Archive of Our Own

It happened in the morning. 

Not dramatically, or with a thunderstorm of revelation. Just a pale insight to… something. 

Something amidst the strewn blankets and dust bunnies. Between the warm light of an Indiana summer, slipping through the slats of the blinds in thin, fragile stripes. And the specks of dust and particles that lilted in the sunlight. The air was nice, still. 

The basement smelled like old blankets and gentle detergent. Figurines still scattered across the coffee table from a new campaign. Aside from the blankets twisting around Mike’s body, throw pillows and quilts cover the floor, creating booby traps.

Admittedly, they hadn’t slept much. Well, they never did, not when it was just the two of them.

It was one of their rituals. Had been. 

The summer nights stretched long and heavy, cicadas buzzing through the open window as the boys lay on opposite ends of the couch, whispering in the dark. They talked about everything, campaign ideas, films they’d watch now that they were eighteen, whether Hawkins would cease to exist once they left.

But they seemed to be really great at swerving from certain topics.

They had an understanding. A quiet, careful dance. Mike didn’t ask about the way Will’s eyes had lingered too long. For so long. Will didn’t ask about the way Mike sometimes went still when their knees brushed.

It was peaceful, cowardly, but it worked.

Will woke first, like always. Mike slept like the dead, sprawled on his back, hair sticking up on one side, flattened on the other. His mouth was partly open, his arms like a stick figure. A strip of sunlight hovered dangerously close to his face. Will reached up instinctively and tilted the blinds, so it wouldn’t hit him

Will told himself it was a habit, nothing out of sorts.

He sat up slowly, stretching, careful not to wake the hazard next to him. The floorboards were the real traitors, groaning in protest under Will’s feet. But he had a path, he’d been sleeping over at the Wheelers’ since… forever. Along one of those years, he left a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.

At some point, it stopped feeling temporary.

Will turned the doorknob to the bathroom, quietly closing it behind him. He picked up his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror.

He’d gotten over it. Mostly. 

The confession. The look on Mike’s face when Will had stumbled through it– something apologetic, confused, almost frightened. 

Will spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

He knew Mike would always be a part of him. The wound would always heal, but there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be a scar.

Will huffs a small sigh before leaning into the sink to wash his face, cupping cool water over his eyes. Blindly, he reaches for a towel, his hand hitting… paper?

No, not loose paper. Something glossy.

Will frowns, his fingers brushing the edge of a magazine, somehow wedged in the drawer beneath the sink. It felt out of place. Karen kept everything obsessively tidy. Even Ted’s ancient aftershave had a designated square of space. 

Will pulled it halfway out, squinting at the back cover. Roses and thorns wrapped around the spine of the zine, it almost looked theatrical. He exhales a sigh. Playboy. That would track. Gross, but unsurprising. Maybe Nancy or–

Will flipped it over.

It wasn’t Playboy.

Will froze, staring. The cover featured a man, broad-shouldered, shirtless, chest hair highlighted in some artificial red light. The waistband of his shorts dipped low enough to suggest more than it showed. The model’s gaze was direct, unapologetically masculine.

Will’s heartbeat climbed into his throat. It was Blueboy.

This wasn’t exactly subtle. He’d heard about separate issues for… gay men, and granted… some women. Something spoken of like contraband. It wasn’t something you left in a shared bathroom by accident. 

And not something Nancy would buy.

But it most definitely wasn’t something Karen would keep next to the hand soap.

Will’s first instinct was disgust– not at the man, not really. At the unspoken danger of it, the recklessness. The fact it existed so casually in a house he knew so well. Will’s second instinct was something far more dangerous, stupid even. 

Hope.

Will buries the thought almost immediately. No. He set the magazine on the counter, staring at it like it might rearrange into a bar of soap if he gave it time. It could belong to someone else. It could.

Will’s mind offers weak alternatives… maybe some of Nancy’s friends? Maybe…

The floorboards creaked loudly outside the door. 

Mike.

Will slides the magazine back into the drawer, face down. He shut it carefully, closing it like a secret.  

He finally grabs a towel, wiping remaining droplets of water off his chin and nose. 

If it was Mike’s–

No. Will immediately turned down the thought. Mike isn’t gay.

Will stares at his reflection. His eyes were a little red from lack of sleep. He shuts his eyes hard, trying to omit the thought. It was too easy to slip back to hoping. It was so easy to hope for Mike. To imagine–

No.

Will shakes his head and opens the bathroom door, shutting it softly behind him. He couldn’t bring himself back to that, stooping down to such a level. He’d moved forward. He’s trying so hard to move forward.

Mike’s sitting up in bed, hair mussed with sleep and shirt wrinkled. Will thinks he might be better off dead.

“Sleep well?” He mocks, walking over to take a seat on the mattress.

Mike looks at him and glares, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. There’s no true pessimism in his gaze.

“Shut up.”

Will smiles, swallows it.

“What? You sleep like a corpse. I have to check in once in a while.”

Mike hides a smile by chewing on his bottom lip. He turns his body to face Will, their bare knees nearly touching.

“You sleep at all?”

Will hesitates.

“Not much.”

Mike studies him for a second longer than necessary. Something unreadable flickered there, something soft and searching.

But Will couldn’t stop thinking about the damn magazine in the drawer. Couldn’t stop wondering if Mike had hidden it carefully… or not carefully enough. Couldn’t help but think about Mike seeking out such an outlet.

“Hey,” Mike breathes out quietly. “You okay?”

Will’s not sure if he wants to talk to him about it. It may not even be Mike’s… who was he to infer? The answer is sour in Will’s head.

But if he were to ask and be totally fine with the answer... he'd be totally over it. That would be the only explanation. If he were to ask, then it'd mean he's totally fine. Totally over the whole "crush" situation. Mike's answer won't mean anything because he's chill.

Cool.

“I found something in the bathroom,” Will bows his head a little, hands on his knees. “Some kinda magazine.”

Mike stills.

It’s subtle. Would’ve gone unnoticed to anyone but Will. Mike’s shoulder draws back just slightly, as if bracing for impact.

“What kind of magazine?” he asks, aiming for casual. He almost hits the mark.

Will watches him too closely, their thighs brushing on the blanket-strewn mattress. 

“Not Playboy,” Will says, quieter now. “At least… I don’t think it is.”

A small beat encompasses the two. Mike nods slowly, taking in this information a little too factually.

“Were you digging through the drawers or something?”

There it is. A little too quick, defensive maybe.

“I… I wasn’t digging,” Will says, maybe a little too quick as well. Then softer, “I was looking for a spare towel.”

The cicadas outside seem louder suddenly. The hum of the house presses in around them. Mike looks past Will, towards the stairs, like someone might materialize and overhear.

Will hates the instinct.

“It’s not mine,” Mike says, voice quiet, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t say it was.”

Mike rubs the back of his neck. His hair stocks up worse when he does that. Will has the absurd urge to smooth it down.

“What’d it look like?” Mike asks, and this time the question lands differently. A little more measured, careful.

Will swallows, choosing his words with that same care.

“Uh… there was a guy on the cover. He was shirtless and had crazy abs like in the movies,” Will huffs a small chuckle at the absurdity. “It was all red and… intense.”

Mike’s gaze drops to Will’s mouth for a millisecond.

“Oh,” Mike breathes.

Just that. Oh.

Will’s heart is beating so loud he’s sure it’s visible beneath his t-shirt. He forces another laugh that doesn’t quite stick. “Maybe Ted’s branching out.”

Mike snorts reflexively then immediately defaults to disgust. 

“Jesus, no,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Silence stretches.

Will studies the threads on the blanket between them, his eyes trailing to the bare skin of Mike’s thigh, where his shorts had ridden up from sleep.

“It was called Blueboy.”

Mike inhales sharply. Will sees it.

“You know what that is,” Will says, it’s not quite a question.

Mike hesitates, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “I’ve… heard of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Will nods slowly. “Right.”

Another agonizingly long pause. Their knees brush this time, a shrill of lightning zipping from Will’s spine. Neither of them move away.

Mike’s voice drops. “So what if I did know what it is?”

Will’s breath catches.

“Then I’d say…” he trails off, suddenly aware of how fragile this moment is. One wrong word and Mike will glue his mouth shut forever. “I’d say it’s not exactly something you’d wanna leave lying around.”

“It wasn’t lying around,” Mike defends.

Will’s chest feels tight. “You hiding it from Karen?”

Mike doesn’t answer.

Instead, he looks up– really looks at Will now. There’s something raw in his eyes. Not defiant or ashamed, just… scared.

“Why do you care?”

Will looks at him, huffs a small breath.

“I don’t, I mean it's--” Will struggles to find the words.

Mike’s expression flickers. “You used to,”

Will’s throat closes, his jaw tensing. Unfortunately, he knows exactly what Mike means.

“That was a long time ago.”

Mike meets his gaze and narrows them, his pupils encompassing his dark eyes.

“A few years ago.”

“Feels longer.” Will wished it was longer.

Mike studies him like he’s trying to write an ending to a campaign, something unfinished that’s been sitting under his bed for ages.

“Did it… bother you?”

“The magazine?”

“Yeah.”

Will considers the question.

“It scared me,” he admits.

Mike’s eyebrows draw together and Will can spot the instinctive move he makes to get closer. Something he always did when he was listening to Will.

“Why?”

Will is reminded of Mike’s stupidity and almost laughs. Because if it’s his, it changes everything. But if it’s not, Will is the stupid one.

“Because… stuff like that… it’s not exactly safe. Not to leave out so plainly.”

Mike looks down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“It’s just a magazine,” he says plainly, though nothing in his voice sounds proving.

“Mike.”

Mike’s knee presses more firmly against Will’s. Neither acknowledges it.

“What, then?” Mike asks.

Will hesitates, the room feels smaller. 

“Uhm, are you--" Will stops. This doesn't seem right, fair. "Nothing.”

He didn’t have the heart to ask. He was scared of what he’d do, where his brain would take him. Will thought these days were behind him, back in the void. Now they were all out on the table again. Just when he and Mike were normal. Having sleepovers and talking all night. The last thing he wanted was a buffer.

Mike already seems to know what Will was planning on asking.

“I don’t think I’m–” he rethinks his words. “I don’t think everything’s that simple.”

Will’s heart stutters.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Mike,” he exhales softly. “I’m the last person you should worry about with this.”

Mike looks at the floor and exhales.

“I know.”

Their eyes lock and for a second, something unguarded passes over Mike’s face. No denial or confusion but longing.

It’s gone almost as soon as Will sees it.

Mike pulls back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s not mine,” he says, his voice weaker now.

Will lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”

The lie sits between them, neither reach for it.

Upstairs, a door slams, breaking the spell. Mike stands abruptly, like he needs distance from the bed, from Will, from himself. Will looks up at him and suppresses a frown.

“I’m gonna shower,” he mutters

Will nods.

Mike takes two steps toward the stairs– then stops. Without fully turning around, he says, “It didn’t… gross you out, did it?”

The vulnerability in the question nearly undoes Will.

“No,” Will says, steady, honest. “It didn’t.”

Mike’s shoulder relax, just slightly. He nods once and disappears up the stairs, opening and closing the basement door behind him. Will stayed seated on the edge of the mattress, staring at the place where their knees touched. It was so over.

Any chance he had at getting over Mike was out the goddamn window. He was starting to accept that. Because now there was a what if? Will gets up from the mattress and looks for his bag. During the summer time, they usually spent all day at one of the few lakes Hawkins had to offer. It was rare Will picked more than a couple swim trunks and a few shirts to bring.

Will changes into an old band shirt and some fresh swim trunks, listening to the old pipes in the walls groan, then the rush of water. A nice white noise, something to fill the silence. It spills down the stairwell, settling heavy in the basement air.

Will stands in the bathroom doorway for a moment before shuffling over and opening the drawer. He fixes the corner of the magazine, shoving it into the drawer till it’s hidden. It’s not even his secret. Not really.

Still, his pulse feels unsteady and heavy. Will closes the drawer carefully and looks in the mirror again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes a little too bright.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters under his breath.

What’s worse is he doesn’t feel stupid. It finally felt like he was on the edge of something or perhaps someone. The inevitable in his grasp.

By the time Mike comes back down, hair damp and curling at the base of his neck, the basement smells faintly of his shampoo, like muted herbs and eucalyptus. He’s changed into his now faded Hellfire shirt and old black swim trunks that hang low on his hips.

Will notices, he weakly tries not to.

“Ready?” Mike asks, toweling his hair once more before tossing it over a nearby chair. Will follows where it lands and grimaces.

“Yeah, you slob.”

Their eyes meet and Mike suppresses a grin. The air between them isn’t the same. Quite literally changing overnight. It’s nothing broken, just… empty. A space that needed to be filled. An elephant to address.

Mike grabs his tennis shoes from the floor and tugs them over his feet. “You good to ride?”

“Yeah.” Will says, moving blankets around to find his shoes.

Outside, Hawkins hums in the lazy way it only can in late July. The heat hasn’t peaked yet, lawnmowers drone in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass lilting in the air. A dog barks half-heartedly in the distance. It feels like any other summer morning.

Except it isn’t. 

What is usually a bike ride full of conversations and laughs is mostly in silence.

Their tires crunch over gravel. Mike pedals a little too fast at first, like he’s trying to outrun something. Will keeps pace, watching the back of his neck. The skin was tinged with pink from past trips and lousy sunscreen application. Will hates himself for noticing these details. 

Before he can stop, his mind drifts to the magazine. Will wonders if Mike bought it in Hawkins or somewhere outside. Maybe at some dingy gas station two towns over, where no one would recognize him. 

Will wonders what drove him to the edge. What the final decider was to buy it. If it happened recently. If it was because of something he did. Or if there was someone else.

There were too many questions. 

Eventually, the lake comes into view through the trees, glittering and wide in the sun. A handful of families and teens are there already, a tiny radio playing tinny rock music near the dock. As they near the grassy patch, they kick their legs over the seat, slowing down a bit before ditching the bikes near a tree stump.

Mike kicks off his shoes and socks before stretching his arms over his head, shirt lifting slightly with the movement. Will’s gaze betrays him for a moment, the line of his stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband.

Mike catches him looking. It’s not accusatory, not exactly. It’s something else.

Will looks away first.

“Last one in’s a demodog!” Mike says suddenly, already yanking his shirt over his head.

The word lands between them like a relic. Something unsafe, yet familiar. A reminder of the past.

Will can’t help but laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

Mike grins wide, almost boyish, bolting toward the water. Will chases him, tugging his shirt off and letting it fall behind him.

The lake is cool when it hits his skin, shocking and clean. They hit the surface at nearly the same time, sputtering. Mike shoves him under immediately.

“Asshole!” Will gasps, grabbing for his shoulders.

They wrestle in the shallow water, slipping and laughing, hands grabbing at arms and waists– just a second longer than necessary. It’s easy to pretend it’s just this. Just boys roughhousing. Just the sweet smell of summer.

And it could be that easy. To feel the ebb and flow of waves, the way the sun warms the back of Will’s neck. The easy chatter of voices lilting from nearby picnics and families. But Will slides a hand around Mike’s side and something is over before it starts. 

It’s just too easy. Too familiar.

“Wait,” Mike removes his own hands and backs up.

It was too close. Close enough that it was comfortable, and neither of them wanted to admit that. The water laps around their ribs, coming in soft waves, the sun beating down on them. It felt a little too revealing, too clear. 

Will nods, not addressing what the movement even was. He feels his face heat up despite being in cool water. He averts his eyes, trying to focus on something else. A small boy was next to them, splashing and flailing in a yellow rubber duck. 

He advances on his floaty, splashing water in Mike’s face. Will watches it happen and smiles— a little too wide. 

“Tag!” The boy shouts, squealing in excitement. He must’ve been about five by the judgment of his toothy smile.

Will starts to think Mike’s incapable of interacting with the small boy before he fakes a wound, clasping his hand to his chest.

“Oh! You got me!” He winces, holding his chest dramatically. When he's satisfied with the boy's giggle he drops his hand, smiling.

His lips twist into a devious smirk as he cups a handful of water, splashing the boy back.

“Hey! No tagbacks!” 

“Suck it!” 

The boy sticks out his tongue before frowning and at that, Mike changes his demeanor.

“Hey,” he calls out, the boy swivels in his floaty. “I surrender.”

Mike holds his hands up and gestures a “c’mere” signal. The boy smiles before using both hands to scoop water and chuck it in Mike’s face, drenching his hair. Before he can protest, the boy scuttles away to splash other kids in the shallows. 

Will stands behind Mike and revels in the scene. It was tooth achingly sweet and so unlike Mike. But it was also so Mike.

“That was nice of you.” His voice comes out a little more taunting than he meant.

Mike turns his head and shakes his hair, resulting in a twisted face from Will. He smooths it back and looks at him, exhaling a shrug.

“He started it,” he says, like it explains everything.

Water beads on his eyelashes, droplets clinging to the curve of his collarbone. One trails down his chest, lining his body in shining lines that sparkle in the sun. Will has to drag his eyes up manually.

“You fake died.” Will smiles, pointing at him.

Mike’s mouth twitches. “Method acting.”

Will rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He can’t help it. There’s something about the way Mike softens every so often. A switch from sarcasm to surrender– something that didn’t present itself very often. Not in such a generic setting.

The little boy shrieks somewhere behind them, a whistle blowing near the dock. For a moment, it almost feels normal again. 

Mike shifts his weight in the water, moving a little deeper. “You were staring,” he says, his voice light, unassuming. 

“At the kid.” Will tries.

“Uh-huh.” Mike tilts his head, studying him in that too-direct way that makes Will feel transparent. A strange curiosity that makes his stomach flutter.

Will crosses his arms over his chest, defensive without intention. “You’re good with them.”

“With who? Five year old ankle-biters?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

Mike looks away first this time, gaze drifting to the shoreline and the trees. An oncoming breeze ripples the surface of the lake between them.

“I don’t hate kids,” he says after a second. “I just… don’t know what I’m supposed to say half the time.”

“You seemed pretty confident.”

“Yeah, well.” he huffs a breath, running a hand through his wet hair. “He wasn’t asking me about my five year plan.”

The joke lands, but it bends at the edges.

College was on the ‘no’ list of things they talked about. A dirty magazine? Sure. But the inevitable absence of leaving the only place and people you’ve known? Absolutely not.

“You nervous?” Will finds himself asking.

Mike glances back at him. “About what?”

“Leaving.”

The word hangs there. Bigger than it should be. Will wished he hadn’t muttered it as soon as it left his mouth. 

Mike’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “It’s not like we’re going to different planets.”

“No,” Will agrees softly. “Just different states.”

Mike exhales slowly through his nose, descending into the water, letting it ripple over his shoulders. The honesty of it all seemed to get to him.

“Yeah, I’m nervous.” he mutters quietly.

Will nods once. “Me too.”

A small tugboat across the lake gurgles, cutting a scar of waves through the water. Mike watches it for a moment.

“Feels like…” He trails off, tries again. “Feels like everything’s changing at once.”

Will can’t stop his mind from drifting to the magazine in the drawer. About Mike’s hand on him. About the “almost” moments.

“Maybe it’s supposed to.”

Mike’s eyes flick back to him. “You always say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re already ten steps ahead of me.”

Will laughs quietly, wading further from the shallows. “Trust me, I’m not.”

There’s something raw in that admission.

Mike drifts a little closer without seeming to realize it. The space between them narrows again — not nearly as charged as before, but not harmless either.

“About earlier,” Mike says, low enough that it doesn’t carry. 

Will knows exactly what he means. His pulse ticks up anyway.

“It’s fine,” Will answers carefully.

“It didn’t feel… fine.” Mike swallows. “It just felt—”

He stops, Will waits.

“Too much,” Mike finishes. 

He’s not rejecting him, he’s just confused.

Will nods slowly. “Yeah.” 

They stand in the water, both suspended under pieces of seaweed and rocks. Mike is looking off into the distance, Will can’t seem to place what it is he’s looking at. There’s a small bead of water dripping off Mike’s bangs to his forehead, running down the bridge of his nose.

Mike opens his mouth to talk but hesitates, scanning the other people in the water. His eyes land on a buoy in the near distance. Will follows his line of sight.

“Wanna race?” Will offers a small smile.

Mike hums, grateful for the leeway but immediately takes off before Will can count down. Unsurprised, Will follows behind him, scooping his arms in and out of the water as he swims to the other side.

“Not fair!” Will gurgles as he moves his head in and out of the water's surface, following Mike till they reach the red, rusted buoy. 

Mike catches his breath, leaning his arm against the metal structure. Will does the same, kicking his feet the final measure to reach. Now they couldn’t touch the bottom. 

Will watches Mike, his eyes transfixed on the water. It’s a little murkier this deep, but the sun still shines through, lighting the sand and seaweed under their feet.

“I don’t want you to think I—” Mike starts, stopping. “I don’t want you to think I’m messing with you.”

Will looks up from the water, his breath catching in his throat.

“You’re not,” he exhales. And then, because he’s tired of acting like he’s unaffected, “But you can’t act like nothing’s happening either.”

Mike looks up, his face wet with water and his eyes brown in the sunlight. The waves seem to mute everything around them.

“I’m not… I’m not trying to,” Mike says, almost pleading. “I just don’t… I don’t know what this is.”

Will mulls on the thought.

The past hurt— the confession, the apology. In a way, it’s still here, but now it’s dulled down by something new. Something that is so close to being mutual.

“You don’t have to know today,” Will says quietly. “Or tomorrow, but I’m here and I understand. It’s… it’s easier to just face it than run away.”

His words are gentle, truthful. No hints of accusation or disgust. Mike seems to absorb that, his shoulders rising and falling with slow breath.

“I didn’t run,” he says, almost in defense.

“You said to wait.”

Mike’s mouth tilts. “That’s not technically running.”

“It’s jogging.”

Mike laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and mouth wide. It’s quick and bright and gone too soon. Will smiles, his arm wading through the water. He watches as Mike drifts closer, deliberately this time. Close enough that their forearms brush when a wave flows.

“I’m not running,” Mike says, softer now.

Will tries searching his face for any doubt, he doesn’t seem to find any.

“Okay.”

There’s a long beat in between, just the sound of waves and distant kids yelling. Mike’s hand begins to drift— hesitantly at first, then settling against Will’s wrist. Just resting softly, skin against skin beneath the water where no one else can see.

It’s small but it feels enormous. Neither of them move their hand.

On shore, someone cranks the radio. The opening drum beat of Love Shack wafting through the lake. A group of teenagers whoop before diving off a nearby dock.

But here, in the deep, Mike’s thumb shifts slightly against Will’s pulse. Testing, waiting. And this time, Will turns his hand just enough to let their fingers lace together. Just for a moment, hidden beneath the surface.

“This okay?” Mike breathes out, searching Will’s eyes.

“We’ve definitely held hands before.”

Mike uses his free hand to splash Will in the face, eliciting a wince, then another splash.

“What? Just saying.”

They both smile at one another, listening to the offshoot of the B-52’s.

Mike’s grin lingers a second longer than the joke deserves. Water moves lazily around them, nudging their hips together, pulling them apart, then back again. Their fingers are still loosely hooked beneath the surface.

Will feels brave.

Maybe it’s the distance from the shore. Maybe it’s the way no one can hear them over the shriek of kids and music. Or maybe the fact that Mike’s not going anywhere, not now.

“So,” Will breathes lightly. “How long have you had it?”

Mike’s smile falters— just a little.

“The magazine,” Will adds, because of course.

Mike looks out past Will’s shoulder to the treeline among the shore. His thumb still rests against Will’s wrist.

“A few weeks,” he admits. The honesty lands heavy.

Will swallows. “You drove somewhere for it?”

“Outside of town.” Mike chews on his bottom lip. “I took the long way back.”

Of course he did.

Will imagines Mike in some dingy gas station or bookstore, trying to look casual while sliding it under a candy bar. The image is so vivid it makes something twist low in his stomach.

“You were that curious?” Will asks, softer now.

Mike huffs a small, humorless laugh. “You say that like it’s weird.”

“I don’t think it’s weird.”

Mike looks at him, measuring the sincerity. 

“I didn’t buy it because I thought it was gross,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

“I didn’t buy it as a joke either.”

Will nods once, the water shifting between them.

“Why then?” he asks, no accusation in it.

Mike hesitates, his fingers seeming to tighten around Will’s.

“Because… I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he exhales. “About… whether I was supposed to feel something.”

Will’s pulse jumps under Mike’s hold.

“And?”

Mike’s jaw flexes. He looks a little embarrassed, but not ashamed.

“I did.”

The words are simple but they change everything.

Will’s breath stutters. “Did you–” He stops, starts again. “Did it scare you?”

“Yeah.”

A small wave rocks them, Mike steadies himself by instinct, hand sliding from Will’s wrist to his forearm. Warmer, firmer.

“It also,” Mike continues slowly, “didn’t feel wrong.”

Will feels heat bloom across his chest despite the cool water.

“So it’s yours,” he says gently.

“No shit.”

Will huffs a small chuckle. “Just clarifying.”

Mike nods, holding his gaze with a small smile.

“Would you…” Mike starts, blush rising quickly in his face. “Would you wanna look at it… with me?”

The question hangs between them, fragile. Will’s eyes widen slightly.

“Right now?”

“No,” Mike exhales a breath. “Later, when we’re back.” 

Will studies him, searching for any signs of insincerity.

“I would never make fun of you,” he adds quietly. “This isn’t to prove something.”

“Okay.” Will nods.

The buoy creaks softly beside them, metal knocking against metal.

Mike’s voice drops. “You’d… want to?”

Will doesn’t look away.

“I already know what it is,” he says. “I’m not going to combust.”

Mike gives Will a weak splash, exhaling a laugh.

“Not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Not so panicked or unsure, but anticipatory. Mike leans in a fraction closer, their foreheads a few inches away, just for a moment. Till a distant splash breaks the moment.

“Okay,” Will says.

It’s barely audible. 

“Okay,” Mike echoes.

They bike back slower.

The air is hotter now, the sun at its peak. The cicadas buzz among the trees, sweat drying on their skin in salt lines. Their shirts blowing in the wind, fanning their bodies down from the heat.  

Will watches as Mike bikes, he’s alongside him now. He seems a little looser, a little less sharp at the edges. He steals a glance over to Will and smirks, pedaling faster to reach the house. 

Will scoffs before matching the speed, racing him back to the Wheeler house. In unison, they break, coming to a slow stop before tossing their bikes haphazardly on the lawn. 

They had more important things to get to.

“Car’s gone.” Mike mutters, crossing the grass to the front door.

Will looks in the driveway and nods, feeling a sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. They’d be alone.

In the basement, the house is for sure empty. The TV is still on upstairs, but no one answers when Mike calls out.

Safe.

The basement somehow feels smaller than it did this morning. Now there was a sort of… agenda. Neither of them knew how to go about it. 

Will stands near the couch, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. Mike drops his bag by the chair and walks toward the bathroom without asking. He kneels, opens the drawer, and pulls the magazine out. It feels heavier this time. 

He walks back slowly and sits on the edge of the pull-out. Will lowers himself beside him, close enough that their thighs press together.

The cover faces up. Mike swallows.

“I didn’t know what I was expecting,” he says quietly. “I just— I kept thinking about what you said last year.”

Will’s stomach tightens.

“What did I say?”

“That you liked me.” Mike’s voice is steady, but thin at the edges. “That it wasn’t a choice.”

Will’s throat goes dry.

“I didn’t get it,” Mike continues. “Not really. I thought if I saw something… if I felt something… I’d know.” He looks up at Will and searches for a response. Will turns, their knees bumping.

“And did you?”

Mike doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out— slow, deliberate, flipping the magazine open.

Glossy paper shifts under their fingers.

A photograph fills both pages and Will’s eyes widen. It was of two men. One was sitting on top of the other, groping the man underneath him. They were in black boxers and nothing else. It felt too natural, too realistic. 

Will notices a change in Mike’s breathing pattern, he watches him.

“Yeah,” Mike exhales, his voice is rougher now. “I did.”

The air is charged hot.

Will’s shoulder brushes Mike’s. 

“You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.” Mike mumbles.

“I want to,” Will replies, voice low, almost a whisper.

Mike nods, reaching to turn the page. Both of them digest the new image. It’s the same two men but in another shot. Their mouths are open, bodies arched, hands tangled in each other’s waistbands. Will swallows hard and the room seems to shrink. There’s a faint sound of floorboards and the hum of the mini fridge, but all he can hear is Mike’s breath.

“I uhm… I never thought I’d see you like… this.” Will murmurs.

Mike turns slightly, closer. If they wanted to close the space, they could so easily.

“Like what?”

“Like… turned on-- by this,” He taps on the page. “By them.”

Mike stares at Will, eyes dark. He parts his lips, wetting his bottom lip. 

“I’m not thinking about them.”

Mike isn’t looking down when he says it.

Will’s throat runs dry, he tries to swallow. “What are you… thinking about?”

It comes out softer than he intends. Not teasing or challenging. Mike’s fingers curl slightly against the page, the paper crinkles under the pressure.

“You know,” Mike says, vulnerable.

Will does know. He feels it in the way Mike’s knee has pushed against his. In the way their shoulders are pressed together now, no daylight between them. In the way Mike’s breath has gone shallow. But still, Will needs to hear it.

“Tell me.”

Mike’s jaw tightens. For a second, Will thinks he won’t. That he’ll retreat, call it a prank and shut him down. Instead, he shifts closer, their hips almost touching.

“You, I’m… I’m thinking about you.” 

Will’s breath leaves him in a slow exhale. Now he’s acutely aware of everything— the heat of Mike’s bare thigh, the brush of swim shorts against skin, the faint scent of lake water. 

“Mike,” he murmurs.

Mike searches his face, as if bracing for rejection. 

“Is that— is that okay?”

Will lets out a shaky, almost breathless laugh. “You’re asking me that?”

A flicker of relief crosses Mike’s face, but it’s still tangled with nerves.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Mike admits. “I just know that when I look at this—” His hand gestures vaguely at the magazine. “I’m not picturing them. As hard as I may try, I… I keep picturing—”

He stops. Will’s heart is hammering so hard it feels like it might bruise his ribs.

“Picturing what?” Will prompts gently.

Mike’s eyes drop to Will’s lips, his hand lifts slowly from the magazine. He gives Will every opportunity to stop him, but he doesn’t. Mike rests his hand on Will’s hip bone, moving his thumb back and forth. The contact is electric. 

Will inhales sharply but doesn’t move away. 

“This is what I’ve been thinking about-- picturing.” 

Will’s fingers slide from the glossy page to Mike’s wrist, holding it there, encouraging.

“Oh.” 

Mike nods, humming. “Yeah.”

Will searches Mike’s eyes, his vision feels clouded and hazy. A strong urge to eliminate all remaining space. He lets his hand rest on Mike’s shoulder, urging him closer. Mike seems to get the idea, careening his face towards Will’s.

“Can I?” 

Will doesn’t have words, so he nods, moving his body to better face Mike. He nods back, tentatively, squeezing Will’s hip bone before leaning his head in.

It’s very slow, searching— like they’re trying to fit puzzle pieces together. Mike takes Will’s bottom lip in his mouth, sucking, figuring out the connection of it all. Will’s body becomes pliant under his touch almost immediately, tilting his head to get a better angle. This way, Mike weaves a free hand over and holds Will’s neck, adding pressure and stability. 

Mike wets his tongue and licks a soft strip of saliva over Will’s lips. It’s honestly unlike any conventional kiss Will’s ever seen on television. But it was… hot? He couldn’t deny that much longer. Mike takes his time, coaxing Will’s mouth open before tentatively kissing him. Will hums in return, sending hot vibrations all the way down to Mike’s abdomen. 

He caresses the skin under Will’s shirt, his thumb moving strategically under the fabric. Will gasps, then remembers that he needs to breathe. He was too lost in Mike’s mouth that was reminiscent of their shared toothpaste.

They part, their mouths resulting in a soft clicking noise. A small string of saliva connects their lips before they lean back. Will takes a moment, catching his breath, he lifts his eyes to Mike’s, they’re open wide.

Shit. It must’ve been too much. 

“Are you okay?” 

Mike nods without words, licking his bottom lip, savoring. Oh, so maybe it wasn’t too much.

“Mhm.”

“Do you wanna… do it ag—”

“Yes.”

And with that, Mike’s back on him, a little more sure of himself now. His tongue finds its way back into Will’s mouth, tasting and mingling with his tongue. This time it’s not searching, it’s so obviously, undeniably hungry.

Mike leans into him, making soft desperate sounds, one hand playing with the hem of Will’s shirt. His other hand caresses the hair at the nape of Will’s neck. He feels him everywhere, in his chest, stomach, and admittedly lower. Will moves his hand, clutching at Mike’s damp Hellfire shirt, dragging him closer than he already is.

In the movement, their teeth knock together. They both exhale nervous laughs, smiling into each other’s mouths. Neither of them pull away. Mike tries adjusting, a little slower this time. Slightly more thought out, intentional. He tilts his head as Will did, in the opposite direction. He eases his tongue back in, brushing softly. Will melts into it, his hand moving to slide up under Mike’s shirt. 

His palms flatten against warm skin, eliciting a shiver from Mike. It’s small, but Will can feel it against his skin.

“You okay?” Will murmurs against Mike’s mouth, his breath shallow.

“Mhm,” Mike responds instantly, moving his hand to cup Will’s cheek. “Don’t stop.”

Will nods shakily, closing the distance again, more certainly. He moves his other hand not under Mike’s shirt to the curve of Mike’s jaw. He strokes the skin there, coaxing his mouth open. In return, Mike’s grip tightens on Will’s hip, fingers digging in just enough to make Will gasp.

The magazine slides from Mike’s lap onto the floor with a muted thud, going unnoticed. 

Mike shifts closer, turning his body so his knee nudges between Will’s. It’s not completely intentional, but the contact sends a sharp spark through both of them. They exhale in each other’s mouths, the push and pull of electricity and spit. 

They both slow down for a moment, feeling the shift in air. Will silently checks in, still waiting for Mike to say it was all fake and set up. But he doesn’t. He stares patiently into Will’s eyes, waiting. 

Will nods, as if granting permission to whatever Mike had asked through his mind. Will moved his leg tentatively over Mike’s lap, granting them better access to each other. 

“Mm, hold on,” Mike adjusts, moving back to lean against the wall, avoiding the exposed pipes and cobwebs. “Here, c’mere.”

Will follows him in a sort of daze, settling ever so carefully atop Mike. Their bodies fit in a way that feels unfairly natural. 

If only they’d known.

Mike just looks at him, taking in the moment. His lips are pink and swollen, his pupils blown wide. His lips part, his voice coming out unevenly.

“This is okay?” he asks like he can’t quite believe it.

Will nods eagerly, brushing their noses together as he readjusts. “Yeah.”

Mike studies him, enamored by the image in front of him. And carefully, like he’s cutting a live wire, slides a hand under Will’s shirt. His fingertips drag over the line of his ribs, then flat against his stomach. Will inhales sharply, his hand gripping Mike’s shoulder.

Mike stills. “Too much?”

“No,” Will breathes. “Just… just don’t freak out if I—”

“If you what?”

Will swallows, cheeks turning pink. “If I react.”

Mike’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “I’d be more worried if you didn’t.”

The nervous humor eases something wound tight between them. 

Mike leans in again, this time kissing the corner of Will’s mouth, then his jaw. He’s experimenting, getting a lay of the land he took in with his eyes for so long. The mole above his upper lip and the others that paint his neck. His lips brush the sensitive skin beneath Will’s ear, resulting in a small, involuntary whine, sending a shiver down Mike’s spine.

“Oh,” Mike whispers, almost to himself. “Okay.”

Will threads his fingers into Mike’s hair— still slightly damp from the lake— and tugs gently. Mike exhales against Will’s skin, lifting his hips against Will’s to find any sense of friction. The contact is unmistakable, both of them suck in a breath.

“Fuck,” Mike breathes out, his head falling back on the wall behind him.

Will nods in return, his eyes are hazy and half closed, feeling.

“Mm, Will.” Mike squeezes his hip, looking up at him.

Will snaps out of his gaze momentarily. “Hm?”

“I have an idea.”

“Uh-oh.”

Mike shakes his head, patting Will’s thigh. “No, no. It’s gonna be good, trust me.”

Will narrows his eyes, scanning his face.

“It’ll feel good.” Mike decides to add.

Will feels his face heat up and something else a little lower.

“...What?”

Mike gestures to the forgotten magazine on the floor then looks back at Will, he’s smirking.

“Let’s try what they were doing.”

Will scoffs then realizes Mike is not joking.

“What?”

“C’mon,” Mike— who has gotten comfortable way too quickly, slides his hand under Will’s shirt. “Might feel good.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Will flushes, looking away from Mike’s blaring gaze. “It’s just… are you sure you want this?”

Mike nods eagerly, a sinister smile spreading on his face. 

“Mhm, yes.”

Will feels lightheaded when he simply looks at him. He’s intoxicating and completely insane. His face is flushed pink, his freckles illuminated in the golden sun. A nice ray coming in through a cracked window. His dark curls stuck up and frayed around his forehead. Will watches, entranced. Mike’s hand snaking along Will’s waistband, tugging at the elastic.

“Tell me if it’s bad or too much or—”

Will leans forward to kiss Mike, effectively shutting him up. He hums in protest against his mouth, but soon melts into it, letting Will have a turn. It’s still new, but Will is a fast learner and knows Mike’s weaknesses whether he’d like to admit it or not. He tugs again on Mike’s hair, encouraging him on his plan. Mike exhales a moan, vibrating through Will’s lips. 

His fingers dip under the waistband of Will’s half damp shorts, the remnants of lake water clinging to his skin. Mike caresses soft circles on Will’s skin, inching lower and lower. Will breaks from the kiss to breathe, exhaling a whine that reverberated through Mike’s brain. He looks at Mike, nodding, granting full permission. Mike licks his lips, nodding in return, letting his hand disappear beneath Will’s shorts. 

The feeling is nowhere close to what Will imagined in his dreams. It's tight and warm, dragging out every coherent thought from his brain. Mike’s hand was big, encompassing him and tightly wound. Will was so close to seeing the pearly gates. He was sure of it. 

His body was completely limp, bending to Mike’s hold. Somehow, within his haze his own brain amped up the situation. He turns his head, eyeing the magazine on the floor. The page Mike pointed to earlier. Will’s eyes focused on the men’s hands, both in the others’ boxers. Will felt a shiver run down his spine, excitement. 

Will seemed to take this as a challenge.

He turns his head, trying to reach the surface, out of the haze of arousal and fatigue. Will leans into Mike, shifting his hips against his hand, which elicited yet another soft sound. Will tries to swallow it before reaching for Mike’s shorts. Mike seems to snap out of his own daze, his eyes dragging from his hand in Will’s shorts to his eyes, searching.

“I want to.” Will exhales, reassuring the gesture— if it could be called that.

Mike exhales with a small smile, eyes hungry.

“I wasn’t gonna stop you.” 

The words hang between them, dangerously low and thick. Will swallows hard and nods, letting his palm slide from Mike’s jaw down the line of his throat. He lets his fingers linger there for a moment before moving down his shirt to the waistband of his shorts. Will’s fingers hook around the fabric, dragging them down a bit to free Mike’s disastrously hard length. 

Will watches as his expression changes, eyes screwing shut and breath heavy. Mike gasps once Will wraps his hand around him. A little hesitant at first but then firm, gaining confidence through Mike’s muffled groans. Will mirrors what Mike had done for him, surging his hand up and down. Fast and slick and dirty. 

A whimper leaves the two when their hips grind together. Accident or not, Mike arches off the wall, head thrown back and lips parted.

“Fuck, Will.” He exhales a shaky groan.

Will’s eyes fly to the exposed skin on his neck, gaze hungry. He leans in, letting his lips skim the expanse of Mike’s throat. Will sucks softly on the skin, leaving bruised marks before licking over the damage done. Mike tightens his grip on him, moving his thumb over the slit at the tip, causing Will to shudder against him.

They both hum together, a push and pull of breaths and whimpers. Will trails open-mouthed kisses up toward Mike’s collarbone, a beautiful shine coming in through the window, reflecting on his pale skin. 

Both of their chests are heaving, breaths unevenly synched as they move together. One shaky inhale between shared silence and dirty sounds. Will moves his free hand to the hem of Mike’s shirt, tugging it up to reach a hand up his chest. 

Mike’s breath comes in uneven hitches, his hips twitching forward into Will’s. He’s in close reaction time, grinding into him with careful precision, which was becoming awfully hard as they drove closer and closer to the edge. 

Mike tightens his grip on Will, moving up and down in firm pumps. Will whines, dropping his head onto Mike’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. 

“I’m not gonna—” Mike exhales, holding onto any strand of sanity. “Mm not gonna last.”

Wills nods, lifting his head from Mike’s shoulder to look at him. Mike pants softly, his eyes raking over Will’s face. He could get drunk on the sight alone. His lips are parted, a sheen of sweat at his temples, and eyes half closed. 

“Me… neither…” Will exhales in between breaths.

The rhythm between them stutters, Mike not holding back on any accord. He fastens his grip, leveraging his hand up and down in quick strokes. Will exhales a whimper in Mike’s ear, grasping onto his shirt. He mirrors Mike, jerking his hand faster, watching as Mike’s mouth falls open, eyes screwing shut.

They both tremble, heat coiling tight and low. It’s unbearably intoxicating and unlike anything Will has ever experienced. Mike’s soft, low groans reverberating through his brain and the tight, tangled heat that curls in his swim shorts. 

If Will was to die right now, that’d be just fine.

Mike’s the first to break, his body trembling as he releases. He leans his head against Will’s shoulder as he comes into his hand. It’s warm and lewd, but it’s all it takes to push Will over.

His hips stutter, bucking into Mike’s lap as he collapses forward with a soft whine. The release crashes hard over him, his eyes screwing shut and his lips parting. For a moment, Will was certain he saw the pearly gates, but slowly the world came back into view. He unclenches his jaw and exhales a shaky breath, holding onto Mike’s shoulders.

For a while they just stare at each other. Faces red and mouths parted. No other noises but the sound of breath and the distant sounds of birds. Their limbs felt loose, molten. Like they’d been sitting in front of a fireplace for too long. 

The air feels thicker now too. Still charged, but no longer frantic. The kind of stillness that follows a summer storm, when everything smells a bit sharper and the world feels changed.

Will shifts his eyes. Mike’s hand is still resting at his waist.

He’s becoming more and more aware of everything. The warmth between them, the way Will’s pulse hasn’t quite steadied, the ghost of Mike’s lips on his own. They feel swollen and sensitive, but real.

Mike’s breathing is uneven. Not necessarily panicked, just trying to find its rhythm. He moves his thumb, a slow drag against Will’s side. Mike’s eyes search Will’s face, something close to disbelief behind his eyes.

“Okay?” Mike mumbles quietly, it seemed like he was asking himself too.

Will swallows. “Yeah.”

There’s another silence— longer this time, but it’s no longer suffocating.

Mike eyes the situation in their laps, becoming aware of the mess. He slowly pulls his hand out of Will’s shorts, eyes blaring wide at the sight. Will’s breath hitches in his throat, eyeing Mike’s hand. He realizes he should probably do the same and carefully lifts his hand out of Mike’s shorts. 

His hand is glistening in the sunlight. It’s undeniably indecent but so entrancing. 

Mike’s the one to break the silence again. He exhales a shaky laugh, hoarse and undeniably unsteady. But very Mike. 

“...Fuck.” He exhales more than speaks. 

Will’s eyes flick up to Mike’s gaze, a small smile spreading on his face. He can already feel another wave of blush reach his face.

“Guess we should clean up.” Will breathes out, a bashful smile on his face.

Mike lowers his eyes to Will’s hand, then back to his eyes. “Mhm.”

He’s silent, reaching his clean hand up to stroke Will’s cheekbone. Will leans into it more than he’d like to admit, chasing the softness amongst the heat. Mike’s eyes are inquisitive, double checking every feature on Will’s face.

“What?” Will mumbles, scanning Mike’s face.

“I have another idea.” 

Will’s eyes crinkle, a smile turning into a grin. He uses a free hand to jab Mike’s side softly. 

“Shut up.”

Mike beams in return, reaching his hand up to Will’s hair, carding his fingers through it. 

“Says the one on my lap.” 

Will shakes his head, swinging one leg off Mike’s thigh. Mike is quick to protest the lack of contact.

“Wait! No, come back... don’t go anywhere.”

Will smirks and lowers back down, the undeniable wetness spreading in his shorts from earlier. He winces a little, squirming on Mike’s thigh.

“C’mon, we’re gross, we need to clean up.”

Mike looks from Will’s lap to his face, squeezing his hip bone. “I like gross.”

Of course.

“Hm, do you?” 

Mike is quick to respond. “Yes.”

“And you like me?”

“Duh.”

Will scoffs, but can’t deny the smile on his face. 

“Great, we’ll work with that.”

Mike groans, leaning his head on the wall behind him. “Will!”

“What?”

Mike considers his words, then lets it go, a smirk on his face. 

“Mm, nothing.”

Will rolls his eyes, laughing softly. The sound fades quickly when he really looks at Mike.

His cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess from Will’s relentless tugs. His chest is still rising a bit too fast, like he hasn’t fully come back to reality. 

Will’s smile softens. “Hey.”

Mike’s eyes lift. “Hi.”

“You okay?”

Mike nods, sure of himself. “Just processing.”

“Yeah,” Will nods back.

The reality of it seems to press in again. What they did, how good it felt, how natural. 

Mike’s clean hand drifts from Will’s hair down to his shoulder, anchoring him. 

“I’d never done…” he starts, then trails off.

“I know,” Will says gently

That earns him a huff of breath that could be considered a laugh.

“I wasn’t bad.” Mike mutters defensively.

Will’s lips twitch into a smile. “I didn’t say that.”

Mike’s eyebrows lift, the cockiness returning to his eyes.

Will’s blush deepens. “You weren’t.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sit there for another moment, still tangled together and smiling. The magazine lies abandoned beside them, half-crumpled and irrelevant. 

Mike’s gaze drops again to their laps, more thoughtful now than startled.

“We should probably…” He gestures vaguely toward their joined laps.

“Bathroom,” Will nods.

Neither of them move immediately. It feels strange to separate after being that close.

Mike swallows. “This doesn’t make it weird, right?”

“No, of course not,” Will says, eyes kind. “Does it feel weird to you?”

Mike considers the thought for longer than he intends to, his brow furrowing slightly.

“It feels… new,” he breathes. “And terrifying… but not— but not weird.”

“Okay.”

Mike hesitates, then adds, “I don’t regret it.”

Will feels something warm bloom low in his stomach. “Me neither.”

Finally, Will shifts off Mike’s lap, standing carefully. The air is cooler against his skin now. 

Mike follows a second later, having the coordination of a baby deer. Both of them acutely aware of the damp fabric clinging a tad uncomfortably. 

They exchange a look, equal parts embarrassed and fond.

“Race you to the sink?” Mike offers weakly.

Will snorts. “Absolutely not. I am not explaining why we slipped and died in your bathroom.”

Mike laughs properly this time. His voice sounds full, less shaky and uneven. They move toward the door, shoulders brushing as they situate themselves. 

Will grabs a towel, running it under warm water before handing it to Mike without a comment. Mike takes it, their fingers grazing briefly. 

They clean up in quiet, the earlier intensity replaced by something intimate and almost domestic. 

Mike tends to avoid his reflection in the mirror, focusing on the task at hand. After a moment, his eyes flick up to Will’s in the mirror.

“This is real,” he says quietly.

Will meets his gaze in the reflection. “Yeah.”

Mike nods slowly, digesting the information.

When they’re done, Mike tosses the towel into a hamper. The normalcy of it all feels surreal.

They find purchase on the couch on the other side of the basement, settling in on the cushions and blankets. Will lets himself lean into Mike, leaning his head on his shoulder. It feels so good. Oddly normal. Mike extends his arm over the couch to rest his hand in Will’s hair, caressing softly and gently. 

Will exhales without really meaning to, the sound slipping out of him unguarded. He melts further into Mike’s side, cheek pressed to his shoulder, listening to the steady thump of his heart. 

Mike keeps combing his fingers through Will’s hair like he’s memorizing the texture. He works at his scalp softly, paying attention to what Will reacts to. 

“You’re gonna make me fall asleep.” Will murmurs.

Mike’s chest vibrates as he hums. “That’s kind of the point.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Will tilts his head just enough to glance at him. “That is so rich, coming from you.”

Mike shrugs one shoulder, careful that he doesn’t jostle Will. “I sleep fine.”

“You sleep like you’re dead.”

“Efficient.”

Will snorts softly before closing his eyes.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Mike’s hand drifts from Will’s hair to the back of his neck, caressing small circles against warm skin. It’s so easy and absentminded in a way that makes Will’s chest ache.

Mike shifts slightly, reaching for one of the blankets twisted at their feet. He holds Will’s head from falling as he pulls it up on the couch. Mike spreads the blankets over their laps without comment, tucking it around Will.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he exhales gently. “I want to.”

Will nods, letting that settle.

I want to.