Chapter Text
Anaxiphilia
(n. )
The act of falling in love with the wrong person. A hopeless attraction to someone entirely inappropriate and/or out of one’s reach. Divided by either inner or outer conflicts.
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He doesn’t realize that he’s staring. Or that his grip tightens around the cover, ever so slightly. Like the word would just grow legs and jump out of the page, vanishing from his memory as it crashes against the floor. But as he reads it, it’s almost like you can hear the audible sound of a switch, because something in his mind just clicks.
He isn’t entirely sure how the book had caught his attention. Sure, it was a nice book, really “aesthetically pleasing”, as some of his friends might have put it. It had an old feel to it, while simultaneously maintaining the unused condition that you would expect from a bookstore like this. The newly binded leather felt nice against his fingers, rough and soft at the same time. As he flipped through the pages, the familiar scent of fresh parchment hits him almost immediately, a homey and fresh smell. The leather itself was dyed into a dark, deep green that nicely complimented the golden ink that neatly spelled out The Orderly Dictionary of Obscure Words.
It was nice. But nothing that really stood out.
Another thing that Will isn’t entirely sure about, is if it was by simple coincidence that he had flipped up on this specific page, or if fate had something to do with it. The subject of how “real” fate really is, is a discussion that has frequently been brought up between the party, and although Will had officially declared himself neutral in that debate, this little incident might make him wonder if Dustin’s wild arguments maybe had some truth to them. It was just so specific. The words on the page, it spoke to him.
It was just three easily constructed sentences.
The act of falling in love with the wrong person. A hopeless attraction to someone entirely inappropriate and/or out of one’s reach. Divided by either inner or outer conflicts.
Yet it felt personal. Like it was only intended for him to read. It was a weird feeling. A feeling he wasn’t entirely sure about.
On the other hand, what he is sure about, is that he has been staring at this stupid page for an unreasonably amount of time, and probably looks like a total weirdo. He can almost feel his back burning from the glare the shopkeeper is sending him. Bashful, he turs to face her.
“What?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes.
“I said, that’s one silver.”
“For the book?”
“No, for the entrance fee.” Her voice is thick with sarcasm.
“Yes, of course, sorry”, Will mutters apologetically. The lady only snorts, clearly lighthearted in her actions. She then gives him a smile, before turning her attention back to what she was previously doing; absolutely nothing.
Will looks at the book he is holding. He knows for a fact that in his pocket lays four silvers, one gold and seven copper pieces, that he has full property off. He also knows that he needs a new sketchbook, a few quills and preferably a pair of boots that fits him. (In his defense, there was NO reason to believe that carpet was a mimic, and the sacrifice of his left boot was made of instinct, NOT fear, mind you. He was thankful for the makeshift shoe that El somehow managed to find in an old cabinet, but he still misses the times where he wouldn’t slip over his own shoelaces.)
He puts the book down on the exhibition table, next to the counter. It would have to wait. He made a list and he’s determined to follow it. Mentally, he adds “weird-faith-dictionary” to the imaginary shopping list. The shopkeeper glances up at him.
“Changed your mind?”, she asks, but is bluntly abrupted, as someone crashes through the door.
“Hey, Will! There you are! Mike told me that” -
BAM
They both turn as the hardcovers hit the ground.
“OW! Fucking- Oh shit. Shitshitshit, hold on, let me just…”
In the blink of a second, Will is right over by Lucas, lending him a helping hand as he franticly tries to gather all the spell books that are now scattered across the floor. None of them seems bruised, and he huffs thankfully before yanking the ranger up from the ground.
“Thanks”, Lucas says, rubbing his chin. It doesn’t seem like a hit that’s going to bruise, although Will can easily heal it later, if that is shown to be the case. If only that applied to his ego as well. The poor boy looks like he would love to be anywhere but here right now. That might also be because of the mildly terrifying death-stare that the shopkeeper is likely sending them. The nervous glances that Lucas sends her, tells Will that he should be glad his back is turned.
“Any reason for tearing down the bookshelf, or were you just out of money again?”
“Funny.” He replies drily. “No, I was looking for you. Delivering a message if you so will. Mike wants us back at the tavern. Says he got a new quest for us. Something that isn’t just saving cats from trees.”
Wills face lights up at the thought of a new adventure. It has been a while since their last real quest. It’s not like money has been tight, but Will just likes adventuring. Fighting monsters, exploring unknown land, sketching new sceneries, creating memories with his friends, the feeling he had been chasing back at Castle Byers. The feeling of freedom. Staying in the village wasn’t boring, it just wasn’t the reason Will has started traveling in the first place. He doesn’t feel like settling down. Not just yet.
“Just don’t get your hopes up too soon. I don’t know exactly what we’re hired to do yet, but I hardly think there will be any dragon slaying involved. Less monsters, more housekeeping probably. Just remember to look out for scary carpets.” He motions to Wills flimsy footwear, and the cleric must fight the urge to smack his face right then and there.
“Anyway, I should probably get going. You haven’t seen Max, have you?” The shopkeeper momentarily disappears behind the counter again, and it seems like Lucas takes this as a chance to head off.
“I think she might have mentioned something about shopping with El, you should probably check the marked or the other bookstore a few stores down the street “, Will supplies. Lucas gives him a smile, before heading out. “See you at the Old Owl!”, Will can hear him yell.
The cleric is about to leave, but before he reaches the door, a rasping voice catches his steps.
“Hey kid, wait up!” Ah shit.
“Ehm”, he starts. “I apologize for my friend, he obviously didn’t mean it, it was all an accident. I’m sure he would love to apologize in person, but you see he was in such a hurry right… But look! The books are alright, see? Not bruised or torn in any way, I can’t even tell the difference, can you?”
The woman stops his rambling by a light bash to his shoulder. “Would you shut up for one second? Youngsters nowadays…” She then hands him a book. It’s the dictionary.
“Oh, thank you, but unfortunately I don’t think I can afford it right now”, he tries, but the shopkeeper has a stern look on her face.
“Look, kid. I’ve been working here for the past thirty years, and never have I ever encountered anyone under the age of retired who would place any interest in a dictionary. Yet you looked at that book for a sold five minutes.” There’s something in her eyes, Will can’t exactly pinpoint what it is, but her eyes are understanding. Or maybe just knowing.
“Take it.” She lets go of the book. “Call it fate, or just a weird assumption from an old, crazy lady, but there are things that apparently only old, crazy people can see. “
There it is again. The word faith.
Will just smiles, and the old woman looks as close to happy as he has ever seen her.
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The Old Owl Tavern is what you would call a local treasure. Due to the inn’s Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it location, one would find it hard to imagine the owners keeping up with all its competition, but where the looks lack, The Old Owl wins its points from its reputation. Pretty much everyone in town knows about the cackling fire, delicious meals, cozy atmosphere and lively music that welcomes you to the tavern. It’s usually a crowded facility.
The party had decided to make this their base, not only because of its affordable rooms, but the tavern also provided them a solid income, due to Dustin bard abilities and need to put on a show. It’s cozy. Will likes it. Especially in the late evenings after closing. When the murmurs tones down, and the party can gather to just talk. Sometimes Dustin would play them a tune, and sometimes Max would ramble on and on about this new trick that she learned, and sometimes they just sit and share stories from their day.
Undeniably, the part that Will likes the most must be the late talks, when everyone else has headed off to bed, except him and Mike. When they’re both supposed to be drifting away to dreamland, tucked in bed, but to invested in each other’s company to care. It’s long nights talking about nothing and everything, because Mike is such an easy person to talk to. It’s evenings where they’re both too tired to do anything, that ends with Mike resting his head on Will’s shoulder, and Will being (almost) too tired to notice. It’s times when the whole tavern is covered in pitch black darkness, and the candle in front of them creates this sort of bubble around the two of them, like nothing else even exists. And when the light of the flame dances across Mikes face, he can’t help but stare. Something about the warmth in his smile or the little orange light that reflects so nicely in his eyes or that one strand of hair that just wont stay down, no matter how many times Mike messes with his hair, it’s hypnotizing.
Will wants to stretch out his hand and tuck it away. He wants to comb his hand through his soft, raven locks, he wants to cup his warm cheeks and just admire the beauty that is his best friend. But he never does. He just lets the thoughts linger, because this is the only time that he gives himself the permissions to let his mind wander. He’s too tired for fear, shame and stupid reason. And it’s not like anyone would catch him staring. They’re too tired for that.
When Will enters The Old Owl, he is mildly surprised over how quiet the tavern has fallen. Not entirely quiet, of course. There’s the white noise of soft chatter between the few guests, and the sound of Dustin’s guitar, strumming along to Back to the old house, floating around the room. Dustin Is sitting on the “stage” that, in Will’s honest opinion, doesn’t really look like a stage. It looks more like an elevated, round table, fit for barely more than 3 people. Will still remembers that one time when they tried to fit a group of six people for an open night. Not the most comfortable, but it worked (kinda).
“I would rather not go
Back to the old house”
Dustin’s voice soars through the room, and he waves as he notices Will. Will waves back and proceeds to scan the room. Lucas was probably still searching for Max and El, that still leaves one person…
“Hey Will! Can I getcha something?” He is startled by a familiar, yet loud voice. The young waitress gives him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No worries, Beth, I’m fine.” Being one of the main workers at The Old Owl, Elizabeth, or Beth, as they usually call her, had become a familiar face to the party pretty early on. Aside from her job as a waitress, she is usually the one fixing them breakfast in the morning. Chatty of nature and adventure-seeking, she would often get them food on the house in exchange for a thrilling story.
“I would love something sweet, now that you mention it. How about apple crumble?” Beth nods. “Oh, and you haven’t seen Mike, have you? We were supposed to meet up here.”
The waitress nods again and points to a table further down, before heading off to the kitchen. Will thanks her, turns to the direction she pointed out and-
Ah
Ah shit
A few feet in front of him sits Michael, fully in the concentration zone, gnawing at the tip of his pencil as he taps his finger restlessly at the table. In front of him sits a half-eaten bowl of porridge that he probably, knowing Mike, has no intention on finishing. His gaze is tired. Lazily he pulls his hand through his hair and reaches for a hair tie that probably has seen better days and holy shit if he pulls it into a ponytail Will is going to fricking loose it.
Apparently, Will’s pining is way too loud, because the boy conveniently lifts his head and notices Will right before he gets it. The face of his friend lights up as the sees Will. “Hey Will! Come sit.” The hair tie is unfortunately (or fortunately, Will hasn’t decided yet) forgotten as he takes a seat next to him.
The map shows them an outstretched view of what Will suspects is the forest in the outskirt of the city, Winged Woods. He thinks that he can pinpoint a few of the locations.
“Working on the commission?”
“I’m just trying to map out the most efficient rout.”
“The most efficient rout to...?”
“Here.” Mike taps his finger farther right on his map. The area is circled several times with a red marker. “I think this might be their hive”.
Whose hive? Will wants to ask, but Mike must have read his confused expression, because he beats him to it.
“A few days ago, an old merchant had supposedly been attacked by a large, unfamiliar monster. He swore it was some kind of dragon, although I hardly believe that, judging by how easily he managed to escape. Dragon or not, having a hostile creature so close to town isn’t exactly ideal, you know?”
They exchange a smile. Accusations of dragons isn’t exactly uncommon for the party. People often tend to exaggerate encounters that they themselves find terrifying. And with the creature-knowledge of a normal citizen, their vocabulary has… debatable trustability.
Does it have wings? It’s a dragon.
Does it have scales? It’s a dragon.
Did it scream at you? It’s probably a dragon.
Did you simply feel threatened by its presence? Yeah, that’s a dragon, no doubt.
It’s almost a natural reaction. If you see flames, you scream fire. And effective too. Just like Mike said, “Dragon or not, having a hostile creature so close to town isn’t exactly ideal”. They get the job done, and the town falls to peace again. Even if that job is giving the stray kitty that has been wandering around the streets, a bath.
They usually don’t complain. Payment is payment.
“The attack was reported around here”, Mike continues, and taps his finger at the map. “However, this circled area right here-“, he points to the location, “Is home to several old ruins. The creature, whatever it is, might have its lair or hive amongst the ruins.” He sighs.
“Now I just have to find the fastest rout. I was planning on asking Lucas, since he’s more familiar with the terrain, but-
-You wanted to set a plan before the party arrived”, Will finishes and gives him a sympathetic look. “Look, Mike, I- We appreciate your enthusiasm and leadership, we really do! But you have to remember that we’re a team. There’s no need for you to overwork yourself. You understand?”
Mike looks tired. Not sleep deprived, just exhausted. The kind of tired you get after studying for a test for hours, stuck at a question, with no one to ask for help. Messy hair and fidgety hands. Under other circumstances, Will would probably find him adorable.
“How long have you been working on this?” Mike doesn’t answer, but his missing eye contact and the countless erased pencil marks drawn onto the outstretched parchment speaks for itself. Too long.
“Fine, refuse to answer me. But at least finish your food.”
At that, Mike shifts his attention and groans. “But now the porridge has gotten all cold and lumpy. Who likes cold porridge? It tastes like soaked wheat.” He twists his face in disgust.
“Porridge is literally made out of soaked oats, what did you expect, you moron”, Will snaps teasingly and it earn him a hard shove to his side.
“You know what I meant. Idiot.”
“Dork.”
“Nerd.”
“Birdbrain!”
“Airhead!”
“How can I be both a nerd and an airhead?” Will struggles to keep his grin intact.
“Because you’re smart as hell, but still manages to be the most oblivious person in the room, like seventy percent of the time!”, Mike exclaims, and a small giggle escapes his lips. And there it is ladies, gentlemen and glorious enbies. The laugh of Mike Wheeler.
Mike has a lot of different laughs. We have the classic laugh, a laugh of pure joy and triumph. An in-the-moment laugh when you run through the forest and trip, but too high on adrenalin to feel any pain. Late night giggles that have you rolling around on the floor gasping for air between coughs of laughter. Laughs from stupid jokes that shouldn’t really be that funny, but they somehow are. A laugh through grinning teeth, that feels like sunshine and birthday cake and summer and joy.
There’s the quiet snort that escapes his mouth before he can stop it. Usually found in really inappropriate situations, where you should probably just keep your mouth shut. Silent and quick. You can’t control it. Or as a response to a funny comment or joke, often followed by a small smirk and quick glances like, Did you guys hear that?.
Less frequently shown, but still Mike, is the laugh of hopelessness. The borderline hysterical shrieks when somethings go really wrong. They can be low, cold and almost soundless, but also loud, frantic hiccups of laughter that occurs when his mind can’t catch up with his surroundings. It’s almost like his brain is unable to pick an emotion, so it settles on a maniac-supervillain-laugh instead. Will has experienced this laugh one or two times but it sure as hell leaves an impression.
Then there’s the awkward laugh that rolls a bit too easily off the tongue. Used in uncomfortable situations or just as a I-did-not-understand-that-joke-lets-just-laugh-and-hope-no-one-notices-laugh. Will prides himself with the ability to see through them every time. He always knows when the jokes go a little to far or when it’s time to change the subject, all by the twinkle in his eyes or stutter in his breath.
This laugh is different, however.
This is his laugh.
This is the sweet laugh that fills the empty tavern during their late-night talks. It is the laugh that’s paired with the fondest of smiles and the warmest eyes. The laugh that makes Wills’ tummy bubble with excitement, and his cheeks burn because how can someone have a laughter so godforsaken adorable, is this allowed, HELLO? It can be a short little chuckle, or a loud, howling laughter that leaves them both gasping for air.
Will likes to think of it as a laughter reserved for him, and him only. He is aware of how selfish it sounds, yet the thought of being the only one who can bring out that cute little snicker, warms his heart like nothing else.
So, when the paladin finally breaks out in laughter, he can’t help but smile. Sue him.
He can hear Dustin’s voice singing in the distance.
“The saddest thing I’ve ever seen
And you never knew
How much I really liked you
‘Cause I never even told you
Oh and I meant to”
The universe really wants to shove it in his face today.
There’s a tiny moment of silence that follows. Mike catches his eyes, like there is something he would like to say, but the words stuck themselves to the roof of his mouth.
“You know, I ordered a dessert, I’m sure it’ll arrive soon. How about we share it. Deal?” Will manages to say.
“Deal.”
_______________
“So, we kill the dragon, become heroes again, get the money, buy a boat, and then, we’ll be able to set sail into the great unknown! Ease peecy lemon squeezy.”
“I still don’t think it’s a dragon. It could be a large lizard, some kind of bird, heck even a-“
“We get it Wheeler. I don’t really think that was Dustin’s point.”
“My point is that this is quite the sum of money. If we were to hold it off for too long, the old man will probably just go get someone else. We don’t have time for tactical rearmament.”
Will snickers. He wants to shoot him a sarcastic comment about how the city is probably full of dragonslayers, preparing to snatch their quest right in front of their noses. But he keeps it to himself. It looks like Dustin is already well aware of this fact. They got little to no competition. It’s clear that he isn’t the only part member itching for an excursion. Although Mike’s proposal of a few-days-delay to prepare themselves seems reasonable, Will has been longing for fresh air since the day he entered the city. Don’t get him wrong, the tavern is cozy and nice, but nothing beats a night under the stars, cuddled round a cackling fire. He’d pick bird-twitter and the ooze of nature against loud chatter and city-smell any day. He misses the freedom. And by the looks of it, it is a mutual feeling amongst the party.
Unsurprisingly, the bickering continues anyway, even after Lucas declares loudly that he “have figured out a functioning rout so can you just shut up Mike and go check it out instead, so we all can get five minutes of peace, please and thank you.”
It wasn’t before the third bottle of cider (non-alcoholic, of course, so basically apple juice) was completely emptied, that Mike caves and a compromise was made. Tomorrow morning, they would all stock up on the last of supplies, before hopefully leaving when the sun peeks its rays over the treetops.
Which means that tomorrow will be an early morning.
Ugh. His favorite.
But he doesn’t sulk. The promise of adventure makes it almost worth it.
The party decides that an early evening is a smart choice, and even though sleep feels miles away, the cleric promises to head right to bed as they all retreat to their separate rooms.
About two hours passes before Will breaks his promise.
Maybe it is the excitement for the coming day, or just the somewhat early hour, but no matter how many times he tosses and tuns, sleep seems like a distant promise. Pacing around the room doesn’t seem to calm his restlessness, but maybe a glass of water will. He grabs the unlit candle by his bedside, tippytoes across the wooden floorboards and after a few seconds of hesitancy, reaches for the green leathered book and unlocks his door.
The chance of his door squeaking when he opens it is about fifty percent, but luckily today is one of its quieter days. The hallway is dark, but Will moves through it, like it’s muscle memory. His late-night talks have taught him which floorboards to avoid and where he must tread lightly. As soon as he enters the kitchen, he can get the matches from the cupboard and -
Oh.
It seems like there’s no need.
As he rounds the corner, he’s not only met by the soft sound of glass against counters, but also a warm light casting golden flickers at the wall behind him. He’s about to speak up, before the shadow raises its candle and Will is met by a familiar nest of dark locks.
“Hey.” Mike’s voice is a low whisper.
“hey”, Will whispers back, and fumbles over to the counter.
“You’re not in bed.” Will isn’t exactly sure if it’s a statement or a question, so he just sighs as he opens the cupboards, reaching for a glass.
“Could say the same about you, Mister obvious.” This earns him a low snicker.
“You should sleep.”
“Not tired.”
“Me neither.”
They fall into a natural silence as Will fills his cup, downs it in one go, and fills it again before taking a long sip. Mike has already hoisted himself up un the counter, so Will draws one of the stools from under him, and plops down.
“Nervous for tomorrow? You didn’t exactly sound thrilled at the thought of heading off so soon. Never took you as a city boy Wheeler. Scared of the dragon?”
The paladin huffs. “You mean the aggressive bird?” He rolls his eyes. “There’s a difference between being afraid being tactical, Byers.” Will quirks up at the sound of his last name. He doesn’t really use it much, it’s always Will or Will the Wise or That one cleric guy that heals people. Will Byers isn’t really in their vocabulary. Mike only uses it in teasing moments like these.
“And I’m not exactly nervous about tomorrow”, he continues. “I just don’t feel prepared enough, I guess? I’m the leader, I’m supposed to have it all figured out. If anything goes wrong, the problem will always be traced back to me, somehow. Not that you guys would ever tell me that, you don’t have the heart for that. But I can still feel it. A sort of burden or responsibility. I feel like, like I could, like I should”-
“Stop that. You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Rambling. Taking the blame.” The light doesn’t reach him where he sits, so the cleric climbs up on the counter instead, flopping down with his legs crossed. With the candle now between them, both of their silhouettes light up, and for the first time this evening, Will can actually see the full face of who he’s talking to. Well, almost the full face. Mike’s head is tilted downwards and refusing eye contact. A quiet “sorry” is addressed to a stain in front of him, at that is the drop that makes Will tip over, with a voice that definitely wasn’t intended to be this loud.
“Why can’t you just get your pretty, little head to understand how much you mean to us? No one told you to take the leader role, but here you are, working your ass off, just to make sure everything is picture perfect. You’re the one taking care of commissions, the one planning the journey; supply-wise and usually map-wise, the one making sure that everyone gets a say in discussions, an amazing caretaker that puts everyone and everything before himself, just to make the others feel seen, you were the one to take care of El when we first found her, the one coming up with plans when something backfires and the one giving orders when everything turns to chaos. That’s a heck-ton of jobs Michael. Listen to me, and look at me when I tell you that you are doing so much for the party. We are grateful for you, and that is something that you seem to forget quite often.”
It’s clear that the speech is nowhere from thought through and it shows, because now Will is the one rambling, and he’s tumbling over his own words, and everything is a mess, but at least Mike has lifted his gaze and is now staring at him with an unreadable expression. Unreadable, but soft. What’s going on behind those eyes is a mystery, but Will doesn’t detect any sort of hateful or angry reaction, even though he literally just told Mike that he had a quote unquote “Pretty little head”. The cleric tries not to think about that bit, when he catches up to himself and realizes what just went out of his mouth.
Realizing he probably said more than enough, and should probably close his mouth now, Will’s rambling comes to a holt. Mike is looking at him, expression still unclear.
“Thank you Will. That means a lot.” His voice is a hoarse whisper. Almost inaudible. But he smiles. The sort of smile that makes Will tummy tingle, because it’s such a slight twitch in the corner of his lips, an almost-smile. But his eyes are glowing such warmth, that it balances out nicely.
Mike has a lot of smiles. Will doesn’t know which one he likes best, but this one definitely makes the list.
I just want you to see yourself like I see you, he wants to tell him, shout it, he wants Mike to understand how much he really means to him.
Are you sure you want that? A tiny voice lingers from the back of his head. Sneaking out from the shadows, like a snake. For him to know. See through your eyes, just how much of a weirdo you are. Stolen glances. Daydreams about raven locks, pale skin and soft lips. Is that what you want?
Will breaks the eye contact for a quick second, and his gaze falls naturally down on the green book, still lying on the counter where he got his glass of water.
Anaxiphilia. The act of falling in love with the wrong person
He glances back at Mike, but the intimate moment is gone.
They eventually fall back into a comfortable conversation. Fairly comfortable, that is. They joke, rambles on about some crazy salesman Mike met, and Will can admittedly say that the tiredness is dragging on his eyes. However, every time his mind drifts off, eyes flicker just a tiny bit down to Mike’s lips as he rants, the voice seeps back to his mind. If he notices you staring like that, he’s gonna get creeped out, you know? Did he notice that little glance? Maybe he knows. Maybe you disgust him.
“Hey, Will? You there? Earth to Will, do you copy?”
He snaps back from his train of thought as mike shakes his hand in front of his gaze.
“Huh, yea of course, I agree. What were we talking about?”
Mike snorts and shakes his head.
“Someone’s tired.”
“Could never be me.”
“Never.”
“Are you tired?”
“No.” It is followed by a yawn, and Mike tries and fails to suppress his tired giggles. Will might actually melt into the counter. When Beth gets up tomorrow to cook them breakfast, she will instead be welcomed by the sight of what used to be their cleric, dead and puddle-y-fied on her poor counter. Mike’s tired giggles are just too much, Will decides.
A hopeless attraction to someone entirely inappropriate and/or out of one’s reach., something in his mind reminds him.
“Maybe we should head to bed.” The paladin pics up the candle, and just like countless prior night, the flame lights up his face, casting its rays on each and every freckle that frames his face. It makes him look warm. Soft. Gentle.
The act of falling in love with the wrong person
“You just go ahead. I think I want another glass of water.” Mike just shrugs a you-do-you type of shrug, before bouncing off the counter.
“I’ll leave this with you then. Just remember that tomorrow starts early.” He hands him the candle and oh, there goes his hand, brushing over his fingertips.
Divided by either inner or outer conflicts.
Will expects something more. Maybe a half-mumbled apology, or an awkward snort, but Mike is already halfway across the room. He feels like saying something.
“Hey, Mike?”
Mike turns, squinting at the strong light. “Yeah?”
someone entirely inappropriate
“Goodnight”, hears himself say.
“Goodnight”, Mike whispers, and then he’s gone.
“Anaxiphilia”, Will grumbles, as the paladin rounds the corner. “Fucking anaxiphilia.”