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"Okay, so it says to test it first?"
Mike's eyebrows pull together, confused, as he reads the directions on the box of hair bleach. El is looking from behind him, the side of her head against his shoulder.
"So you know if you're allergic," she adds on, pulling away.
Will is the one with the plastic gloves, leaning against the wall, waiting for them to finish reading the directions. "It sounds reasonable. I don't think you would be, though, since Nancy dyed hers last year and your mom bleaches hers."
Mike looks up and over at him, the words processing. He hums, then sets the box down. "We could just do it then," he says, sitting on the toilet lid he'd pulled down. He has to look up at Will and El from this angle. His shirt was already off, leaving him in a white undershirt just in case. Will had a t-shirt on, a plain white one, but El had a purple shirt on with jeans, since she wasn't going to help with bleaching.
Will gets everything set up and mixed, Mike's eyes following his hands, a light blush on his face.
It's almost weird how Mike has increasingly found ways to be nervous around Will or stare at him or just go soft. Growing up has done the now eighteen-year-old well, the boyishness giving way to an attractive masculinity that makes Mike feel more than warm. Butterflies feel like a myth to Mike, the feeling more akin to a burning flame, starting as embers in his chest when he was young, graduating into a full volcano of heat now that they're adults.
Of course, Mike hasn't actually said anything yet, but the fantasy of running away with Will still sticks in his head.
Will's hands move quickly, fingers stretching around the bottle, bending, the muscles of his arm moving minutely. How he'd filled out was one of the first things Mike had noticed seeing Will again in California, and he'd definitely freaked a little. Now, though, he tells himself he's got a better grip on himself.
"Okay." Will gives him a grin, and Mike smiles back at him. "Turn around."
Mike turns so Will can get to his hair, and his first impression is that the smell is strong; it stings a little when it touches the skin of his scalp, but he doesn't interrupt Will as he applies it the best he can. The feeling of hands in his hair is nice, soothing.
"We have to leave it in for twenty minutes," El says as Will pulls away. "Then check and if it's not light enough, keep it in another twenty minutes."
Mike side-eyes her, the box back in her hands. Feeling bored, he asks, "What was Max busy doing when you asked her to come over?"
She looks at him. "A date with Lucas. I'm joining them at the new diner in an hour for a full date."
Mike nods, remembering the small arrangement El had told him about when they were fifteen after seeing them pine for each other for a while. Max had been the one to ask El if she liked girls and to propose dating, and the three of them had come up with a schedule where they'd have both two-person dates and ones with all three of them. Last week, El and Lucas had gone to the bookshop, and Max had kidnapped El for a sleepover.
"That sounds nice," Will comments, sounding a bit wistful.
Mike finds himself nodding. Obviously, he couldn't date publicly, being gay and all, but the thought of it is nice. The conversation continues on, jumping from subject to subject until Will's watch beeps. They check Mike's hair, and then delve back into talking when Will says it's still fairly dark.
Two weeks later finds Mike and Will in the bathroom again, this time alone, to put the color in Mike's hair, a vibrant blue that he was honestly excited to see.
Will is rambling about a new movie, Dead Poet's Society, that they'd seen last week, and Mike feels content.
"I might be a little biased, but a lot about it was... queer?"
Mike hums. He knows what Will means, the way the movie was written and the characters felt... there was definitely queer influence in it, which is amazingly cool, though God forbid Mike talk about that with anyone but The Party. "Yeah, I see it."
Will finishes with the color, pulling off the gloves and putting them in the small trashcan. "There. We should give it... half an hour?"
"Yeah."
Mike turns back around to face Will, who had opted out of a shirt this time, Mike in another undershirt. Distantly, he thinks about telling Will, coming out. He'd just accepted it fully a few months ago, with a lot of help from Robin and Steve. They're subtly bringing up talking about it now, specifically to Will, and Mike knows the idea isn't unappealing.
Will had come out to everyone a few years ago, a little after turning sixteen.
"I just wanted to tell you guys- I'm gay."
Mike had never expected their friends to be not supportive, but at least with Will, Mike knows he'd understand. The idea gets tossed around his head, banging and crashing into the walls of his brain. Finally, he steels himself.
"Will?"
Will looks up, attention shifting from the sketchbook he'd brought in here with him to Mike, and it hits him just how pretty Will looks.
Will's eyes are a brilliant shade of hazel, the colors swirling and shifting beautifully. His jaw wasn't as sharp as Mike's, but it wasn't soft, either, unblemished skin smooth over his face, a few shades tanner than Mike's pale complexion. His lips are touching, and not for the first time, Mike wonders how Will kisses; is he soft? Passionate? Confident?
"Mike?" Will prompts, bringing Mike out of his head.
Mike blinks, heat rising in his cheeks. "Uh, I've been thinking, and I wanted to tell you I'm... I'm gay, too." His voice is softer than usual, hesitant.
Will smiles at him. "Thanks for telling me," he responds, then glances down to his sketchbook, a contemplative look on his face. "Do you want to see something?"
Mike's eyebrows draw together, but he nods. Any art from Will is insanely amazing, and Mike loves it, owning three binders of every drawing he's gotten from his best friend. It was probably a little obsessive, a lot obvious, but it's not something he really thinks about. The air rushes out of his lungs, eyes widening, when will shows him the drawing he's working on, Mike's own face peeking back at him. "Wow," he says quietly.
Just like everything else Will does, it's amazing; the lines are fluid, the proportions right, and it feels alive somehow, despite only being in pencil.
"I draw you a lot," Will admits, and Mike drags his eyes up to Will's face, cheeks pink.
"I love you," Mike blurts, his brain moving way too fast to process.
Now it's Will's turn to be surprised. "You... do?"
Mike blinks, slowly catching up as his face lights on fire. "I- I mean... maybe?" He swallows hard. "I wasn't really planning on telling you like this, but it's not like I haven't thought about you or how I want to kiss you all the time and take you on dates and-"
Will launches forward, and lips press to Mike's own.
Mike only freezes for a second before melting into it, kissing back.
It's gentle, though clear intention is there, a soft confidence as Will leads them. They both gulp in air after pulling away.
"I love you, too," Will says, smiling softly.
They wash Mike's hair when Will's watch goes off, and the result is definitely what Mike wanted. They both giggle loudly as they stumble out of the bathroom and to Mike's room, Mike pulling them down on his bed, Will on top. They spend hours kissing, making out, and just being together.
And for once, everything goes right.