Chapter Text
Mike woke on his birthday already mentally arguing with a song.
It wasn’t even a particularly good argument.
Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, his brain had decided the bridge he’d been working on three nights earlier was wrong. Not completely wrong. Just wrong enough that he could feel it lurking at the edge of his thoughts before he’d even opened his eyes.
For several moments he lay motionless beneath the sheets, staring up at the ceiling while sunlight filtered through the bedroom windows and trying to remember the melody. The instinct to get up immediately and disappear into the studio was almost automatic now. The last few months had settled into a rhythm of late nights, unfinished lyrics, voice notes recorded at ridiculous hours, and long stretches spent chasing songs that only existed half-formed inside his head.
Then he became aware of fingers moving lazily through his hair.
The bridge immediately stopped mattering.
Mike turned his head.
Will was propped against the headboard beside him, already awake, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Morning, birthday boy.”
Mike squinted.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Define late.”
“Nearly ten.”
Mike groaned dramatically and buried his face back into the pillow.
Will laughed.
“You’ve become impossible since you’ve been in album mode.”
“I’ve always been impossible.”
“True.”
Mike smiled despite himself.
Outside, the California sun was already bright enough to flood the room with light. Somewhere beyond the bedroom windows, the pool shimmered beneath a cloudless sky. The studio sat only a short walk away across the garden, full of unfinished songs waiting for him.
For once, however, he decided there was no reason he couldn’t spend the day exactly where he was.
That realisation settled over him slowly.
Comfortably.
And for perhaps the first time in weeks, Mike allowed himself to ignore the music entirely.
The rest of the morning passed in the kind of ordinary happiness Mike had spent years convincing himself he didn’t need.
Coffee on the patio.
Breakfast that Will attempted to make himself before eventually admitting defeat and ordering pastries instead.
A swim.
An hour spent stretched out beside the pool while Mike pretended to read and actually watched Will fall asleep in the sunshine.
Nothing remarkable.
Nothing exciting.
And somehow it felt more valuable than most birthdays he’d had in years.
By early afternoon they had retreated back inside to escape the heat. The house was quiet. The evening’s dinner preparations hadn’t started yet, leaving the day feeling strangely open and unstructured.
Mike was wandering through the kitchen looking for a bottle opener when Will appeared carrying a rectangular package wrapped in dark blue paper.
Immediately suspicious, Mike narrowed his eyes.
“What is that?”
“A present.”
“I told you not to buy me anything.”
“I didn’t.”
Mike pointed at the object in Will’s hands.
“That appears to be a thing.”
“It is.”
“Which means you bought me something.”
Will looked unbearably pleased with himself.
“Open it.”
Mike sighed dramatically before taking the package.
The wrapping paper came away easily.
Beneath it sat a leather-bound book.
Simple.
Elegant.
Handmade.
Confused now, Mike opened the cover.
The title on the first page immediately made his throat tighten.
Things We Love About Mike.
For a moment he simply stared at it.
Then he turned the page.
The first entry was from Dustin.
Mike,
Thanks for teaching me everything I know about music.
Unfortunately that means every bad habit I have is technically your fault.
Love you.
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
The next page contained a photograph.
Then another message.
Then another.
Steve.
Ryan.
Then his new friends…
Robin.
El.
Max.
Lucas.
and obviously, many pages from Will.
Page after page of memories, photographs, stories and letters.
Some were heartfelt.
Some were ridiculous.
Most were both.
Halfway through the book, Mike found himself blinking suspiciously hard.
“Oh no,” Will said immediately.
Mike looked up.
Will was grinning.
“You’re crying.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Mike wiped aggressively at one eye.
“Shut up.”
Will’s grin only widened.
Mike looked back down at the book.
A photograph slipped loose from between the pages.
His breath caught.
His sisters, Nancy and Holly.
The photo was years old now. The three of them stood on a beach with their arms around each other, laughing at something outside the frame.
Tucked behind it was a handwritten note.
Happy Birthday, idiot.
Call us more.
We love you.
The words blurred slightly.
Mike swallowed.
Hard.
Before he could say anything, his phone began vibrating on the kitchen counter.
The screen lit up.
Mom.
For several seconds he simply stared at the name.
Will noticed immediately.
The smile faded from his face, replaced by quiet understanding. Without saying anything, he stepped back and busied himself making coffee. Giving Mike space.
Mike answered.
“Hey.”
There was a brief pause before he heard.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
The words landed somewhere deep inside his chest. For a second he wasn’t twenty-six years old. He wasn’t the frontman of one of the biggest bands in the world. He wasn’t standing in a mansion in Hidden Hills.
He was simply her son.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Her voice sounded exactly as he remembered. Maybe a little older. Maybe a little softer. But familiar and comforting.
“Are you doing anything nice today?”
Mike glanced toward Will.
He was currently pretending not to listen while very obviously listening.
The sight made him smile.
“Just dinner.”
“With Will?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
The warmth in her voice made something ache.
There had never been awkwardness from her where Will was concerned. Never judgement. Never disapproval.
The distance between Mike and his family had come from somewhere else.
Years ago, when he’d come out publicly as bisexual, his father had reacted badly.
Badly enough that conversations became difficult.
Badly enough that visits became less frequent.
Badly enough that over time, distance became normal.
Mike still loved them.
That was the hardest part.
The love had never disappeared.
Life had simply stretched everything thinner.
“Your sisters wanted me to tell you happy birthday too,” his mother said.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Did they?”
“They also told me to remind you that phones work both ways.”
Mike laughed quietly.
“That sounds like them.”
“You should call them.”
The words weren’t a criticism.
Just a gentle truth.
Mike looked down at the photograph still sitting beside the book.
“Yeah.”
His voice came out softer than intended.
“I know.”
The conversation lasted another ten minutes.
Nothing important.
Everything important.
Small updates.
Questions about the album.
A story about Holly that made him laugh.
The sort of conversation that reminded him how easy it would be to call more often if he stopped letting months slip by.
When the call finally ended, the kitchen felt unusually quiet.
Will was waiting on the opposite side of the island.
Not pushing.
Not asking questions.
Just there.
Mike looked down at the photograph again before carefully sliding it back into the book.
The weight in his chest wasn’t sadness exactly, it was more complicated. A mixture of gratitude and regret. Love and distance.
The strange reality of realising some people had drifted from your daily life without ever leaving your heart.
“You okay?” Will asked gently.
Mike considered the question.
The book sat open on the counter.
His mother’s voice still lingered in his ears.
Outside, sunlight glittered across the pool.
And later that evening, the people who loved him would fill the house.
For the first time all day, he felt the full weight of it. Not the fame. Not the success. Not the house.
The people.
The ones he’d drifted away from.
The ones who had stayed.
The ones who had found him anyway.
Slowly, he smiled.
“Yeah.”
Then he looked at the book again.
“Although I might actually kill you for making this gift.”
Will looked delighted.
“That’s fair.”
~
Mike had spent most of the week insisting he didn’t want a fuss.
Which, according to everyone in his life, was apparently the exact sort of thing someone said before a fuss happened anyway.
Fortunately, Will had ignored almost all of their suggestions.
There was no rented venue.
No guest list full of industry people Mike barely knew.
No photographers.
No publicity.
No giant cake shaped like a guitar.
Just dinner.
Exactly what Mike had asked for.
By the time the sun began setting over Hidden Hills, the garden had been transformed into something warm and inviting. Strings of lights hung between trees and along the patio, casting a soft golden glow over the outdoor dining table. The pool reflected the pink and orange colours of the evening sky, and somewhere in the outdoor kitchen, the smell of garlic, herbs, and roasting vegetables drifted through the air.
It felt more like a family gathering than a birthday party, and in a way it was.
Which was exactly why Mike loved it.
The first person to arrive was Dustin, who immediately complained about the security gate despite having visited the house often enough to know exactly how it worked.
“This place gets more intimidating every time I come here.”
“You said that last time.”
“Because it does.”
“Yet you managed to break in dressed as Charlie Chaplin.”
“We do not discuss my crimes, Mike.”
Mike looked at him.
Dustin looked completely serious.
Will, standing nearby with a tray of drinks, started laughing.
Ten minutes later Steve arrived carrying three bottles of wine and an expression that suggested he had already been arguing with traffic for most of the afternoon.
Robin arrived directly behind him.
Then El, Max and Lucas together.
Ryan arrived last, as he often did, stepping through the gate while still finishing a phone call and looking as though he’d spent the entire day preventing disasters.
“You’re working on my birthday?” Mike asked.
Ryan ended the call.
“I was working because it’s your birthday.”
Mike couldn’t even argue with that.
The evening settled into an easy rhythm almost immediately.
Food appeared.
Wine was poured.
People drifted between conversations.
The air remained warm even after sunset, and the sound of laughter seemed to carry effortlessly across the garden.
At one end of the table, Robin and Dustin were arguing passionately about whether a hotdog qualified as a sandwich.
At the other end, Max and Lucas were trying, and failing, to convince El that normal people didn’t keep spreadsheets ranking every film they’d ever watched.
“It’s organised.”
“It’s fucking weird,” Max replied.
“It’s both,” Lucas offered.
El looked pleased by that answer.
Mike sat quietly for a moment, simply watching.
The table was full but the people sitting around it weren’t colleagues or industry contacts or celebrities invited because somebody thought they would look good in photographs.
They were people he loved.
People who had somehow become home.
Across from him, Steve was telling a story that was becoming increasingly exaggerated with every retelling.
“You did not fight a raccoon.”
“It was absolutely a raccoon.”
“It was a cat,” Dustin said.
“It was enormous.”
“It was a cat.”
“It had evil in its eyes.”
“It was a cat.”
Will was laughing so hard he had to put down his drink.
Mike watched him for a second longer than necessary.
The campaign had been consuming so much of Will’s time recently. Meetings. Interviews. Planning sessions. Phone calls. Entire days spent helping people and carrying responsibilities that seemed to grow larger every week.
Seeing him like this, relaxed, happy, surrounded by people who cared about him, felt strangely precious. As though moments like these had become rarer than they should have been.
Will glanced up and caught him staring.
Immediately smiled.
Mike rolled his eyes.
Will’s smile widened.
Somehow, even after all this time, that smile still had the ability to completely dismantle his train of thought.
“You’re doing it again,” Robin announced.
The entire table turned.
Mike sighed.
“Doing what?”
“The staring.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I wasn’t.”
Robin pointed dramatically between him and Will.
“You two have always been disgusting.”
“Thank you,” Will said.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“It felt like one.”
Robin looked offended.
Dustin immediately joined in.
“You know what the worst part is?”
Mike regretted asking before he even opened his mouth.
“What?”
Dustin gestured toward them.
“They don’t even realise they’re doing it.”
Steve nodded solemnly.
“That’s true.”
Mike looked around the table.
“None of you are on my side.”
“No,” Ryan said. “We’re all claiming Will if you get divorced.”
Will nearly choked on his drink.
Mike buried his face in his hands.
The laughter that followed echoed across the garden.
For a while, nothing important happened.
And maybe that was the important thing.
Nobody fought.
Nobody cried.
Nobody had a crisis.
There were no emergencies.
No scandals.
No campaign meetings.
No interviews.
No record executives.
Just food.
Conversation.
Stories that had been told a hundred times before.
The ordinary magic of people choosing to spend an evening together.
As darkness settled fully over the hills, someone eventually produced a birthday cake.
Mike immediately looked suspicious.
“I specifically said…”
“I know what you said,” Will replied.
The cake wasn’t enormous.
It wasn’t elaborate.
Just a simple chocolate cake covered in candles.
The sort of cake somebody might have made for a family birthday years ago.
For a moment, Mike simply stared at it.
Then at Will.
Then back at the cake.
Something unexpectedly emotional tightened in his chest.
Because somewhere along the way, this had stopped feeling like a house.
Stopped feeling like a place he escaped to between tours.
Stopped feeling like somewhere he existed.
And started feeling like somewhere he lived.
Somewhere people gathered.
Somewhere people laughed.
Somewhere Will belonged.
The candles flickered in the warm evening air.
Everyone was looking at him now.
Waiting.
Expecting.
Mike groaned dramatically.
“I hate this part.”
“Everyone loves this part,” El said.
“I absolutely do not.”
“Make a wish.”
Mike looked around the table one last time.
At Steve.
Robin.
Dustin.
Ryan.
Max.
Lucas.
El.
And finally Will.
Who was smiling at him from across the candlelight.
A year ago, Mike wasn’t sure any of this would exist.
The house full of real friends.
The gorgeous, sweet man looking back at him.
Now it was all sitting right there in front of him.
Warm and real and somehow his.
For once, he didn’t need to think very hard about what to wish for.
He already had it.
Then, before anybody could get sentimental, he leaned forward and blew out the candles.
Immediately Dustin started applauding.
Robin threw a napkin at him.
The argument over hotdogs resumed.
And Mike sat back in his chair smiling despite himself, surrounded by the people he loved most, thinking that maybe this was the best birthday he’d had in years.