Chapter Text
The garage was quiet in the way that only happened after something terrible had almost happened.
Dust floated lazily through the beam of a single hanging bulb. The old concrete floor still held the cold from the night, and the walls—lined with tools, boxes, and half-forgotten junk—felt like they were leaning in, listening.
Will stood a few feet away from Mike.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t anything Mike could read.
And Mike hated that.
He hated it because when Will closed himself off like that, it meant Mike had messed up. Again. It meant his mouth had done that thing where it sprinted ahead of his thoughts, leaving him to deal with the wreckage afterward.
So you and Robin are a thing now?
God. What a stupid thing to ask.
Mike scrubbed a hand through his hair, heart pounding. He knew how it must have sounded—jealous, petty, insecure. But Will was his best friend. He was allowed to feel weird when Will got close to someone else. That was normal. That was allowed.
Right?
Except the truth sat heavy in his chest: this wasn’t just jealousy. This was fear. This was that awful, gnawing feeling that Will might slip out of his orbit and Mike wouldn’t know how to pull him back.
Will took a step forward.
Mike’s breath caught.
For half a second—just half—Mike thought Will was going to say something. Anything. Yell. Ask. Explain. Instead, Will stopped directly in front of him, close enough that Mike could feel the warmth of his body.
Then Will walked past him.
Mike turned sharply. “Will—”
“Sit.”
The word was quiet, firm, final.
Will didn’t look at him when he said it. He just gestured toward the old wooden chair by the workbench—the one with the cracked leg that everyone avoided because it looked like it might give up on life at any moment.
Confused, unsettled, Mike sat.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes searching Will’s face like he was looking for a map. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’m sitting.”
Will turned then, expression still unreadable.
“Take off your sweater.”
Mike blinked. “My—what?”
“Your left arm hurts,” Will said calmly. Not a question.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Your sweater. Off. Please.”
“Oh.” Mike flushed, heat creeping up his neck. He tugged the sweater over his head, suddenly hyperaware of everything—his heartbeat, the quiet, the way Will wasn’t looking at him anymore.
Will reached up into a cabinet and pulled down a dusty first aid box. It landed on the workbench with a dull thud.
Mike’s earlier question evaporated completely.
Will stepped closer and examined his arm. The scratches weren’t deep, but they were angry, red, crusted with dried blood.
“Ouch,” Mike hissed when alcohol touched the wound.
“Hold still,” Will murmured.
“Are you even sure we can use this?” Mike tried to joke. “This looks like it survived three wars.”
“You got any other options?” Will shot back without missing a beat. “Or would you rather it get infected?”
“No—no, sorry,” Mike said quickly. “Continue.”
Will’s hands were gentle but precise. He cleaned the wound carefully, like he was afraid of hurting him, like every touch mattered. Mike watched him instead of the wound—watched the way Will’s brows knit together, the way his lips pressed into a thin line when he focused.
When Will finished wrapping the bandage, he stepped back.
Or tried to.
He didn’t move.
Mike realized he was holding Will’s hand.
The realization hit them both at once.
Will winced and pulled free gently. “Shit—Mike. What was that for?” His brow creased, confused more than upset.
Mike swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “Can I… can I hold you? Just for a second. Before we go back upstairs?”
Will’s heart stuttered.
He should say no. He knew that. Every instinct screamed that this was dangerous, that it would hurt later.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Mike’s arms wrapped around Will’s waist like muscle memory, like something his body had been waiting years to do. He buried his face into Will’s torso, breathing him in like oxygen.
Will forgot how to breathe.
They had never been this close. Not like this. Not without panic or fear or adrenaline to excuse it. His hands hovered uselessly for a moment before he lifted one and threaded his fingers through Mike’s dark curls, stroking slowly, soothingly.
Mike shuddered.
“You know,” Mike said, voice muffled, “when that Demo was about to attack me… I prayed.”
Will’s chest tightened.
“I prayed that I’d survive,” Mike continued. “So I could come back. So I could protect you. Even if I lost everything else.”
Will’s fingers stilled for half a second.
“I was so scared,” Mike whispered. “I thought if I died, there’d be no one left to protect you. And then I saw you—” His grip tightened. “I saw you stop it. I’ve never been so proud in my life.”
Will swallowed hard.
“I always say you’re special,” Mike said. “I’ll say it again. You are. You saved me.” A pause. “I guess I’m just scared you won’t need me anymore.”
Will tugged gently on Mike’s hair.
Mike looked up.
“I don’t care what you think, Mike,” Will said quietly. “I’ll always need you. I don’t know if these powers are a blessing or a curse. I don’t know where they’ll take me. But one thing I’ve always been sure about?” His voice softened. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
Time stopped.
Then the chair creaked.
There was a sudden crash, and the world tipped sideways. Will found himself falling—landing on top of Mike as the chair collapsed beneath them. Mike’s arms came up instinctively, catching him.
Their faces were inches apart.
Their lips brushed.
Gone.
Will stared, breathless, heart racing.
“I’m sorry, I just—” Mike began.
Will didn’t let him finish.
He leaned in.
Once he had kissed him—his first kiss, this Mike knew—it would never be the same again. He drank it in, memorized it, made it a part of himself. Mike froze for a fraction of a second, eyes darkening, before pressing his lips firmly against Will’s.
Will groaned softly, the sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
Their lips experimented—soft, hesitant, then surer. Mike moved closer, and his tongue brushed against the seam of Will’s lips. Will opened without thinking, welcoming him in.
Their tongues met tentatively, then tangled, emotion pouring through the kiss like a dam breaking. Mike exhaled into Will’s mouth, like he was breathing life into him.
And maybe he was.
Hands grabbed at fabric, at skin, nowhere and everywhere at once. For twenty seconds, nothing else existed. No monsters. No fear. No tomorrow.
When they finally parted, foreheads pressed together, both of them shaking, smiling through tears.
The garage door opened.
“Yes! I called it!” Robin yelled.
“Call me Cupid,” Murray added proudly.
“Lucas! Pay up!” Erica shouted, sprinting away.
Will and Mike burst into laughter, still tangled together on the floor.
And for the first time, neither of them felt like they were looking at the ground anymore.