Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler slams his head against his desk, shaking it back and forth.
He had pulled another all-nighter trying to finish his short story portfolio for his creative writing class.
It was a crazy amount he had to do, and it left him insanely exhausted! Short stories were some of the hardest things he’s worked on— having to condense exposition, climax, resolution and denouement into less than fifty pages was an insane ask for him to do. He wasn’t Ovid, and he sure wasn’t a professional writer.
Along with that, he also had to write a twenty page essay on individualism, free verse, and democracy after reading and analyzing Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Seriously, it was going to be one exhausting night.
Normally, he loves analyzing poetry, especially Whitman’s works, but he couldn’t find it in him to even reread “I Sing the Body Electric” for the hundredth time that month.
Mike was utterly spent. He was so focused on finishing before the deadline that he forgot to eat, sleep, or do anything that he probably should have been doing to maintain his life.
He groans, the cold wood the desk pressing against his forehead as he forces himself to lift it. He looks at his notebook spread, filled with random doodles and ideas that make no sense and are fleeting ideas, no meaning to them.
“Dude, if you hit your head any harder, you’re going to break the desk. Or your skull. Neither of which I wish to spend my precious time cleaning up. That’s disgusting.”
Lucas is sitting on his own bed across the room, completely enveloped by his many, many different textbooks, looking equally as defeated as Mike.
He tosses a book labeled Are Prisons Obsolete? by Angela Davis back into his pile. Lucas studies criminal justice in hopes to become a detective or some other form of law enforcement.
They each have their own work, but they enjoy working together, especially when Lucas’ girlfriend, Max, can’t come. Mike thinks she’s probably going to swing by later, but in the meantime…
It’s around lunch, but neither of them are hungry enough to make or go get anything.
Mike’s stomach grumbles, to which he angrily looks down at it, offended.
Lucas rolls across his bed, hitting the ground with a thud. He reaches for a sticky note, scrambling something down before rolling it into a ball and pelting it at Mike.m
“Here. I need to survive my next study block, and since you look like a walking corpse, I had the wonderful idea that you should get your butt down to the café and bring us both a pick-me up.”
Mike rubs his eyes, a heavy ache behind his lids. “I’ve never been there before, and you know I’m not a big fan of all these different types of coffee..”
“Just do it!” Lucas lifts a pen, beginning to aim it at Mike, who just shakes his head and gets up.
“Why can’t I just throw some food together and call it a day? We both know we aren’t picky eaters..”
There is a range of emotions that flicker on Lucas’ face as he attempts to process the outlandish statement Micheal Wheeler has made.
Mike’s brows furrow, annoyed by Lucas’ expression. “What?”
“Remember when the RA showed up because you somehow managed to burn a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? No, I don’t think you can ‘throw some food together’ without causing some sort of chemical explosion.”
A dramatic gasp comes out of Mike’s mouth, and he places a hand on his chest. “You dare bring that up? That was months ago!”
Lucas snickers. “Dude, that was three weeks ago!”
“Fine. But just this once, Sinclair. Because we both need it, not because you do,” Mike concedes.
He slips out of his chair, throwing on his jacket and wallet. His legs feel like lead as he steps down the stairs, and out of the door. The cold breeze hits him, a shiver running through his body. He shrugs it off, his mind a hazy mess of plot holes and half-written sentences that he wants to base a whole story around.
Mike finally pushes open the door of From the Ground Up, the campus coffee shop that’s like five steps away from his dorm. He normally would go to a coffee shop closer to downtown, but today, he’s not feeling it.
A chime rings above his ears, to which he quickly looks up before uncrumpling the piece of paper.
2/3 caff triple ristretto affogato venti, 2 pump mango 1 pump classic, 2%, mango to the second line, 3 scoops protein, 3 scoops berries, 2 scoop matcha, add banana, double blended, with whip, caramel drizzle, salted caramel topping, vanilla bean frappuccino?
What? What even is that? No, he’s getting something simpler. Who does he think he is, asking me to “go grab a coffee real quick,” and giving me the order of the century. I’m pretty sure I’d be decaying if I asked for his drink how he wanted it.
Mike’s eyes narrow at the menu, focusing on the part that says… fettuccine?
He steps up to the counter.
“Uh-Hey! Can I please get a- uh- medium black coffee for me, and a.. what’s this called? Oh! A fettuccine? No, I mean a- frappuccino! Yes, a large frappuccino for my roommate. Sorry. Um. Please?”
Mike mentally facepalms at his uneasiness and his inability to speak one simple sentence. Why did he even read it at fettuccine? It’s a coffee shop! The only other thing they sell is pastries!
The man at the counter- Chance, Mike reads off of his name tag, nods, plugging the order into the machine. “You’re good. No worries, we’ll have it up for you in no time.”
Mike pays, barely listening to the rest of the conversation. Instead, his eyes flit to behind the counter.
Just a few feet away, behind a massive espresso machine, is a boy.
Suddenly the stories on his mind aren’t so loud, all of his thoughts drowning into a quiet thrum, background noise. Something to be forgotten.
The boy has a pencil gripped tightly in his hand, holding what looks to be a receipt in the other. He has large, expressive hazel eyes, and soft brown hair Mike just wants to run his hands through.
What?
He shakes his head. No way.
Anyways, the boy looks quiet. He looks small behind the counter, but there is a clear intensity in the way he holds himself that shocks Mike back to his surroundings.
The boy’s eyes lift, meeting Mike’s.
Mike feels a sharp pain in his chest and has to plant his feet firmly on the ground so he doesn’t pass out from the pure and utter shock running through his body. A heavy wave of familiarity, comfort, home, washes over him, but he’s never seen this man before. He’s absolutely sure of it.
Before Mike can even process it, Will’s eyes slip back down to his paper, continuing to sketch.
He instantly mourns the loss of those hazel eyes.
Mike doesn’t know if he is imagining it, but he sees slight pink crawl up the boy’s shoulders and spread across his face.
Huh.
“Okay, one medium black coffee and one large frappuccino,” the man at the counter says, “that’ll be seven-fifty. What should the name be on the cup?
“Oh, um, Mike,” he replies. His voice cracks slightly, a certain rasp coming on that wasn’t present before. To cover his certain nervousness, he quickly says, “Sorry, my roommate, Lucas, always insists on trying these crazy drinks when the afternoon slump hits. I don’t even know how to pronounce them half the time.”
He lets out a nervous, self-deprecating chuckle. He glances back to behind the espresso machine.
The boy is moving now, but his hands look a little unsteady as he pours the milk and blends the ice. His head is firmly down, focusing on the blender entirely, but Mike can see his clenched jaw.
Mike watches, entirely transfixed as the boy finishes making his black coffee. When it comes to the blended drink, he hesitates before eventually drizzling the chocolate in a deliberate manner.
He’s cute when he’s focused.
Uh. What? Why am I thinking that?
“Medium coffee and a large frappuccino for.. Mike?”
Mike pretends he was fixated on his wallet, and steps forward, his eyes finding their way back to the boy’s once more.
Woah.
His eyes are even more striking up close, but now they’re wide and searching. They search Mike’s as if he’s inspecting to see if they’re feeling the same thing. The same nervous, breathless panic. Neither moves, they’re both ghosts in their own bodies for a few beats.
“Thanks,” he says softly, grabbing the cups, their fingers brushing.
As he lifts the frappuccino to get a closer look at the whipped cream, there, perfectly drizzled in dark chocolate is a tiny, neat heart.
A genuine warmth blooms in Mike’s chest. His exhaustion fades away, a breathless smile breaking across his face, the first one in days. He has to glance away for a second to not melt on the spot due to the boy’s eyes. “Hey, this is awesome. Thanks…” Mike pauses, his eyes dropping down to the small pin snapped onto the apron. “…Will.”
Saying the name out loud feels wonderful, a breath of fresh air. He knows that name.
No he doesn’t?
“Anytime.” The boy, no, Will, replies. The guarded expression on his face finally cracks, replaced by a genuine smile that reaches his eyes.
Mike finally takes the cups, spinning on his heel and turning to the door. He pushes his calves onto the ground quickly, skedaddling as fast as he can. The bell chimes, and he can barely hear it over the sound of his heart beating against his chest.
He walks down the sidewalk, the heavy weight of his portfolio long gone. He can’t wipe the stupid smile off of his face.
Turning the corner towards his dorm once more, opening the doors, every minor thing in his life feels like everything to him. He suddenly cherishes his roommate, his dorm, being able to go to college, and even his dad for forcing him to come.
As he stumbles into his dorm, he lets out a laugh, brushing his hair back. He sets Lucas’ coffee down on the table, plopping down on his chair.
Lucas bounces up, piercing Mike’s bubble. “What took ya’ so long?”
Mike stutters and stumbles over his words. Uh-oh. He makes up a lie on the spot. “It was extra packed, um.. yeah.”
His roommate’s eyes narrow, clearly seeing through his lie. His eyebrow twitches up, “Right now, to be honest, I really couldn’t care less, but thanks for the coffee, man.”
Slurping noises fill the room before Lucas rips the drink from his lips. “Ew, this isn’t what I wanted! What did you get for me!”
“I could barely read your handwriting, and plus, that order was way too complicated for this late in the afternoon!” Mike shoots back, unbothered.
Lucas groans, frustrated. “Was it really that hard to get what I asked for?”
Mike nods, forcing himself to take another sip of his coffee. “Yes, I would have been going on for hours and you already would’ve been asleep by the time I came back!”
His protests turn into “Blah Blah Blah’s” in Mike’s ears.
He turns back to his notebook, but instead of having no ideas, his mind is bursting from the seams with hundreds upon thousands of ideas.
Nevermind the fact that half of them probably suck, he still questions them anyways.
He just hopes that tomorrow he can find an excuse to go back. Or that Will is working again.
Lucas goes back to his textbook mountain to continue studying, and Mike gets back to writing. They both cascade back into their silence, only interrupted by Mike bouncing ideas off of Lucas or Lucas asking Mike to quiz him.
“Okay, how about this one? A kid goes missing one day after playing a game of Dungeons and Dragons, and gets taken by this evil monster they call the Demogorgan? And the main character would be in love with his best friend, but there would be no good ending! That way, it’ll hit especially hard when that character takes all the bearings, just for his life to suck in the end and for him to turn around on all his ideas! What about that, Lucas?”
“Man, I’ve seen even stranger things than this and yet as you kept droning on, I kept feeling the need to vomit. Everywhere. What type of stupid story is that?” Lucas groans out, rubbing a hand across his face.
Mike mimics his actions. He felt like that was the one good idea he’s had in the past hour! He’d been mulling about it for a while, but only now had the idea to write it fully down.
He spends the next few hours refining a few story ideas. His main ideas are one about falling in love with your childhood best friend, one where a figure skater and a hockey player fall in love, and one involving Dungeons and Dragons where a cleric and a paladin fall in love.
His favorite has to be the idea of a cleric and a paladin falling in love. There could be so many layers to each of his pitched stories, but especially that one. Maybe even a knight and a prince? Mike’s heart warms just thinking about it.
You could say that he has romance on his mind, even if just a little bit.
Mike gets up and goes to the roof of his dorm. He needs a break from studying and doing homework all day.
He looks up at the stars. He imagines the boy from the coffee shop sitting next to him.
Mike shakes his head. His mind keeps unfurling to have these moments where he thinks he has a crush on this barista, but that’s obviously not the case.
He doesn’t like men. That’s gay. And being gay is a bad thing..
Or, at least, that’s what he thinks.
His father had dug it so deep into the wrinkles of his brain that men weren’t supposed to be in the same room while sleeping, flirting, dating, or anything other than being strictly “buddies.”
Mike was tired of his dad. His dad always pressured him to do things. His dad sent him to this college so he could “get real friends” instead of sitting in his basement playing with his only other friend.
It worked, he guessed. He does have more friends now, but even in pursuing what he wanted, writing, his father was angry. His father wanted him to become a doctor, or something that paid well.
He was so hurt as a child because his dad was only there as a paycheck. He spent all of his days staring at the TV or reading the newspaper at dinner. If he wasn’t doing either of those things, he was scolding or frowning at one of his children.
Mike wishes deeply to get the thought of his disgusting father off of his mind, and so he shrugs it off, focusing his attention back on the sky.
The stars shine so brilliantly, even under the polluted city’s atmosphere. He wishes his other friends could see this with him.
He climbs back down to his dorm, noticing that Max had decided to show up after all, and Lucas has his arm curled around her shoulder.
Max ignores Mike as she and Lucas get up to go “study” at the library.
Yeah, likely story.
“See ya’ later, loser!” Max yells as she slams the door behind them.
Mike is glad that they’re leaving though. He welcomes sleep with open arms. He changes into a pair of pajama pants and a random hoodie, and falls asleep.
The last thing he thinks of is Will’s hazel eyes before sleep tugs him into a state of peaceful, dreamless slumber.