Chapter Text
The rest of the party is, surprisingly, kind of fun.
Will goes for a much-needed breath of air after their moment in the bathroom and finds Dustin by the pool, drunkenly invested in a discussion about how dolphins use ultrasound to communicate. (“I’m telling you, it’s more like a beam—kind of like a flashlight in the dark.”) And while Will is not necessarily interested in what the other guy has to say about it, he still scoots onto the bench next to Dustin, knocking their knees together. Dustin grins, gummy smile and all, and sloshes his beer around in his cup. It seems he finally decided to get one of those.
Will stays with him for a bit. He listens to the familiar rumble of Dustin’s voice, holds out until his heart isn’t beating out of his chest anymore and he gets bored of the conversation. Then he slips away again and wanders back inside. Max and Lucas are nowhere to be seen, and Will isn’t particularly interested in finding them in any compromising positions, so he doesn’t go look for them. Instead, he moves to the kitchen to grab another drink. The apple juice packets in the fridge are about the only thing he can find that don’t contain at least some percentage of alcohol. He punches the straw in and takes a sip, looking around the room.
There’s Mike—beautiful, miserable Mike, with his face tucked into a half-finished drink, pouting. Some girl is talking to him animatedly, but it doesn’t seem like he’s even really listening. His eyes are glazed over in that very particular way they always do when Mike has mentally abandoned a conversation without actually finishing it.
Will silently curses the way he always seems to find his way back to Mike, whether he’s looking or not. Like a compass, pointing North. Still, he suppresses a small smile at the heart-skipping sight of sad, pouty Mike and pushes closer through the crowd.
The girl is talking about classes—“…and the course wasn’t even that hard, really, as long as you handed all your homework in on time…”—but Mike hasn’t been paying attention. He really isn’t now, not with the way his face immediately perks up at the sight of Will approaching them. Will comes to a halt next to him. Nudges his shoulder with his own. Mike beams at him. And that’s that. It feels normal again.
Not that it wasn’t. Just Will and his stupid longing, wanting too much. Heart squeezing around something large and Mike-shaped.
They stay in the kitchen for a bit. Migrate back to the living room later, the girl in tow. They lose her to the dance floor soon after, but neither of them seems all too mad at that. She really was talking a whole lot, Mike admits to Will, leaning in close under the twinkling fairy lights. His face is so close to Will’s, lit up with laughter.
At some point around three in the morning, Mike (beautiful, wasted Mike) knocks into someone from behind and dumps a mix of Rum and Coke down the front of his shirt (mainly Rum, judging by the smell of it). Will takes this as a sign that it’s time to leave.
He collects Dustin by the pool, though he seems twice as wasted as he was when Will last saw him. They find Lucas and Max near the door of the downstairs bathroom, hair mussed and lips swollen. Will decides not to ask any questions as they fall into step behind him, stumbling drunkenly into each other, giggling.
Mike hangs off Will like a spilled drink, shirt sopping wet against his skin. He’s dropping all his weight onto the arm slung over Will’s shoulder, wobbling every now and then, which makes Will tighten his hand around his ribcage. Will is totally normal about it.
The five of them run into Brian near the front door, Jackson in tow. “Leaving already?” the latter says, his smile beaming even in the dark of the hallway. “Feels like you guys just got here.”
“‘M so down to party sh’more,” Dustin mumbles, head lolling forward. It makes Max snort.
“Yeah, right. Someone overestimated their endurance on the keg, I think.”
“We have a little bit of a drive back,” says Will, smiling apologetically at Brian. “We’d take you with, but there’s no space in the car…”
“That’s fine,” says Brian, because of course it is fine for him. Brian’s just nice like that. He glances at Mike, the way he’s hanging off Will, and something akin to quiet acceptance flashes across his face. “I came with my friends anyway. We’ll probably stay the night.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, though?” Brian’s smile is sweet. “For work?”
“Of course.” Will is vaguely aware of the way Mike is pressing up against him, hand tightening around Will’s shoulder. “Well, I should get these guys home. Thanks again for the invite, Jackson. It was really nice to meet you.”
“Anytime, homie,” Jackson grins. “Dustin, my man. I’ll let you know next time my parents are out of town again. You guys are capital F-U-N.”
Dustin nods, baseball cap sliding over his eyes as he does.
Somehow, they make it back to the car. Lucas and Dustin are passed out in the back as soon as Will turns onto the highway, heads resting on Max’s shoulders in the middle seat. Mike is half-awake on the passenger side, humming along to Will’s mixtape playing from the car stereo—The Smiths, who Mike pretends to hate when sober even though he doesn't. He has the window down and the wind is whipping his hair out of his face. Will finds it hard to look away.
“If you have to throw up, stick your head out,” he says instead, because he’s still thinking about the bathroom and the way Mike looked at him in there. Mike doesn’t seem to notice. Just hums and nods, rests his head against the door.
By the time they reach Hawkins, Max navigating from the back, Mike too seems to have gotten a little nap in. Will makes quick work of dropping Dustin off (he reluctantly wakes after two minutes of relentless shaking from Max) and helps Max heave Lucas out of the backseat, who is still blissfully drunk. “Don’t worry about it,” Max says. “My mom will be passed out on the couch. He can just sleep it off in the trailer.”
It's just after four when Will reaches the Wheelers’ house. Next to him, Mike has woken from his half-slumber and is blinking at the brightness of the streetlight in front of his home.
As soon as he recognizes where they are, he throws Will a look. “You’re kidding. I can’t go home like this. My mom will actually kill me if she finds me drunk.”
Mike’s voice is whiny and slurred around the edges. He blinks at Will again when the latter doesn’t say anything, and Will thinks he looks devastatingly lost against the backdrop of his dark house. Will suppresses a smile.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“It was Jackson’s fault! He just kept passing me the cups!” Mike is full on pouting now, bottom lips jutting out. “Why can’t I just stay at yours? I told my mom I’d sleep over, anyway.”
Will considers saying no. But Mike’s hand drops to tug at Will’s sleeve and it’s like whatever boundary he’s put in place for himself simply evaporates into thin air. Will is too indulgent, and Mike knows this. Knows exactly how to get whatever it is he wants from Will, dark eyes blinking up at him under the streetlight.
Damn him.
“Fine,” Will says and puts the car in reverse, shrugging Mike’s hand off his arm in the process; the smallest semblance of control he can grant himself over the situation. (He’s gotten far too good at lying to himself.) “But you better not throw up on my floor.”
Mike nods eagerly. His smile shines in the dark and once again, Will has to look away.
When Mike stumbles inside the Byers’ house, Will is glad for the way the carpet dulls his footsteps. He drops the car keys on the table as quietly as he can and grabs Mike by the back of his shirt, pulls him upright. “Shh. Don’t wake my mom, come on.”
Mike lets himself be guided into Will’s bedroom without protest. There’s a dopey smile on his face as he drops down on Will’s bed. Makes himself right at home, trying to kick his shoes off. Will runs a hand over his face, but he also can’t fight a small laugh at the sight. “How the hell are you still this drunk?”
“’M not drunk,” Mike says, very drunkenly as his converse clutter to the floor. He’s still grinning, too, hands moving to tug at the fabric of his shirt, but he’s too uncoordinated to get it up and over his head.
Will watches him struggle for a second; tries not to stare at the pale strip of skin above Mike’s waistband. He swallows hard. “Do you need help?”
The shirt lowers. Mike’s grin turns to a smirk, eyes going unfocused for a second as they flit over Will’s face. Points a finger at him. “You just wanna get me out of my clothes.”
“Oh my God,” Will snorts. “Yeah, sure. C’mon, arms up.” He lifts Mike’s soiled shirt over his head, careful not to tangle it in his hair. As soon as he’s done, Mike reaches forward, goes for the bottom of Will’s henley. Will catches him by the wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Your turn.” Mike has the audacity to pout. “‘S no fair.”
He’s going to be the death of Will. But there’s comfort in the dark and a heated pulse thrumming under Will’s skin. The corners of his mouth pull upwards before he can reconsider. “Who wants who out of their clothes now?”
It’s supposed to be teasing, but Mike doesn’t let him. Instead, his eyes darken as they lock on Will’s, bathed in earnest. His hands come up to rest on Will’s ribs, slide up to where the fabric of his shirt sits tightest over his chest. “I wanted you out of this the second I saw you in it.”
Will takes a shuddering breath.
It’s back now; that odd feeling of something Will is beginning to entertain as an actual thought and not just a strange concept laid out by Max. He feels it in the hungry way Mike’s eyes linger on him as he pulls back to tuck the shirt over his head. It’s in the way Mike reaches out for him immediately after, fingers splaying over his stomach, up to his ribcage, as if it’s all he’s ever known. He pulls Will close, and Will almost topples down onto him. Manages to catch himself on his elbows just before, gently settling his weight on top of Mike, who breathes out a sigh of relief. As if he couldn’t stand not touching Will for a second longer.
Underneath him, Mike looks ethereal—curls splayed out on the pillow like spilled ink, the freckled slope of his nose a familiar scatter of constellations in the moonlight. His lips part. Will’s eyes follow. Perfect, rosy, soft looking lips. Mike blinks up at him with his brown eyes, and when he speaks, his voice small. Almost shy. “Will you kiss me now?”
Will swears he can feel their heartbeats, a synchronized drumming between their chests. Mike’s grip on him is tight, as if he’s afraid Will might pull back. “You’re still drunk.”
“Will…” Mike’s eyebrows draw together. His eyes are intently trained on Will’s mouth; on the way Will’s lips shape around the words. The sight makes Will flush for no good reason. “You don’t want to?”
What Will really hears is: You don’t want me? This?
And, really, Will has nothing to say to that—because he does. Embarrassingly, desperately so. Weak, that’s what he is. So, he lets the full of his weight drop onto Mike, braces himself on his forearms. Then dips his head down and captures Mike’s eager lips with his own.
Maybe it’s because Mike is still tipsy, or maybe because of the dark. No matter the reason, he’s unabashed when they kiss. He opens his mouth almost immediately to suck Will’s tongue into it in a sloppy kiss that leaves Will’s toes curling.
Their kissing grows lazier after a bit. Will lets his fingers card through Mike’s hair, which earns him a satisfied hum. In turn, Mike noses along his jaw and leaves open mouthed kisses along the expanse of Will’s neck. His tongue darts out, teeth dragging along the skin, and Will shudders and bites back a happy sigh.
It makes Mike pull back, brows creasing. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
Mike pulls him down again, brings his lips to the spot behind Will’s ears that makes his knees go weak and runs his tongue over it. When Will swallows an embarrassing noise in his throat, he moves away again. Hovers his own face in front of Will’s.
“That. Making yourself be quiet.” Mike is frowning. The black of his pupils is expanding in the darkness. Will feels him run his hands down Will’s sides, to his hips, and then up again. “Let me hear it. I like knowing that it’s good for you too, Will.”
Too, too, too. Will shouldn’t be surprised, but this is the first time Mike has ever admitted to actually enjoying this. With him. His head is rushing with too much and not enough, and he doesn’t know what to respond. Because I don’t want to scare you off. Because the way I want you is so much that it terrifies me sometimes.
He settles for no answer at all. Just ducks his head to hide his flaming cheeks and kisses Mike some more. One of Mike’s legs has curled around the back of Will’s. He tugs, pulls him in even closer, and Will lets him. Wants him to.
They’re touching chest to toes and everything is warm, warm, warm. Mike’s fingernails rake down Will’s back, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and it’s all so much—he wants it all, all of Mike, and the feeling is too big for his chest, and he might burst if he doesn’t—if he can’t—
Mike’s leg hitches higher on Will’s hip and the movement makes them slide even closer together, aligns their bodies just right, and—oh God—Will’s throat catches on a hiccupped moan and the sound snaps him out of his kiss-induced haze.
All of a sudden, there’s panic. Black, heavy, clutching Will’s chest. He pulls back, still half on top of Mike. Covers his face with one hand. Mike’s own still cling to him, concerned, and it makes another wave of affection wash over Will. Mike’s eyes are dark and wide, sucking him in like a spiral. Threatening to swallow him whole.
Will can’t take it anymore.
He rolls off. Splays one hand against the mattress, the other still covering his face. Tries to ground himself to something, anything, other than the memory of Mike’s body against his.
“Mike…” His voice comes out choked. “What are we doing?”
What he doesn’t ask is: What is this? What do you want out of this? And do you want it as much as me?
Mike looks panicked now, too. His hands are still held out above him, where he was just holding onto Will. As if his brain hasn’t quite caught up yet. He licks his lips. Swallows. “What’s wrong, Will? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” Will is deflecting. He knows he must choose his next words carefully, but the lingering tightness in his chest is making it hard. Behind his eyeballs, a familiar sting takes residence, and it makes his throat clog up. “This isn’t… This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I… what?” Mike’s hands move towards him, then hesitate. Pull back slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asks again, more softly this time. His eyes are boring into Will’s temple. He can feel the intensity of it on his skin.
Will says nothing for a moment. His voice sounds shaky when he speaks next. “Somewhere along the way, things just started feeling… different.”
What he doesn’t say is: This isn’t about Brian anymore. This is about you and me. But you won’t admit that, and neither will I. Not in so many words.
“Yeah,” Mike says. He shuffles on the bed, arms finally lowering. Kicks the comforter down to the foot of the mattress. “I guess. Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. I just… I don’t know.”
“We said we wouldn’t make it weird, remember?”
Mike’s voice is almost pleading now, and so painfully gentle still. Will feels something inside himself stutter. He chokes on a sound; a sob, or a simple hitch of his breath, maybe. It lodges in his throat. Doesn’t dare to actually come out.
“But it is! It’s weird! I’m weird! I feel…” A shaky breath. “Strange. Like it’s not…”
He breaks off. Hopes that Mike understands.
Mike doesn’t say anything to that. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and for a second, Will thinks he might cry. But he doesn’t. Just looks away from Will, away from their conversation. “Okay.”
“Is that all you have to say about it?” Will asks quietly. He sounds small, like a wounded animal. Hates himself for it.
For a second, Mike hesitates. Then, without looking at Will, says, “I mean, that’s okay. It’s… I don’t want you to feel weird.”
Something cracks beneath Will’s ribs. There’s the distinct, lingering taste of a misunderstanding in the air, but Will is too close to crying to be able to tell where they went wrong. Doesn’t want to, actually. It hurts enough without Mike saying the words—saying that he doesn’t want Will, not like that. Not for anything other than kissing in the dark.
He lets out a long sigh that only worsens the ache in his chest. “Okay.”
He’s still on his back. Closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Mike turning away from him. Opens them again when the looming darkness conjures nothing but the memory of Mike, five minutes before. Touching him. Wanting him. Wanting Will to want him, too.
“The ceiling’s spinning,” says Mike. He’s on his back, too, mouth pulled into a grimace.
“Okay,” Will says again, deflated. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to argue with a drunk Mike, doesn’t want to feel things right now. Regrets even bringing them up in the first place. “Do you need anything? Throw up?”
Mike shakes his head. His eyes are shiny in the dark, but he blinks it away. “Just sleep.”
They’re not touching anymore, but Will doesn’t move closer and neither does Mike.
Will wakes to Mike burrowed into his chest, black curls splayed over the front of Will’s bare chest. His arm is tucked around Will, fingers gripping his bicep. It’s warm and their skin is sticking together. Will doesn’t ever want to get up. Wants to let himself enjoy this—a final, fleeting moment of what could have been.
But he can’t. Dwelling on it will only make it hurt more. He knows this. Years of quietly wanting things he can’t have taught him that. The fact that he gravitates towards Mike, even in their sleep, only serves as a reminder of it. And yet, he doesn’t have the heart to break out of the embrace right away.
When he glances at the alarm on his nightstand, it’s almost 12:30 PM and Will has work in an hour, so he curls himself out from under Mike, trying his hardest not to wake him. Mike stirs and gives a disgruntled noise, fingers reaching for the ghost of Will’s warmth. “Where’d you go?”
“Getting ready.”
Mike makes a humming sound and turns over. His back looks almost translucent in the midday light filtering through Will’s bedroom window. Pale, dotted with freckles. Will looks away. Moves across his carpet and fishes for his work uniform in the pile of dirty laundry before heading into the bathroom.
The shower is good. Will takes a little more time than he should scrubbing himself clean. When he looks at himself in the steamed-up bathroom mirror after, brushing his teeth, the makeup has completely disappeared from his neck, love bites on display. He quietly wishes Max had left the concealer here. The reminder of Mike stands out on his skin, like a branding. Though, the high collar of his uniform covers most of it, thankfully.
Mike is still in bed when he returns to the room, hair damp against the fabric of his shirt. Will collects his things—sketchbook, Walkman, pack of chewing gum—and slings it over his shoulder before leaning down to gently shake Mike awake.
“I need to go to work. You can sleep some more, if you want. I’m sure Mom won’t mind.”
Mike curls around and stretches like a cat. Finally, his eyes blink open, heavy still. “No, I’m up.” His nose scrunches at the sunlight falling onto the bed. “We can go together. I’ll be two minutes.”
His shirt from the night before still reeks of Rum, so Will gives him one of his old band shirts—The Who, classic. They wolf down a barely toasted pop tart each, hurrying out the door with Joyce calling after them to have a good day.
Outside, the midday heat is burning down with a ferocity that makes Will regret not taking Jonathan’s car to work instead of his trusted bike. He’s pushing it alongside Mike, who’s dragging his feet over the hot asphalt, looking like a drowned rat. He seems to remember more of it now, judging by his unusually quiet demeanor. If Will is honest, he really didn’t want to be stuck in a car with Mike for fifteen minutes straight, but somehow, the lingering silence as they walk is worse.
It’s only 1:13 PM when they reach the Hawk, but Will is certain he can’t spend another second with Mike in the blistering heat. He parks his bike by the stand. Shrugs awkwardly when Mike lingers behind him, pointing towards the movie theater. “That’s me,” he says unnecessarily. They both know this. But Will feels the urge to fill the horrible silence simmering between them.
He wants to grab Mike. Pull him close. Feel the damp on his skin, be near enough to taste it.
He wants to kiss him again. Tell him it’s going to be alright. That they’ll figure it out, somehow.
For a second, he thinks Mike feels the same way. He tugs on the bottom of his—Will’s—shirt, fiddling with the hem. It looks far too good on Mike. Will sees his fingers twitch, arm almost extending, so close to reaching for Will.
But then, the hand is withdrawing again. Lifting instead to scratch at the back of his neck. Mike’s not looking Will anymore. The wanting in his eyes is replaced by indifference; his voice sounds monotone. Practiced. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
His smile is hollow. It feels awfully final.
Will forces one of his own. “Yeah.”
Mike nods. Turns away. Under the sun, his retreating form is hunched over, curled in on itself. Will tears his gaze away. His eyes are burning, but he blames it on the heat.
—
Being back in the movie theater and working is surprisingly relieving for Will. Something about the studied routine of it all—refilling the popcorn sugar, sweeping rogue kernels from the foyer, sketching Brian when he isn’t looking—makes Will’s mind relax from this twisting and overwhelmed situation and lets him loosen into a sort of flow state.
If Brian notices anything is off about Will, he’s being awfully nice about it. Not that Will would have expected anything less of him. He is, once again, baffled by just how good Brian is. In fact, he feels so bad about being mentally absent during his shift, about being barely available for some small talk, that he volunteers to clean up the bathroom. (It’s a disgusting affair. Will only almost-throws-up once.)
By the time Chris is locking up, Will and Brian have strolled ahead to where his bike is parked. Brian is looking around the parking lot, eyebrows raised. “No Mike today?”
“No,” Will says and pulls his bike into the road. “Not today.”
He must look a little wistful saying it, because Brian eyes him for a second. Then, to Will’s relief, he shrugs. “Mind if I walk with you? I’m just past Church Street.”
Will nods with a tiny smile. “Sure.”
After the hot day, the cooling night air feels like a retrieve. Will lets the light breeze wash over him, ruffling the hair at the crown of his head. The two of them walk side by side, faces illuminated by the streetlights. Brian shoulders his backpack and glances over at Will, eyes unreadable behind the glint of his glasses.
“So... Party was fun.”
“Yeah,” Will says, despite his stomach churning at the thought of last night. “Jackson’s… He’s cool, I guess.”
“He can be intense, but I’ve known him forever.”
“Yeah, you mentioned. Your buddy’s cousin, right?”
“Right.” Another glance. Brian swallows. “Listen… I wanted to apologize. For making you uncomfortable.”
This takes Will aback. He slows, bike handles gripped tightly. “Wait. What?”
“You know.” Brian looks embarrassed, tips of his ears reddening so much that Will can see it even in the dark. “Asking you out. Again. In front of your friend.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I really should have taken a hint the first time.”
“That’s—I wasn’t uncomfortable.”
Brian looks a little more at ease. “Oh.” He gives a little smile. “Well, I just wanted to put it out there. I think mostly, I was just excited to have someone like me around. Not that you’re being super obvious about it! I just, uh. Well, you liked Wolverine’s sideburns a little too much, I guess.”
Will blurts out a laugh. It’s kind of nice that Brian has been paying attention to him like that. When he glances over at him, Brian seems almost sheepish.
“And then you kept looking at me. Studying me. And I knew you were seeing someone, and the thought of that—of being able to, in Hawkins? It just—I don’t know. Intrigued me? I guess it was kind of stupid of me to be so forthright with it.”
“It wasn’t,” Will quickly interrupts. He stops, bike at his side, and turns to face Brian. “You were incredibly brave, Brian.”
Brian’s face flushes, glasses slipping as he ducks his head down. “You don’t have to—”
“I really mean it,” says Will, and tries to put all the meaning behind his words. “Something like that, outing yourself in front of people, that… It takes guts. It’s really cool. You’re really cool.”
Brian stares at him for a moment. There’s a quiet, sort of wondrous smile on his face. Then, he huffs out a laugh. “Damn, Byers. Y’know, you’d be such a catch if you weren’t in love with that Golden Retriever of yours.”
It’s the first time someone has said it out loud. In love. Will feels like he’s floating for a second, but the easy way Brian is smiling at him, nudging his shoulder, quickly brings him back down on the ground.
He snorts and kicks at the pavement. “Yeah. Well. I think it would be easier, too, if I wasn’t.”
Brian smiles empathetically. “That the ‘complicated’ bit you keep mentioning?”
And somehow, this sets Will off. He opens his mouth, and he starts talking.
He tells Brian everything. The stupid plan to make him jealous. The hickey. Their first kiss. The many kisses after. The way Mike seemed to like it almost as much as Will. Sometimes more. Then, the sleepover after Jackson’s party. The awkwardness that’s lingered since morning. It feels so good to talk to someone about it all, Will realizes.
Brian takes it all in and listens. Nods at the right moments, makes questioning sounds in the back of his throat at the others. When he finishes, Will takes a big breath and lets all of it settle between them for a moment. He looks up at Brian, who seems deep in thought.
“Huh,” he says, lips pursing. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was complicated.”
Will breathes laughter. “No. I really wasn’t.”
“And you really think it didn’t mean anything to him? I mean—” Brian raises his hands when he catches Will’s frown, “—I’m just saying, he was acting very… odd. During the party. And before that, too. At work.”
Will can feel his defenses go up. “It’s Mike. He’s a little odd.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Look, Brian, I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but…” Will struggles around the words. “There’s just… He doesn’t like me. Not like that, I don’t think.”
A beat. Brian is mulling it over again.
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“…No.”
This time, the silence feels purposeful. When Will looks over, he finds Brian grinning at him. “You know, there is one way to find out for certain.”
“What are you saying?” Will doesn’t like where this is going. At all.
“Maybe you should take his advice.” There’s a glint in Brian’s eyes that Will isn’t sure how to feel about. Mischievous, almost. “Give him a taste of his own medicine. Make the boy jealous, Byers.”
Will doesn’t know what to say to that. Brian grins at him, already turning off onto Church Street. “Just… think about it, yeah?”
Will nods. Watches Brian disappear down the street for a few seconds, before swinging a leg over his bike and pushing off.
When he gets home, he greets his mom and wolfs down dinner. His thoughts are in a loop, replaying Brian’s suggestion.
Make the boy jealous, Byers.
And then what? Ride off into the sunsets together on their bikes?
Yeah, right, says a quiet voice inside the back of Will’s head.
But it might work, another, more traitorous voice quips. And if not, at least you’ll have your answer.
Will sighs and shakes his brain free from the thoughts. Moves to rinse his plate off and disappears into his bedroom. He tries to draw for a bit, but his mind keeps slipping back. The room feels empty without Mike in it; a quiet that can’t even be filled by Jonathan’s old mixtapes. Frustrated, he turns off the stereo (Bowie, too. What blasphemy!) and climbs into bed, heart racing. He tucks his calf against the wall and tries to think about nothing at all.
When sleep finally finds him, it brings images of freckled backs and wandering hands.