Chapter Text
When Will woke up, it was to warmth all around. He didn’t want to open his eyes just yet, didn’t want to let go of the moment. As the world around him came into focus, though, it became harder to hide from wakefulness. So he took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.
His head was tucked into the crook of Mike’s neck, and he was lying half atop him. One of Mike’s arms was thrown over his back, palm resting lightly against skin where Will’s shirt had ridden up. Their legs were intertwined, a tangled mess. Will lifted his head ever so slightly, to look up at Mike. His eyes were open, and he was gazing at Will fondly. He was making small circles with his thumb on Will’s back, and Will didn’t want him to stop, ever.
The morning light streaming through his window made everything feel hazy and dreamlike, so it was easy for Will to drop his head back and close his eyes again, revelling in the intimacy of the moment. Without meaning to, he let out a soft sigh of contentment, and felt rather than saw Mike react when his lips brushed against smooth skin. Will heard the rustle of fabric and felt Mike’s chest rise beneath him on an inhale, then Mike’s other hand was resting on the back of his head, fingers twining gently, oh so gently, in his hair. When Will didn’t say anything, those fingers began to card through the strands in small movements, and Will treasured the sensation. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten there, with Mike Wheeler’s hands in his hair and Will’s body draped over his, but he didn’t really care about the details. Because the truth was, crush or no crush, he’d missed the casual affection they’d once shown each other.
“Will,” Mike whispered.
Will hummed against his throat, tilting his head against the morning sun.
“Will, we should probably get up before my mom drags us to breakfast.” Even as Mike said the words, he made no move to stir. In fact, the hand at Will’s back slipped under the fabric of his shirt to caress the skin there.
Will rose up on his elbows to cast a glance at Mike’s alarm clock. The numbers 9:07 blinked at him, glowing a faint red. When he looked away he realized that he was now hovering over Mike, braced on his forearms. Mike stared up at him, face slack. Will’s mouth was dry, oxygen and words alike caught in his throat. Mike’s eyes traveled over Will’s face, pausing once below his eyes– on his lips?-- and then again at a spot on his temple. The hand in Will’s hair fell away, and Will missed the touch in the brief moments between that and Mike’s fingertips brushing across his brow.
“You have a cut,” he murmured, transfixed. Feathers filled Will’s mouth again, soft down heavy on his tongue. He gazed down at Mike, pinned by those brown eyes.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Will breathed.
Mike hummed, low in his throat. The pads of his fingers slid across Will’s skin, down and over his cheekbone. Mike’s thumb brushed Will’s lower lip, the touch weightless and yet enough to send sparks dancing through Will’s nerves. Will let his eyes fall closed, lips parting on an exhale. Mike’s fingers paused there, then moved on to trail down Will’s neck until his whole hand was resting where it met his shoulder. His thumb traced crescents over Will’s collarbone. Will opened his eyes when he heard a sharp intake of breath from Mike. He was met with Mike staring, enraptured, at him.
Wings brushing ribs, Will shifted his weight to one arm and reached with the over. He used his index finger to tuck an ebony curl behind Mike’s ear then let his hand fall away again. Beneath him, Mike was a beauty from a portrait of old, hair spilling across pillows and sparkling eyes captivating the viewer. Drenched in soft morning light, his loose shirt slipping over a shoulder to reveal one delicate collarbone, he left Will breathless. The light only accentuated his fine features, sharpening his cheekbones and deepening the hollow of his throat. Will wanted to press a kiss there, find out what his skin tasted like and if it was as soft as it looked.
The spell was broken when Mike’s door got thrown open and Holly burst in. “MIKE!” She shouted. Then she saw Will lying on top of him. “Oh. I didn't know your boyfriend was here,” she teased.
Mike turned bright red and yelled, “HOLLY! GET OUT!”
“Okay!” She said brightly, turning to skip out of the room. “Mom said to tell you that breakfast is ready!” She called over her shoulder.
After she left, Mike and Will just stared at each other. Then Will rolled off Mike with a slight sigh. Lying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling. Whatever bubble he and Mike had existed in when they’d woken up, hazy and luminous and liminal, it had popped when Holly walked in.
“Listen, just— ignore her, okay? She’s just been a little shit since she found out I li— I mean. Uh. She’s. Yeah. Seriously, ignore her. I don’t even know where she got that idea from,” Mike was saying.
The wings in Will’s chest stopped beating as his heart dropped. He fought to keep his voice steady when he said, “Right. Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He sat up and turned away from Mike, swinging his legs onto the floor. “I’m gonna go get dressed,” he mumbled, standing.
“Oh— okay.”
Was it Will’s imagination, or did Mike sound disappointed that he was leaving?
——————
Will keep his eyes focused on his plate all throughout breakfast, using his fork to push around the scrambled eggs drowning in syrup. He didn’t look down when he felt Mike’s foot brush his under the table. He might have moved his own a little closer, but that was beside the point.
“Why don’t you boys take your bikes around town for the morning?” Mrs. Wheeler suggested as she passed Nancy the bacon. “The weather’s so nice, it would be a shame to stay inside all day.”
“My, uh, my bike’s at my house,” Will pointed out. He hated to so quickly dismiss the idea, but it was a fact that couldn’t be ignored.
“I can swing you two by there to get it,” Mrs. Wheeler said with a wave of her hand. “Really, it’s not a bother at all, I have some errands I need to run and Mike’s fits in the trunk.”
Will glanced at Mike. He was staring at his own plate, poking at his own syrup-soaked eggs. Will looked back at Mrs. Wheeler. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, that would be great.”
“Of course I don’t mind! I’m just glad to see you back around, Will,” she said as she stood and began collecting plates. “Michael’s been complaining endlessly about how busy you are nowadays.”
“Mom!”
She rolled her eyes. “What, Michael? It’s the truth. Will, would you be a dear and rinse your plate, then put it in the sink?”
——————
Will sat atop his yellow bike, fastening his helmet. Beside him, Mike was sitting on his own and fidgeting. He looked at Will and opened his mouth to say something, then cast his eyes to the pavement and closed it, biting back whatever he’d wanted to say.
“Let’s go,” Will said, using one foot to knock his kickstand back.
“Where to?” Mike asked.
Will’s first thought was the training warehouse. His second was that Mike didn’t know about the training warehouse.
“Whitestone Park?” He suggested. It had been their favorite back when they would spend hours roaming the city by bike.
“God, we haven’t been there in— ages,” Mike said with a laugh.
“I know right? Bet we’ll barely recognize it.”
“Yeah. When was the last time we went?”
Will paused, mind running through the timeline of their childhood. They’d explored unfettered— until the day Will hadn’t come home. After he returned paranoia had run rampant and they’d been given a strict curfew of sundown. By the time that let up, they’d grown and so had their interests— exploration had become a thing of their past, replaced by DND and homework and assorted extracurriculars.
“Well, by the time my mom let up on the protectiveness, we’d kinda— I don’t know, moved on from stuff like that.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. I, uh, forgot about— that.” Mike’s voice turned apologetic, tone tinged Prussian blue. Everyone liked to dance around the subject of Will getting taken all those years ago, in spite of his insistence that he wasn’t some fragile flower that would wilt at the mere mention of the ordeal. But the last thing Will wanted to drag that all up. So he just smiled and reached over to elbow Mike in the ribs. His eyes flicked down to Will’s arm, then back up to Will’s face, and a small, private smile ghosted across his lips.
“You’re fine. Now let’s get going. At this rate your mom will call us back for lunch before we even leave my driveway.”
There was that silver bell laugh again, and Will couldn’t help but grin in response.
——————
They were on their way back from the park when it happened. The front wheel of Mike’s bike caught in a pothole and twisted, sending him and the bike toppling to the pavement. Will skidded to a stop and dismounted his bike, rushing to Mike’s side.
“Mike! Are you okay?” Will dropped to his knees beside Mike, who was pushing himself up to sitting. His bike was twisted with his legs and his shirt was rucked up to reveal torn skin on his side. Will grabbed Mike’s shoulder, clutching hard bone through fabric.
Mike blinked up at him. “I, uh.” He reached down and pressed a hand to his side. His fingertips came away speckled with blood. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, okay, uh, shit, uh, let’s just– let’s get you home, okay? And then I’ll– I’ll clean you up. Yeah? Yeah, okay.”
Mike still looked hazy, but he nodded up at Will. “Y-yeah.”
——————
Will dragged Mike into the bathroom next to his bedroom and began digging through his medical cabinet. Mike leaned against the counter and watched, bemused.
“Get on the counter and take your shirt off,” Will instructed.
Mike raised his brows at Will, who just rolled his eyes.
“Not like that,” he said, exasperated. “I need to disinfect and clean the scrape. That’s all.”
“I didn’t say no.” Mike raised his arms in innocence. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I could see it on your face,” Will replied. The words came out fonder than intended. “Just– get on the counter, Mike.”
Mike got on the counter.
As Will kneeled to dig through the cabinet under the sink for gauze and antiseptic he heard the rustle of fabric and thump of something hitting tile. When he stood he was faced with a shirtless Mike Wheeler, chest at Will’s eye level. Will cleared his throat and fought to focus his gaze solely on the scrape stretching across Mike’s ribs.
“This is going to hurt,” Will warned, holding up a small towel soaked in water and the antiseptic.
“Bet it would hurt less if you held my hand,” Mike quipped.
Will glanced up at him, caught by the look on his face. He’d expected a flippant smirk, but what he saw instead was shy, a flush stealing across Mike’s cheeks. His shoulders were hunched, curling in on themselves. Will swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Then he reached up and cupped Mike’s face. Mike turned his head into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. A sigh escaped his lips.
“Hey,” Will said, quiet. “Look at me.”
Mike opened his eyes. Will’s breath caught in his throat and his heart fluttered, downy feathers sliding over his tongue. Mike’s eyes were wide, trusting. The mirror light behind his head haloed him in lemon yellow. That, coupled with the rosiness of his cheeks turned him a knight out of a tapestry depicting some epic quest. Ethereal and saintly. Without thinking, Will stepped in to fit himself neatly between Mike’s legs, and one of Mike’s ankles hooked around his calf immediately, the top of his foot sliding over muscle. Will’s thumb lightly brushed across Mike’s cheekbone. His mouth went slack, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Will smiled, then dropped his hand to interlace it with one of Mike’s, braced on the countertop.
Then he dragged the antiseptic-soaked towel across Mike’s skin. Mike jumped, a yelp escaping from his mouth. Will couldn’t help but laugh at the look of betrayal he was pinned with when Mike realized what had happened.
“Will! You– what?” Mike turned puppy eyes on Will. “Why?”
Will shrugged. “I figured it was best to start while you were distracted.”
“You didn’t warn me,” Mike pouted.
“Yes, that is the point of distraction. And here you are, still in one piece.”
“Will,” Mike drew the word out. “It stung.”
“I have to do it again,” Will admitted. Mike gasped.
“No.”
“Yes.” You can squeeze my hand, if you want,” Will offered.
Mike dropped his head onto Will’s shoulder.
“Fine,” he mumbled.
“Ready?” Will asked. He wanted to get his hands in Mike’s hair, to card his fingers through the raven curls tickling his jaw.
“No.”
“Well too bad,” Will chided, pressing the towel back into Mike’s skin. Mike hissed in pain but didn’t move beyond squeezing Will’s hand until Will thought his bones would be nothing but marrow and dust when he let go. “You’re doing so good,” he coaxed. “Just a bit more and then I’m done, okay?”
And Mike, he– he fucking whimpered.
“Okay.” His voice was muffled by the fabric of Will’s shirt. Will gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he finished cleaning the wound.
“There,” Will finally said, tossing the towel into the sink. “All done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Yes, it was,” Mike declared into Will’s shoulder. “It was horrible. Terrible. The absolute worst. I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally recover from this ordeal. In fact, I think I will simply die right this very moment.”
“I think you’ll be fine,”
Using his free hand, he began to slide his fingers across Mike’s skin, gently pressing down.
“Does that hurt?” He asked. “We should make sure you don’t have any bad bruises before it’s too late to stop the swelling.”
“No, no it doesn’t hurt at all.” Mike sounded breathless and Will forced himself to believe it was just from the injury.
He continued with what he was doing, running his hand over Mike’s chest and asking if it hurt. Mike said no, every time.
Eventually the touches went from probing to caressing, but if Mike noticed he didn’t say anything. His breathing was heavy, though, winded. It was the only sound in the room, Will’s throat so choked with feathers he didn’t think air could get through anyways.
Will drew one fingertip down the center of Mike’s chest, pausing at the solar plexus. Then he dragged his hand back up to trace the slope of Mike’s shoulder and up the back of his neck. The hand not interlaced with Will’s locked around his wrist, wreathing it in warmth.
“I’ll need my hands back to dress it,” Will murmured.
“Mm, no,” Mike mumbled, tightening his grip. He turned his head, nosing at the side of Will’s neck.
Will’s breath caught.
“If it gets infected we’ll have to start this whole process again,” he threatened, trying to disguise his breathlessness. He didn’t think he did a very good job. He could practically taste the soft down spilling out of his mouth.
Mike didn’t respond and Will sighed, then tried to pull his hand away. Mike resisted.
“Mike. Please.”
Will could feel Mike’s pout against his neck, lips brushing the tender skin there.
“Fine.”
Mike relented when Will tried again.
Will reached for the gauze and medical tape he’d set out on the edge of the counter. Keeping his eyes focused on his work he began to place the gauze over Mike’s scrape, pausing to tape it in place. And if he let his hands linger on Mike’s skin just a bit, who could blame him?
——————
When Will got upstairs, hair still wet from a shower, he found that the mattress on Mike’s floor had disappeared.
“Wh..”
Mike jumped up from his bed.
“I– uh– I mean. Uh. Well, you just. I. Uh. Last night, you– you had the nightmare, but then you slept okay when you were in, like, a proper bed, so I figured–” Whatever look was on Will’s face was enough for Mike to stop in his verbal tracks. His face crumpled. “Oh god. You think it’s a terrible idea. Sorry, I– I don’t know why I just assumed, I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, I’ll–”
“Mike,” Will cut him off. “Mike, it’s okay, really. I mean, are you sure you’re fine with it? I wouldn’t want to take your bed.”
“What?” Mike looked at him, confused. “Of course I’m fine with it. I want you to be comfortable. I don’t mind sharing at all.”
“Oh, okay then.”
“I– uh– great!” Mike exclaimed. “I still need to shower, but um, you can– get comfortable?”
Mike cringed at himself, then smiled weakly at Will and left the room.
Within minutes he was back.
“Um. I forgot a change of clothes,” he said lamely, visibly embarrassed. “So, uh. Yeah.”
Will just shook his head and laughed, waiting until Mike had left for sure to climb into his bed. It was different with the lights on and the house still awake. It felt more real. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing as he slid beneath the sheets, fabric cool against his skin.
——————
Will opened his eyes when he felt the mattress dip from Mike’s weight. The whisper of fabric moving against fabric was loud in the silence of the sleeping house as he tugged the covers up around them, settling himself next to Will, who let out a soft sigh and shifted closer. The world had a dreamy golden quality to it like this, halfway between wakefulness and sleep. Anything could happen in this state where lines blurred into nothingness and minds were left hazy.
“Hi,” he mumbled sleepily.
“Hi,” Mike whispered back. His voice was a little scratchy. Will reached out and tugged on a curl.
“Your hair’s wet,” he remarked. The words were languid, bleeding together at the edges.
Mike smiled, amusement in the lines of his face and depths of his eyes. “It is.”
Will hummed, slick strands still between his fingers. “‘S soft.”
“Oh yeah?” Fondness colored his voice, a gentle amber made from permanent rose and cadmium.
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna turn the light off now, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
Will closed his eyes and waited for the click of the lamp. When the rustling of fabric stopped and Mike went still, he let his hand fall from Mike’s hair and onto his shoulder to pull him closer. Mike went without protest, letting Will curl into him. One of Mike’s arms rested across Will’s waist, and it tightened the slightest bit when Will nestled his head in the crook of Mike’s, letting out a contented sigh. Under the sheets their legs were tangled.
He drifted off soon after, not quite sure if the feeling of Mike’s lips pressed in his hair was real or just the beginnings of a dream.
——————
Sometime late into the night Will awoke with a dryness in his mouth. Gently untangling himself from Mike, who rolled over and made a sound in protest, he stood.
Padding through the quiet house, he was glad for his enhanced vision in the dark. It saved him from tripping over toys Holly had left strewn about the house as he made his way into the kitchen.
He got a glass down from the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink, praying the sound wouldn’t wake anyone. He drained it, then set it softly in the sink with the dishes from dinner.
Thirst slaked, he returned to Mike’s bedroom and slipped under the covers. He’d barely settled himself on his back when Mike rolled over and latched onto him. Sprawled limbs covered his body. Warm skin pressed against cool, smooth against rough. Will’s breathing stopped when Mike rested his head on his shoulder, soft curls brushing his jaw. He had one leg thrown over Will’s. Beating wings took up a familiar rhythm in his chest.
Hesitantly— and so, so gently, Will let himself wrap an arm around Mike’s waist, fingertips pressing into skin where his shirt was ridden up. Mike made a noise, low in his throat, and turned his head to bury it in Will’s chest. Will’s collarbone was surely digging into his forehead, but Mike didn’t move away. Will could feel his warm breath through the thin fabric of his shirt, slow and even in sleep.
Will let out a breath and reached up to tangle his fingers in Mike’s hair, curls soft and still slightly damp. Mike made a soft, sleepy sound and Will felt his chest tighten at it, feathers creeping into his lungs. One of Mike’s arms slipped over Will’s side, hand skating across skin and under the hem of Will’s shirt. His skin burned in its wake, and he imagined it left a trail, golden and shimmering and warm. He closed his eyes and ran his hand through silky strands, letting sleep overtake him.