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Mike’s coming around again today. It’s all Will has been thinking about for the last week. He stares at his desk, which is fifty times neater than usual. With a frown, he moves the desklamp two inches to the left, before moving it back. He reorders the pile of sketchbooks that he’s, for whatever reason, decided to leave out. Opening up a drawer, he considers shoving them in but remembers that last time, Mike had asked if he could see Will’s drawings.
Last time. God.
Robin had told him, when he last saw her, that he was just going to have to get over Mike. Sipping on a mediocre drink in a mediocre local bar, Will remembers how she’d looked at him the moment Mike’s name came out of Will’s mouth.
“He’s just a guy, Will.”
“Hey, he’s not just a-”
“A straight guy.” Robin added, more firmly. “You can’t spend the rest of your life pining over a straight guy.”
“I won’t!”
“Didn’t you break up with your last boyfriend after the last time you met up with Mike?”
“Shut up.”
“Hopeless.”
Of course Will hadn’t actually told Robin what had happened last time he’d seen Mike. How could he? How could he tell her when he couldn't even process it in his own mind?
Will flops down into his desk chair. 4pm, Mike had said. It’s 3:40. Logically, he could get something done in those 20 minutes. A drawing. An unfinished assignment. Instead, Will just spins around in his chair before he opens up his drawer and brings out the only sketchbook that he hasn’t laid out on his desk.
He can't stop himself from thinking about last time. Last time, they’d gone back to Will’s after midnight. Drunk. Laughing like little kids, high on life. High on each other’s company.
“Can I-” Mike had paused, blinked a little. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Weren’t you in a hotel?” Will had sat down on the same chair he’s in now, feeling his head spin as the chair rolled across the floor a little.
“Yeah but I can’t…” Mike gestured vaguely to himself, trying to find the right word. “Drive.”
“You can stay.” Will remembers nodding a few more times than were probably necessary. “You can always stay. We have to share the bed though.”
Will only remembered after that night that Mike hadn't driven to Will's dorm from that hotel room. He'd told Will when he arrived that he'd gotten soaked when walking over.
“S’like when we were little.” Mike had informed him. “Remember? At sleepovers?”
“I remember.”
Somehow, every time they’d slept over together, one of them had ended the night in the other’s bed. Even when it was more than just the two of them sleeping over, that had always been what ended up happening. That was, of course, before Will realised his behaviour towards Mike was a little too far from normal. Something to be hidden.
“Can I see your drawings?” Mike ambled over to Will’s desk, already reaching for one of the sketchbooks strewn across it.
“Mhm.”
“Always like your drawings.” Mike flipped through the first of Will’s sketchbooks. “Hey, were these done with the watercolour pencils I got you?”
“Yeah.” Will pointed to a pot of them, well-used and kept on his desk.
“Glad you like them.” Mike closed the sketchbook, picking up another and opening it near the middle. “You know, I still have-” Mike stopped as he turned a page. Will frowned, rolling his chair closer to Mike so that he could poke him with his elbow.
“Still have what?”
Mike set down the notebook carefully, too far from Will for him to be able to see it. “I still have all the art you gave me when we were younger.”
“All of it?”
“Mm.” Mike took another long look at the open sketchbook, before turning his whole body and looking at Will. Searching. Will stared back at the face that he knew, that he still knows almost better than his own. Mike’s hair had grown out a little, though it was not as long as it had been when he was fourteen. Will found himself longing, as he often had, to reach out and run his fingers through it, to mess up those black curls even more than they already were. It had taken everything in that moment for Will to stay still in his chair and continue to meet Mike’s eyes instead of dropping his gaze down to his lips.
Mike’s eyes. Will didn’t know when he’d realised that the look in them had turned from one of curiosity to one that Will struggled to describe. Something new, something dark. Something hungry.
Mike had taken two steps forward, placed one of his hands on Will’s neck and leaned down to kiss him. Softly, so impossibly softly that for a moment Will hadn’t even realised it was happening. One moment he’d been looking at Mike with the same veiled desire that he’d known since they were teenagers. The next, Mike was pulling away from him, murmuring apologies that simply sounded like white noise to Will. He stared - how could he not? - at the gentle flush spreading across Mike’s cheeks. He’d put that there.
Mike was picking up his bag now, making his way towards the door. Will frowned.
“Where are you going?” He’d hated how small his voice had sounded.
“I- I just thought-” Mike bit his bottom lip unconsciously, abandoning his explanation as Will reached over to take his hand.
“Come here.”
Surprisingly, Mike obeyed. His bag dropped to the floor as he walked over, standing in front of Will. Will tugged at Mike’s hand.
“Kiss me again.”
“Oh.” Mike blinked. “Oh. Yes. Okay.”
The second time, Will had been ready for the soft brush of Mike’s lips over his. He dropped Mike’s hand, reaching up to cup Mike’s jaw with both hands and draw him in closer. Will savoured the way Mike pressed forward into his mouth, capturing Will’s lips properly as soon as he realised his actions were reciprocated. His hands tangled wildly into Will’s shirt as he did so, the force of his movements pushing Will’s chair backwards.
Will broke the kiss to laugh freely, joined quickly by Mike. Will remembers tipping his head back and letting joy, pure joy wash over him as his smile grew. Mike. Mike Wheeler had just kissed him. Twice.
When Will looked back over at Mike, he hadn’t been laughing. He’d been watching Will again, that same look in his eyes. That aching hunger that Will had seen before Mike kissed him the first time.
“God, Will.” Mike rasped, moving closer to Will again. He brushed his hand along the line of Will’s jaw, the feathery touch sending shivers down Will’s spine. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
“So are you.” Will told him as the taller boy drew him in again, his hand curving around Will’s neck. Will’s eyes fluttered shut as Mike kissed him, losing himself in the warmth of his mouth, in the way Mike’s thumb brushed carefully under his ear. Will was in a dream, a heady daze, unconscious of anything that wasn’t the way Mike’s lips captured his or the way his hands cradled Will’s face so achingly gently. Like Will was a precious thing, something to be treasured.
Will opened his eyes as a weight settled across his thighs. It was Mike, sitting in Will’s lap with his arms still circling Will’s neck.
“Is this okay?” Mike asked. He'd been so close that his nose nudged against Will’s, making them both smile.
“Yeah.” Will’s hand came up to rest on Mike’s waist, holding him in place. “Don’t stop.”
“Bossy.” Mike mumbled, but he’d already started leaning down to nudge at Will’s neck with the tip of his nose. His lips lightly skimmed Will’s collarbone before they settled on the column of his neck. Mike pressed a single kiss there before drawing back slightly to ask again. “What about this?”
“Very okay.” Will threaded his fingers into Mike’s hair, tugging him closer to his neck. He felt himself relax into Mike’s movements as Mike began to suck eager kisses into Will’s throat, the soft gasps Mike had drawn from him only serving to encourage Mike more. When he finally pulled away from Will to admire his handiwork, a slow, self-satisfied smile had cross his face.
“What?” Will asked, hand slipping from Mike’s hair to rest on the nape of his neck.
“You’re a mess.”
“Whose fault is that, huh?” Will grinned at Mike. That time, he'd been the one to pull Mike in, kissing him as tenderly as he could muster. Mike smile had only widened. He made an incoherent noise of approval and deepened the kiss immediately, slotting his arm around Will’s neck like it had always belonged there. Will felt teeth nip at his bottom lip; he whined into Mike’s mouth, curling an arm around his waist in an effort to draw Mike somehow closer.
When they finally ended up in Will’s bed, Mike pressed himself against Will’s back and buried his face in the back of Will's neck so that Will could feel his breath tickling the hairs that grew there. It had been impossible not to fall asleep, safe and warm in Mike’s embrace.
It had been impossible not to notice his absence when Will woke up, wrapped in blankets that still smelled faintly of alcohol and Mike’s aftershave. The sheets were cold. Mike had gone, leaving a scribbled note about a family emergency. Will still doesn’t know if that note had been telling the truth - sure, friends don’t lie, but are they even friends after that night? What counts as crossing the line?
They must still be friends, because when Mike had called him out of the blue last week and asked to come over, it had been cordial as ever. Friendly, no hint of tension. No implication of any memory of what had happened. Just a quick, casual conversation and Mike mentioning that he was soon going to be in Chicago, which led to Will inviting him over. Which leads to Will now, spinning in a desk chair and waiting. 3:52. Eight minutes.
Will looks at the sketchbook. The one that Mike had flicked through before he kissed Will. Of course, one of the first things Will had done that night had checked it to see what it was that had captivated Mike so quickly. It had been left open on one of the many pages covered in sketches of Mike, done idly over the years. They were small, low-quality, but each of them captured Mike’s likeness almost perfectly, despite most of them having been done at times when Will hadn’t seen Mike in months.
When Will had gone to the bathroom that morning, he'd counted a fading line of bruises down the side of his throat. Faint, but impossible to ignore. He'd called his boyfriend at the time, Gerald, in order to break up with him that very day and spent the night drinking cheap beers. He'd sat in that chair, hoping for a call or for a knock at the door. For Mike to come in, to tell him he was sorry for leaving so abruptly and to kiss him again until he saw stars.
He flips over a new page while he waits and starts a new sketch from memory. Mike as Will last saw him. Long-ish hair, curly. Angular nose, Soft eyes, gentle lips…
Eight minutes isn’t enough to finish the drawing, obviously. As Will hears the anticipated knock on his door, he quickly shoves the sketchbook into his desk drawer and runs his fingers through his hair, hoping it looks okay. Will approaches the door nervously, absent-mindedly licking his lips before he opens it.
“Hi.” Mike Wheeler smiles at Will, his gorgeous brown eyes meeting Will’s almost nervously. Will can’t stop himself from grinning back, barely restraining himself from throwing his arms around Mike.
“Hey. Come on in.”