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Being a worm was hard. Mike guessed he didn’t have it as bad as the real worms—he wasn’t slimy, or slithery, or dirty. Instead, he had a beautiful coat of cerulean fur, sticking straight up off his wiggly body.
Life was pretty good in the Wheeler household. Mike belonged to a nice little girl named Holly, who liked to talk to him and brush his fur with her small fingers and make him tiny cowboy hats out of felt.
But the best part, by far, was Will.
Will was the name of Holly’s paintbrush, who lived across the bedroom next to her kiddie easel. He was gorgeous: his silk hair, flat and straight and chestnut brown, was meticulously washed and kept. His handle was a light, smooth tan, with dappled specks of rainbow-colored paint. He was Holly’s favorite.
And he was Mike’s favorite, too.
Every day, Mike tried to work up the courage to talk to him. He had brainstorming sessions with his best friend Mags, a hot-pink worm that had moved in a few days after Mike, to try and imagine how to get Mike over across the room. Over to Will.
“Maybe you could slither there,” Mags suggested.
Mike frowned, his whole body drooping with the movement. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
Mags rolled her googly eyes. “Oh, please. Are you blind? That brush adores you.” She knocked her head against Mike’s playfully. “We just need to get you out there.”
There was a rumbling noise from the carpet. “I have an idea.”
Mike peered down from the edge of the dresser to see Andi, a toy catapult. “Hi, Andi! What’s your idea?”
There was a long silence as both Andi and Mags stared incredulously at Mike, like they couldn’t believe how stupid he was.
“Mike,” Andi said flatly. “I’m a catapult.”
He stared at her, still waiting to hear the idea. “Yeah?”
Andi sighed. “Just… get down here,” she said tiredly. “And we’ll go from there.”
Mike looked nervously back at Mags, but she just gave him an encouraging smile. She’d probably give him a thumbs up, too, if she had thumbs. Or hands.
Mike took a deep breath, bedroom air filling his fuzzy stomach, before launching himself off the dresser. For a second, he was weightless, feeling the wind in his fur and the lint against his eyes. He was flying.
Then he landed hard on the carpet, entire body curling on impact. Andi’s voice floated over to him: “Really, Mike?”
He grunted, straightening out his tubular body. “What?”
“That was just… so graceful,” she teased, before lowering the basket of her catapult. “Come on, loverboy. Let’s go get your brush.”
“Oh!” Mike said in excitement, finally understanding the plan. “Thanks, Andi.”
He wriggled his way over to the basket, getting nice and cozy inside. Andi was a really good friend, to be helping him like this. The toys in Holly’s room were the best.
As he sat in Andi’s basket, waiting to be launched, he tried to catch a glimpse of his beloved. He and Will had never actually spoken— only shooting shy glances at each other from across the room—but Mike knew he loved him. He loved everything about him: the way his bristles brushed against the paper, the beautiful masterpieces he created, the delicate way he rested inside Holly’s mason-jar paintbrush holder.
He just… loved him. And Mike knew there wasn’t much to love about himself—he was just a worm on a string, after all—but maybe Will would give him a chance.
“Are you nervous?” Andi asked, her demeanor softening.
Mike scrunched his worm shoulders. “A little,” he admitted quietly. He felt very self-conscious. What if this was a bad idea? Was he really ready to cross the room? He’d never been that far before. And definitely not on his own.
“Don’t be,” she assured him. “I know it’s scary, putting yourself out there. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know. And that’s worse than not trying at all, you know?”
Mike nodded, determination building. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, why not? I’ve gotta try.”
“That’s the spirit!” Andi said. “You ready?”
“I guess,” Mike whispered. He cast a long look back at the dresser, where he spent almost all of his days. Just slithering around, playing with his friends, with Holly. But he was risking it all. He was changing it up, just for a chance to be with Will. With the most beautiful brush—no, the most beautiful object— he’d ever seen.
And with that, he flew once more.
Andi’s basket propelled him high into the air, and he flew in a high, floppy arc towards Holly’s easel. Mike let out an exhilarated whoop, and the room spun into blurry streaks of color below him. It all looked so small. Like that one room wasn’t his whole world.
Finally, he saw the easel, short and plastic, speeding into focus. He tightened his body, preparing himself for a landing on the ledge. And, with a rough tap of plaster, he made it. His fur came into contact with the hard flat surface, and he rolled several times before hitting the edge of a blank canvas, letting out a breathless oof.
“Hi! Oh my god, are you okay?”
At the sound of a worried, gentle voice, Mike turned his face up towards the light. And there, peeking over the edge of the glass mason jar, was him. Will.
“Will,” he said out loud, cheeks flushing from a light to dark blue.
Will inched closer to the lid. “How do you know my name?” he asked curiously.
Mike flushed even deeper. “Oh,” he murmured. “Well, you know Moon–”
Will inclined his bristles in understanding. Everyone knew Moon, the kind-hearted clock that lived above Holly’s bedroom door. She kept watch, chatting with the objects and toys throughout the day and keeping everyone company. And she also spread a fair amount of gossip. But it was boring, up on that wall all alone, so Mike didn’t blame her. In this case, it just meant he had an excuse for knowing Will’s name, other than the fact that he was obsessed with him.
“She told me about you,” Mike finished, wiggling a little in embarrassment. “She said you did that really good painting—the one up on the wall—”
“Oh!” Will exclaimed, and his tan face turned a bit pink. “I mean, it’s not that good—”
“Are you kidding me?” Mike said enthusiastically. “The one with the dragon? That’s awesome. Me and my friend hang out near the edge of the dresser, just to get a better look at it.”
Will was turning so red, Mike worried that he might catch on fire. “Oh, gosh,” he mumbled. “That’s really—I mean—”
“He’s just modest,” the brush next to him cut in, knocking into his side playfully. “He’s the best of us, honestly.”
“Liv!” Will hissed, head turning down bashfully. “Stop it.”
“No, he’s great!” Mike blurted. “I’d love to see your other work, Will, if you’re, um. If you’re ever up for it.”
“Sure,” Will agreed, a trace of nerves in his voice. “I mean, a lot of it’s on the fridge, though. So if you ever make your way over to the kitchen…”
Mike slumped in disappointment. “I’ve never left this room,” he admitted. “…Have you?”
“Sometimes!” Will said. “Holly likes to paint outside.”
“Outside,” Mike breathed, instantly jealous. “Wow.” He paused, but asked the question anyway. “...What’s it like?”
“Bright,” Will said. “Big. It’s like… everything is alive.”
Instinctively, Mike nudged closer, until he was resting right up against the edge of the jar. “That’s incredible,” he whispered.
“Maybe one day… I could show you?” Will offered tentatively. “I mean, you could come with us.”
“That’s—” Mike curled forward until the tip of his tail was right up against Will’s handle, separated only by a barrier of glass. “That sounds good,” he said shyly.
It was at that point he realized, like an idiot, that he’d never even introduced himself. “I’m Mike, by the way,” he said.
“I know,” Will replied, and then froze. “I mean—Moon told me, too.”
Next to him, Liv snorted. Both of the boys were blushing really hard at this point, but nobody brought it up.
Outside the door, footsteps sounded.
“Mike!” Andi called, rolling over to the space below the easel. “Come on. It’s time to go.”
“I’ll come back,” Mike assured Will. “I mean… If you want me to?”
“Of course,” Will said, almost immediately. “Of course. After all, we have to go outside.”
The worm and the paintbrush shared a sweet, intimate moment. Their eyes locked. Beyond the glass, Will leaned closer.
And with that, Mike flung himself off the easel, onto the catapult, and back to the safety of Holly Wheeler’s dresser.
—
Mike spent the next few days in a lovesick haze. He talked about Will so much that everyone was sick of him—even Moon. Mags had taken to curling up between the pages of random books, pretending to be asleep, so that she didn’t have to talk to him. Aspen, the magic 8 ball, would roll away the second he saw him coming. There was only so many times Mike could ask does Will like me before he got entirely fed up.
So far, the answers were all over the place. Can’t say for sure. Outlook not so good. Without a doubt.
When Mike asked the day before, he’d told him: Ask again later. So here he was. Asking.
“Aspen!” he called, peeking over the edge of the dresser. “Aspennnnn!”
Mike saw a quick flash of black and white as Aspen scuttled away behind the door. “I can see you!” he called loudly, but Aspen stayed silent.
“Maybe,” Mags grumbled, poking her head out from a copy of Lord of the Rings, “if you shut up about Will, he’d come back.”
Mike sighed dreamily, bad mood already forgotten. “Will.”
Mags pulled her head back into the pages of her book. “Bye.”
“Wha—no, come back!” Mike protested, slithering over across the dresser. “Who am I supposed to talk to? Moon’s asleep.”
He was met with an extremely pointed nothingness. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath.
“Andi?” he called hopefully.
“I’m busy,” Andi called back, and Mike heard the sound of her wheels rolling across the carpet.
“With what?” he demanded, glaring at her. “What, do you run a transportation service now or something?”
“…Maybe.”
An idea sprung to Mike’s head, and he perked up. “Can I be your first customer?”
Andi snorted. “Let me guess, you want to see—”
“Will,” the room chorused; Mags, Moon, and Andi alike.
“Moon?” Mike yelped, betrayed. He looked up at the warm yellow, crescent-shaped clock. “I thought you were asleep!”
Moon blinked at him. “Clocks don’t sleep, Mike.”
“…Oh.”
“Well,” Mike said, moving on. “Andi, will you give me a ride or not?”
Mike’s vision wasn’t that great, but he swore he could see her rolling her eyes from across the room. “I guess,” she said, with a great deal of suffering in her tone. She was smiling, though, as she rolled back across the carpet. “Come on, buddy, hop on.”
Mike had gotten used to falling: the drop in his stomach, the breeze in the air. He thought he’d fall a thousand times, every day, if it meant he got to see Will afterwards.
He landed solidly on the basket. He’d gotten a lot better at that.
One quick transfer later, he was sidling up to Will’s mason jar, saying a polite hello to Liv, and rounding the curve so he could talk to Will. Will nudged up against the glass, bristles pointy and eager as he greeted Mike. “Hi! Did you have a good trip?”
“You mean the one across the room?” Mike teased. “Yeah, it was alright. Andi has a real future in the transportation industry.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Will said back, laughing prettily. Mike felt his cheeks flush as he watched him. He longed to cross the glass, to curl up at the bottom of Will’s handle and just breathe. It looked so peaceful in there, sparsely occupied and filled with refracted sunlight. It looked warm.
The boys chatted back and forth, both in high spirits—Mike had been invited to one of Holly’s tea parties, a first-time attendee, and Will had gotten to paint a magical forest that morning.
Usually, they got some warning when Holly was coming in. The pitter-patter of tiny footsteps, the calling of Karen Wheeler’s voice. But not this time.
The door cracked open, and without warning, a large gray cat streaked into the room, yowling bloody murder. His paws swiped at Andi as he ran, and she toppled to the floor, basket separating from its sling.
“Andi!” Mike yelled, wiggling to the end of the ledge. “Andi, are you okay?”
There was no response.
“Andi,” Mike whispered, utterly shocked. “No.”
“She… she’s okay,” Will said uncertainly. “Right?”
The only sound in the room was the cat’s breathing, harsh and aggressive. One green eye swiveled, then two. He set his sights on Mike.
“Mike!” Will yelped. “Oh my god, Mike—get in here, quick.”
Mike looked at the cat, then at Will. “In… in the jar?” he asked, heartbeat quickening. “With you?”
“You idiot,” Liv snapped, as the cat prowled closer. “He’s coming for you. Get in here.”
Quickly, Mike slithered up the side of the jar, spilling head-first into the lid. His fur brushed against Will’s handle as he fell, and the touch sent shivers all along his soft spine.
“Hi,” Will whispered, and Mike could feel him shaking. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Mike said, gasping out a breath. “Are you okay?”
“I—I’m alright,” Will says. Then, after a slight pause, both of their breaths mixing together in the small jar, “We’re alright.”
“Oh my god,” Liv said flatly. “Yeah, we’re all great. Now shut up.”
They fell silent as Holly entered the room, a bright smile on her round face. She reached down and gave the cat an enthusiastic pet, and the single touch seemed to transform the animal from a viscous predator into a friendly, cuddly kitten. It preened against her hand, winding tightly around her leg.
Holly laughed. “Good boy, Bagel,” she said cheerfully. “Good boy!” Her sights caught on Andi, sprawled mercilessly across the carpet, and she frowned. “Oh, my catapult!”
Carefully, Holly took Andi’s broken pieces and set them on top of her dresser. Mike watched hopefully, eyes staring from behind the thick glass, but there was no sign of movement. He couldn’t tell if it was because Holly was there or because Andi was…
No. He couldn’t think about that.
Holly turned in the direction of the easel, and her little fist came closer, fingers wrapping around the jar.
“Will,” Mike whispered, breath speeding up. “What’s happening?”
Will’s head was a lot higher than his was, peering over the open neck of the jar. “I think… I think we’re going outside,” he said, voice full of wonder.
Mike froze, feeling warm and cold and scared and excited, all at once. Feeling everything.
Outside.
It was almost too good to be true.
—
The first thing Mike realized about the outside world was that it was hot. Without the added air conditioning, the air was stagnant, almost humid, against his polyester fur. He shifted uncomfortably against the glass bottom of the jar, jostling in Holly’s hand, and Will frowned down at him. “Everything okay?”
Mike hesitated. “I’m just… It’s a little hot,” he admitted, embarrassed. Will had lots of experience going outside. He was practically a pro.
But he didn’t tease him. Instead, Will said, “Oh, yeah. It is, isn’t it? My bristles always get all droopy out here.”
As if to illustrate the point, a side bristle flopped down over Will’s eye, and he tried in vain to blow it away. “See?”
Mike stared up at him. The sun shone down on them, haloing Will’s face, turning his dark brown eyes to gold, and all he could say was: “Beautiful.”
Will’s cheeks turned bright red. “What?”
Mike coughed, curling around himself in embarrassment. “Oh, I—it’s really beautiful out here,” he stammered. They both looked around, at the bright green grass and towering pine trees of the Wheeler’s backyard. Finally, Holly came to a stop near the vegetable garden, and laid out her little pink blanket and canvas. She busied herself with setting up her paints, and Mike and Will continued to take in the sights.
“The world is so big,” Mike breathed out, eyes wide. It was a stupid thing to say, but… it was true.
Will smiled, looking tall and strong and sweet. Looking like Will. Mike’s favorite paintbrush. His favorite anything.
“It seems bigger when you’re here,” Will replied, almost unthinkingly.
There was a long, quiet moment between them. Mike’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt himself choking up. Was this… Did Will…
The jar jostled abruptly, and the moment was effectively broken.
Holly’s hand dipped inside the jar, lifting Will out, and he smiled sheepishly at Mike as he was taken away, bristles blowing gently in the breeze. Mike sighed in disappointment, but laid his chin against the bottom of the jar, ready to take a relaxing nap in the afternoon sunlight.
“Mike? What are you doing in there, silly?”
Holly’s fingers, small and familiar, wrapped carefully around Mike’s fur and pulled him out. He blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden influx of light, as she set him down in the grass. “There you go!” she chirped. “Now you can play outside!”
The world was warm against his fur. The texture was so different from anything he’d ever felt before—different than the hard wooden planes of the dresser, the scratchy thinness of the carpet. It was earthy and raw. Dirt got all over him, but he didn’t care. He felt free. He felt… He felt like he could do anything.
He glanced back at Will, dipped in bright yellow paint and curving around the arc of a smiley-face sun.
It seems bigger when you’re here.
Will was right. The world seemed infinite. It seemed like Mike could fall for ages, right into the Earth’s core, and still have more to see. Still have further to go.
He started exploring—racing along the grass, butting up against mushrooms and flowers and tomato plants, rolling around in the dirt. He was having a blast. He felt free. This was the time of his life.
And it was all because of Will.
“Well! I’ve never seen you around here before.”
Mike stopped in his tracks, flushing in embarrassment. “Oh!” he blurted, backing away from a glossy, ripe tomato. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was out here.”
The garden statue’s mouth tilted. She was some sort of elf: pointy ears, long flowy hair, neat pink shoes. Ceramic glazed. “You’re good,” she assured him. “I’m Suni.” She gestured behind her, at two smaller statues; fairies with delicately painted wings. “And this is Blythe and Cher.”
“Hi, Suni,” he greeted politely. “Blythe. Cher. I’m Mike.”
“Nice to meet you, Mike,” Blythe said. Her voice was like a song, melodic and free-floating. “What brings you out here? We don’t see many toys in the garden.”
“I snuck a ride with the paintbrushes,” Mike admitted, and Cher laughed.
“Ah. A hitchhiking worm. Now that’s something you don’t see every day.”
Mike laughed along with her, because when she put it like that, it was pretty funny. “I guess so,” he admits, snaking closer to the three statues. Their presence was warm and inviting, and he instantly felt like he could talk to them. Open up. They reminded him of the toys back home, in Holly’s room. Of Mags and Moon. Of Andi.
“Are you enjoying the outdoors?” Suni asked curiously.
Mike felt the sun against his back, and sighed in contentment. “I am.” Almost without thinking, he cast a glance backwards, at Holly and her canvas. At Will. He sighed again, with more longing this time.
“Uh oh,” Cher said, voice full of mischief. “I know that sigh. Someone’s in loveee.”
Mike jumped about an inch off the ground. “What? No!” he protested. “No! I’m just… I mean…”
Blythe raised a slim eyebrow, her expression clear. Spill.
“There’s this boy,” he admitted, cheeks warming. “One of the paintbrushes. Actually—do you see him? With the yellow?”
“Oh!” Suni said delightedly. “Will! He’s out here all the time. Such a sweet brush.”
“An angel,” Cher agreed. She squinted back at him, and her eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, and you’re… You’re Mike!”
“...Yes? That’s my name,” Mike said uncertainly, unsure where she was going with this.
“Mike! The blue worm on a string!” Cher pressed, looking around at her friends. “Will talks about you all the time.”
Suni gasped in recognition. “You’re right! Dreamy eyes Mike.”
“Shiny fur Mike,” Blythe added, her tone mirthful. “Oh my god. You’re right, Cher.”
“What?” Mike said, feeling at once like he might die of heat stroke. He stole a peek over at Will, who was now being artfully wielded against the canvas. “Will didn’t… Come on. He didn’t say those things about me. Right?”
“Wrong,” Cher said gleefully. As she watched him, her expression softened. “He adores you, Mike. Come on.”
“Go make a move,” Suni said gently. “You won’t regret it. You two are practically made for each other.”
Mike squished self-consciously. “Yeah, right,” he muttered. “A worm and a paintbrush.”
Blythe smiled, eyes twinkling. “A love story for the ages.”
“Go on,” Cher encouraged. “Get out of here. Go to him.”
And, bolstered by the support, Mike did. He streaked across the grass, a shot of blue against green, and slithered towards Holly’s blanket as fast as his body would take him. Once he reached the edge, he paused. Was he really going to do this? What if the statues were just messing with him? Did Will really… like him?
But his hesitation didn’t matter, because Holly turned to switch colors, and spotted him amongst the weeds. “Mike!” she cheered. “You’re back! I thought I lost you.” She reached down a hand and scooped him up, lifting him to perch on one of her shoulders. “Here you go. Best seat in the house!”
She was painting with Liv now, filling in a bright blue sky. Will was nestled against the blanket, bristles dipped in gold, and as he looked up at Mike, his entire face lit up. Mike smiled shyly down at him.
“Mike,” Will whispered, watching Holly out of the corner of his eye. “C’mere.”
“Down—” Mike gestured to the ground with his head. “Down there?”
“Mhm!”
Mike took a deep, bolstering breath. He looked at Will—at his tan handle, his paint-dappled face, his beautiful set of bristles.
And he fell.
Nudged off of Holly’s shoulder, he flew down to the blanket, twisting and turning in midair. It was worth it, for Will. It was all worth it.
He landed with a soft thud, right on top of Will’s handle, which was… Not intentional. He flushed, and started to roll away.
“No!” Will blurted, then turned pink. “I mean—you can stay.”
Mike looked up at him. “I can?”
The air seemed to warm as they met each other’s gaze, understanding lighting in each of their eyes. I belong here, they each were saying. I belong right here, with you.
Slowly, Mike lowered his chin until his head rested in the middle of Will’s handle, sunlit and comfortable. Will’s breath shuddered out of him, and Mike felt it rustle against his fur.
“Yeah,” Will whispered. “You can.”
Mike cuddled closer. He closed his eyes. “Okay,” he whispered back. “I will.”
And they stayed just like that, wrapped around each other, warm and safe and at peace, until the sun hung low in the sky. On Holly’s canvas, Will’s shade of yellow beamed brightly.
They were home.
—
“And that’s it,” Mike says. He looks around, hands held out in expectation. Well?
Holly blinks at him. “Mike,” she says, very seriously. “That was a weird story.”
“I know,” he says proudly. “Wasn’t it great?”
She considers this, head tilted to the side. “It was funny,” she says eventually, and her face breaks out in a big, toothy grin. “You’re funny, Mike.”
“Yeah,” Will says flatly. He’s sitting at Holly’s desk, head held in his hands. He’s been looking severely constipated for the last twenty minutes, and his face is scrunched up in grudging disbelief. “Funny.”
Mike preens, pretending not to notice the sarcasm. “Thank you,” he tells them both. He tucks Holly’s pink covers tighter around her armpits, stopping to tickle her mid-way. She giggles and tries to twist away, but he just blows a raspberry into the soft skin of her shoulder. “I’ve got you!” he laughs. “You can’t worm away.”
“Mike,” Will says, biting back a smile. “Come on. It’s time for Holly to go to bed, right?”
“Of course,” Mike says, mock-seriously. He pats the covers down, smoothing out the creases. “Otherwise, how will all the toys come to life? They won’t do it if you’re watching, you know.”
Holly’s eyes widen. “You’re lying,” she says, half-suspicious and half-hopeful.
“Nope,” he says, making an X over his heart. “Super serious. I promise.”
“Mhm,” Will mutters, rolling his eyes. “Let's wrap it up, Mister Worm.”
“Wrapping it up!” Mike promises. He leans forward, kissing Holly on the forehead. “Night, Hols.”
Holly smiles sleepily up at him. “Night, Mister Worm.”
Mike laughs, low and warm, then stands to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and popping all the tight joints in his back. Will flinches, as he always does, at the sound. And, also as he always does, Mike twists around extra dramatically, making all the popping noises he can. Really milking it.
“That’s so gross,” Will grumbles, heading over to the door.
“It’s so nice to have arms,” Mike says cheerfully, and Will just groans in response. As they reach the doorframe, Mike flicks the light off, smiling as Holly’s little fairy-shaped nightlight fills the room with a warm yellow glow. “Night, Holly,” he whispers, and Will echoes him.
There’s a pause, and then Holly yawns. Mike hears the blankets shifting as she rolls over, trying to get comfortable. “Night, Mike. Night, Will. Love you.”
Absurdly, Mike’s eyes grow a little warm. He rubs roughly at them, before he can embarrass himself any further. “Love you too,” he manages, voice only a little strained.
Will waves a hand. “Love you, Holly. Sleep tight.”
Holly gives a muffled mmph in response, already losing consciousness to the throes of sleep, and the boys tiptoe out into the hallway. As soon as they’re down the hall and inside of Mike’s room, though, Will rounds on Mike, a bewildered look on his face.
“Mike. What the fuck was that,” he says, a laugh sneaking in through his words.
Mike shrugs. “I’m flexing my creative writing muscles,” he protests, tamping down on a grin. “For the club, you know?”
“Oh, so you’re going to submit a romance story between a worm and a paintbrush to your fiction writing workshop,” Will says sarcastically. “I’m sure it’ll be a hit.”
“Duh,” Mike responds, moving in closer. Will’s breath hitches, and he clocks it, eyes sticking on the protrusion of his Adam’s apple. “Everyone will love it.”
Will’s eyes go a little soft. A little fond. Like he can’t help it, like he can’t stay mad at Mike, even if it’s just pretend. “A love story for the ages,” he remembers.
“Exactly,” Mike says, and steps forward, pressing his forehead against Will’s. “Will,” he breathes gently, and for a second, there is no sound in the room. Just them. Just the air leaving their lungs, the heat warming their cheeks.
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
The corner of Will’s lip twitches, but he holds it together. “Hmm,” he hums. “Let me think.”
Mike waits.
“No.”
Mike’s mouth drops open, and a sound of mock-offense leaves his throat. “Hey! Excuse me. I’d still love you if you were a paintbrush,” he says, reaching out and running a thumb over Will’s cheekbone.
Will leans into the touch, closing his eyes. His whole body is lined with content, sated and happy and giggly. “A paintbrush is different than a worm,” he points out.
“It wasn’t even a real worm!”
Will’s eyes pop open, fixing steadily on Mike. “Mike,” he says. “Of course I’d still love you.”
Mike relaxes, letting out tension he didn’t even know he was holding. “Oh,” he says lamely. “Well, that’s… Good.”
Will’s nose scrunches up as he smiles, big and blinding and beautiful. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.”
And Mike can’t take it anymore. He leans in to kiss his boyfriend, to carefully meet his lips with his own. This thing between them is new, and it can be fragile sometimes. Tentative. But it’s never been something to doubt. It’s never been something that Mike isn’t sure of.
Their lips move together, and their hearts beat, and the Earth spins.
Mike falls. He falls, and falls, and falls.
He thinks, distantly, that they’d belong together in any universe.