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“Shit.”
Mike watches Will breathlessly cover his eyes.
“Holy shit.”
Mike swallows hard. “Yeah.” He’s never really heard Will curse like this before. But really, he has all the reason in the world to.
“That was close. Too close.”
“I know.”
Mike’s heart aches for Will.
Right now, Mike really wants to reach out and touch Will, but at the same time, he’s been wary of doing that, lately. He has, all these days that they’ve been together in the same household. At breakfast, getting clean dishes. In the basement, distracting themselves with games. In the hallway, brushing past each other. When he does, the problem is, his heart doesn’t just ache, and he knows it.
It flutters, too.
And so, selfish as it is, he withholds.
Mike knows that it’s stupid, but he thinks that maybe it’ll help, so he asks, “are you okay?”
Will laughs un-humorously, tears beading in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be asking me,” he says, voice starting to tremble.
There’s that ache again. Mike looks back into the house when he hears a loud sob from Joyce, and he decides to let his beating heart take its course.
“Well, I am,” he pushes gently, knowing, just knowing how badly Will needs this. He rests his hand on Will’s shoulder, and there’s that flutter. All over again. “Because he’s your brother, Will. This isn’t some small thing.”
Will nods, and the tears keep falling, just like the rain surrounding them. Mike feels like such a douche for not hugging Will, but Mike has drawn that line years ago. He blushes a little in retrospect, tears of his own covering it too well.
“You’re not… okay,” Mike states, and it hurts. “Are you?”
Will closes his eyes. Even in the overcast darkness, Mike can tell that he looks pale. He’s panicking.
“Hey,” Mike says softly, worried but hiding it, a little. “Breathe. Will, please, breathe.”
Will’s chest slowly expands and then he’s exhaling, hard. He does it over and over while Mike holds his shoulder, and Mike can’t take this anymore.
“Will.”
It’s the simplest of calls, but Will immediately turns his face to him, wet with tears, and he falls into his arms.
Mike breathes, too. And breathes. And breathes. And finally, like a weathered storm, he’s pushed it down.
“Breathe,” Mike whispers again and again. He doesn’t know what else to say. It feels like the most imperative thing to do, at least. “Just breathe, okay?”
Will sobs softly into his shoulder. Mike can feel himself tearing in two.
There’s a part of Mike that feels like they need to move faster, they can’t stop after that. They need more music, all in one place. They need to tell more people, they need to do something. But no. Right here and right now, this is what matters. And nothing in the world is replacing that in Mike’s mind.
He subconsciously rubs small circles into Will’s back. “Will, it’s -“ okay, he wants to say, but he can’t guarantee that. “We’re gonna figure this out.”
Will is suddenly drawing back, although it has been a hug long enough, and his eyes are big and glassy and the greenish-hazel is mesmerizing, and Mike wants to kick himself for thinking that Will looks beautiful even when he’s sad. Is it messed up to think that? Mike’s so distracted by his own thoughts.
“You’re crying, too,” Will comments with all of his heart.
Mike takes in a shaky breath. “Oh.” He’s instantly aware of the warmth in his face. “I mean - y’know, I’m…”
“Scared,” Will completes in a whisper.
Mike feels the ground beneath them, the air between them, the rushing of their breath as they’re so close together. “Yeah,” he whispers in return, not sure how he means it, but he means it.
“I am, too.”
After a moment, they part, and Mike catches his breath.
Will sighs and wipes his tears even though he really doesn’t have to. Mike doesn’t know how to beg him to stop. To tell him that he doesn’t have to hide it around him. That I’m here, but Mike doesn’t know how to say that without seeming… well… unfriendly. Mike winces to himself. What just happened was horrifying, and all Mike can focus on is how Will makes him feel. And so Mike can only stare brokenly. It’s so hard to piece this together.
Amidst harbored feelings, there’s always more at play. And right now, it’s the near loss of Jonathan just about ten minutes ago. The Byers have been back in Hawkins for only about a month now, and they’ve just been hit with one of the worst things to happen since the earthquake: another taking.
Nancy was captured before, as she so horrifically explained to them. And the same thing just happened to Jonathan for some inexplicable reason that they’re still figuring out. At the start, Will suddenly got that chilling sensation which caused everyone to be on guard, and then it had Jonathan. It must have been a stroke of luck from above, but Will had left some of his tapes in Mike’s room that then seemed to help Jonathan out of it.
It was once Jonathan came back that Will had fled in a heartbroken hurry, and Mike naturally followed him out to the garage where the once metaphorical then literal tempest met them.
And so there they are.
“Mike.”
The light reflects off his face, and he’s… Mike bites his lip. Stop. Stop. He looks Will up and down, making sure he’s okay. He seems to be better than before, at least. “Yeah?”
Will manages to smile through the drops of tears trickling down his cheeks. “Thank you.”
Mike nods. “Of course.”
Will presses his lips together and sighs again. “Mike.”
“Yeah.”
The moment feels tender. He can hear the rain pouring on the roof above them.
“If anything like this happens again. Or, y’know. To us.”
Us.
Mike can’t deny the feeling of… electricity that comes with that word.
“Can you… promise that you’ll tell me? If you feel anything.”
“Yeah,” Mike sucks in a deep breath and nods, unthinking as he replies, “yeah, I will.”
The storm rages on.
“And you’ll tell me if anything happens to you?”
“Always.”
“Good.”
Will smiles, still clearly so afraid, but it’s as if his presence helps. “Good.”
Truth be told, Mike is terrified. Jonathan is as much of a brother to him as he is to Will. Mike’s always thought that. And with this, Henry is clearly getting closer and closer to them. But right now, and in so many cases of distress, Mike just can’t be bothered to think about himself.
He’s never known what that’s like, to think of yourself in times of need. He doesn’t want to know. That sounds far too painful. And with Will? His best friend, the one who’s always been there for him? Of course Mike isn’t going to think about himself. So he doesn’t pay attention to himself, his heart aches. He won’t, it flutters, too.
Little does he know what the heart that aches and flutters for too long will do.
Mike’s bed is just across the bathroom, and it’s there that he’s hung the painting that Will gave him months ago.
“See your coat of arms, here? It’s - it’s a heart.”
He’s brushing his teeth, and Will is asleep, just below it. He insisted on sleeping on the floor, because of course Will did, but Mike made sure that he got the bed.
”And I know it’s sort of on the nose, but - but that’s what holds this whole party together, heart.”
He’s a light sleeper. Mike knows that.
“Because, I mean, without heart? We’d all fall apart.”
He deserves to be comfortable. Mike just knows that, too.
“Even El… especially El.”
Mike is still brushing his teeth, but he can’t get Will’s expression out of his head, even as he looks in the mirror. He can’t even think of El, anymore. Well, that’s history, at least. A twinge of pain comes with her name despite their break up being mutual.
“These past few months, she’s been so… lost without you. It’s just, she’s so different from other people, and… when you’re - when you’re different, sometimes… you feel like a mistake.”
Mike blinks down sudden tears. It’s like the memory stings so much more than it should. Will was pouring his heart out. It was… beautiful. Those were the deepest things anyone has ever told him. Then why does it hurt to remember?
”But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake, at all. Like she’s better for being different. And that gives her the courage to fight on.”
Mike looks back out at the painting, at Will.
“If she was mean to you, or - or if she seemed like she was pushing you away, it’s probably because she’s scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing her. And - and if she was going to lose you, I think she’d rather just get it over with quick, like - like ripping off a band-aid.”
Mike feels a pant of something - of guilt? - whatever it is, it stings in a way that he can’t quite describe. It’s like a ringing in his head, and he’s losing balance.
”So yeah. El needs you, Mike. And she always will.”
Mike turns a little too quickly back to the sink, knocking his head against the doorframe. “Shit,” he winces.
Will stirs, and Mike holds his breath. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to wake. Mike sighs in relief and finishes up.
All the while, as he makes his way to the center of the room where the sleeping bag lies, his heart continues to ache and ache. He looks up at the painting on the wall, and he can’t believe what he’s doing.
That painting was never from El. Those words were never hers. Why would she know about their party? Why wouldn’t she be in the piece? Mike feels so stupid.
He presses his hands into his face, trying to hide all of his imaginations from his own mind, to no damn avail. He looks up at the ceiling. He thinks that maybe he should try to take the painting down. But with Will here to ask why, he wouldn’t dare. And if he did, they’d have to talk about it, so… God.
Mike doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he tries to, even as his heart burns. It’s strange that he doesn’t know how to confront it.
Until he does.
The painting has been removed from the delicate frame, stripped of its borders and tempered plastic, made raw in its own beauty. It’s just like the day it was first unrolled. The colors are vivid.
Mike traces his eyes over it. Will must’ve taken it out.
Also, Mike doesn’t know when he decided to do it, but he got in bed. It’s warmer here. He likes it. Will seems to like him there, too. Mike couldn’t be more enamored to join Will while he reviews his own work. His own gift. To Mike.
It all makes Mike feel so special.
“How did you do that?” Mike lifts a finger to the painted forest.
“Hm?”
They’re so close, it’s hard to speak.
Mike chuckles. “How did you do this?” He asks again, softer.
“Oh. The woods?”
“Yeah.”
Mike’s hand reaches the edge of the paper, their fingers brushing together with ease before Will reads his gesture and drops his hand. It slowly lands right between their hips. Mike can feel it. It’s warm. He’s happy. And now, they’re both holding the landscape up above themselves.
“I mean, I don’t know. It wasn’t so hard. I just made small downward strokes. Maybe a few more on the edges if they weren’t sharp enough.”
Mike hums. Will’s voice is soothing.
“And…” Mike opens his eyes, not even realizing that they were closed before. “What about - ?”
Will bites his lip, knowing exactly what Mike means. Their eyes are both drawn to the thing front and center, red like blood, but not quite. It’s red like the dragon, a color only contained in the two things, focused. The insignia is so small, but it’s passionate. Next to such an ominous creature, the hue should be terrifying, but it’s beautiful. It makes Mike smitten beyond words.
“I painted that last, actually.”
His cheeks glow in the gentle sunlight, and Mike’s heart races. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t paint it first.”
Will covers his face with his free hand. “Oh my god.”
“What?” He asks, prodding, and he knows it.
They both do. Will blushes more. “Mike…” he breathes bashfully.
“Yes?”
Will’s eyelashes flutter underneath his shy fingertips. The silence stretches on, but Mike has never felt a heart beating so loudly. And even when they don’t talk, it’s comfortable in the quiet, like it always is with Will.
“You know… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Mike’s fingers curl into Will’s, his breath short.
“I made that heart last to make sure it was perfect.”
“Will…”
Mike can’t take his eyes off of him. “Hey, I - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything.” He slowly pries Will’s hand away from himself, wanting to wipe all the embarrassment away, because it isn’t so. It’s - “It’s beautiful.”
Will turns back to him. “Yeah?”
Mike isn’t talking about the painting. “Yeah.”
“It’s just - it’s only a little heart.”
“It’s a beautiful little heart.”
Will breaks out into a giggle, and Mike has never fallen so fast. He’s really never heard Will laugh like that since seventh grade.
Sometimes, it makes him upset, knowing that so much was taken from him. He couldn’t laugh for years, really, and who could blame him?
He’s been the reason Will cried, all those years ago. The time isn’t even countless since he’s done it last. Mike knows that in crafting this very display, Will must’ve cried over and over as they were apart, wondering hopelessly, never thinking he would actually get this. It tears him in two.
It’s so much. It hurts. Mike loves him.
“Mike.” Then Will’s hand is moving, away from their bodies, closer again, dipping into his hair. “Earth to Mike?”
Mike blinks. “Huh?”
Will laughs again. “You’re giving me that face.”
They talk as if they’ve loved each other since birth. Maybe they have.
Mike slowly breaks the spell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.
It’s hard to be sad when Will is smiling at him. The artwork leaves his fingertips, brilliant colors and mesmerizing features laid aside for brilliant colors and mesmerizing features.
Just when Mike thought that the moment couldn’t get any better, Will shifts a little closer.
“I’m okay,” Will whispers. “I’m okay, Mike.”
Mike’s breath ceases.
“And I love you.”
There’s a beat, a gentle and small thump of the heart made one. Mike never understood why the “heart” was shaped as such since it looks nothing like an actual heart. Turns out that it takes two to form the shape that most see.
Something of that nature happens when their eyes meet. It doesn’t make sense; it shouldn’t, in theory, it’s just a look. But Mike melts in it.
The thought of those joining scarlet curves paint a fire in Mike’s deepest core, one he can’t forget, and he doesn’t even think when he leans in. Their lips meet in gentle solace, capturing every emotion and fear and washing it away for affection. Will kisses back, and it’s everything that Mike has ever -
Mike gasps.
Jolting upright, his eyes fly open and he clutches his chest.
“Holy shit,” he breathes heavily, mindless for a waking second before he realizes what just happened, and-
Oh.
Oh, God.
He’s not in bed. He’s on the floor. He’s bracing himself like he’s just gone down a rollercoaster, and he’s embarrassed even though no one is watching.
Well.
“Mike?”
Will’s a light sleeper.
“Oh, holy shit,” Mike breathes.
Will deserves to be comfortable.
“Mike?” Will asks again, alert and panicked.
Of course this happens now.
“Hey,” he says, fighting the urge to curse over and over again.
Will’s eyes are big and wide, filled with worry. “Mike, are you okay? What happened?”
Mike blinks and looks down, trying to breathe normally. “I’m -“ His throat closes, panic setting in.
If he lies and says that he’s fine, Will would see right through him. Mike can’t lie to him like this, and doing so would no doubt stir up even more worry. But if he doesn’t lie…
Mike clutches his hair, pulling at it and desperately tearing himself away from reality. Maybe this is still a mirage, maybe, maybe, maybe. But it isn’t. The tug hurts.
Fuck.
Mike blinks just in time for his senses to return, but it’s too late, and he hears a gentle push of a blanket and sliding of the sheets. Oh, shit, Will is -
“Mike.” Will’s voice is firm. So is his hand. On his knee. “Breathe.”
Mike’s eyes shut instinctively, protectively, trying to shove away every thought, but how can you ignore what’s right there? He takes deep breaths, muttering, “no, no,” trying to deny, but there’s no use in it. Will’s hand is on his knee, his touch so kind. He can already hear the laughter and soft holds, fingers grazing sheets, and it’s so loud in the silence.
“Mike.”
He looks up at Will, afraid.
“What happened? Oh my god. Oh my god, did you - ?”
It’s funny how time works. Sometimes a year can pass by like a few months. Sometimes hours feel like minutes. Mike doesn’t really know what this feels like, but all he knows is that time is a little discordant right now.
“No,” he blurts. “No, no, it wasn’t that, I swear.”
In a middle-of-the-night haze of thought - or lack of thought thereof - Mike miraculously settles on a half-truth.
Will looks confused, because of course he is. “Really?”
“Really.”
He seems bewildered now. “You’re sure?”
Mike wants to die. “Yeah.”
Will sighs and sits back on his feet, his eyes big and wide, still unbelieving. He quickly scans Mike’s posture, and Mike swallows hard. Of course there’s no avoiding this. Of course a half-truth won’t do. How can he hide from his best friend of over a decade?
Will moves his hand from Mike’s knee, and Mike breathes again.
“Okay,” Will says a little defeatedly. Mike doubly wants to die. “Mike?”
He can barely stop his voice from shaking. “Yeah?”
“You’re not trying to protect me or anything, right? We - we promised.”
If anything like that happened again, of course. The cards could not have been played any worse than right now. Shit.
“And I really don’t want you to feel like this puts me at risk. I - I think hiding it is worse. Mike, please.”
“I’m not hiding it.” Mike thinks that he’s getting good at telling half-truths. Maybe he’s always told them his whole life. Maybe the string won’t break, which is a stupid thought when Will is looking at him.
Will crosses his arms, not actually seeming to be that cross but worried, still, above all. “It?” He’s, in fact, so worried that he’s not backing down.
Mike has no idea what to do. Any more of this, and Will is calling bullshit. And really, nothing that he’s said yet is wrong, but it’s vague. It’s leaving doors open that Mike can’t even begin to close. It feels like thresholds without any hinges or doors at all. There’s simply nothing, and Will can walk right through like he always has.
And Mike has looked at his best friend before, Jesus, of course he has, but then why the hell does every mere glance bring up the memories that don’t even exist?
Their eyes search each other in the dark through deafening silence. Mike can’t keep his gaze up for long. It’s not even his fault - right? You can’t control your dreams - but he still feels so guilty.
Maybe he doesn’t have something horrific to hide. Maybe he can’t control his dreams. But they’re lies at the root.
Because, well, isn’t he hiding? Who conjured those dreams but himself?
Mike closes his eyes. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters over and over, clutching his head.
“Mike.”
Now, Will’s hand is on his shoulder, and Mike whimpers, because it’s warm. It’s warm and it’s brilliant and it’s mesmerizing and everything feels like it’s crashing down on him. It’s the middle of the night, but apparently now it’s oh-my-God-I-really-want-to-kiss-my-best-friend-o’clock, and Mike can feel his stomach turning over.
“Mike?”
He knows how to think fast. He knows how to talk through most anything.
“Mike.”
But he can’t think through this. What is there to think through?
“Mike.”
“What?”
Will looks worried. He’s so calm, but so, so worried. “Did you see… him?”
Mike feels tears brimming in his eyes, flooding his vision as he stares down at himself. Ashamed, he hides his face. He’s so screwed. He wants to lie. He wants to just say yes. It’d be so easy.
Easy as forgetting the heartfelt canvas made just for him. The words play back in Mike’s mind like it was yesterday.
“Well...”
“‘Well?’”
Through his fingertips, Mike can see Will looking at him with nervous eyes, and his hand is ever-presently on his arm. It’s a wonder how, no matter how uncomfortable Mike feels with himself, Will isn’t uncomfortable with him. Will isn’t scared of him.
They’ve always opened themselves to each other. It was just… what they did. Back in kindergarten, sharing secrets. Back in third grade, dealing with Lonnie. Back in eighth grade, figuring out the Mind Flayer. They let each other into everything.
And so Mike knows that Will is just worried, as a best friend would be. How could Mike be so stupid to let this get a hold of him? Mike just bites his tongue and prays that something will come, a miracle, a lightning strike, fucking anything.
“Mike, if it was him, you really don’t have to protect me. I - I want to -“
“I had a dream.”
Will stops. Mike can’t stop himself for anything. Will’s eyes are big and curious, staring at him, like, well, of course you had a dream. Mike hates how well he can read him, even in the dark.
“Not a nightmare.” Finally, the words are coming to him. Better late than never, right?
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Will looks just about ready to retreat, a little embarrassed, but Mike knows that neither of them are going to sleep well tonight if he stops now. Will drops his hand. And worse yet, Mike misses the touch once it’s gone. Shit. Shit.
“But -“
“I -“
Will blushes and shakes his head, letting Mike go first. He’s so sweet. And painfully adorable. And has Mike mentioned yet that he wants to die?
“I didn’t see him.”
“Oh.” Will looks deep in thought, fighting for him. Mike wants to gets this over with and succumb, and he doesn’t know if that means to fade away or kiss him and Jesus Fucking Christ. “Did you… feel him? Though?”
Mike blinks and tries to - has to - refocus. Shit, there’s no easy answer to that. What if it was all a ruse? Mike is almost certain that it wasn’t, but he can’t be entirely sure. Goddamnit. “No,” Mike says, anyway, panic stricken.
“But are you sure? Like, what if it was still him?”
Mike shakes his head in denial. “No. No, it wasn’t. I swear.”
Will gives him an even more unconvinced look, and, no, yeah, Mike really, truly wants to die.
“No, I - Will, I promise. It was just… weird.”
“Weird?”
“A lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like…”
“A lot… weird?”
“No.” Mike doesn’t know how long he can lie through his teeth.
“A lot to take?”
Will is so patient. Heat continues to bloom on Mike’s face. An actual nightmare would have been so much better than this.
Mike isn’t sure how much more of this he can take, the lean in - and knowing exactly why he did - still on his mind. It all makes sense, really. Mike can think of countless D&D nights and holiday parties and study sessions, catching himself looking at Will just because he could. He remembers thinking and knowing for himself, really, that Will was just so real to him. Will was always a little quiet, but never around Mike. Will was always sharing his heart to him, especially when it mattered most. He’s such an amazing person.
Simply put, Will loved him; Mike felt loved. Mike longed for that kind of love, too, no matter how long he had tucked it away inside himself. But Mike really can’t hide it, not even from himself, anymore, can he?
Finally thinking of a reply, Mike weakly starts to speak again. “Yeah. A lot to take. I don’t know how to describe it. But I promise, it wasn’t dangerous.”
Will nods. “Okay.” He looks down, arms still crossed over his chest. “Mike, I - I’m sorry. I just got worried.”
“No. No, I get it.”
Will nods again. Their legs are so close together. So close together.
“I’m just a little nervous,” Will says before Mike can muster up any courage. “Y’know, if this is anything new, what if it’s a sign? That One is evolving, or something. Like, if it was confusing…”
Mike’s throat spasms.
Will duly notes it but continues, clearly trying to make things better while Mike tries not to fall apart. “I want to help you. However that is.”
Will looks down at his fingers. Mike can see the painting still pressed between them. Jesus Christ.
“I just hope you know that I’m here. For anything.”
“Thank you,” Mike tries, Will’s kindness enough to override the tangle of knots in his body.
Will nods. “You woke up from it, y’know. So… I was scared.”
Mike doesn’t know how to reply without lying over and over, and it stings to keep doing it. The truth seems to sting even harder. “I’m sorry.”
There’s those eyes again, and Mike is falling again. “No, don’t be.”
Will isn’t putting on the pressure directly, but Mike can feel it inside his very soul, ready to explode: the truth. Fuck, if there’s one thing that Mike needs right now, it’s the truth. He’s been ignoring himself for God knows how long, if that dream was proof of anything.
Mike doesn’t lay it down, though, not yet, still considering the dire consequences. Although, really, what are they? Scorn? Shame? What could be worse in the public eye than who they already are? As he thinks way too hard, he realizes that he’s getting a front row spot to Will, and his eyes have definitely adjusted to the dark, now.
Mike compares the boy in his dream to the one before him, and it’s maddening how easy Will is to picture in great detail. His features are so prominent and deep, and Mike has seen them through every high and low. There’s a tender way to Will’s everything, and it’s unmistakable. His brown hair, his round eyes, his strong nose, his plush lips. Mike winces internally as he pictures himself kissing every single thing. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. But oh, does he, anyway.
Will hugs his knees to his chest, dwelling in the emotion without being asked. He tries to avoid Mike’s, frankly, rude and prolonged stare, and Mike can’t swallow the lump in his throat.
Mike is trying to pretend that he’s fine. Will is trying to pretend like he doesn’t notice. Mike takes a deep breath. It doesn’t help.
“How are you?”
Heart thudding in his chest, Mike stops. “What?”
“How are you,” Will repeats.
Of all the questions that Will has asked, thus far, this one shocks him the most.
He’s so gentle and kind and worth every last bit of his aching heart that all he sees is the blood on his hands. Sharper than the depiction of battle, stronger than the might of the beast, this war stings the most. He almost doesn’t know why it’s all happening now, why the emotion is stinging his breath. Perhaps it’s the dead of night and likely ungodly hour to be awake, but whatever it is, he’s falling.
Mike has become the very thing he fought against: he’s truly afraid.
“I don’t know,” he trembles out.
The dam breaks.
Will doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t have to. His arms are wrapping around his back, pulling him in, and Mike sobs into his hair.
He almost doesn’t know why he’s crying so hard, it just hurts. It hurts to hold everything back after a dream so glaringly clear. It hurts to hold Will and yet push him away while wanting him with all his soul. It hurts to fight back his very heart for all these years and risk losing the very one he swore to protect forever.
It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and it’s all his fault.
Will doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t have to.
He listens. He’s patient. He’d go through anything he doesn’t deserve to go through just to love someone else, someone like him.
Mike cries.
And cries.
For the first time since the hellish race through California and all the way back home, Mike cries. He lets go. He relinquishes his title of caretaker, of leader, of captain of fair weather. Will is holding him, and he’s letting himself break. Truth be told, Mike didn’t even realize how much he was holding. What a horrendous joke that dreams can make of someone.
The threat hanging high above them is finally giving way underneath.
Mike breathes. So does Will.
Will doesn’t speak. He never really has to. His hands roam gently over his back, not traveling too far up or down, rubbing small circles along his spine. There’s no tension, there’s no force, there’s only kindness that lavishes and loves.
Mike knows who he is. He just never faced it until now.
Mike takes another breath, a deep one, and he can feel his chest expanding. He can feel his heart, too, and he’s ready.
“Will?”
There’s a moment, a hold in time where they separate a little. It’s such an easy motion that Mike barely even recognizes it.
Will’s gaze is so warm. “Hey,” he prompts, never pushing.
Mike just about bursts into tears again, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”
His expression evens. “For what?”
“For making you worried. Shit, you must be -“
“Mike, it’s okay.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
“Mike.”
His vision is still a little blurry, even as he looks up and sees the light. “I can tell that it’s not okay, Will.”
“We - we’ll figure it out.”
Mike shatters. “Just -“
“Whatever you’re going through, I promise I’ll be here.”
“No,” Mike breathes bitterly. How can he keep doing this to the kindest human being on planet earth? “You can’t -“
“I can.”
“Even if I told you?” Mike is barely thinking anymore.
Neither is Will. “Yes.”
Mike’s heart is pounding. He’s holding his breath. He’s being unraveled like parchment.
“Mike -“
“I kissed you.”
The air falls silent. Mike breathes in again, holds it again, and turns to survey the damage again, and -
Will is frozen.
There’s that gut-punch he never drew. There’s that look of horror, the sudden shift that always leaves them in ruins for years in the course of a single look.
Difference is that Will’s face is accompanied by a bright, bright red, making this the worst thing Mike’s ever fucking done, and oh, he’s so stupid. There aren’t enough curse words in the dictionary to describe how fast Mike’s body wants to lurch because what the hell have I done?
It’s quiet.
It’s so, so loud.
“What?”
Something akin to wonder appears on Will’s face, and Mike thinks that he must still be dreaming.
“What…”
Mike’s eye twitches.
“Like… what…” Will asks his next question very carefully, “what happened?”
The sudden curiosity makes Mike’s heart leap out of his ribcage, the request so soft and forgiving and tender and Mike knows that he must still be dreaming. Right?
Mike can’t feel his face. “What happened?” He repeats.
Will doesn’t break their gaze. Will nods. “In the dream.”
Neither of them move.
Mike thinks that maybe that lightning strike is coming, after all. What could be wilder than Will’s entirely too-calm reaction, right now? Well, for one, Mike keeps talking. He doesn’t know why.
“We were… on my bed.” A horrendous start, he’s aware, but Will still doesn’t move, and so Mike takes it as a signal to keep going, though bile and confusion mix inside him. “And we were looking at that painting.”
Will nods. He doesn’t even need a clarification.
Mike feels his face burning. “We talked, and then… I… I don’t know, we…”
Mike’s hand quivers in anticipation, and it’s then that he recalls that Will is still touching him. His fingers are so delicate, ones of a true artist, ones straight from a dream, and Mike is reeling into himself. This isn’t a dream. Will isn’t smiling and touching his hand like he likes it. It’s not over, but Mike knows that he just ruined everything.
“I’m sorry,” Mike whispers as if it’s enough. He’s getting up. Now. And running. Far. “Oh, God, Will, I’m so sorry. I know I should be protecting you, but I can’t - I can’t believe I let - shit, Will -“
“Mike.”
Mike stills.
Will’s hand is steady where Mike knows he’s shaking. Mike knows that he must look like a frightened and lost creature right now, and he feels like the most pathetic version of one, but Will is there.
Still reaching out. Not pulling away.
“Mike.” And Mike can’t look away when Will’s eyes spill over with tears. “I’m sorry. I pushed you. Did - didn’t I?”
Will’s fingers curl over his own, holding him warm and secure. Mike can’t move or look away. Mike wishes he could fade away. Get off that bed. But no, he doesn’t. If Will is here, if he’s listening, if he’s kind, if he’s everything that he is, there’s no going back, now. So Mike doesn’t look back.
Mike’s heart pounds, fighting the urge to wipe away his tears.
“No. Will, you didn’t - you didn’t make me say anything. I was thinking about how to say it, but nothing was good enough, so I just - and I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Mike rambles, but Will is still so clearly attentive, and Mike is crumbling. “And… I wanted to kiss you.”
Will gasps softly.
Mike doesn’t think he’s ever felt this close to someone else in his entire life, and they’re only connected by a single touch.
“Will.” It’s pitch black. It’s daylight. “I wanted to.”
“I -“ As Will tries to speak, it seems like the air is punched out of him. It burns to watch, and Mike can’t stop feeling like the world’s greatest idiot.
Mike has never seen Will cry like this. It’s golden in a way that takes him back to only one other day that comes close, a sunny noon in somewhere Nevada, heat and smoke carried through promises and devotion.
Will is more attentive than ever. He’s giving Mike an entire piece of himself, telling him he’s the heart and all Mike is thinking is, how could I ever mean this much to someone?
That was last year. That was before the chaos.
And, now, here it is. All right in front of him. All over again.
Tears bead again in Mike’s eyes as he realizes that Will isn’t going to let him leave. Will isn’t going to let him run. Will wants him to keep talking. To explain himself. Then maybe they’ll get closure. Somehow. And let this all be over. If a peaceful conclusion could even exist. Maybe Will should run. Maybe they both should. Or maybe it’s all just confusing when it’s stuck in his head.
Mike keeps forgetting that Will isn’t fully aware of his dream. He’s not living it over and over.
But now he knows that he’s been kissed, and the once forgotten moon barely peering in through clouded skies bears witness to it.
And still… Will is here. Stay, is written on his lips, even if he says nothing.
Why does he want me to stay?
Mike really needs to stop looking at those lips. It’s making him cry harder, the thought of never looking at them again.
Mike feels like the worst friend in the world, letting his heart run rampant in his brain and out his goddamn mouth, weathering this storm by barring and then slashing the shutters, and he made their relationship go crumbling. At least, it should be crashing. They should be long gone.
But there they are, awoken, hand in hand like it’s a dream.
Mike doesn’t get it.
Until he does.
Mike’s vision blurs. “Will -“
His heart does something of an entire flip as Will suddenly presses two fingers to his lips. Mike can feel the heat radiating off his own face. He’s thoughtless as their gazes meet.
“Mike,” Will shuts down before a single word. Mike thinks he’s going to faint, but then Will smiles. Now he doubly thinks he’s going to faint. “No more talking.”
“I didn’t even start -“
Will presses harder. “Mike.”
The breath leaves his lungs. “Okay.”
“Can you -“ Will draws in a shaky breath. “Can you answer me when I ask you something?”
Head in the stratosphere because Will’s still touching his mouth, but he’d be damned if he didn’t pay attention to Will, Mike nods.
“You really had this dream?”
Mike nods.
“And you kissed me?”
Mike’s lips part, and he nods.
A drop trickles down from each of his eyes, glinting in the starlight. “Why?”
Mike swallows hard.
I’ve told you already. I’ve told you twice.
Mike knows that that’s not the answer Will needs, nor does Mike think that it’s the question Will even wants to ask.
His hand wraps around Will’s wrist, pulling the touch away from his lips with no resistance. “Will.”
Will says something. Mike doesn’t hear him above the beautiful color rising on his cheeks nor the longing in his eyes, the red that marks him so truly. Mike is sure, now, and he can feel Will’s heart beating.
“Can I…”
And beating.
“…show you?”
And beating.
“Please,” Will says. Mike combusts.
The beating grows even louder when Mike leans in, cups his cheek, and presses their lips together.
And then there’s a burst, a glow, when Will kisses back.
And then there are warm hands wrapped around him, delicate touches turned desperate as they dig into his back. Mike holds Will’s jaw, and it’s so kind. Mike’s falling backwards, and Will gives with him.
It’s like they never needed the words. It’s the dead of night, and they’re alive.
Mike can feel all of his restraint and fear slipping away, years of lies dashed into something impossibly small, as does Will’s when their bodies push against each other. Will is first to part, being the one on top of him. Mike has exploded, and he’s smiling, because Will is smiling right back at him.
Some things are lies - some. The confusion of care versus affection, the straight and narrow of tender touch. The resistance of something unseen and pushed down. The hell that expectation, even self-caused, can raise. The pressed assertion that he can’t have it after all this time. But this - this is true.
“I need you,” slips past Mike’s lips, straight from his heart, his red, red, scarlet-curved heart. “You,” Mike laughs breathlessly, because it’s stupid and wonderful and he can’t believe he was so hesitant to just let it go when it’s the truth. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
Mike thumbs at Will’s tears, but more and more form the second that he brushes them away. Will is beaming as he cries, the beautiful dawn painted on his cheekbones.
“Will.” Mike isn’t sure what to do, frazzled and so unapologetically in love, “I’m-“
Will doesn’t let him finish, and he kisses him again, deeply.
And as their truths unfold, that’s all Mike needs to know.
Mike can feel his heart racing, finally, running free, and he holds Will close to himself as they share yet another moment in time. Will’s hand is in his hair, he’s so near, he’s so warm, and Mike melts red to evergreen.
Eventually, Will shifts to his side, and they’re still perfectly wrapped in a kiss, Will’s every touch searing small and feather-light sparks into his skin, holding him like he’s his very painting, a work of art. Mike certainly feels like one when Will cradles him. Mike can’t believe that Will is happy with him. Will wants him. Mike smiles against his lips, unafraid. This feels long overdue.
Finally, finally, after what must be days, they part.
Binds open.
Hearts, too.
“Were you even sleeping?”
Will blushes, and Mike wants to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. “I was about to.”
“Liar.”
Will’s nose scrunches. Mike can see the freckle right under it and he wants to kiss there, too. “You told me it was nothing.”
Mike smiles guiltily and presses their foreheads together. “Then we’re both liars.”
Will’s hand touches his neck, and Mike shudders, nearly missing Will’s voice when he asks, “how long?”
“Huh?”
“How long… did you…”
They sit in gentle silence as Mike thinks of how to say his next words. He fills in the space with slow strokes against Will’s cheeks, pushing more teardrops away. Will’s skin is as soft as he dreamed.
“Eighth grade,” Mike whispers. “And I can’t believe I never had a dream like that, before.”
Will sniffles. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Really?”
Will smiles. “Did you hope I dreamt of kissing you before?”
“Of course, but,” Mike flushes as he stutters, taking in how wild but incredible this conversation is, “but, no, I mean - eighth grade?”
“Oh. No.”
Mike bites his lip. He can feel Will rubbing the soft ends of his sleeves between his fingers.
“Second grade.”
Mike’s breath catches. “Oh.”
Mike experiences the first pull of being just friends for so long. As much as he knows and wants the boy in his arms, he can’t help but feel so much guilt. There’s the tug of shame, wishing and wishing he was more.
But then Will is hugging him again, pulling him out, and it’s Deja Vu, but he can feel it in his core, now.
“It was worth it, Mike. Every second.”
Mike closes his eyes.
“I gave up trying when I gave you the painting, but… I couldn’t just forget about you. I’m here. I always will. Be here. And - and mean it.”
Mike dies. In the best way possible. “So will I,” he promises.
Will smiles. “I know.”
He puts his hands around Will, holding him closer than air can travel. Mike can feel the newness of life rising to his chest. He can breathe. He can see. He can feel Will’s heart. And it’s brighter than anything he’s ever experienced.
He’s living a dream.
He whispers, “I love you.”
Will doesn’t even hesitate. “I love you, too.”
Mike wants to tell Will the whole dream, but he’s a bit speechless from how close they are. So, for now, he’s keeping Will in his arms, and they’re asking for kisses again and giving them again and again with a sense of true release and lasting ease.
Mike’s heart doesn’t ache so much, anymore. All he can feel is its flutter. And, oh, right now, it’s all he can feel.
And so Mike finds himself up in Will’s bed beside him, holding him as they fade back into the comforting night. Nothing else in the world matters. Somehow, they know that they’re safe.
After all this time, Mike has learned that Will’s a light sleeper, and he deserves to be comfortable. And so Mike lets him rest his head on his chest, the heartbeat and stillness lulling them both to sound sleep.
And knowing that there’s even more for them, no matter what comes next, Mike dreams in color again that night.