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You aren't supposed to feel guilty when you’re falling in love.
That’s what Will’s mom had told him when he was younger . Something he never thought he would have to worry about; falling in love.
He was terribly wrong. About everything.
Mike Wheeler is a terrible person to fall in love with. At least in Will's situation.
He is brave and stubborn and beautiful but he also wants nothing to do with Will. Or maybe he does, he just wants to be with El more.
Will doesn't blame him for anything, and he’s not really mad; it turns out Mike Wheeler is also a hard person to stay angry with. It just hurts, is all. Loving someone so much, and devoting everything to them, just for them to drift away.
So, maybe Mike doesn’t hate Will, but the side eyes, silent stares, and the awkward hug at the airport was sure pointing to that. Especially when he suddenly burst into flames of anger at the roller-rink, somehow confused as to why Will was upset.
He wasn’t supposed to be upset, it’s stupid to be upset over it, but he is.
That leaves him sitting alone in his room, pondering the events of the night.
Nothing went as planned, he thinks bitterly looking over at the painting rolled up and shoved in the corner of his room. Even though they hadn't talked at all over the course of the last 6 months, some childish part of Will thought Mike had missed him. That he would run into his arms the second he saw him after all this time, and he would ask about the painting and Will would have the courage to give it to him.
He flops back onto his bed, and stares at the texture of the ceiling above him. Tears well up into his eyes, and Will just lets them fall, rolling onto his side and waiting for the sobs to come. He lets them take over him when they do, body wracking an expression quivering.
This was what I needed, he thinks curling up into himself. This was the last straw; the sign that Mike didn’t need him anymore, and he really was gone. Now all he needed was to get over it.
Will ignores the small talking sound coming from somewhere outside his room, assuming it was the laundry machine pounding against the was in the other room.
It wasn’t.
“Will?” As quiet as the voice is, Will recognizes it immediately. He lets in a sharp inhale of panic, rolling over onto his stomach and shoving his arms under his pillow.
Mike calls him again. “Will? Can I come in?” He ignores the burning feeling in his chest, and levels out his breath. His light is on, and he's still wearing his shoes, but maybe Mike will assume he's sleeping. Maybe he will decide he's not worth it and turn down the hallway to El’s room.
The door knob rattles, and then Mike is in his room. He gently shuts the door closed behind him.
Will squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath.
“I know you're not asleep, Will,” Mike whispers as he steps closer to the bed. Will's heart quickens. He feels him standing over him for a moment, his gaze burning through Will’s self control.
You need to rip off the Band-Aid.
The bed dips as Mike sits down next to him. He sighs.
“I get that you don’t want to talk to me,” Mike says tenderly. Will wants to sit up and scratch onto him, never let go. But he can’t. He has to get over him. For both of their sakes. “I don’t know what I did, but-”
Will lets out the breath he had been holding since Mike came in. “It- It’s not- ugh.” He pushes himself off the pillow, frantically wiping at his face before he turns into Mike's view. He doesn't look at him as he scooches over next to him at the side of his bed.
Mike doesn't say anything, but Will can feel his eyes on him. “You didn’t do anything; not really.”
Cause really, it's true. It’s not Mike's fault Will wanted more than he could give him. It's Will's fault for falling in love with someone who could never love him back the way he needed him too. He stares at their feet, and the carpet. Anything to take his mind off the fact that he probably was going to have to say something he really didn’t want to. He was going to have to detach himself from Mike- and it was going to happen right now.
“I know I did, though. I always do.”
Will clenches his fist, shaking his head, his eyebrows creasing. “You didn't, Mike. You don't,” he says looking up at him. He regrets it immediately.
Mike is crying. His eyes are red, his face all scrunched together. He looks miserable, and Will knows it's somehow his fault.
He wants to reach out; to touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispers, but it's firm- final. Mike's hand twitches from where it lays on the bed in between them, Will ignores it.
“Then why? Why-” Wills heart breaks as Mike is interrupted by his own sob. He panics, hands immediately reaching out against his own will. “Hey- it's alright.” He wraps his arms around him, bringing Mike into his chest. One hand rubs soothing lines on his back, while the other grapples onto his head, shoving him closer into him.
Will pushes away the little voice chastising him in his head, telling him he is disgusting. Mike’s well being is more important than his own personal issues. He’s muttering apologies, muffled my Will’s shirt.
“Mike,” the boy whispers, hands moving to comb through his hair. Mike's arms wrap around his back, clutching onto his shoulders.
It’s time, Will decides. This is obviously hurting Mike. He needs to tell him the truth, no matter how much he doesn't want to.
He gives him one last bone crushing hug, squeezing his eyes shut as to maybe stop his tears from coming back, before detaching himself. Mike's wheezing stops as he looks up, eyes and nose tinged red, nose snotty. He looks scared.
“I have to show you something,” Will says to him. He gets up slowly, leaving Mike alone on his bed. Will walks over to the painting, taking a deep breath before turning back over to the other boy. He smiles sadly, holding it out to him. Mike looks at him, confused, before extending a shaky hand to take the rolled up canvas. He sniffles, giving the item a once-over before returning his gaze to Will.
“Is this- the painting from the airport?”
Will nods as he sits back down next to Mike. Something tells him that this is the last time he’ll get to be this close to him, without a trace of disgust on Mike's face. His knees bounce anxiously.
“I made it for you, actually,” he says. The crease between Mike's brows deepens. He sniffles again. “Go- go ahead and open in.”
He does, carefully untying the string before tossing it aside, and unraveling the canvas. A gasp escapes his lips at the full sight of the painting.
It’s the two of them on the swing set where they first met. Both of their mouths are in a wide smile, seemingly laughing. Will watches as amazement coats Mike's teary eyes.
“Woah.”
Will smiles. “Do you recognize it?” Mike looks at him incredulously. “Of- of course I do,” he says. His grip on the sides of the canvas tighten. “It's us.”
Will takes a deep breath.
He thinks he’s ready.
“I missed you like crazy, you know.”
Mike whimpers as he looks down at the painting in his lap. Will wonders why he's so miserable, and how he made him feel this way.
“I missed you to Will,” he barely gets out, words choppy. “So much.”
Will likes the thought. “It’s different for me, though.”
He waits for Mike to look back up at him, and when he does, confusion is etched into his features. “I’m sorry,” he adds. Mike lets out a noise- a strange combination of a mewl and a scoff- his eyes steadily roaming Wills face. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
Something in Will cracks.
“I’m sorry for falling in love with you.”
There's a beat. A single moment of silence. Will braces himself.
But Mike's eyes never leave his face. His expression hasn’t changed, still confused and worried and- and something else Will can’t figure out.
The painting falls to the floor, and Mike's hands are on him.
First they just rest on his own hands, which are balled up in his own lap. A featherlight touch that unfolds Will entirely. Mike's eyes never leave Wills as they travel up to his wrists, his touch growing stronger- needier.
Will doesn't know what is happening but he can’t bring himself to care. All he cares about is that Mike hasn't run away- he’s still here.
His hands travel higher and higher, rubbing into his skin, until he's cupping his cheeks. Mike looks at him like someone would when they love you. It’s terrifying.
“If you want me to stop you need to tell me.”
Will needs him. He’s greedy. Of course he leans in.
His hands reach as their lips slot together, running his fingers over the soft skin of Mike's arms. The kiss is short, too short. Will watches in awe as Mike’s eyes flutter open. He looks drunk off of him. Will made him look this way.
Mike smiles softly as he moves his hands over Will's face, wiping away tears he hadn’t known were there.
“I Thought- You never could have loved me. I only said that to stop myself from hurting you any more.”
Mike rests his forehead atop Wills. “I wish you would just be selfish sometimes,” he whispers. Will is staring at his lips. Mike kisses him in response.
They part once again. “Please don't ever leave me.”
Will clutches onto his shirt. “I promise.”
“Crazy together, ok?”
What a strange way to say you love someone.
“Crazy together.”
Maybe being in love wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.