified.
When they looked at each other again, worry was spread across Will’s face, but his hands stayed in place. “Is this okay?”
Mike wanted to laugh, maybe scream. Instead of speaking, Mike’s features softened, and he brought his hand up, slowly tugging a strand of hair behind Will’s ear. Then, his hand found the skin on the back of Will’s neck, damp and smooth. Will’s hand dropped from Mike’s face and found its way to his sternum. Will gasped, and Mike pulled him back in.
When their lips touched again, it was gentle. Will sighed as Mike caught his bottom lip, his upper body melting into Mike’s. His hand on Mike’s thigh wandered around his body, finding its new place on Mike’s lower back. In between the sounds of their heavy breathing and the overwhelming touch of their lips, Will somehow managed to speak. “Mike… hold on.”
Mike pulled back instantly, almost too fast. His hand dropped from Will’s neck and he stared at Will, wide-eyed, scared he’d done anything wrong, maybe crossed a line he hadn’t seen in his daze. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Will tilted his head and smiled. “Hey, calm down, I’m fine.” He swallowed thickly, eyes briefly wandering towards a spot next to Mike’s head before he looked back at him. “I just want to look at you.”
Mike sighed in relief, his chest unclenching. His eyelids fluttered close. Will brought both his hands up to Mike’s head now, hesitating before tucking strands of hair behind his ears. His fingers brushed Mike’s cheeks, thumbs tracing the line of his cheekbones. When Mike opened his eyes again, Will was staring straight into them, as though he had waited for the moment.
“You are so pretty, Mike.” He watched, waiting on Mike’s reaction. It was imminent. Mike’s breath hitched, and he felt the heat in his cheeks rising. If he’d been flustered before, surely now he was tomato red. Will didn’t stop there. With his hands once again finding their way to Mike’s thighs, he leaned in, pressing his lips to Mike’s jawline. “So.” He moved down, kissing Mike’s neck next. “So.” At last, he puts his lips on Mike’s shoulder, letting them rest there. “Pretty.”
Mike felt a lump in his throat, not fully able to swallow it down. He adjusted his head, so he could place his lips on the top of Will’s head, whose lips were still pressed to his shoulder, warm breath dampening the fabric of Mike’s shirt.
Mike couldn’t recall ever being called pretty. He had a pretty clear self-imaginary —tall, lanky, shapeless, a bit too pale. Hearing these words, from Will of all people, loosened a knot inside his chest he didn’t know was there. And the best thing was, Will said it in a way that made Mike believe it.
“Will, I-“ Mike started, but his voice broke. The tears were coming now, his vision blurring as they spilled from his eyes.
Quiet sobs tore through his chest. Will didn’t ask, he just slung his arms around Mike’s torso, adjusted his head so the side of his face lay on Mike’s shoulder, and closed the distance between them, tightly pressing their chests together. “It’s okay, Mike.”
Will’s soothing voice had almost broken him further. Hadn’t they just been in this same room last night, Will slumped against Mike’s body on the floor? Hadn’t Mike just seen Will break in the worst way possible? But maybe this was what it was all about. Maybe Mike didn’t need to be the sole protector and caretaker. Maybe they could take care of each other. The realization calmed him. Mike had many issues to work through, but at that moment, he knew Will could work through them with him.
As his breathing regulated, Mike pressed a firm kiss to the top of Will’s head. “Thank you.”
“Not for that.” Will shook his head against Mike’s shoulder. “Are you better now?”
“I mean, I wasn’t doing bad,” Mike mumbled.
“Mike,” Will started, pulling back so he could look at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Can I explain?” Mike rubbed his hands over his eyes, still sniffling.
“You don’t need to explain.”
“But I want to.”
Will pursed his lips, nodding. “Go ahead”
“There are, like, eight excruciating years of tension behind me,” Mike explained. “Besides, no one’s ever called me pretty. Or held me like that. So excuse a boy for having an emotional moment.”
Will hummed. “So, no sad tears?”
“More like… overwhelmed tears.” Mike shrugged, suddenly feeling small on the counter. He wasn’t used to opening up about his feelings like this.
Will thought for a moment, lifted his hand to Mike’s head again, curling a strand of hair around his fingers, then dropped it. “You are really pretty.”
Mike felt the blush rise to his cheeks again. “Okay, please shut up.”
Will leaned in, gently putting his lips on Mike’s, before pulling away again. “Let’s reheat that food.”
*
“Wait, this is my favorite, you need to try,” Will claimed, lifting the last piece of pizza up like a holy grail.
“Will, I’m going to explode,” Mike complained, opening his mouth regardless when Will moved the pizza toward his face.
“Just one bite. It’s artichokes, olives, and mushrooms. Simple, but delicious.”
Nothing simple about that, Mike thought as he let Will feed him. He took a bite, and his entire body wanted to fight against the thought of more food entering his body. He chewed, very aware of Will’s eyes lingering on his mouth.
They hadn’t bothered moving to the couch. They were on the kitchen floor, cross-legged digging into the food they’d brought from work. Mike’s burgers were good (“Obviously, you made them,” Will had stated) and the pizza was decent. The problem was that Will had brought six different pieces, all the size of Mike’s hand —and trust, Mike’s hands were large.
When they finished, Mike feeling two sizes bigger than before, they brushed their teeth together, something Mike could definitely get used to. Afterwards, they stood in the hallway, now only illuminated by the pink light coming from Will’s bedroom. A tension spread between them again, and Mike hated the feeling of drifting apart.
“You don’t need to stay in your room tonight, I just thought—“
“I want to,” Will interrupted. “But you’re coming with me.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. And Mike didn’t object. He let Will grab his hand and pull him into the room. Mike pushed the door shut behind him, and for a second they just stood there, both their eyes on the bed. Mike wasn’t sure how to feel about sleeping in it, and as though Will could read his mind, he suddenly spoke, voice rushed.
“Actually, this is kind of weird.” He squeezed Mike’s hand. “You don’t, like, have to.”
Mike thought for a heartbeat, then shrugged. “I mean, how can we claim this room as ours if it’s not… us?”
Will nodded next to him. “Do you want to grab your own blanket from your room?”
Mike pondered, eyebrows raised, his eyes still fixed on Will’s bed. The option was there now, there was no one in his room who'd stop him from getting his blanket. But did he want to?
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, I like having you close.” Even after their kiss tonight, the words felt like crossing a boundary.
But Will seemed unfazed. He squeezed Mike’s hand once more before letting go, then gave his butt a soft slap. “Well, then. What are you waiting for?”
Mike yelped, looking at Will in disbelief before actually scooting onto the mattress, and pulling the blanket aside for he and Will to lay down. He noticed the hesitation, the way Will shifted in his place, and patted the empty spot next to him, fondly smiling up at Will. “It’s okay, Will, it’s just me.”
Will sighed, then his shoulders dropped, the tension left his body. He kneeled on the bed, positioning himself as close to Mike as possible before dropping down, letting Mike pull the blanket over their bodies. Will reached behind him, finding the switch of the lamp.
They were both on their backs, and after everything tonight, Mike felt a little awkward. “Will?”
“Yeah?”
“You can come closer. You know that, right?”
“Mike, I’m as close as it— oh.”
Will was interrupted by Mike’s sudden movement, gasping when Mike lifted his arm and reached around his torso to pull him in. Will didn’t hesitate before shifting and turning on his side, placing his head on Mike’s chest and draping one of his legs across Mike’s, one of his hands resting on Mike’s ribcage.
“This okay?” Mike mumbled.
“Perfect,” Will responded sleepily, nuzzling his nose into the fabric of Mike’s shirt.
The weight of Will’s body slowly eased Mike to sleep.
*
On Sunday, they’d woken up in a panic. When they checked the time, it was 12:10, and Will’s eleven-hour shift had started ten minutes ago. They struggled detangling themselves from each other and the sheets, and Will nearly met the floor face first as he bolted towards the living room. Mike hurried into the kitchen, nearly slipped on the pizza box on the floor, just barely managing to catch himself on the edge of the counter. He threw a bagel in the toaster, determined to not let Will leave without breakfast.
“I’ll stay longer, Jordan, I’m so sorry,” Will’s voice seeped through the walls. “Whatever time you stay longer, I’ll come in earlier tomorrow so you can leave. You’re the best, thanks Jordan.”
Mike’s alarm bells rang. When Will entered the kitchen, Mike gaped at him, wide-eyed. “Jordan?”
Will seemed puzzled. He tried making sense of Mike’s words, and when he did, his mouth took on the shape of an O. “Ah, no, different Jordan. Female Jordan. Coworker Jordan. Not raiding-the-fridge-butt-naked Jordan.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry.” Mike took the bagel out and slammed it on the counter, still feeling the stress from the past minutes. “What do you want on your bagel?”
Will had already been halfway out of the kitchen, catching himself on the doorframe as he turned to Mike. “What are my options?”
Mike smiled. “Uh, a single slice of cheese, or butter.”
“Crazy idea,” Will said hastily, “you could combine them. I’m gonna get ready.” With a tap on the wood, he disappeared into the bathroom.
Will was ready to leave in record time, mumbling under his breath as he gathered his stuff from the console table and stuffed it into the pockets of his coat. Something about wishing he was born rich, or at least having enough money for a cab. Mike met him halfway in the kitchen, placing the bagel into Will’s hand. Will tiptoed, pressed his lips to Mike’s, then turned around. “See you tonight, bye!”
Mike looked at the closed door for a long time after. His hand lifted to his face, fingers finding his lips where moments prior there had been Will’s. Right, that was something that could realistically happen now.
The following week brought sheer chaos into their lives, and although it felt lighter, it was almost excruciating that they didn’t spend as much time with each other as they wanted to. Papers piled up, Mike had three assignments due, Will two, they worked extra shifts that week to cover for sick coworkers (and because they could really use the money).
They’d barely seen each other, but it was in the little moments. Brushing their teeth together. Small kisses before they left for work or classes. Cuddling for the rare half hour they could actually relax on the couch. Slipping into the other’s bed while he was already asleep, yet waking up alone because their schedules were so opposing.
Nothing felt forced, they’d stopped existing around each other and started living with each other. And as the days passed, Mike stopped questioning whether this was really happening. Instead, he found himself adjusting to this new reality.
On Wednesday, after a late class, Mike visited Will at work to spend his break with him. He’d stopped by an arts and crafts store beforehand, and the way Will giggled against his neck made Mike nearly reach into his bag and hand him his Valentine’s gift early. Nearly, because they were startled by Will’s coworker (female Jordan), who’d burst into the break room and announced that his break was over.
Once home, knowing Will wouldn’t be back for a couple more hours, Mike poured the crafting supplies over his bed and sat there, cross-legged, feeling a little silly as he stared down on them. They hadn’t even labeled what they were yet, and he was out here preparing a Valentine’s gift for a guy he’d first kissed four days ago. It was almost too big of a gesture for the state they were in right now.
And yet, Mike had reached for the scissors and cut differently sized hearts of construction paper. He’d bought three colors —red, pink, and white— and once he had more hearts than needed, he set the scissors aside. He reached for the set of brushes he’d bought. He didn’t really know if they were good, but they’d been expensive. He was too anxious to ask one of the employees for help, so he went with a decently sized box, hoping they’d be worth the $60 and Will would actually use them. Mike reached into the top drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a pale blue envelope.
It was one of the letters Mike had written to Will while he was in Lenora, but never sent. Mike couldn’t remember how many of those were stacked in a box back home in Hawkins (yes, he did, seventeen), but he’d taken this particular letter with him, back when they’d left for college. It was one of the letters Mike never intended to send, letter number thirteen. After he’d realized his letters would never reach Will —a result of Mike’s own cowardice— he figured he could just write whatever. Mike hadn’t read it in two years, and he wasn’t going to read it now. He knew what was written in it. An unapologetic confession, the contents of his heart spilled across four pages, signed off with Love, Mike.
With shaky hands, he opened the box of brushes and placed the letter inside. If Will never used these brushes, he’d never find it. Mike then wrapped the box in red paper, glueing an abundance of hearts on the wrapping. He proudly looked at the result, like he’d just created a perfect piece of art. He placed it in the top drawer of his nightstand, the feeling of silliness returning, unsure of whether he would actually give it to Will.
When Friday rolled around, Mike woke up with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The kisses, affection, and cuddles of the past days were cramped into a small space in the back of his brain, as another, old and familiar thought crept into his head and took up all the space.
It was Friday.
Mike pulled the covers above his head. What if this past week had only been temporary? What if Will wanted to return to old patterns tonight, when Mike had just started to patch him back up? Mike tried shaking it off. He knew it didn’t make sense. But it was like muscle memory. Every Friday for the past two years he’d woken up terrified of the following night.
Trying to calm his mind by regular breathing, Mike heard a sound outside his room. Plates clinking? A pot on the counter? He couldn’t really tell. But it was a clear sign that Will was home, and before Mike’s mind chose retreat, he slipped out of bed.
When he stepped into the kitchen, Will was there, wearing nothing but boxers. He hadn’t heard Mike coming, the sound of the exhaust hood and the sizzling pan muting his surroundings. On the counter next to Will were two plates, both with a similar assembly of fruit. One was missing banana —Mike hated bananas. Mike noticed the smell of butter and chocolate, and as he got closer, he saw that Will was making pancakes. Heart shaped pancakes, to be precise.
The setting clashed with Mike’s Friday-night panic. He couldn’t make sense of it. “Morning,” he said loud enough for Will to hear him.
Will flinched, then groaned. “No, Mike!” He turned around, pouting. “You never wake up before noon unless you absolutely have to. And today of all days you turn into an early bird?”
Mike chuckled, moving closer to Will. Instead of talking, he pulled him in by his hips and leaned in to kiss him. Will sighed, toothpaste breath spreading in Mike’s mouth. When they pulled apart, Will chased his lips, but Mike pivoted. “Will. Pancake.”
“Shit,”Will hissed, turning back to the stove. He flipped the pancake, which was admittedly a bit dark, and sighed.
Mike stood behind him, pressing his lips to Will’s shoulder, long deciding he'd stop worrying about tonight and focus on now instead. “This is what a heart looks like after eight years of neglect.”
Will burst into laughter, his back shaking against Mike’s chest. “Shut up.”
Mike smiled, his teeth grazing Will’s soft skin. “Happy Valentine’s Day?”
Will pushed back to gain himself some space to turn around between Mike and the stovetop. His eyebrows were raised, lips slightly parted. “This isn’t too much, is it?”
“I was wondering the same thing when I wrapped your gift.” Mike shrugged. “Honestly, maybe it is. I don’t give a fuck.”
Will smiled then. “You have a gift for me?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, breath hitching. Now there was no way he couldn’t give it to Will. He hesitated. “Do you want to add another eight years to that pancake?”
Will turned around, pulled the pan off the stovetop, and placed it on the counter. He turned back around, placing his hands on Mike’s hips. “Mike, I’m going to ask you something. I don’t want to pressure you. I just… need to know.”
Mike’s brain went blank. Oh God. “O… kay?” he managed.
Will nervously bit down on his bottom lip, he was clearly struggling to keep up eye contact, his eyes flickering between Mike’s shoulder and face. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “What exactly are we right now?”
Mike felt his chest tighten. He was too scared of giving a response. What if Mike had imagined it? What if Will saw something much smaller, would give it an entirely different name than Mike?
“I think… it depends,” Mike said slowly.
Will tilted his head. “Depends on what?”
“On what you want.”
Will’s eyes wandered to the ceiling, a soft huff escaping him, his brows furrowed, as though he’d never considered that his own opinion mattered. “I want…” He trailed off, his eyes meeting Mike’s again as he lifted one of his hands and bore his index finger into Mike’s chest. “…this. All of this.”
Mike chuckled softly, raising his eyebrows. “As in?”
“Do you really need me to say it?”
“Hey, you need the label.” Mike shrugged. “I need the definition.”
Will shook his head, opening his mouth to speak a few times, then closed it again. It took him a while to find the right words, and Mike waited patiently. “Mike, it’s been eight years for both of us.” When Mike’s brows twitched, Will nodded. “Yeah. And when I say I want this, I mean you. The way you make me feel like I’m worth something. I started messing around because I was lonely, but I wasn’t really. And-“
“Hey,” Mike interrupted him, trying to stop him from spiraling into a panic. He saw the tears well up in Will’s eyes and cupped his face with his hands. “This is right now. What do you want us to be right now?”
Will shrugged with a heavy sigh, placing his hands on Mike’s shoulders. “Everything.”
“Okay.” Mike nodded, heart bursting in his chest. “We can do that. We can be everything.”
Will’s forehead sunk against Mike’s chest. His breathing was ragged. Mike let the moment pass, ran his fingers along Will’s side, and waited. After a while, Will mumbled, “Does everything include breakfast?”
Mike chuckled. “Yeah, everything includes breakfast.”
It was a real bummer they couldn’t just spend all day with each other. Will still had a round of classes starting at noon and wouldn’t be back before 6:00. At least the question that had been haunting Mike all day was answered.
Would they go clubbing tonight?
Absolutely the fuck not.
And Mike didn’t even need to ask.
Will had addressed it earlier, over breakfast on the couch, mid-bite. “Hey, uh, now that we’re not clubbing tonight, and since it’s Valentine’s Day, do you want to, like, do something nice tonight?”
Mike’s head snapped towards him with concerning speed. His mouth was filled to the brim with pancakes and kiwi, the sight making Will laugh. “Hoh’ on,” was all Mike managed, trying to chew a little faster.
As Mike chewed, determined not to choke on the mountain of food in his mouth, Will faked impatience. He raised his eyebrows, repeatedly nodding, mouthing “Take your time, I’ll wait” at him.
“Okay, so,” Mike said finally, after downing the last bit with a sip of coffee, “I had the same thought, actually.”
Will tilted his head with his brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Mike’s eyes shifted towards the surface of the coffee table. He was embarrassed of the truth, but spoke it anyway. “I, uh, kind of- ugh. I thought you may want to go clubbing tonight after all.”
“Mike, come on,” Will said, voice softening. He sighed, placing his now empty plate on the table. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“I don’t know, really.” Mike dared to look back at Will when he noticed the change of tone. The sight made his chest tighten. Will looked concerned. “I guess this was our routine for so long, I woke up today, uh, kind of panicking.”
“Okay.” Will shrugged. “And then you walked into the kitchen, saw me burn a heart-shaped pancake, declared we could be everything, and thought, yeah, this guy is going home with someone else tonight?”
Mike groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It sounds so stupid when you put it like that.”
“Well, yes,” Will responded, reaching for Mike’s hand, “because it is stupid. But it’s very you.”
Mike cradled his fingers around Will’s, looking back at him, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “What do you mean?”
Will gave a one-sided shrug. “The constant overthinking and jumping to conclusions instead of just communicating, because you’re scared of being right.” Will leaned in, not for a kiss, just to be closer to Mike’s face. “But imagine this, Mike: you could also be wrong.”
An invisible force tugged at the corners of Mike’s mouth. Sometimes he forgot that not only had he known Will for fifteen years, but Will had known him for the same amount of time. He gave a squeeze to Will’s hand. “I guess I just, like, brace for the worst, because then I can’t be disappointed. You know?”
“I know, yes.” Will nodded. “But it’s useless if you only let it happen in here.” With his last words, Will brought his other hand to Mike’s face, tapping his forehead with his finger.
Mike exhaled a shaky breath. “I guess.” He tilted his head. “I promise I’ll try to… talk more.”
“Good,” Will said softly, leaning in to put a quick kiss on Mike's lips. When he pulled back, he looked at him expectantly. “So, what were you thinking about doing tonight?”
“Dunno.” Mike shrugged. “We could rent a movie, order food, just, uh, be together.”
“Hm. Good call.” Will smiled. “I could drop by Blockbuster after work. And I can give you a call when I’m on my way back, so food may be here by the time I’m home. I should still have some change for the payphone.”
Mike pursed his lips, then smiled as he gave Will’s hand another firm squeeze. “Sounds good. I’ll let you pick the movie, I decide the food?”
“Perfect.” Will’s smile spread, and for a moment, before their lips touched again, Mike caught himself admiring the wrinkles around his eyes.
The second Will left the house, Mike had a change of mind. Food delivery was basic. Tasteless. It wasn’t ’First Valentine’s Day with the man I love’.
Mike was going to cook.
He didn’t take long to decide on what to cook, before strutting toward the phone with a newly found confidence, and ringing up his mom. The wait for her to pick up was excruciating, and he hoped it wouldn’t be his dad —he was in no mood to talk about finances and the angry republicans Ted Wheeler was so supportive of.
“Hello?”
“Finally— hi. Sorry. Hi, Mom.”
“Mike, is it you?” Karen seemed excited to have him on the line. Too bad he didn’t have the time to catch up with her.
“Depends. Do you have another son, per chance?”
“Stop being silly!.” A quick pause. “Why are you calling? How’s life? Are you and Will settling in alright? An apartment needs a lot of responsibility.”
Mike smiled, hoping she could hear it through the speaker. “Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. Mom, sorry, but, uh, I’m a little short on time right now. I just planned on cooking tonight, so I’ll still have to get groceries, and I only got until, uh, six.”
“Cooking? For a girl?” He could hear the anticipation in her voice, and wanted to laugh. If only she knew.
“Mom!”
“Michael, it’s Valentine’s Day, what am I supposed to think? Forgive me for hoping my son is finally showing romantic interest in someone.” She paused. “But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Just promise you will when it gets serious, okay?”
If he’d had more time, he’d have argued back. Now, though, he just nodded. Realizing she couldn’t see him, he mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”
“So, what do you need?”
“The recipe for the lemon pepper chicken.” He chewed down on his bottom lip.
“Oh boy,” Karen sighed. “Is it that serious? Okay, do you have your pen and paper ready?” He heard rustling on the other end of the line, figuring she was flipping through her notebook.
Mike hovered his pen over the paper, waiting for her to start. And when she did, he scribbled like his life depended on it. He’d surely underestimated the amount of time and energy that went into cooking. His head was spinning with ingredients (“Don’t forget the thyme! Oh, and the garlic”) and steps (“Twenty minutes per pound! And Mike, it is very important you let it rest!).
When she was done reciting her recipe, he looked down at the overwhelming amount of notes.
“Mum, you’ll be home, right? Just in case I need you.”
Karen chuckled. “Dad’s taking me out tonight, but I should be home until six thirty. Don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Mike slowly started doubting his decision, but his determination stayed unshaken.
“Oh, and Mike?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Put some aside for Will if you can, it was always his favorite when he visited.”
Mike nearly choked on air, fighting the urge to laugh. “Good call, thanks. I’ll, uh, very likely call you again. Love you.”
Once they hung up, Mike ripped the recipe off his notebook, placed it neatly on the table, and started a new page for the shopping list. Without the recipe attached, it looked much less overwhelming. Surely, he could manage a couple of groceries. He contemplated going to one of those high-end grocery stores that he usually passed on his way to classes. The trip could end up being a little pricey, and after he’d already spent sixty bucks on the brushes for Will, he might have to do a couple more shifts —or entirely retreat to grilled cheese for the next four weeks.
But if it was worth it…
Mike nodded to himself. Yeah, that was a good plan. He would manage. Quickly, he shuffled to his room to get dressed, put on his jacket and shoes, and stuffed the grocery list into his pocket, making sure he carried his wallet and keys before leaving. He hadn’t bothered turning off the lights.
Usually, Mike loved experiencing new grocery stores. It was a nice shift from his usual discounter trips, and he liked taking his time looking at different brands and products, without necessarily buying much. This time, though, it was a lot. Nothing seemed familiar, everything was too bright, and the store was bustling with people doing last-minute Valentine’s shopping. Mike had wished to reach his mom by telepathy —why were there so many kinds of potatoes? And who needed this many variations of black pepper?
But he managed, even blended out his own anxiety and asked one of the employees which wine would best accompany his dinner (white) and managed to think of setting a comfortable mood by buying a vanilla scented candle.
When the cash register showed $46,78, Mike tried his best to not break down and beg for a discount like the broke boy he was —although the disheveled hair he hadn’t bothered to brush before leaving might’ve given him away— and reached into his pockets. He considered leaving behind the candle, it would’ve saved him eight dollars. But then he remembered this was for Will, and Will deserved this. Good things. Will deserved good things. Like a vanilla scented candle.
Mike tried hurrying back home, but eventually the path dragged on now that he was carrying a worrying amount of high-class, paper bags. He’d underestimated the weight of five pounds of potatoes and a whole damn chicken. Arriving back home, his chest was heaving, and for a moment he’d felt like he may faint before he’d actually get to cook. Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this physically active. Will would just find him, passed out in front of their door, expensive groceries spilled around him.
He did make it inside, though. So that was a first win. He placed the bags on the floor and stripped off his jacket, the stress sending jolts of electricity through his body. Mike glanced at the wall clock, balled his sweaty hands into fists, and dropped back against the door. It was 2:12. Four hours and eighteen minutes.
What did mom say?, he thought. Thirty minutes for preparation, an hour and a half in the oven, I can cook the potatoes in that time. Letting it rest for fifteen minutes. Chill out, Mike, you’ve got time.
Mike rested there, leaning against the entrance door, until his breath was evened out and the black specks stopped dancing in his vision. He pushed himself off then, picked up the paper bags again, and carried them into the kitchen. He spread the ingredients on the counter, realizing once again how little he knew about cooking. Why was there so much stuff? And was all of that really necessary?
He went and grabbed the recipe from the small table by the telephone, then returned to the kitchen and sorted the groceries by steps. That helped, massively.
Mike started preparing almost right away. If anything happened, he could still run to the discounter down the street. Technically, not much could have gone wrong. Karen’s recipe was foolproof. She’d even added “take chicken out of plastic”. Except, no one could out-fool Mike Wheeler. He’d successfully placed the chicken in an ovenproof dish after patting it dry, rubbed it with butter and seasoning, and stuffed it with six lemon halves. Then, he held the garlic like he’d just discovered a new species.
“Mom,” he said into the phone, staring at the clove in his hand, “do I need to peel garlic twice?”
The call didn’t last thirty seconds, Karen had calmly responded to Mike’s question.
The next time he called her, he blurted. “Hey Mom, what’s kitchen string? I don't think I have that. Can I just use a cable tie?
She laughed, “Mike, that thing will melt. Do you have unflavored floss?”
When the chicken was fully prepared and oven ready, the potatoes peeled and set aside, and Mike’s shirt an awkward mess of spices and butter, he checked the time again. 3:01. Okay, that wasn’t too bad. According to his mom’s schedule, he still had like, forty-five minutes until he needed to preheat the oven. Neat.
Mike didn’t allow his thoughts to spiral. He placed his hands on his hips, looking at the mess he created. He moved the oven dish and the bowl of potatoes to the far end of the counter, then started cleaning. He even remembered their abandoned breakfast plates in the living room and did some light washing up. When the kitchen was squeaky clean and he realized only twenty minutes had passed, he vacuumed. Yep, ladies and gentlemen, Mike Wheeler was doing proper housework.
He vacuumed under places he’d never even considered needed vacuuming, thinking of dorm room Mike, who would’ve occasionally swept his floor with dirty jeans. That was the past, though. Now there was adult Mike. Mike who shared an apartment with his best friend, slash boyfriend, slash soulmate. Most importantly, though, this was Mike who wanted to leave an impression.
At exactly 3:45, he began pre-heating the oven. Things went so smoothly, Mike grew suspicious. He thought of earlier, when he told Will he always braced for the worst, then tore through his own thoughts with a loud “Nope!” and flinched at the loudness of his own voice. Whoops.
He knew he had to wait now, for thirty excruciating minutes. This new Mike wasn’t letting the intrusive thoughts win, though. He opened the cabinet in which they kept their glasses, and winced, which quickly turned into a giggle. Staring back at Mike were a Garfield jelly jar, a Pepsi logo glass, a weird frosted glass with dolphins, and another jelly jar with a washed-off Winnie-the-Pooh print. He shook his head and laughed to himself as he took the jelly jar glasses. They’d be a perfect addition to their Batman coasters. He grabbed cutlery and napkins, along with the vanilla scented candle, awkwardly stacking everything in his hands.
For the first time, Mike found himself wishing they’d have an actual dining table. But he was left with no other choice than to prepare the coffee table in the living room. He neatly arranged the cutlery, then placed their Batman coasters, putting the glass with the Pooh motif on Will’s side. He’d always kind of reminded Mike of Christopher Robin. And Mike? Yeah, it matched, his greed could be sickening, especially when Will made lasagna.
Once the chicken was finally in the oven at 4:15 on the dot, Mike set the little kitchen timer —neither of them knew where it came from, but at least it came in handy now. Twenty minutes per pound meant he had to re-butter the chicken in exactly forty minutes. That left him enough time to finally go and shower. He’d set out some clothes to wear earlier during his cleaning rampage, for once wanting to make the best of himself.
He nearly dropped his soap in the shower when he realized he hadn’t thought of flowers. “You fucking idiot,” Mike muttered to himself, mad that he found a flaw in this perfectly laid out setup. He wondered if Will would notice, if he’d see it as slacking off. Or if the cooking would be enough. Mike tried not to be too hard on himself, but the missing flowers pissed him off to no extent. He could’ve dropped the stupid candle and actually bought roses. His thoughts stopped, mid-track. No, not roses. Definitely not roses.
Suddenly he was glad he’d picked the candle over flowers. Because his stressed self at the grocery store definitely would’ve gone for roses.
Mike showered, dried off, got dressed. Even used some of that perfume Nancy gifted him for Christmas. Musk and strawberry, which was a little too sweet and intense for Mike, but tonight it seemed fitting. He decided to air-dry his hair, just combed through it once as it was still wet —Will had mentioned earlier this week that he really liked Mike’s natural curls.
When Mike stepped out into the hallway, he took a look at himself in the full-length mirror. For some reason, his stomach dipped. He’d put on dark jeans and the black button-up Will had suggested for him to wear to the club last week, claiming it hugged his body or something. Mike had forgotten the exact phrasing. He tried looking at himself the way Will did. As someone who could be perceived as attractive. Mike couldn’t see it. Luckily, though, he didn’t need to love himself to make Will’s breath stutter.
With shaky hands, he turned away from the mirror, and was instantly caught off guard by the soft ‘Ding!’ of the kitchen timer. Mike flinched, put his hand over his heart, then sighed. He didn’t know why he was so anxious all of a sudden. Everything had gone smoothly so far, hadn’t it? Sure, he could still burn the chicken or fuck up the potatoes, but realistically, he’d done so much today. He knew Will would at least acknowledge and appreciate one of these things.
Nervously, Mike re-buttered the chicken before shoving it back into the oven and putting on water for the potatoes. He could really go for a cigarette right now. Or a blunt. His previous calm was reclaimed by the usual storm.
He stood there, waiting for the water to boil with his hands clinging onto the edge of the counter. Then he realized staying still would only make his mind race further. He moved away from the stovetop, walked into the living room, deciding it would be nice for the vanilla scent to catch on before Will came home. He lit the candle with a match. Re-assembled the cutlery. Fluffed up the couch cushions. And that’s when he started feeling stupid. Hadn’t they just sat here this morning, talking about the way Mike liked to overthink? The memory didn’t calm him entirely, but the storm became bearable again. It shifted from sheer terror to nervous anticipation.
He was going to spend tonight with Will.
Mike returned to the kitchen, and added the potatoes to the now boiling water. He checked on the chicken in the oven —slowly crisp, not burnt— and took a deep breath. He would be fine.
Ten minutes later, he was on the phone with his mom. “Mom, how long do potatoes need? I think they’re still hard.”
“Mike, sweetheart, I’m getting a little concerned.” Karen’s sigh was audible. “What on earth were you eating these past three years?”
“Uh,” Mike said, “grilled cheese, mostly. Cup noodles, sometimes. Cantina food, if I had a discount.” He wanted to add that these past two weeks he’d probably eaten better than any other day he’d still lived in the dorms, thanks to Will’s cooking. He didn’t.
His mom stayed quiet for a bit. Then, “Which kind of potatoes did you buy?”
“I don’t know, they all looked the same. I just grabbed a bag.”
“Michael, what’s on the label? Red or Yukon?”
“Uh.” Mike tried to recall, realizing he really hadn’t checked the label at all.
“Check the label, love.” Karen giggled. “If they’re red, they’ll take a little longer. If the fork goes in smoothly, they’re good.”
She was right. He had bought red potatoes. Ten minutes later, he poured them into a sieve, leaving them to cool down in the sink, as his mouth burned from having a taste —he didn’t trust the fork. He then checked on the chicken again, which seemed threateningly dark in some spots. He sprinted back to the phone.
When Karen picked up, her voice was strained. “Hello?”
“Mom, how— are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just getting ready. Dad wanted to avoid cooking questions, so I had to take a leap down the stairs.” She hummed. “What is it this time?”
Mike was relieved, he’d almost thought he was slowly pissing her off. The thought of his dad watching the phone ring in terror amused him. “So, uh, how do I know if the chicken is good without cutting it open? It’s getting kind of black.”
“Huh, did you watch the time?”
“Precisely,” Mike responded.
“Okay, honey, is it black or just brown?”
“Uh, dark brown, I’d say.” He nibbled on his bottom lip.
“You know when you lay in the sun and get a tan? That’s exactly what’s happening right now.” A pause. “Michael, I can’t see it, but I think your chicken is fine, as long as the skin doesn’t turn into charcoal.”
“Okay, so, it’s not done yet?”
“Do you have a timer?”
“Yes, it’s set.”
“Okay,” Karen said. “Wait until it’s done, and if you can’t trust your own instinct, trust mine. It will be done.”
Mike nodded, hung up without thanking her. He felt bad about it instantly, but didn’t really want to bother her with another call, just for that. Mike returned to the kitchen, checking the timer. It was somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes, and for a couple of moments he tried staring it down, as if that would make time move faster. Then, his gaze wandered towards the wall clock. 5:33. He gulped. Okay, it was time to brace for impact.
He walked back into the living room, suddenly finding the bright ceiling light extremely annoying. The lit candle barely made a change. He turned the light off, figuring it was too dark now. Groaning, he walked into his room, amazed by how fast his own mind had moved just now. In a corner of his room, there was a standing light. It was an ugly, wretched thing, its shade made of paper that had yellowed throughout the years. But it could get the job done. He brought it to the living room and plugged it in by the door, humming in satisfaction as it threw just the perfect amount of light into the room.
When the timer in the kitchen finally went off at exactly 5:45, Mike almost sprinted into the room, as though even a single second would immediately ruin the food. He took out the dish and placed it on the counter, realizing that his mom had been right. It looked perfectly fine. He set the timer to another fifteen minutes, and just as he turned around to face the potatoes in the sink, the phone rang. Mike’s eyes found the clock. 5:48.
Too soon.
He hurried into the living room, nearly tripping over the newly placed lamp by the table. When he picked up, his breath was ragged, still recovering from the shock. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
Mike could hear the smile in Will’s voice. It had a calming effect. “Hey. You done early?
“Yeah,” Will said. “Finished a bit sooner. I’m outside Blockbuster now, I’ll just head in real quick. I should be home in about thirty.”
“Okay,” Mike returned, grinning now. “I’ll, uh, order then.”
“Great, see you in a bit.” Will’s voice softened as he spoke. “Can’t wait.”
The line went blank, likely due to insufficient funds on the payphone. Mike’s heart did a little flip. Will would be home soon.
The last half hour was excruciating, like nothing Mike ever experienced before. He was busy and buzzing and excited and scared. As soon as he hung up, he went back into the kitchen and plated the potatoes. While waiting for the chicken timer, Mike brought the wine into the living room, once again making sure the table was nicely prepared. He cut into the chicken at exactly 6:00. At 6:02, he called his mom. Technically, he didn’t have time for that kind of call now, but after she’d so patiently led him through that cooking adventure, he couldn’t help himself.
“Mom, I did it! It’s perfect!”
“Oh, that’s—“ She paused. “The chicken?”
“Thank you so, so much, Mum!” Mike bounced on his heels. “I owe you a big one.”
“Michael, I’m your mother. You don’t owe me. If anything, if it means you’re actually feeding yourself some nutrients, you can call me all day round.”
“No, honestly, I was so scared I’d fuck this up and you—“
“Sweety?” Karen cut him off.
“Yeah?”
“You did that.” She chuckled. “I just helped. Now go enjoy your date. I know she’ll love you.”
Mike was too excited to notice the tug on his chest. “Bye, Mom. Enjoy dinner, tell Dad I said hi.”
He hung up, sprinted back into the kitchen, finished plating the food. It looked nice. Not chef-level, a little messy, but handmade. Made with love. At 6:12, he carried the plates into the living room, turning off the kitchen light with his elbow on his way out. He put the plates on the table and then—
Then he didn’t know what to do.
Should he just sit there, waiting until he heard Will’s key in the lock? Should he linger in the doorway of the living room? Or right in the hallway, opening the entrance door the second he heard Will’s keys rattle?
Mike walked back into the hallway, eyeing himself in the mirror one last time. His hair was dry now. Long. Curly. Okay, cool. He rubbed his sweaty palms dry on his jeans, standing close to the door, waiting for a hint of movement or a sound, so he could spontaneously decide on how to act. Because clearly, right now, he had no fucking clue.
Mike held his breath when he heard the familiar click in the walls that appeared whenever the hallway lights flickered alive. He lingered there for a bit longer, waiting to hear movement. And yes, a couple seconds later, there were footsteps. Footsteps that conveniently stopped right in front of the door. Mike flinched, and retreated, figuring he still had no clue what to do. On a whim, he decided on the living room doorway plan.
He stood there, feeling awkward, not quite knowing what to do with his hands, so he folded them in front of his stomach. The keys jiggled, the lock clicked, and the door swung open at almost full force. He saw Will’s hand reach for the knob to catch it, before he even saw Will.
With his hand still on the knob, Will froze, clearly noticing the awkward guy just lingering there. Except, Will didn’t seem to perceive him as awkward. When he put his eyes on Mike, his eyebrows twitched. He eyed him up and down, his eyes widening, lips falling open.
“Hey,” Mike breathed.
Will moved in slow motion. Quite literally. He didn’t tear his gaze off Mike once when he fully stepped into the apartment, pushed the door shut behind him, and dropped his tote to the floor. His breath visibly hitched when he took off his coat, undoing the buttons with shaky hands, letting it fall on top of his bag, his eyes fixed on a point on Mike’s chest. Will slipped out of his shoes, then finally came closer to Mike and placed his hands flat on Mike’s chest, finally meeting his gaze. Will looked like a deer in headlights.
Mike felt the cold of Will’s fingers through the fabric of his shirt, and his hot breath brushing against his chin. “You’re quiet.”
The shake of Will’s head was barely noticeable, his voice low when he spoke. “Overwhelmed.”
“Why?”
Mike knew that was a stupid question. But he wanted to hear Will say it.
“Vanilla.” Will stopped there for a second, eyes moving past Mike’s head, his brows slightly furrowed. He was processing. “The light is… different. You smell like strawberries. Did you order potatoes?“ He paused, his eyes flicking back to Mike’s. “And-“ Will struggled to speak. “You. Your hair. That shirt.”
Mike hummed, the tension slipping from his shoulders as he cradled his fingers into Will’s neck. “Yeah, that shirt.”
Will’s head leaned into the touch. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. His voice was as low as a whisper when he spoke. “It’s so warm in here. Am I overheating?”
“No,” Mike chuckled. “Probably the oven.”
Will’s eyes snapped open. “Oven?”
Mike nodded, moving his hand from Will’s neck to his hand on his chest. He held it as he pulled away and stepped aside, finally allowing Will a glance into the living room.
Will’s eyes scouted the room, drifting from Mike’s standing lamp towards the couch, then the table. His eyes quickly flicked between the things on the table —candle, wine, plates. For a moment, Will went entirely still, his hand going almost entirely flaccid in Mike’s. He looked at him.
“Did you—“ Will’s eyes darted back to the table. He shook his head in disbelief. “Mike, did you cook?”
Mike felt the excitement rise in his chest. He tried not to beam, kept his voice as calm as possible. “Yeah.”
Will’s hand tightened around Mike’s again as he inched closer to the table, softly pulling Mike behind him. “Is that… your Mom’s chicken?”
“Well, technically, it’s my chicken. It’s her recipe th— uff.“
Within the split of a second, Will turned around, let go of Mike’s hand, and slung his arms around Mike’s torso, pulling him in for a hug so tight, all the air left Mike’s lungs.
Once he registered what just happened, Mike pulled his arms around Will’s shoulders, and pressed his nose to his temple, just breathing him in. The lingering scent of apple shampoo, the sharp oil-paint smell overriding it, stinging faintly in the back of Mike’s nose, the scent of six long hours spent in art classes. Will smelled so much like… Will. So easily distinguishable from everything else around them.
It felt like coming home.
Will pressed a kiss to Mike’s shoulder. Mike knew he smelled of musk and strawberry, maybe of butter and lemon. He wished he would’ve kept himself a little more raw, a little more himself, so Will could’ve perceived him the same way he did Will.
Will mumbled against Mike’s shoulder. “You did all that. For me.”
Mike hummed, didn’t respond. Because yeah, he did.
He pulled back his head, just slightly, keeping the embrace, and looked at Will, waiting for him to do the same. He moved one of his hands to Will’s cheek, cupping it fondly. “Can I kiss you?”
Amusement slipped across Will’s face, very briefly, before he raised an eyebrow at Mike. “Why would you even ask?”
Because I’m still afraid of crossing boundaries, Mike thought. Because I’m still adjusting to this, and because sometimes you seem so vulnerable I’m scared of breaking you. And also, because I don’t ever want to do anything you’re not ready for.
Mike leaned in, brushing his lips against Will’s. He wasn’t braced for the way it hit him. If he’d thought their first kiss was electrifying, this was the whole power plant. Will didn’t let him pull back again, he caught Mike’s bottom lip with his teeth, humming softly, his breath tasting of Pepsi and heat and… Will, just Will.
Will moved his arms up and pushed them aside, causing Mike’s to fall. He moved them around Mike’s neck, and pulled Mike into him, deepening the kiss. And then Will opened his mouth.
It was almost silly, the way these past days they acted like teenagers, sneaking in kisses even when no one was around to see them. They hadn’t used their tongues once.
So now, when Will’s lips parted, inviting Mike in, his hot breath hitting Mike’s mouth, Mike groaned. It was the result of the visceral reaction he had, something he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried. As his tongue slid into Will’s mouth, Mike’s hands finally found their place on Will’s hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh there.
Will’s arms tightened around Mike’s neck when a sigh escaped his throat. He retreated, lapping his tongue against Mike’s bottom lip, before opening up again.
Mike was dizzy. Mike was soaring. Mike was sure he could be a reliable source of electricity for the whole of New York City. Mostly, though, Mike was weak. He felt the heat rise in his lower body, wincing into the kiss, his tongue trailing Will’s teeth as he tried to pull back but Will wouldn’t let him. He wanted to keep his composure, wanted at least one warm meal with Will before it met the microwave. He didn’t want to end up being one of those guys.
As the tension in his pants grew, Mike hummed, urging Will to let him go. And urgency worked. Will pulled back, his entire body inching away from Mike, with his hands still locked in Mike’s neck. He looked at him worried, almost scared. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m—“ Mike started, but stopped himself, not exactly wanting to use the word ‘hard’. He felt pathetic. “Chicken. Please.”
Will tilted his head. Then something clicked. The worry fled his face as his eyebrows raised, corners of his lips curling up. “Oh?”
Will took a step back, letting his gaze shift down Mike’s body with pursed lips. When his eyes lingered on Mike’s crotch a second too long, Mike felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Come on, really?
Will smirked at him then, looking up at Mike through fluttering eyelids. He put a finger against Mike’s lips. “Later, then?”
It was a question. Teasingly, yes, but it wasn’t a declaration. Will didn’t decide, he let Mike decide. And Mike really wanted to say ‘maybe’ or ‘we’ll see’ or ‘if you’re okay with it’. But he was dazed and horny and in love, so all he managed was a breathy “Yeah.”
-
Will decided to have dinner naked. Well, almost. While Mike was busy pouring wine into the jelly jar glasses, Will stood in the middle of the living room, taking off his clothes, declaring he wasn’t gonna have Valentine’s dinner with the oil paint stench on his clothes. Mike tried not to look, still coming down from his little escapade, but it was so hard to keep his eyes focused on the table when Will just continued revealing more skin.
So now they sat there, Mike fully dressed, while Will munched on his food wearing nothing but his briefs. Mike wondered if Will’s reason was actually the stench, or a continuation of their kiss. Jesus, he even took off his socks.
When Will finally joined Mike on the couch, he’d already been there, hands clutched between his knees, eyes locked on a spot on the table. Will crossed his legs and reached for the glass. “Oh, that’s my favorite glass.” He looked at it thoroughly, and Mike finally dared to let his gaze wander towards Will again. “Mike, you don’t like jelly, right?”
“Huh?” Was all Mike could respond. What kind of question was that? Will knew for a fact he didn’t like jelly. They’d spend all their high school years swapping their lunches when Mike had once again gained the misfortune of getting a PB&J, while Will usually brought buttered bagels or grilled cheese.
“I bought these jelly jars like, a week before we moved in, because I thought they really matched us.” Will looked at him now, lifting his glass to eye level. “And then I remembered. You don’t like jelly. I don’t like jelly. So, who’s eating the jelly? So I dumped the jelly and kept the glasses.”
Mike’s eyebrows raised. “But you like jelly.”
Will shook his head with an apologetic expression. “Never did.”
“Will!” Mike exclaimed. “We must’ve swapped our lunches, like, a thousand times.”
Will shrugged. “It was between this or watching you starve, it’s fine. Anyways,” he wiggled the glass in front of Mike’s face, “a toast?”
Mike didn’t want to brush off the topic like that. Not the fact Will had deliberately bought glasses he thought matched their personalities. And neither the fact Will had spent years self-sacrificing for Mike. But Will was clearly ready to move on, so Mike nodded and reached for his glass on the table.
He brought it towards Will’s, the rims clinking. “To— uh…” Mike’s brain went blank.
Will smiled. “To our first Valentine’s Day as… well, boyfriends?” Will looked at him, questioning, as though he was asking ‘is this okay?’.
Mike’s stomach did a flip. He said it. He actually said it. He was beaming back at Will. “To our first Valentine’s Day as boyfriends.”
They drank.
And, well.
The wine tasted like shit.
Too bitter, too dry.
“Jesus, I can’t believe that was twelve dollars,” Mike complained, putting his glass back on the table.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Will responded, a soft smile on his lips. “But I’m going to start eating before I start lecturing you about how many grilled cheeses you could’ve made from that money.”
Mike gave Will a soft shove. “Please, eat. I spent all afternoon terrorizing my mom. She’ll be furious if she hears I served a cold meal to a girl after I put her through that just to get it right.” Mike lifted his finger, as though he was about to announce something important. “By the way, she sends her regards. She said I should save you a plate, because you like it so much.”
A loud pfff escaped Will’s lips as he burst into laughter. He hurdled over for a moment, and Mike was glad that he caught his humor, smiling at Will fondly.
The chicken was good, better than Mike thought. Will went for a second plate, mumbling something about not having eaten all day and his digestive system not kicking in for another couple hours, leaving Mike back confused as he left for the kitchen.
Before Will returned, the implication of his words dawned on Mike. He barely managed to steady his breathing by the time Will slumped back into place beside him.
When Will was done eating, he fell against the backrest, humming in satisfaction, one of his hands flat on his stomach. Mike, who’d been watching him wordlessly, got up. “Stay right here, I’m gonna grab your gift.”
He felt rushed all of a sudden, as if it had to happen right now or the gift would be gathering dust in his drawer forever. As he left the room, he heard Will behind him. “I thought this was my gift.”
Mike’s stomach churned. He wondered if he could still backtrack, but it was too late now. He ignored Will, went into his room and grabbed the gift from the drawer of his nightstand, ignoring the sheer feeling of silliness spreading in his body. The hearts were too much. The gift was too expensive. The letter? Way too fucking bold. A manifest of fifteen year old Mike’s feelings. He swallowed, hard, holding the gift behind his back as he walked back into the living room.
He smiled nervously. “It’s kind of silly.”
Will reached out his hands, pawing at him. “Gimme.”
Mike’s fingers tightened around the box, probably crumbling one or two of the paper hearts, before finally bringing it forward and presenting it to Will.
Will’s gaze drastically softened. “Mike, this is so… cute.” He took the box and traced the little paper hearts with his fingers, then fondly smiled up at Mike. “This is heavy.”
Mike just stared, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. When Will returned his gaze to the box, he slowly unplucked all the hearts from the packaging, and Mike’s heartbeat picked up. He wished Will would just tear it open, so they could get it over with and Mike would feel less embarrassed. Will took an entire minute pulling off the paper hearts (yes, Mike counted). When it was finally just the red wrapping paper, Will tore through it.
He gasped. “Mike, no.” His eyes were widening at the brush box, then darted up to find Mike’s. “No. These are expensive. You can’t- you need to return them.”
Mike shook his head. “Nope.”
Will didn’t seem angry. He was concerned. “Mike, that’s, like, almost an entire shift for you. You have to.”
“Will, I can’t.” Mike shifted in his spot, fingers finding the hems of his shirt. “I already opened the box.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you—“ Something seemed to click. He looked back at the box in his hands, fumbling with the snatch. When the lid opened, the letter fell into Will’s lap.
He looked at it for a couple of seconds, like it had just materialized out of thin air. Will noticed the faded writing on the envelope —of course he would. He put the brush box aside, gently placing it next to him on the couch. Then he picked up the letter. “Mike, what’s this?”
“A letter,” Mike stated, matter-of-factly, trying to not let his nervousness seep through.
Will huffed a laugh, his fingers tracing the faded ‘To Will’ on the paper. “And when did you write this letter?”
Mike hummed, pulling up his shoulders in defense, as if he was bracing for impact. “Like, uh, six years ago.”
Will glanced up at him as he turned the envelope to find the opening. “I’m going to read this.”
“Yeah,” Mike exhaled shakily, “kinda hoped you would.” That was a lie. He’d hoped this entire box would gather dust somewhere on one of Will’s shelves. But there was no turning back now.
With a slight nod, Will’s eyes turned back to the paper in his hands now, as he slowly unfolded it. He counted the pages. Four. Then he started reading.
And Mike watched.
He was hyper aware of each change of expression —the eyebrow twitches, the lip pursing, the nose scrunching, the way Will’s fingers were shaking when he flipped to page two. The way Will’s breath flattened, and his toes started wiggling. The way a slight blush rose to his cheeks. Will’s entire demeanor was telling so much. And yet, at the same time, nothing at all.
Mike recalled some of the lines he’d written down back then.
I miss seeing your face.
I miss you.
I think I’ve always missed you, even when you were here. Does that make sense?
Will, I think I’m in love with you.
I know it’s not your fault you had to leave, but I feel so lonely.
Please come back to me.
Love, Mike.
He’d felt so dramatic back when he wrote it. Like a pathetic, fifteen year old loser, who’d just come to terms with being in love with his best friend.
But actually, that’s what he was, no? Fifteen. A loser. In love with his best friend who now lived at the other end of the country. This letter was his first attempt at spilling out his heart to Will.
And when Mike saw a noticeable smile spread on Will’s face, he was suddenly glad the letter was no longer gathering dust in his nightstand drawer.
When Will finished, he brought his finger to Mike’s signature —Love, Mike— trailing it over that exact spot once, twice, then a last time, before putting the pages back in order, neatly folding them again, and clutching them to the space above his heart. He closed his eyes and exhaled a breath through his nose.
Then, he finally looked at Mike, with a smile so fondly, Mike felt it seep into every corner and curve of his body. “You loved me.”
“Always have,” Mike breathed.
Will tilted his head, his eyes studying every feature of Mike’s face. He patted his hand on Mike’s empty spot next to him. “Come sit with me.”
This felt liberating. When Will started reading, Mike was scared of being too much, of the letter crossing a boundary. He feared absolute rejection, and now Will was inviting him back in.
When Mike sat, Will shifted. He put the letter on top of the brush set, then kneeled onto the cushioning, scooted closer, and lifted one of his legs across Mike’s lap. He settled down then, his weight heavy on Mike’s thighs. Mike’s breath stuttered when Will brought his hand to his face and began to trace his features with his finger —eyebrow, cheekbone, the crook of Mike’s nose, over his cupid’s bow and lips, until his finger rested on Mike’s chin. It was a soft callback to a couple days ago, when Will had done just that.
“Look at you,” Will said softly, brushing his thumb against Mike’s chin, index finger still resting there. “Look at us.”
Mike allowed himself to bring his hand to Will’s face to mirror his gesture. He felt like tracing a work of art, and Will was way more reactive than Mike. He reacted to every brush, and when Mike’s finger brushed his lips, Will caught his hand, softly bent Mike’s fingers and pressed his lips to the knuckles.
Mike’s stomach did a little flip. He tilted his head. “I really do love you, Will.”
Will hummed, his eyes fluttering closed as he kept his lips on Mike’s knuckles. And it was okay that he didn’t say it back. Will was careful. Adjusting. Trying to recover from years of neglect. It was okay that Will didn't say it back, because Mike could feel it.
When Will’s eyes opened again, it was with the same intensity as they’d closed. He smiled against Mike’s knuckles before lowering their hands and leaning in, trapping them between their bodies. “All of this really overshadows my gift for you.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike raised his eyebrows and smiled, slightly scrunching his nose. “What’s that?”
Will kissed Mike’s jawline. Then moved his mouth to the crook of his neck, leaving another kiss there. When Will placed his mouth against Mike’s ear, his breath felt hot and ragged. Mike’s pulse jumped at the sensation. “Me.”
Mike’s brain blanked out. He wanted to joke about this gift being too expensive, or maybe say something like ‘ha, I beat you to it’. But he couldn’t. He was currently caught between the couch and Will, who was now spilling open-mouthed kisses along Mike’s neck, breath hot against the sensitive skin, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of Mike’s shirt. And after all the turmoil of the past days, no, years, Mike finally allowed himself to fold.
It didn’t feel gentle anymore. Mike was hungry. He reached for Will’s hips, fingers tightening there instantly. Mike leaned his head against the backrest, exposing more of his neck to Will. And Will caught onto it immediately, gracing his teeth on the skin above Mike’s Adam’s apple.
Heat shot straight through Mike’s chest. Then, without a warning, Will pulled back with a gasp. His hands still on Mike’s shirt (two buttons undone), he looked at Mike, wide-eyed. Mike, unable to process or speak, looked back at him with a puzzled expression. Will’s eyes flicked between Mike’s eyes and lips.
“I just realized I can kiss you while doing this.” Will draped his arms around Mike’s neck. “Like, actually kiss you.” Then he leaned in and put his lips on Mike’s.
Mike hadn’t understood the implication then. It was only a couple days later, when Will explained that during hook-ups, he followed a strict ‘no kissing’ rule (“No feelings, no kiss.”)
But right then, his mind couldn’t comprehend it anyway. He was too engulfed with Will’s tongue against his, moaning into the kiss, overwhelmed, when Will surprisingly scooted closer in his lap —and put friction on Mike’s undeniably hard cock through his jeans. Mike instinctively changed the placement of his hands, letting them move from Will’s hips to the soft curves of his asscheeks. Will pulled back for a gasp, then chuckled. He pressed his forehead to Mike’s.
“Do you trust me?” Will muttered.
“With my life,” Mike responded honestly, his head in a daze, not fully understanding what he’d just agreed to.
Without another word, Will pulled back his arms and returned to opening the buttons on Mike’s shirt with an incredible focus. His fingers were quick, tongue poking out, his gaze hungry as the fabric fell apart and revealed Mike’s bare chest. Will didn’t bother sliding the shirt off, he just sat there, shoving the fabric aside, running his fingertips over the soft skin. Mike shuddered beneath him, unable to ignore the twitch of his cock as Will’s fingers brushed his nipple.
Will looked up then, seeming very aware of what just happened. He licked his lips as he gently pushed against Mike’s shoulder, moving his body out of Mike’s lap. Mike instantly missed the weight, the touch, the warmth, but didn’t object. He let his hands drop to his sides and watched as Will slid off, then positioned himself on his knees between Mike’s legs.
Mike’s thighs tightened as Will reached for the button of his jeans, looking up at him with his eyebrows raised. Mike understood. His mouth went dry. He was unable to speak. So he nodded.
While maintaining eye contact, Will undid the button, then the zipper. When he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Mike’s jeans and boxers at once, he smiled, speaking softly. “Up.”
Mike took a second to realize what was demanded of him. A jolt of anxiety shot through his chest as he figured this was the last step before he’d be fully exposed to Will. In a moment of clarity, Mike realized Will hadn’t just kept eye contact for the sake of it, he’d been closely searching his facial expressions for any sign of objection. Will was experienced. Mike wasn’t.
And Will knew.
Mike suddenly felt very taken care of. Warmth spread through his body. He lifted his ass, far enough for Will to pull down his jeans. Mike’s cock sprung free, and he sighed at the liberty. Will watched it for a moment, eyes locked on the tip that was glistening with precum.
He sighed. “Jesus, Mike. And you say you’re average.”
Mike blushed at the words. He’d never seen himself as a sexual being in the slightest. And now that Will looked at him like that, with a sort of hunger in his eyes one might confuse for greed, he felt squirmish. Will struggled a little, trying to free Mike of his clothes. The pants sat a little too tight around the calves and it required two proper pulls to get them off Mike’s legs. When they were fully off, though, Will carelessly tossed them aside, and scooted as close to the couch as possible.
He looked back up at Mike again, his fingers now gracefully wrapping around Mike’s length, which lured an instant, chest-heaving moan from Mike’s throat. His head fell back, and as Will gave his cock a single, firm stroke, his hips bucked up.
Will kept his hand there, running his thumb across the tip, spreading the precum. Mike wanted to reciprocate, wanted to give back so badly, but his mind was too occupied with the sensation of someone else’s —Will’s— hand on his cock.
When he felt Will’s free hand on his own, he didn't have the strength to look down. He kept his head against the backrest, eyes closed, trying to breathe away some tension, before he’d do something embarrassing —like have an orgasm during Will’s next perfectly paced stroke.
Will lifted Mike’s hand, and placed it on the top of his own head. “You can hold onto me, yeah?”
Mike could hear the smile in Will’s voice and cradled his fingers into his hair, getting a soft hold on it. When he opened his eyes and glanced down, he barely caught Will’s eyes, before his eyelids fluttered shut and his lips closed around the tip of Mike’s cock.
His grip in Will’s hair immediately tightened, hips bucking up before he could stop them. Will hummed, which was too much for Mike to handle, the whimper left his mouth before he could catch it, he felt shivers down his spine. As Mike’s hips thrust up again, Will gagged a little, but instead of pulling away, he swallowed around Mike’s length.
He wanted to stop Will, wanted to pull him off before he came, but his body moved against him. He looked down at Will, who hollowed out his cheeks, staring right back at him as he swallowed Mike whole. “Fuck,” Mike moaned, legs shaking. His grip on Will’s hair was so tight, his knuckles turned white. He knew if he wanted to say something, he had to do it now. Will kept him there, down his throat.
“Will, I—“ was all Mike brought out before Will swallowed around his cock again.
And Mike saw stars.
His entire body tensed, head falling back again, and his lips opened for a silent scream as the relief spread through his body —and into Will’s mouth. Will, who kept his head moving until Mike rode out his orgasm, his hand wrapped around the base of Mike’s cock as he swallowed every bit of Mike’s come. Mike knew he’d come embarrassingly fast, but as his grip on Will’s hair loosened and his thighs started to tremble, he felt sweet, overwhelming bliss.
When Will pulled back, it was with a loud, wet sound that made Mike shudder. He felt Will’s cheek against his inner thigh, muscle flexing under the touch, and he started gently running his through his hair. While still trying to catch his breath, chest heaving, Mike looked down to meet Will’s eyes.
Will’s face was flushed, a soft, pink tint spreading across his cheeks. His lips were slightly swollen, but spread into a fond smile. “You okay?”
Mike managed a faint smile back. “Yeah. Are you?”
Will chuckled, pressing a kiss to Mike’s thigh. “Splendid.”
“Sorry,” Mike said then, still feeling a little awkward about his early loss of control.
“There’s nothing you need to apologize for, Mike.” Will slightly shook his head.
And for once, Mike decided against overthinking and chose to believe Will.
They stayed there for a while, Mike’s fingers running through Will’s hair, as his breath regulated and his nervous system returned to normal, the tremor in his legs slowly coming to a halt. Will’s legs were now sprawled across the floor as he leaned against Mike’s leg, and was drawing patterns on Mike’s stomach with his fingers, and that’s when it hit Mike.
Will didn’t finish.
Mike had made a decision, and it scared him. Not because he didn’t want it. He just didn’t know how Will would react to it. He went for it, anyway.
Mike shifted his foot and moved it towards Will’s inner thigh, pressing his toes into the soft skin there. Will froze at the touch, his fingers on Mike’s stomach coming to an abrupt halt. And just when Mike thought he’d gone too far, Will pushed his thigh further against Mike’s toes. Mike took that as cue to go on, and moved his toes further up, managing to slide them under the seams of Will’s briefs.
Will’s breath stuttered. “Mike,” he breathed, “I’m used to finishing on my own. So please don’t start something you can’t finish.
Ouch.
That hit Mike like a brick.
He took a deep breath, then another, trying not to snap but to adjust to Will’s vulnerability instead. He kept his toes in place, listened to Will’s heavy breathing, and braced for the mood to shift, for the all-familiar tension to return.
But it didn’t.
Because Mike realized he could prevent it.
Determined, he placed his hand at Will’s nape, giving it a soft squeeze. When he spoke, his words were soft. “Will, can you get up?” He moved his leg aside, granting Will the space.
Will hesitated for a moment, before scrambling off the ground with shaky legs. Mike allowed himself to breathe him in. The soft rise and fall of Will’s chest, his flushed skin, the outline of his still hard cock through his briefs. When he looked into Will’s face, though, there was nothing but uncertainty and a trace of anxiety.
Mike had to act.
Now.
While getting up, he reached for Will’s hand. He took the lead, wordlessly pulling Will behind him as he left the living room. In the hallway, he took a turn towards Will’s bedroom, feeling Will’s breath hitch behind him.
When they entered, it was dark, only a faint streetlight outside illuminating the room through the shutters. Mike tried ignoring his anxious heart, giving Will’s hand a firm squeeze. “Get on the bed.” Realizing he might’ve sounded too demanding, he added, “Please.”
While Will did as told, Mike closed the door, then turned on the pink lamp on the nightstand. Then he looked at Will on the bed, and the sight nearly broke his heart. Will was on his knees, one arm draped around himself, chest heavily lifting and sinking.
“Mike, what are we doing?” Will looked around, as though the room was entirely unfamiliar to him. “In here?”
Mike sat down on the edge of the bed, not yet daring to scoot closer to Will. “You asked me earlier if I trust you.” He reached his hand out to Will, waiting to see if Will would accept. And he did. Slowly, he dropped his arm from his chest, and eased his hand into Mike’s palm. “So, now I’m asking you. Do you trust me?”
Will briefly closed his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his throat. He nodded. “With my life.”
“Good,” Mike whispered. “Can you lie down?”
Will’s eyes drift to the ceiling for a moment. Then, he shifts, pulling out his knees from below him and scooting down on the mattress, letting go of Mike’s hand so he could steady himself. When he lay down, he looked at Mike, lips quivering and eyebrows raised.
Mike smiled, finally scooting onto the bed now. He draped one leg over Will’s body and placed his hands on each side of his head. As he hovered above Will, he smiled. “See? Easy.”
Mike leaned down. gently pressing a kiss to Will’s cheekbone. “I may not know what the fuck I’m doing.” He moved his lips to Will’s jaw. “But I will never toss you aside like a towel.” He felt Will’s breath stutter against his face, as Mike’s words reached him just the way he intended them to. His eyes found Will’s, and they were softer now, the uncertainty still lingering.
Will placed his hands on Mike’s waist, pulling down, letting him know that it was okay, he could lower himself, Will was not afraid of Mike’s touch. And Mike did, let his weight drop onto Will’s lap, feeling Will hard against himself. Mike straightened his back, removed his hands from the mattress and placed them on Will’s chest instead.
His heart skipped a beat, or ten, he couldn’t keep count. Will stared up at him through fluttering eyelids, the blush on his face so obvious even in the pink light. “God,” Mike breathed, voice unsteady. “You’re so beautiful.”
Will squirmed, turning his gaze away from Mike, his cock twitching under Mike’s weight as the words affected him. Mike smiled, feeling the heat rise to his face at the realization that he caused this reaction out of Will, knowing that it was him Will’s body reacted to.
“Will?” The question was soft. Will’s gaze turned back to Mike, his eyebrows slightly raised. “I want to make sure you’re okay. Like, more than okay. But it’s not going to be perfect, I don’t know how any—“
“Mike,” Will interrupted him, and the corners of his lips curled up. “It doesn’t need to be perfect to be good. It can be awkward and messy.”
Mike nodded, heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah, okay. What do you want me to do?”
Will briefly pursed his lips, the uncertainty brushing his face again. “I don't know if you’re ready for that.”
“Try me,” Mike shot back.
Will took a deep breath, then nodded. “I want you to fuck me.” Mike’s eyes snapped open. Will added, “I want this to be us.”
Mike’s hands were shaky against Will’s chest now. “You’re gonna have to guide me.”
“I can,” Will responded, “but I want you to know that we don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”
Mike leaned in. Unable to reach Will’s face, he planted a kiss on his chest instead, then mumbled against the skin there. “But I want to.” He could tell Will was trying to stay as calm as possible, but the heartbeat under Mike’s lips gave him away, along with the shaky fingers he ran through Mike’s hair now.
“Okay.” Will paused. “There’s lube and condoms in the top drawer. Actually, we can drop the condom if you don’t mind.”
“Uh,” Mike managed. “Is it safe?”
Will hummed. “Should be. You’d be my first time without one. I like being cautious. But-“ Will hesitated, the blush on his face deepening. “I want to feel you.”
Mike swallowed at that, his own cock twitching back to life at the sheer meaning of Will’s words. He wanted him. As he was. No separations. “Okay, yeah,” he responded with ragged breath.
He climbed off Will, and as he reached towards the nightstand to get the lube, Will shifted on the mattress. Mike looked back, and nearly choked on hot air when he saw Will stripping off his briefs, his cock springing free and twitching at the release. Mike stared, admiring the pretty pink tip, glistening with precum. He wanted to reach out, touch, taste.
Will squirmed. “Mike, God, you’re making this unbearable,” he whined.
Mike tore his eyes off and let them wander towards Will’s face. His lips were pressed to a firm line, eyes pleading. “You don’t like being looked at.”
Will shook his head. “I’m not used to being looked at.”
That alone made Mike want to stare harder, just for a little longer. Just to make sure Will was seen, admired, loved. But Will squirmed again, shifting uncomfortably in his spot, and Mike couldn’t bear to let him wait any longer. He finally reached into the drawer of the nightstand and grabbed tube of lube. This was certainly an upgrade from the bottle of lotion he kept in his room.
“Okay, bring it over here, we’re gonna need it,” Will said. “I’m going to turn around, that’s going to make it easier.”
Mike kneeled next to Will. “Please don’t.” When Will looked at him, puzzled, Mike added, “I want to be able to look at you.”
Will mewled, melting a little deeper into the mattress. Instead of responding, he spread his legs, and Mike crawled into the space between them. Mike opened the tube and spilled some lube into his palm without Will’s instruction. He knew some things, after all. He slicked his fingers, and Will watched, slowly hooking his hands below his own knees and angling his legs, revealing his entrance to Mike. Mike stared. Will was just… so pretty.
“Start with one finger, don’t focus on pleasure yet. We’ll get there.” When Mike took a sharp breath through his teeth, Will added, “And please stop staring, or I’m just gonna combust.”
Mike exhaled, bringing his hand to Will’s entrance, the other still holding on to the tube of lube. He circled the rim for a second, curious about how it felt under his fingertips, then, after a short moment of hesitation, slid in, meeting very little resistance as Will relaxed beneath him.
Will hummed, letting his head fall back into the pillow, his fingers tightening briefly around his legs. “Okay, now move. Wiggle a little.”
Mike did as told, and honestly, he wasn’t that inexperienced. He’d seen a fair amount of gay porn that he’d secretly borrowed from a gay bookstore. He read the pamphlets. Of course he wasn’t going to confess this to Will right now, but it made him feel a little less silly.
He kept close watch of Will’s face as he curled his finger against his rim, watched the rise and fall of his chest, and noticed how Will’s cock twitched as his rim tightened around Mike’s finger.
“Okay,” Will said after a couple moments, having Mike wonder how he could possibly keep his composure. “More lube. Second finger.”
Mike squeezed some more of the slick liquid into his palm, spreading it on his fingers, then decided to put the tube down on the mattress next to him, steadying himself on the back of Will’s leg as he pushed his fingers against the rim again. There was more resistance now, and when Mike’s fingers entered Will’s warmth, Will audibly gasped, his cock twitching once more from the touch. As Mike curled his fingers, he wished he could have a taste of the precum gathering on the tip, feeling the urge to wrap his lips around Will’s cock, just for a taste.
He held back, and as Will seemed unable to give further instructions, scissored his fingers inside him, curled them, kept up movement. Mike flinched when Will’s moan tore through the silence.
“Shit, Mike.” Will’s entire body shook and he lost grip on his leg, Mike feeling the pressure against his hand, trying to keep it up as Will tried to regain his grip.
Mike seemed to have done something right. With a racing heart, he repeated his movements, trying to gain that exact reaction again. And sure enough, not long after, another moan slipped Will’s mouth. One that turned into a whine and made Will’s back arch before he melted back into the sheets.
“Okay, Mike, stop.”
Mike pulled out his fingers, point blank. “Are you okay?”
Will huffed a laugh, dropping his legs and propping himself up on his elbows. He looked wrecked, and Mike had barely done anything. “I will be.” He sat up then. “Okay, make yourself comfortable. Sit.”
Mike blinked back at him, rapidly. “Sit?”
“Yes, sit.” Will scrambled to his knees.
Mike had no clue what was happening, but he did as told. He crawled towards the headboard, leaning his back against the cold wood, and crossed his legs. Will eyed him, up and down, with his lips pursed, then reached for the lube, putting a big dollop inside his hand. He scooted closer to Mike.
“Careful. Cold.”
The warning had barely been enough. With one swift movement, Will brought his hand to Mike’s cock, and Mike hissed in response at the cold wet. Will was hasty now, slicking Mike’s length with quick movements. Mike wanted to tell him to slow down, or they’d once again be done very, very soon. But he couldn’t blame Will, he was holding out for ages now.
Once Will was done, Mike was panting. His palms were sweaty, hands shaking, and he had no clue how he was supposed to survive until Will reached his high? Will positioned his legs on either side of Mike, lining himself up with Mike, his hands on his shoulders, a nervous chuckle leaving his throat.
“Ready?” Will asked softly.
Mike was, in fact, not ready. He’d never been less ready. But his want overrode readiness. He placed his hands on Will’s hips, no pressure, and nodded. Will bit down on his bottom lip and bore his eyes into Mike’s as he lowered himself with perfect precision.
It was just the tip at first, and Mike almost thought he was done for. He couldn’t possibly withstand the tension in his body as Will clenched around him, especially not when Will gasped, followed by, “Shit, you’re so big.” Mike couldn't help but moan in response, his thumbs digging into Will’s soft skin.
But Will eased himself down so slowly, his hands on Mike’s shoulder steady, that Mike was able to breathe the tension away.
When Will bottomed out, they both gasped. Will’s forehead dropped against Mike’s, and he chuckled.
Mike mewled, his lips quivering. “Don’t… Move.”
Will shook his head, mouthing “Not yet.”
The tips of their noses brushed, and Will draped his arms around Mike’s neck, locking his hands at his nape. He tilted his head, and caught Mike’s lips in for a kiss. Mike stopped breathing for a moment, fingers grazing Will’s side, as he returned the kiss like an unnatural force.
He kissed Will like it was a confession, teeth gracing his lips, tongue meeting Will’s like waves crashing against cliffs. Mike moved a hand to the bottom of Will’s spine, hesitating before applying pressure. He knew he wouldn’t last long, but he needed the friction now. And if he came before Will, he’d somehow make up for it. Will started moving, excruciatingly slow at first, breaking their kiss, but keeping their lips in touch, so Mike could feel every ragged breath, every moan and whimper seep into his mouth.
And in return, Will could taste Mike’s groans, the uncontrolled mewls and moans as he picked up his pace.
Mike was falling apart. He whined as he felt nails digging into his back. Mike couldn’t quite grasp what was happening when Will brought one of his hands towards Mike’s mouth. He slid two fingers past Mike’s lips, and Mike was too far gone, felt them between his teeth and bit down on them, his tongue latching at the fingertips as his mouth closed around them. Confused by his own actions, he hummed around Will’s fingers.
Will moaned at the sight, dropping his forehead against Mike’s again. “You’re doing so well, Mike.” Then, almost swallowed by another moan, “Please, touch me.”
It was then when Mike’s eyelids fluttered open, that he realized he even had them closed to begin with. It was overwhelming —the pink light highlighting each of Will’s muscles twitching, Will’s face this close to his, his eyes barely opened. He moved his hand away from Will’s lower back, bringing it back to reach between them and wrap it around Will’s cock.
“Mike,” Will moaned.
Hearing his own name said like that sent Mike into a spiral. He wanted to speak, wanted to let Will know he was close, but was restricted by Will’s fingers. So, instead, he sucked on them a little harder, then patted his lips, and moaned. Will felt the tension in Mike’s body, even before he realized it was happening. Mike tightened his grip around Will’s length, and Will whined.
“It’s okay, Mike. Let go.” Will pulled back, quickening his pace, and retracted his fingers from Mike’s mouth, a string of saliva still connecting them to Mike’s lips. The sight of Will tipped Mike over the edge. His body tensed, and all he saw as he came, Will still riding him, were Will’s flushed cheeks, his plush lips, and the hunger in his eyes as he reached down between them to wrap his hand around Mike’s that was now giving frantic strokes to Will’s cock. Mike moaned, a sound that could’ve surely woken up the neighborhood, and Will wasted no time to lean in and put his open mouth to Mike’s, swallowing his moans as his movement slowed.
“No,” Mike said, trying to ignore the overstimulation that was slowly kicking in. “Keep going, you’re—“
Mike was interrupted by Will’s moan. Will’s nails were sharply digging into the skin on Mike’s back as he tensed up, breath stuttering, his come spreading on both their torsos. His head fell onto Mike’s shoulder as Will’s body twitched into overstimulation. He forced Mike’s hand off his cock, mewling into the crook of his neck, staying put in Mike’s lap, not pulling off yet.
They stayed there for a while, just hearing each other’s heavy breathing and very slowly decreasing heart rates. Mike’s fingers were gently caressing Will’s sides, and Will’s hand cradled into Mike’s hair, softly playing with his curls.
When they pulled apart, it was with several groans, then chuckles. Mike’s knees barely straightened from being cross-legged for so long, and his come was dripping down Will’s thighs. For a moment, the romance felt lost. Then, Will reached into the bottom drawer for a pack of wet wipes. They helped clean each other up, gently, with all the care in the world.
“Everything entails this,” Mike said with a smile, as he crouched between Will’s thighs, wiping the come from his skin.
When they finally slumped back into the mattress, not bothering to brush their teeth or put on clothes or blow off the candle in the living room, Will curled into Mike, let him drape the blanket over their naked bodies. He was already half asleep, worn out, physically and emotionally, and yet still managed to place a kiss on Mike’s chest.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mike.”
Mike lay awake for a while afterward, rubbing his fingers through Will’s damp hair. He thought back to exactly a week ago, when they’d sat on the kitchen floor, Will broken down in his arms.
He stared at the ceiling, still illuminated by the pink light, and thought about how much they dreaded going back into this room.
Tonight, they truly claimed it back as theirs.
Most importantly, though, they had successfully claimed each other.