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Will isn’t stupid. He knows that much.
But it hurts when every day, his brain convinces him otherwise. His peers convince him otherwise. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t be like this. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. He hates the small things about it the most, like knowing the answer to a question in class that nobody else knows, or when someone says hello to him and all he can do is seal his lips into a tight smile and raise five fingers at them.
It’s the little things that eat him alive slowly. The obvious thing, of course, has already chewed its way through his nervous system until he’s left with a barren wasteland of rigid thoughts and no feelings.
He just wishes everyone else knew him for who he really was, rather than what they saw at the surface: a kid who ignores everyone and everything and couldn’t give one more shit about anyone but himself.
Which could not be farther from the truth, because he really loves and cares about his friends and family. The least in that equation is himself, in which he truly cannot stand. It is hard to explain this to anyone who hasn’t grown with him, who doesn’t know him inside out. Nobody even knows what mutism really is. They think he chooses to be like this. Every doctor, therapist, counselor.. They want to find the “problem” he has.
It makes him feel like an anomaly, a test subject, a lab rat. He’s tired, he is so unbelievably tired. And he just wants to be seen. The only person who sees him for who he truly is, is Mike Wheeler. His best friend. And he feels horrible that he’s never spoken a word to him.
Which is why, today, he decides he is going to try.
To talk to Mike.
The first time he’ll ever try speaking to someone other than his mom and Jonathan.
Mike never asked questions, never judged him, never criticized him for his differences. He just loved, in the way that a best friend should love. Young Will on that swing was terrified, waiting for the boy with dark hair to come up and say something mean to him. But no, he simply asked to be friends with Will. And Will had never been happier, he’d nodded his head so frantically he almost got a headache.
Now, at sixteen, still void of a public voice, he reflects on this moment. The first day of kindergarten was the day he stopped talking. And he doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything more in his life. He wishes he’d voiced a “yes” to Mike rather than just nodding. If he could turn back time, he would. One thousand times over.
On his bike to the Wheeler’s, his hands tremble on the handles. He can feel his lungs heaving faster the more he thinks about his plan. He hasn’t told anyone, because it feels wrong to him. All he’s ever known his whole life is keeping his monologue internal, rarely ever externalizing it. So not telling anyone when he wants to make a spontaneous decision comes like clockwork to him.
Part of him is scared, too, of the reaction that will pull from this. He doesn’t want anyone to make a spectacle of him, which is funny to think about, considering his whole life has been spent under one. He knows Mike won’t judge him. He feels particularly safe around him, so he knows that Mike will know not to make a huge scene out of it.
When the familiar curve of the road onto the Wheeler's street appears, his heart rate picks up. He doesn’t know why he’s so afraid, he can back out if he really wants to. But he knows deep down that he has to give this shove to himself, he needs to make a change. He has to do this. He can’t back down now.
He’s at the door before he realizes. With a trembling fist, he knocks. And Mike is at the door before he can form a second thought.
“Hi,” Mike smiles, pulling Will into a hug. It’s warm, and the contact between Will’s fingertips and Mike’s sweater is uber comforting. Will just hums in response and sinks into the embrace.
He pretends like he doesn’t notice Mike’s shoulders tensing at the noise. He knows it isn’t bad. He has to tell himself it isn’t bad. He doesn’t even laugh audibly, his laughter is always hidden by a hand closed over his grinning mouth and short, breathless jolts. Of course Mike would be shocked by any noise coming from Will’s mouth.
“Hey, Will,” Mike starts again, pulling away, “missed you. What’s wrong?”
Will shakes his head and looks into Mike’s eyes for a moment, his own widening slowly. He guides his gaze inside, and Mike knows to let him in. He also knows to grab Will’s finger and guide him to the basement door and down the steps.
“You wanna watch something?” Mike asks expectantly.
Will shakes his head, he just wants to hang on the couch. So he looks over, onto the couch they’ve spent too many hours sitting on to count, and Mike takes him there. Gently, slowly, like he knows Will is contemplating something.
They sit there in silence for a while, soaking up each other’s presence. It’s serene, even when Will’s leg is frantically bouncing and his finger jumps with his knee. Mike reaches his arm around Will’s shoulders and guides him to lay back on the couch. He always knows how to calm Will down, even in the silence. Slowly, Will’s leg halts its tremor, and Mike snakes his arm back to his own side.
Will turns his head to face Mike, who is already staring at him. He breaks into a wary smile and melts further into the couch.
“Will, it’s okay. Don't push yourself if you don’t want to.”
Will just looks at him softly, like he’s waiting for Mike to say something else.
“Take your time,” Mike assures, voice sweet as candy, “I’m right here.” He reaches over and grabs Will’s hand and grips it, strong but soft.
Will squeezes back twice—code for I know. He smiles again, but it’s more wobbly this time. Mike watches as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, but he looks away.
He looks away because he knows it makes Will nervous. He looks away because he knows what his best friend is about to do. He looks away because he has to blink a few tears out of his eyes. He never lets go of Will’s hand.
“Hi, Mike,” a soft, shaky voice emerges. A squeeze to the hand, the wet drop of a fat tear following.
Mike looks up at Will with tears in his eyes. “Hi, Will,” he chokes, letting the tears slip. “Are you okay?”
Will nods, breaking into a sob. Mike pulls him into his side, “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m so proud of you.” He rubs his hand up and down Will’s arm and lets him cry into his shoulder.
They sit like that for a little while, and Mike lets Will cry until his tear ducts dry. Will didn’t make much noise, as usual, but he allowed himself to let noise out when it came, for the first time. Will feels safe down here, in the corner of the Wheeler basement’s couch, in the nook of Mike's shoulder. He sighs before calculating what to say next.
“Thanks, Mike,” he mumbles into Mike’s sweater, “thanks for always being so patient.” Will stutters over about half of his words, but Mike doesn’t mind. He’s just so proud of him.
“It’s the least I could do,” Mike affirms, “you’re my best friend. I’d be fine never hearing your voice if it meant you felt safe.” He winds both arms around Will, now, fingers tracing down his back slowly, how he likes it. “I’m just so proud of you, Will.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Will finally projects his voice at his regular, at-home volume. It feels foreign for a moment, but then Will realizes who he’s resting against, and his mind goes quiet.
Mike doesn’t speak; he just soothes him until he’s fully calmed down. He lets Will decompress, like he always does after a stressful day. Mike is Will’s rock, and he has been practically since they met. It’s comforting to Mike that Will trusts him and feels safe with him. He feels the same for Will, of course, and it’s so very reassuring to Will.
Will loves Mike. He’s known that forever, but he only recently realized the weight of his love. He loves him like he loves the warmth of his sheets from the dryer on a cold day. He loves him like he loves the moon and stars in the sky. He loves him like he’s never loved before, and it scares him. It scares him because he doesn’t believe that he deserves that love in return. Yet, somehow, he receives it. He’s never been good at relationships—excluding romantic ones because he’s never had one—and so this scares him. He does not want to lose the one person who understands him inside out, because it’s wrong to love him.
He lets that thought cross his mind as he sits there in Mike’s arms. He doesn’t let it consume him, though, because part of him knows. Knows that Mike loves him, too, in whatever quantity that may be. So he holds Mike tighter and releases a few more tears before his next few words slip out.
“I love you,” he admits, still hiding in Mike’s collarbone. “Thank you, Mike. For everything.. for being my friend through this all, for understanding me without needing words. Thank you for never giving up on me. It means the world to me. And I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out, too.” His voice is incredibly shaky, still, and kind of hard to understand while he hides himself, but Mike understands him just fine.
For the past ten minutes, all Mike has done is hone his ears in on every minute noise that escaped from his best friend. He’s in shock, or disbelief, or both, but he doesn’t present that. But after what Will had just said, he couldn’t hide his emotions. His eyes well up before he can stop it, and he starts to carefully sob. Will just holds him through it.
Lying them back on the couch slowly, pulling Will down to his chest, Mike shakily starts, “I love you too, Will. And please don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. Even without words, you are the kindest, most intelligent person I know. You’ve taught me so much, Will, about other people and myself. And how to love, even in the silence. Thank you for showing me how to be a person, too.”
Mike gently grips Will’s chin, guides him upwards and into a featherlight kiss. They both smile into the next one, and they lie there in each other’s warmth, kissing until they run out of breath. As darkness comes, sleep follows, and neither of them questions whether or not Will should stay. Will doesn’t move very far, they simply readjust across the couch and stretch over one another.
Even in the silence, they can feel each other’s love radiating through their hearts. They fall asleep, tangled together, and Will has never been prouder of himself.