Archive of Our Own

Fourteen times Will had called.

He sat on the tiles of his kitchen floor, leaning his back against the fridge, holding his phone loosely in one hand. The voicemail that indicated his call had not been answered sounded for the fourteenth time. The fourteenth day Mike had not answered.

After Mike had left, he’d immediately gotten a taxi ride home, not wanting to wake Joyce.

Well, initially he’d collapsed to the bathroom floor and sat there in stunned silence for about twenty minutes. When he’d wiped his damp cheeks in an effort to recollect himself, he’d gotten up, not bothering to find his friends, and called for a taxi. The others would make it home just fine.

Will had spent the whole ride home wondering if Mike had already somehow managed to get on a flight back to the UK, or if he was still in the taxi in Hawkins, or maybe, he’d changed his mind, and was sleeping in Will’s bed at home.

When he’d returned, quietly opening the door and going straight to his room, he’d been met with no such sight. In fact, the absence of Mike’s suitcase and clothes made Will feel even worse. He had been hit with the knowledge that Mike was gone. He’d left and had stated he’d never come back.

It was eight pm. Roughly the time that he and Mike had called one another each day when they weren’t physically together.

He’d tried calling Mike fourteen times over the course of a month, though to no prevail. He’d sent a dozen or so text messages, and had even considered trying to reach Mike through the Stardust Riot official email used for business enquiries. Will feared that management would view it before Mike had the chance.

It didn’t matter anyway. With the ignored phone calls and texts, Mike had made it abundantly clear he didn’t want to speak to Will.

And Will really should be angry. Angry that he was trying so hard to be there for Mike, and the man was just pulling away.

Mike had just suddenly vanished, leaving Will with nothing. He could admit, he was frustrated, but mostly he was concerned.

For the rest of the Christmas holidays, Will had rotted in his childhood room, not socialising or finding pleasure in any of the old things he and his friends used to do when they were younger. He had done so until the beginning of the working year forced him back to his apartment in Michigan.

His friends and family had all found out reasonably quickly, because, of course, a drama like that would have been impossible to be kept secret.

Joyce had comforted Will, coming into his bedroom at two pm the day after the party, wondering why Will wasn’t awake. When she’d asked where Mike was, Will had instantly broken down, sobbing into her out-stretched arms.

When he’d explained, Will was surprised to find that Joyce didn’t pull her ‘I told you so’ face, which—if he was being honest—she had every right to do so. She’d merely offered comfort and asked the occasional question for clarification.

Jonathan had come around not too much later, offering similar comfort, as well as words of advice. He didn’t believe that Mike had truly broken up with him, most likely just needing space to sort his head out. Will had numbly nodded, hardly being able to listen with the mourning a weight on his back.

Nancy had tried contacting her brother, to no success. She’d understood Mike had addiction problems in the past, though she’d had no idea they were still affecting him this badly. Mike had been hiding it well, up until this point.

El, Dustin, Lucas and Max had all been in difficult positions. They’d all liked Mike—Will could see it on their conflicted faces clearly when he’d recounted the events of their fight. He’d seen how, in their contained expressions, they’d initially not believed that charming, funny and friendly Mike would do something as harsh as this. But, Will’s tears were no joke, and they’d all wrapped him in a hug, saying they supported him.

None of them bad-talked Mike, which was a common occurrence when any of the party members recounted bad experiences with romantic interests. Will was simultaneously appreciative and pained that his friends had taken such a liking to Mike, that they weren’t going to take sides. They merely offered support for Will.

Will sighed, reaching back his arm to brace his hand against the floor. He pushed himself to his feet, putting the phone on the countertop.

His head was heavy, eyes tired even though it wasn’t even nine. His feet took him to his bed, where he didn’t bother lifting up the covers before flopping down on the mattress, letting sleep take him.

*

His routine changed again.

His holidays were over, and he was required back at the prison that was The Dollar Tree to work Monday to Friday. He’d wake up, make breakfast, go to work, perhaps shop or walk in the park afterwards.

That part of his routine was largely the same, except his bacon and eggs never had much of a taste, his head would ache on the drive to work, and it was harder to keep his temper in check with the rude customers. When he’d go shopping, he’d pick out merely what he needed on autopilot, not bothering to browse the sweets isle for a late-night snack. When he went for a walk, he’d glare with undisguised jealously at all the happy couples who walked by holding hands.

When he’d come home, he’d turn on the TV and watch whatever romcom or reality tv show was on. Will had never really used his TV, but he found that the evenings were rather vacant now that he wasn’t using them to call Mike and talk on the phone for hours.

He’d watch the shows that were on until he’d either drop off in his chair with the TV still blaring or remember to drag himself to bed to repeat it all the next day.

He began to dread the weekends because there would be nothing on offer except for TV. Even then, he’d watch Emma or Before Sunrise, and enjoy the main relationship until the couple’s ‘lovey-doveyness’ became too much to bear, and he’d switch it off.

He should really come up with a hobby, something to do to pass the time until the weekday came around again. Each time he picked up his pencil, there was nothing he wanted to draw.

His friends and family had called a few times to check in. When talking on the subject, El had suggested he get a pet, maybe a dog or cat to keep him company. Will wasn’t sure if his apartment allowed animals.

He’d sometimes spend half an hour or so talking to any of his friends, and also Joyce and occasionally Jonathan. Those were the times when Will felt the best, but he could tell that his friends and family were worried about him. He’d never received so many calls in a month.

Will’s alarm started. He flung a groggy arm out to silence the beeping. The clock read six-thirty.

It was Monday, third of February. The start of another week.

Will took ten minutes to take off his bedsheets, wanting to stay in bed and sleep until next year. He trudged to the shower, where he quickly refreshed himself before changing into his uniform, pinning on his name badge with strong distaste.

Within the next fifteen minutes, he was in his car, driving to The Dollar Tree, where he knew he’d be late since it had taken him so long to get out of bed.

Eight hours until he could sleep.

*

Will’s phone was ringing.

He was watching TV, waiting for the long stream of ads to end before Mad About You started.

It was eight pm. Will assumed it must be Joyce checking in, or maybe one of his friends calling to tell him something funny (an experience with Dustin he’d had many times).

He saw the name:

Mike<3

Will’s insides turned to stone at those four letters. The phone rang out again, and again.

He almost left it, but, what if Mike was calling him to finally ask for help? Hadn’t this been what Will was waiting over two months for? Just the very fact that Will was seeing Mike’s caller ID on his phone was so fragile, so fleeting, like the feather of a bird shedding from its body from where it stood on a tree, falling towards the ground. If Will didn’t’ reach out and grasp it, the wind would whisk it away forever.

He pressed answer, and brought the phone to his ear, and the nails on his other hand to his teeth.

“Hello?”

Silence on the other end. Will sat there for about ten seconds, waiting. He would think that Mike had made the call by accident, but the faint breathing from the speaker made him know that it wasn’t. Will couldn’t hear anything else; Mike was alone.

“Mike.”

Still no response. Will couldn’t help but feel irritation amongst the relief that he experienced at knowing that Mike was alive. He’d seen articles on Mike, heard radio hosts talk about the band with enthusiasm, and he’d know if anything bad had happened the second it did…but it was reassuring all the same to listen to Mike’s breaths.

“I’ll hang up.”

The breathing continued. Will waited another few beats.

“Okay…”

Will’s finger just touched the ‘end call’ button, nearly pressing down.

“Please, don’t.”

Mike’s voice was rough, sounding as if the man had been crying. Will’s finger drifted away from the button as his heart clenched.

“Are…” Will trailed off. “Where are you?”

How are you? What are you doing? Do you think about me every day like I think about you?

Will had many questions bubbling, but he treaded lightly.

“Home,” Mike said.

“Manchester?”

“Yes.”

Will took a breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m stoned.”

Will’s insides went cold, the beats of his heart feeling like they were slowing, freezing with fear.

Mike sighed. “I…haven’t been sober that much in the last two months.”

“Let me help you, Mike.” Will’s anxiety broke free, his concern and love washing out from the dam. “Please, this isn’t healthy.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I can’t do that to you.”

Will was growing frustrated. “It doesn’t affect me. Just because we’re dating…were dating…doesn’t mean you have to be the perfect boyfriend. You’re allowed to be flawed. We’re all flawed.”

“You’re not.”

Will would have found the compliment flattering under any other scenario, but his heart was too wrapped up in worry for Mike to pay it any attention. “Let me help you as a friend. We…don’t have to be boyfriends. I just want you to be okay, and I can make sure you are as your friend. I care about you so much, Mike.”

Silence on the other end. Will listened to Mike’s breathing.

“Mike?”

“You’re better off without me,” Mike eventually said. “I- I can’t be your friend or anything more.”

Will let out a wet breath, eyes prickling with newly forming tears. It had been so long, but the hurt was still raw. “Why did you call, then?” His voice cracked. Mike’s breath hitched. “If you don’t want me to help you? If you don’t want to be with me?”

They breathed together, Will listening intently for Mike’s breaths to stop so his voice could explain. The clock in Will’s kitchen ticked, his refrigerator buzzed.

A sigh from the other end. “I just…”

Barely audible, Will had to strain, pressing the end of the receiver so hard against his ear to hear Mike say in the softest voice he’d ever heard, “…wanted to hear your voice.”

“Mike…”

Will ached. Every atom and fibre making up his soul and lungs and heart longed to be with Mike in this very moment, and for all moments to come. He wanted to teleport to Manchester, bundle Mike up in his arms, take him to bed. He’d cover him with pillows and soft blankets, tucking him in so that nothing would ever harm him. Nothing would ever make the man feel so horrible.

“Just give it a second chance. Why didn’t rehab work the first time?”

“You can’t cure addiction,” Mike said, sounding broken. “You said it yourself. Even if I went, if I was fine for the weeks I was there…when I’d be let out…it’d only be a matter of time before I’d relapse.”

“Then you go back if that happens!” Will insisted. “You can’t get clean straight away. It might take a few months or a year, and even then, you still might relapse, but that’s okay. You keep fighting until you beat it.”

Will listened to Mike’s breathing, trying to gauge whether it had changed, perhaps had grown steadier with reassurance, or softened with understanding.

“I know you can do it, Mike.”

More silence. Will bit down his impatience.

He was close, so close, to getting Mike to understand that he wasn’t going to hate him for his addiction. His perception of the man wouldn’t change. He wasn’t going to throw everything they’d built for over half a year just for one fact.

“Take care, Will…” Mike’s voice was quieter than a hummingbird’s wings. “I’ll try not to call again.”

The phone’s end call tone beeped. Will didn’t remove the phone from his ear, nor get up from his couch for a long time after the sound stopped.

*

Another month went by.

To Will, it somehow simultaneously felt like a year, but also a second.

His sleep wasn’t fairing particularly well. He’d sometimes lay awake at three am, knowing he’d need to wake up within the next three or four hours, but not being able to sleep.

He thought about Mike. A lot.

It was impossible not to. Even if Will did manage to distract himself with TV, he’d quite frequently see headlines in the news of the famous lead singer of Stardust Riot.

He’d walk past the newsagent and spot Mike’s face on the front cover of magazines. Curiosity would possess him, forcing Will to pick up the cover and flip to the article. The images on the front were quite affronting. Mike looked out of it in every single photo: hair unbrushed, always wearing sunglasses, but Will could easily imagine the same pupils-dilated, red-eyed look that he’d seen on the day Mike had left. His clothes would be torn, not in the fashionable way, and would be sporting several stains. The photos were never particularly clear—being that Mike was always trying to avoid the paparazzi who took them by speeding away—but Will thought those stains were potentially where the man had vomited on himself.

Aside from his security and fans, Mike was only ever pictured alone. Never with a supermodel attractive celebrity by his side exiting the club or restaurant or wherever with him.

It wasn’t just in the magazines. Will would be driving to work, and the radio station would recount Mike’s latest scandal whilst the band was on tour: pissing in a bin at three am in Texas, yelling aggressively at the paparazzi in Orlando, trying to outrun the police in San Francisco. Each time Will heard the stories, he had an ache in his heart that told him they were all true this time, despite Mike clarifying when they were together that a large portion of what the media said about him was false. The stories were just too specific for the press to lie about.

Will saw Mike’s scandals on TV. He’d be in the supermarket and overhear chatter from some teenagers who were clearly fans of the band. They’d say that Mike had ‘gone off the rails’ and was ‘using every night’.

Work, park, supermarket, car.

Everywhere Will went, he couldn’t escape Mike. He’d get home after seeing Mike around every corner, lay in bed and think about the man.

He hadn’t tried calling again.

Neither had Mike.

“You should try and move on,” El was saying to Will from over the phone. They’d talked about meaningless things for the past ten minutes—the terrible weather, El’s uni degree, Will’s shit job—until the conversation had eventually been brought back to Mike. “It’s not your problem. It never was, anyway.”

“I still feel horrible about it,” Will said.

El sighed. They’d had this conversation a lot. El, being the absolute saint of a friend, was likely the only person who wasn’t tired of hearing about it. None of Will’s other friends had said it to his face, but he could tell by their abrupt answers that the ‘Mike topic’ was getting old. Will couldn’t blame their impatience.

“He needs help,” Will went on. “Like, really needs help. I know I shouldn’t have to ‘fix him’, but I just feel like I should be there for him.”

“I think Mike wants to have space,” El reminded him. “That’s what he said when he left, right?”

“But only to protect me.” Will rubbed between his eyebrows. “It wasn’t ever for himself; he was only thinking about me when he left. Or, at least that’s what he was saying. He’s such a fucking idiot. He’s trying to keep me safe from his addiction, but really, it’s just made me miserable.”

Will’s breath hitched. He gripped the phone tighter to his ear.

El was silent. Will heard a tapping noise through the speaker, a fingernail hitting the side of the phone thoughtfully.

Will bit his tongue, waiting for El to speak, for her to tell him that it was all okay and that Will doesn’t need to do anything about Mike and that it’s best for him to move on. It was exactly what she told him yesterday, and the day before that. What she’d been telling him for the past three months. What everyone had been telling him.

The tapping stopped.

After a few beats, Will checked to see if the line had died.

“I have an idea,” El said, making Will bring the speaker back to his ear.

Will frowned. “What is it?”

“It…it might be a bad one,” El sounded hesitant. “But if you really think that Mike only left because he was trying to keep you safe, that he didn’t actually want to, then it could save your relationship...”

Will waited patiently for El’s explanation. The topic had somehow activated a spark in his brain, something that the endless grief and mourning and frustration had long since put out.

El took a breath. “When can you take a few days off work?”

*

Will was flying to Manchester.

He’d said it a few times aloud to himself as he’d packed his things, brain on autopilot as he grabbed his toothbrush, clothes, deodorant, shoving them all haphazardly into his suitcase. He’d put his passport and ID in a carry-on bag, and had locked the door of his apartment, heading down the stairs to where a taxi waited for him, thinking over the word: Manchester.

He whispered it under his breath as the driver took him to the airport, and when he’d waited in line for his luggage to be checked by security, when he’d sat in the lobby, waiting with the other people for the plane.

And even when he was on the plane, having found his seat and listening to music as the plane took off, he still didn’t quite believe it. He was flying to Manchester. On a Thursday evening in March. Probably with hardly enough clothes to last more than a day, and a high chance that he’d left his anxiety meds at home, but he was going to Manchester.

He was going to Mike.

Will hadn’t booked off time from work. He hadn’t even let his boss know he wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow. Or probably the next few days.

El had suggested he request to have a week off to allow enough time in the UK, but the second El had finished explaining her idea, Will had hung up, and began gathering his things without another thought.

Playing by the rules would take time. Will would have to wait until tomorrow to make the request, and then his boss would take until Monday at the earliest to approve it, and even if it was approved, Will would have to wait at least two weeks before taking leave, as per the company policy. And that was only if his boss said yes.

Will wasn’t going to wait for Mike.

He thought over El’s plan as he stared out the window, fiddling with the cord of his headphones, tapping his foot against his carry-on bag that lay at his feet.

This was his last chance to fix his relationship with Mike. He’d go to the man in person and try to get him to see reason. It’d be an ultimatum, and if Mike were to reject it, then Will could at least return to Michigan with a sense of closure. Such closure that could blanket a broken heart.

And even if they didn’t get back together, he could at least try to get Mike to consider getting help.

Even though the stakes were high, and Will’s anxiety higher, he hadn’t felt this alive in months.

Amongst his trepidation and worry, he felt an overwhelming amount of love and hope. It was such a strong, powerful feeling that Will was surprised that his fellow passengers couldn’t feel it too, or see it emanating gold from his chest, like the sun’s rays over an ocean at midday.

Will felt as if all those romantic poems had been squeezed into his heart, and that he’d be spilling out John Keats and Shakespeare and Pablo Neruda before he’d gotten out the airport. He’d collapse from the feeling and need to be rushed to hospital.

Focus, Will.

He had to remain realistic. There was a chance Mike wouldn’t react well.

What am I doing?

“Whatever you do, don’t back out. You have to do this, Will. Show that you care.”

El’s words from the phone call pushed down Will’s doubt. There was no time for rationality when he was doing something as ludicrous and spontaneous as flying across country to essentially beg for his love to have a second chance.

He regretted not checking in with his other friends, or Joyce and Jonathan, or even Nancy as to whether this really was a good idea, or if El was accidentally setting him up for failure.

But there was an instinctual rightness to what he was doing. Will knew that had to count for something.

Will checked the flight route using the screen in front of him.

Seven hours, forty-two minutes remaining.

Will tapped his finger on the arm rest, wishing he could teleport.

*

The plan was to attend Stardust Riot’s show that was happening at the AO Arena, beginning at twelve pm, a fact that Will was certain of since he’d heard a radio host talk about it the previous day.

Will was currently in a taxi, stuck in the heavy UK traffic, at eleven-forty am.

He’d wasted no time getting off the plane when they’d landed, going through customs and hailing another ride to the arena. He absent-mindedly listened to the accents fluttering around him, and he remembered that this was the first time he’d been to the UK.

It would have been nice to take some time to appreciate all the old buildings, the massive clocktower in the town hall, try out the local food or go to one of the famed museums, but they were all nothing to Will if he explored them without Mike by his side. It’d be worthless without Mike giving all the pigeons names that roamed the streets, without Mike to play soccer with in the park, or football, the man would correct with an air of indignance, and when they’d inevitably fail at the game, they’d get ice-cream and sit on a bench to watch the sunset.

Will could do it all alone, but he’d rather have his soul shrivelled up than do that.

“In a hurry?”

With Will being caught up in his head, along with the thick accent, he didn’t understand what the taxi driver said, having been abruptly brought out of his thoughts when the man had spoken.

“Pardon?”

The taxi driver indicated to where Will was anxiously bouncing his leg. He hadn’t realised he’d been doing it. “You needing to be someplace?”

“Oh.” Will stopped the movement, only to roll his fingers repeatedly through the seatbelt. “Uh, sort of. Not really.”

Yes, I really, really fucking do.

The people pleaser in Will was a force to be reckoned with. Even if he did burst at the top of his lungs ‘Yes, I have to fucking be somewhere and I’m about to grip the wheel and smash through all the cars in my way to get there.’ There was nothing the taxi driver could do about it. It wasn’t like he could control the terrible traffic.

The taxi driver nodded in understanding. Will settled for fiddling with the seatbelt, which pressed uncomfortably into his neck, until he was at the AO arena. He paid the driver, and began walking towards the entrance, suitcase in one hand, phone in the other.

No one else was around, which was a bad sign, since it was five minutes until the show started, meaning that all the fans that were likely to have been queuing for the event were all inside.

Will dialled the number, putting the phone to his ear. “Any luck?”

“No, I’m so sorry, Will,” El responded, sounding exhausted. “I tried calling everyone I know. No one has a spare ticket.”

“It’s fine.” Internally Will was shitting himself. “It’d be too hard to relay the ticket number over the phone anyway. Thank you for trying. Seriously, you’re the best, El.”

“It’s okay,” El said, but Will could tell his friend was tired. He’d have to buy her a shopping cart’s worth of Eggos and a giant teddy bear to thank her properly. “How are you getting in?”

“I have another idea. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Will hung up, eyeing the three minutes he had left until twelve on his watch, and making haste with his steps.

East side of the stadium. It was fitting, considering it was where Will and Mike had first met. Granted, it had been the east side of the stadium in Michigan, though it was sort of completing the cycle by meeting in Mike’s hometown, as opposed to Will’s.

A security guard stood solemnly by the door. She had black sunglasses that matched her fully black attire. Her muscular arms that showed in her sleeveless tank top made Will gulp a little, but he strode purposefully towards her, until he was within earshot.

“Uh, excuse me,” he called.

The woman turned her head. There were no other fans in sight, but Will could hear them all not that far away, on the other side of the stage.

“Yes?” She sounded impatient. Her lips were tensed, and Will sensed she’d spent the day dealing with hysterical fans, her tolerance run out.

“I know this is a bit of a big ask, but I was wondering if I could speak to Mike Wheeler?”

The woman scoffed. “Get in line, honey. Thirty-thousand people would like the same thing.” She gestured to the roaring of the crowd behind her. “Also show starts in two minutes, he’s occupied.”

“Please.” Will was desperate and he didn’t know what else to do. “Tell him it’s Will. He knows me.”

“A lot of Mr Wheeler’s fans like to think that he knows them, and I don’t mean to be rude, but he most certainly does not know you.”

“He does, I swear,” Will pleaded. “Tell him I want to talk to him. I need to speak with him.”

The woman frowned. Then, she put her sunglasses on her head. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green and they were forming an astonished look of realisation. “You’re him. His boyfriend.”

Will stuttered. “He told you about me?”

The woman blinked in surprise, still seeming to struggle to comprehend what she was seeing. “Yeah… would tell everyone when you two were a thing. Always ‘I don’t wanna discuss marketing, I’m calling Will’ or ‘Just give the press my standard responses, I’m on the phone with Will’ he adored you quite a lot, you know.”

Will’s heart throbbed. He couldn’t even be upset that the man had told people about their relationship when imagining Mike to be so wholesome.

The woman sighed. “Then, at the start of this year, he’d still refuse to do interviews and go to meetings because of you, but, even I could tell something had changed, despite not knowing him too well. He made his excuses with a sadder air, sometimes wiping a tear or just outright telling anyone who pestered him to fuck off. It’s been quite heartbreaking to watch.”

“I’ve come to fix things,” Will said. “Or, try to. If you just let me through, I can talk to him. Get him the help he needs…maybe salvage us at the same time, too.”

The security guard had a moment to take him in, scanning her eyes over in an intense assessment. Then, she nodded. “Wait here until the show’s over. Then, I can see if I can reach him.”

Will shook his head. “I’m worried he’ll ignore me or try to run away if I don’t go to him. Once he’s finished performing, there’s nothing keeping him here. I need to speak with him now…please.”

He felt very odd being so forward and direct, something that Will didn’t tend to be, but that just showed how fucking goddamn important Mike Wheeler was to him.

The guard bit her lip, frowning in thought. She looked behind, where the crowd’s shouting had only grown in intensity. One minute until the show started.

She looked back at Will. “Follow me.”

The guard turned around, fumbling with the keys hooked on her belt. As she slotted one through the door, the lock clicking, Will stared at her in shock. He only offered an open mouth as the woman opened the door, looking back at him expectantly.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Will’s feet stuttered. Then, he flusteredly nodded, passing by her hand that propped open the door, waiting inside the darkly lit area as the woman closed the door. She strode intentionally pass the music and stage equipment, Will following like a lost sheep behind.

With confidence, the woman led him past the number of crew that were hurriedly doing last preparations, adjusting the stage lights and checking the speakers. Will kept his head down, making himself small as to not get in their way.

A short man with a clipboard approached them. “Uh, excuse me, sir-”

“He’s with me.” The woman gestured her hand towards Will.

The man looked between the two, confused. His gaze lingered on Will, perhaps a hint of recognition in his eyes, but it was too dark for Will to tell. And with less than thirty seconds until the show began, too little time for him to stop and look.

“Right,” the man said. “No worries, Taissa.”

Taissa nodded gratefully, continuing to walk. Will thanked the man and hurried after.

A long curtain was coming close, the crowd growing louder.

“Please welcome to the stage, Stardust Riot!”

Will emerged from the curtain just as the speaker announced the band. The sounds of the crowd were scorching to the ear, but Taissa continued purposefully along the strip of ground between the fans and the stage.

Will winced as the screams from the fans hurt his ears, hunching his back a little as he followed Taissa. The arena was completely uncovered, and brightly lit from midday’s sun, but Will still felt as if he was sneaking into someplace he wasn’t meant to be.

Taissa exchanged a nod with another security guard they passed—who gave Will a curious look—and continued walking until they were at the midpoint of the stage.

Taissa barely acknowledged the screaming fans that were lined up in mass amounts at the bars, and pulled open the gate. She gestured towards it, and Will quickly slipped inside, joining the mosh pit as Taissa pushed the gate closed again.

“Thank you…” he shouted, not even knowing if Taissa could hear him. “I don’t know what to say.”

The woman’s lips titled in what Will thought was a half-smile. Her words were difficult to make out, but her wry tone was unmistakeable. “What can I say? My wife’s turned me into a hopeless romantic.”

The guard vanished, heading back to her position at the entrance backstage.

Will looked around at the fans surrounding him, expecting them to give him dirty looks for pushing in front, but none of them even spared him a glance, too busy cheering and jumping, eyes trained ahead.

Will turned to face the stage, just as the first member of the band entered the stage.  

*

V, Amirez, and Lori walked on. They entered in the exact same order as they had done so in the show in Michigan that Will had attended with his friends many months ago, yet this time, Will knew each of their names.

And similarly to the first time Mike had revealed himself, the crowd surged in applause and sound, pretty much splitting Will’s eardrums open with the noise as Mike strutted onstage.

He was clothed in bright red, from the sleeveless striped shirt where the lines sloped diagonally, to his tomato tracksuit pants with white stripes down the sides, to the black belt which had little red gemstones embedded in the material, Mike stood out instantly. Along with his eccentric outfit, his unquestionable stage presence drew all eyes on him. He blew kisses, waved and danced to the opening track like the moves were coded in his veins.

His hair was in a bun, the front part of his fringe falling out of the hair tie, splaying out over his face and flinging around with each of his jumps and bounces across the stage. And Will’s feelings were a conflicting mess, but he couldn’t help but blush at the sight.

As Will watched Stardust Riot cycle through their setlist, he quickly noticed how contrived a lot of Mike’s behaviours were. It was nothing noticeable to any of the hysterical fans, who were too excited and caught up in singing along, but after knowing Mike for half a year, having connected so intimately, Will could tell.

Each of the talking breaks, Mike sounded as if he was following a script as he addressed the audience, sculpting his tone so that all his fans wouldn’t be able to see the stress on his forehead, the almost deadness to his eyes.

After the third song, when a fan accidentally hit him with a thrown water bottle, Mike laughed it off. Just by the forced sound, Will could tell it was fake. He’d heard Mike’s real laugh enough times to know for sure.

The singer frequently took breaks. After the fifth song, he disappeared backstage for a few minutes, and then again after the seventh. The fans were temporarily confused—along with Mike’s bandmates—until he returned. And Mike was still considerably far from Will, despite Will being in the front row, but he swore that the man’s eyes grew more absent with each of his breaks.

Mike still hadn’t seen Will.

Will had spent the first song nervously wringing his fingers, expecting that Mike should spot him straight away given he was in the front row, and that, exactly like last time, Will was the only one not in an absolute frenzy, not jumping around or waving his arms. Except, unlike last time, Will wasn’t solid in contempt, but frozen in anticipation. 

Either way, Mike hadn’t locked eyes with him. He seemed pretty disengaged with the crowd in general, not really acknowledging them beyond the obviously performed talks during the breaks between songs. Will knew that, since last performance, Mike had tended to each of the fans as if they were friends, reading the signs they brought, playing along with jokes with authenticity, making sure to see each of them as individuals.

Now, Mike was going through the motions of things on autopilot, performing as if he was ticking off a checklist, rather than performing from the heart.

It made Will’s heart ache to see the man’s silent struggle.

The tenth song was all too familiar to Will.

And with the first few strums of the guitars, Will instantly recognised it from the first chord. It was a given he’d remember it, since Mike had publicly dedicated it to him, and then later said to Will it was written for him.

Granted, Mike had never explicitly said to the public it was for Will, that had only been done in private, but it was still a significant enough memory for Will to remember it.

The first verse went by normally—well, in this new normal where Mike was performing as if he were a puppet on strings—and then the pre-chorus, and then the first round of the chorus.

Mike began venturing to the front of the stage, towards where Will by the second verse.

Will had familiarised himself with the lyrics, having done so after Mike said this specific song was for him. But he needn’t have known them since everyone around him screamed them in time with Mike.

Mike was coming to the edge of the stage, footsteps walking purposefully, hand gripping the microphone to his mouth as he sang. His eyes drifted downwards to the crowd.

Will’s breath caught.

In a strange moment of déjà vu, time slowed.

Mike, like the first time he and Will saw one another, faltered in his steps, slowing as he took in Will. His eyes grew wide with pure astonishment, words still singing the lyrics of his band’s famed song, mouth having not caught up with his brain. His arm which had once been swinging out in his walk, now was stuck awkwardly in mid-air.

Will’s chest swelled with heartbreak, affection, sorrow and perhaps love, all emotions wrapping around one another, flying out like a performer throwing paper ribbons towards a crowd. All his feelings shone in his eyes, burning so bright that he figured Mike could see his heart glowing through his clothes.

Mike was unable to keep walking down the stage, like he’d done so the first time they’d locked eyes. He stumbled to a stop, facing directly to Will, drinking the man in. He’d stopped singing, staring with his microphone drifting away from his mouth, which was hung open in surprise.

Will had a lump in his throat, but he managed a smile and a wink. He raised his hand, bringing it up to his mouth to blow his love a kiss.

The rockstar’s chest heaved up and down, the constant running around stage seeming to finally catch up to him. The rest of his bandmates continued the song, singing the back-up harmonies, though it was incomplete without their lead.

Mike watched Will, eyes turning from shock to mourning.

The man abruptly turned.

The crowd hadn’t reacted when Mike had suddenly lapsed in singing, but when Mike disappeared—the rest of his bandmates still playing—they all roared. Some sounded confused, others excited, clearly thinking Mike was perhaps going backstage to do an outfit change or to take off his shirt—such events which had occurred numerous times previously, so it wasn’t too far-fetched of a possibility—and others upset that their beloved singer was leaving halfway through the song.

The rest of the band members eventually caught on that their lead singer had abandoned them, and slowed to a stop. Will saw V get up from his drum set, talking to someone from backstage. Lori and Amirez were awkwardly holding their instruments, trying to figure out what was going on.

Five minutes went by.

The crowd had dissolved into confused chatter as they waited for the show to resume.

The rest of Stardust Riot’s band members had disappeared backstage. Will could assume they were either trying to find Mike or communicate with the crew regarding what to do.

Will couldn’t help but feel extremely guilty that he’d scared Mike off. He anxiously bit his lip and stared at the exact spot Mike had left, hoping that any second now, the man would return to the stage, and they’d all pick up where they’d left off.

After five minutes, it wasn’t Mike who returned, but Lori.

Lori walked right up to her mic stand. Her face was strained, and her Adam’s apple was bobbing with worry.

“Uh…” she trailed off, adjusting her earpiece. The crowd had gone silent, everyone waiting for her to speak. “I’m very sorry, Manchester, but…due to unexpected circumstances, we’re going to have to cut the show short tonight. We-”

But whatever Lori was going to say was completely cut off from the sheer number of outrage coursing through the arena. Will covered his ears as the crowd let their disapproval known, half sounding devastated, others sounding concerned.

Some shouts were more distinctive than others:

“Is Mike okay?”

“Where is he?”

“What’s going on?!”

Lori gulped, eyes flicking over the untameable crowd. She cleared her throat. “We will be issuing a refund to all of you, and we greatly apologise for the disappointment. The exits are indicated by the green signs. Have a good night.”

The crowd was still roaring in confusion and devastation, but Lori quickly departed the stage. The colourful lights and displays went to black, only the basic light remaining on, even though it was still naturally bright.

Will pushed through the gates, and was intercepted by a security guard.

“Sir, I’m so sorry, I have to-”

“I know who you are,” the security guard said, gruffly. “I’ll escort you.”

He looked mildly irritated, but not aggressive, which Will considered a win

“Thank you.”

Will retraced the same route Taissa had led him down about forty-five minutes ago, keeping his head down and trying not to look at the fans who had definitely noticed him now.

“Where’s he going?” one shouted.

“Hey! Are you friends with the band?” another asked.

“God, Mike Wheeler’s cancelled the show to hook up with another fan.”

“Typical.”

Will pursed his lips and kept walking. He supposed it was better the fans were wildly off with their accusations than for them to know the truth.

When Will went through the curtain, finding himself backstage, he felt much better being out of sight from the crowd.

The crew were all in a similar chaotic energy that Will had seen moments before the show begun, though the first chaos had a sense of order. This was unruly chaos.

Various men and women in suits were talking on the phone, some plugging their ear that wasn’t occupied with the phone with their finger to block out the chatter around them. As Will passed, some sounded irritated, others confused, some even worried.

Will didn’t know much about managing a super famous band, but he guessed that they were calling to discuss what statement they’d issue to the press, and how to give out all the refunds to the fans.

They’d also have to make sure each of the fans left the arena with some sense of grace, and considering how upset some of them had sounded, Will assumed the security would have some difficulty escorting them all out. Mike’s management would have to reorganise tour dates, potentially add a new one to fix up the cutting one short. So many people who simply worked for Stardust Riot would be affected, their jobs made harder. And it hit Will how much the action of a single person could impact so many others.

And he felt a strong sense of guilt that it was his fault for intruding on Mike unexpectedly.

He should have messaged a warning beforehand, let the man know he was coming so at least he’d expect to see him in the crowd and wouldn’t freak out. Mike might have not wanted Will to come if Will had asked in advance, but at least he wouldn’t be surprised by Will’s appearance.

Those who were in charge of the stage were packing up their equipment. V, Amirez and Lori all stood in a circle, each talking quietly to one another. V leaned against a black case, drumsticks in one hand. Amirez and Lori held their guitar and bass respectively, absentmindedly flicking at the strings.

Much to Will’s dismay, the security guard went straight up to them.

“It’s him,” he introduced Will without much flair, and then left him to defend himself against three incredibly famous and talented musicians, who were probably pissed with Will for indirectly ruining their show.

But there wasn’t anger present on any of their faces. In fact, as they took Will in, a variety of emotions crossed each of their faces: recognition, worry, sympathy.

“You must be Will,” said Lori. She gestured to each of them. “Lori, Amirez and V.”

Will murmured a ‘nice to meet you’, feeling especially odd that he was there and talking to these people that were considered way cooler than him. It was also awkward that Will had already known their names without needing Lori to tell him. Though, they had also known his name, so he supposed that wasn’t the weirdest part about the situation.

“Mike talks about you all the time,” said Amirez.

Lori nodded in agreement. “When you were dating, he was so happy. Even since you guys broke up…or…he left…he’s been downright miserable.”

“You’re here to make amends?” questioned V. “Aren’t you?”

“Y-yes.” Will was nervous, feeling as though he was being assessed. “And to hopefully get him back in rehab, I’m really worried about him.”

The other band members nodded understandingly. “We are too,” said Amirez. “For once, all the stories in the press and media outlets are true.”

“He doesn’t listen to anyone,” V cautioned.

“I have to try,” Will said, determinedly. “I can’t go on with my life knowing that he’s suffering. I want us to get back together…but really I want him to get help more.” I’m sorry for ruining the show, I didn’t expect that he’d run off, and I just wanted to talk to hi-”

Lori held up her hand. “There’s no need to be sorry. I want Mike to get help too. And, if the show getting cut short is what it takes for that to happen—and for you two to get back together—then so be it.”

“We hadn’t even played First Love yet.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rez,” V snapped. He addressed Will, “They don’t mean that.”

Will was confused. “Did…did Mike really talk about me that much for you all to know the whole story?”

“Definitely,” Amirez said. “We’d be playing Nintendo before a show and Mike would be saying ‘Oh, by the way, Will’s favourite character in Mario Kart is Kooper Trooper’ or we’d be rehearsing and Mike would be distracted messaging you, or we’d be out for dinner and Mike would leave midway through because you were calling him. It was insufferably adorable.”

Their gaze turned sincere. “I was joking, by the way. But I’m not joking when I say that if you two don’t get back together, I am literally going to jump off a cliff.”

Will was blushing, and had been blushing since Amirez had started rallying off all the cute things that Mike had done when they were dating long distance.

“Where is he?” Will asked.

“The dressing room,” Lori said. “Walk down that corridor and there will be a sign. Everyone else has cleared out, so you’ll both be alone.”

“Right,” Will said, nodding to psych himself up. Nervous butterflies fluttered in his stomach. “Thank you for being so nice…I really appreciate it.”

All the band members shrugged, as if it was no real bother. Will understood why Mike had said that the others weren’t upset that they were all considerably less talked about by the public than Mike, seemingly to be chill with their lives as they were.

“It’s fine,” V said. “Don’t waste the opportunity, though.”

“I won’t.” Will began backing away. He added, with a small grin. “Especially now I know there’s a chance someone will jump off a cliff if I fail.”

Will saw Amirez’s smile for a brief moment before he was gone, walking down the hall as per Lori’s instructions, watching all the doors attentively.

His breath quickened with his pace. Most of the crew were still attempting to control the situation, too busy to notice Will, and if they did, none stopped him.

Will found the hallway, which was lit by a row of circular ceiling lights. Pictures lined the wall of various musicians and bands who had performed at the AO arena—The Beatles, Madonna, and Michael Jackson being amongst the faces.

Will scanned each of the doors, gnawing at his lip with each of the labels he passed.

Bathroom…kitchen…storage…

Will stopped.

Dressing room.

Next to the label, someone had put sticky note reading ‘Stardust Riot’.

Will took a breath and opened the door without another thought. He’d already spent an almost ten-hour plane ride thinking, and really, he’d been thinking about it since they’d broken up three months ago. He wasn’t going to stall any longer than he needed.

He was ready.

Mike sat in a hairdresser’s chair, facing the mirror. The man had been staring at himself with a sort of panicked nausea on his face, before he’d seen the door open in the mirror’s reflection. He turned, and when he saw Will, his features rippled with emotion.

Will stepped forward as the man stood from his chair. “Mike.”

He was still dressed in his stage outfit. Up close, Will saw the man was wearing eyeshadow—which had been smudged from what Will guessed were tears.

“Why are you here, gorgeous?”

Mike’s voice was drained, sounding like a flat guitar, one that didn’t play the right note. Will’s stomach panged, and his arms twinged with the urge to cover the man.

“We need to talk.”

Mike let out a sigh, turning away from Will as if he couldn’t bear to look at him, facing the wall. “You can’t be here.”

Mike’s curly hair had mostly fallen out of his hair tie, probably from a combination of the man’s extravagant dance moves on stage, and from the man running his hands through his hair in stress. The dark locks fell over his cheek and jaw, hiding his expression, shielding himself from Will.

Will stepped closer. Mike noticed the movement from the corner of his eye and tensed a little away.

“I’m really worried about you,” Will said. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about our relationship, but we have to discuss the…problems…you’re having.”

“Why?”

Will exasperatedly threw up his hands. “Because you’re struggling, Mike! And it’s not just me whose noticing, everyone wants you to get help.”

“I can’t do it.”

“It’s going to be different this time,” Will assured him. “Maybe…we could take you to a session tomorrow, if there’s a free spot. I’m going to be with you every step of the way until you’re better.”

Mike pushed the nail of his thumb into his front finger. Will saw a tear fall from the man’s face, splatting silently on the ground at his feet.

“Is that why you’re here?” the man asked. “To try and get me better? You still think I can get better?”

“Of course I do,” Will insisted. “And…yes, it’s partly why I came here.”

Mike was shaking his head to himself. He let out a laugh, which wasn’t really a laugh from how broken it sounded, more like a sharp exhale. “Why won’t you listen to me? I’ve told you I can’t get better. You’re bringing yourself down by being with me.”

Will took a tentative step closer. He watched Mike’s back, how his hair—which didn’t look like it had been cut since Will had last seen him—trailed down a little below his shoulders, the hair tie lost somewhere within those thick curls. He spotted the mole that was on the man’s left bicep, and Will’s heart ached with a feeling he couldn’t describe.

“I thought about you every day since you left,” Will said, his voice growing small. “Everything I did, everywhere I went, I always thought about you. When I was working, or driving, or shopping, walking in the park, talking to other people…”

“But…never when touching yourself?”

Mike’s joke came out weak, thick with sadness, and Will only felt like crying, rather than laughing. It was like the man’s real personality was being suffocated by the melancholy coat that he’d donned since leaving Will.

The true Mike was fighting to get out. Will took it as a sign.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” Will continued. “Everyone told me to move on, that I needed to get over you to get my life back…but I just can’t.” Will’s eyes pricked with tears. “I care about you too much.”

Mike’s back was rising and falling with his breaths. He had a hand bracing himself against the wall, his fingers curled into a fist. He still faced away.

“When you first left, I was devastated,” Will explained. “I didn’t leave my room until I had to fly back to Michigan to go back to work. I thought you’d come around, that after all the times I called, that you’d pick up eventually. When you never did, I only began to feel worse and worse.”

Mike still faced away, but Will knew the man was taking in Will’s words, letting them resonate.

“Everything that I did had no meaning. I found no joy in anything. Every time I remembered one of your stupid jokes or any of the fun things we did, I just felt pained. Everything that had once been good had become depressing.”

Will felt a tear fall on his cheek. There was nothing before him but Mike in that moment, the fact that they were still in public and anyone of Stardust Riot’s crew members could accidentally intrude on them far in the back of his mind.

“I just want us to be together again,” Will gushed out. “I want spend each day smiling knowing I can call you at night. I want to talk about meaningless things because they’re not meaningless when they’re with you. I want all those fucking stupid things in every romantic comedy. I want-”

“Will…stop…” Mike’s voice was hurting.

“Why?”

“Because…I want the same.”

“What?”

“I…I want to be with you…” Mike took a shuddering breath. “…so badly.”

Mike leaned his head into the fist that pressed into the wall.

Will bit the bullet and reached out a hand, touching Mike’s back. The man flinched, but didn’t move away.

Will said, emphatically, “I don’t care if you think that you—anything about you—is going to ruin me. What’s going to ruin me more than your addiction is not getting to be with you.”

Mike finally turned his head. His cheeks were tear stained, and he was gazing at Will with the softest, most vulnerable eyes Will had ever seen on a person. His eyebrows were tensed in frozen disbelief, mouth hung open in anguish.

“If you don’t ever want to see me again, tell me now and I’ll leave.” Will watched Mike carefully, tracking each blink of his eyelashes, each intake of breath, each flicker in his eyes. “I won’t come back again.”

That seemed to strike a chord with Mike, the man blinking rapidly as he stared at Will. His eyes traced over Will’s face, seeming to search for something he was struggling to find. His lip was tugged between his teeth, eyebrows cemented in a frown.

Will waited, with mouse-breaths and hope pouring from his eyes, stemming from his soul.

“I’m sorry, Will.” Mike turned back to the wall, and slid down until he was squatting, back defensively hunched over. “I won’t do it no matter how much I want to.”

Will’s heart rate spiked, anguish rippling throughout his body. Will could practically see his last chance slipping from his grip, falling into the deepest ocean, never to be retrieved.

Without being conscious of it, his eyes produced wet blobs, trailing thickly down his face. His vision was just as skewed as his heart felt, being unable to see clearly or feel without pain. His lungs tensed, each breath feeling like his last.

‘…no matter how much I want to…’

There was nothing more Will could do. Mike had made up his mind.

“Fuck.” Will rubbed the tears off his face with his hands roughly. His breathing wasn’t easing up.

He waited for a moment, perhaps overwhelmed with grief, or simply with the hope that Mike would suddenly get up, declare it was all a huge mistake. He’d come to him with open arms and kiss him passionately, say he’d never leave him again.

When Mike didn’t move, only tucking his head further in-between his knees, Will poorly masked a sob and rushed out of the room.

Blurred faces passed him, probably all watching him run down the hall. Tears fell from his eyes and he sucked in jagged breaths. He had to get out. He couldn’t bear to be near Mike anymore.

At the backstage area, he passed more crew, and he only remembered to grab his suitcase because he saw it sitting by some of the stage equipment where Taissa had left it. He shakily pulled up the handle and continued walking, dragging it behind.

He passed the other members of Stardust Riot again. He wasn’t exactly trying to be loud, but he supposed his fast-pace and crying drew their attention, their heads turning to watch his tearful journey to the exit.

Will found the door and pushed it open, finding that the sun was still relatively high being the afternoon. So much had happened in such a short amount of time.

Taissa was no longer on duty, so he was free to retrace his steps to the road, where he waited until he hailed a taxi.

“Maldron hotel,” Will said to the driver. He’d booked a stay for one night, with the hopes that he could have spent the night with Mike, and head to a rehab centre tomorrow, had things gone according to plan.

The driver frowned at Will’s wobbly voice. “You right, darling?”

“Yes.” Will wiped his eyes, liking that the motion hid his face very briefly. “Please, just take me there.”

The woman nodded and asked no further questions, flicking the indicator to get back into the busy traffic.

Five minutes later, they’d arrived. Will paid and went straight to the reception desk. The worker there was also giving him a cautiously concerned look, but didn’t ask Will any questions, merely giving Will the key to his room once his information was verified.

A single lift ride later, and a short walk to room 194, Will locked his door behind him, and went straight to the bed, flopping down face first and finally letting full-blown sobs leave his mouth.

*

It had been a while since Will had gotten no sleep in a night.

In fact, as he lay there on the bed, still in the same clothes he’d flown over from Michigan in, shoes digging into the mattress, he tried to recall when it had last happened.

Perhaps when he had been four, and his mother and father were having a particularly bad fight that lasted until about midnight, until Lonnie had slammed the door, leaving the house to cool off. Will had remained awake with Jonathan, his older brother explaining to him why his parents were always so upset with one another.

Or maybe it was a few years later, when he went through a phase of having night terrors each time he tried to sleep. It had lasted about a week, but Will had definitely laid in bed and not gone to sleep at all for at least one of those nights.

But tonight, it wasn’t just confusion or panic that Will felt, but everything.

Confusion and panic were certainly there, but also anxiety that something bad would happen to Mike if he never got clean. Sad because their relationship had been so perfect the brief time it had lasted. Angry that he’d finally had a chance at love and it had been taken away from him. Worry that he’d never move on from Mike, and he’d die alone, forever yearning. A tiny bit of regret that Will didn’t push a tiny bit harder.

But how much harder was he supposed to try than flying across the world?

Dawn rolled around at a snail’s pace. When the light was pestering Will from where it glared through the hotel windows, he made himself get up.

The clock on the bedside table read 10:45 am and Will needed to be out of the hotel by 11.

Having not unpacked anything from his suitcase, he merely extended the handle. He dragged it around the space, habitually checking if he’d left anything behind, even when he found nothing. The cleaners would sure get a nice surprise when they came to fix up his room and found it essentially unused.

He picked up the keycard that he’d dropped on the floor and left his room, heading down the lift to reception.

Five minutes later, he was walking through the lobby and out onto the road. It was raining quite heavily, something Will hadn’t even noticed until the drops were splattering over his clothes and luggage.

The sky was covered in grey clouds, the cars lighting up the vague fog with their headlights, sending splashes of water outwards with their wheels as they drove by. Those on the sidewalk either held umbrellas or hastily sped-walked to wherever they needed to be, ineffectively using their hands as a shield from the water.

Will quickly felt the rainwater soaking into his clothes and hair, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, readjusting his grip on his suitcase, and walking to the nearest station, where he’d catch a train back to the airport.

He blinked as waterdrops fell in his eyes, keeping his head down.

All his belonging were probably getting waterlogged, but he just didn’t care. Let his passport and wallet and keys be destroyed, so then Will would have no choice but to remain on the streets in Manchester until he’d die.

There was nothing waiting for him back home. Only his shitty job, which his boss would have no trouble finding a replacement for him. In fact, he probably didn’t even have his job after ditching work with no notice.

Will waited at the stop light on the corner, the red light just visible in the harsh weather. A café across the road was warmly lit and filled with customers. A lot of them were couples, Will observed with resentment.

He supposed his family and friends would miss him. His mom would be upset, of course, but she had Jonathan. The two would lean on each other. Nancy would support them both.

Max had Lucas and Lucas had Max. Dustin had Suzie. El wasn’t exactly dating anyone, but all his friends would likely rely on each-

“WILL!”

The traffic light turned green, but the shout had startled Will.

He turned around behind him as the other people on the sidewalk began crossing the road. A blurry figure in the distance was running towards him.

“WILL! WILL! STOP!”

Will squinted through the rain, his hand on the suitcase becoming loose.

The figure was coming closer. He didn’t seem to care that he had no umbrella, and the rain was pissing buckets over his head. He didn’t mind that the speed he was going was fast enough that if he were to make one wrong step, he’d slip and crack his chin on the pavement.

He only seemed to care about what was in front of him.

“Mike?”

The man reached Will—who had moved a little away from the traffic lights to be out of the way from the pedestrians—and sighed out in relief.

“Holy shit.” Mike doubled over, hands on his knees as he regained his breath.

The man hadn’t changed out of his bizarrely red outfit but had slung a denim jacket over his shoulders. His hair was drenched, looking like he’d dunked his head in a lake and then ran a hundred miles. His chest heaved so violently, that Will was worried his lungs might topple out his mouth.

Mike took a solid minute to catch his breath, and when he did, he looked up at Will. He had dark rings just above his cheekbones.

‘You look exhausted,’ Will wanted to say. ‘You’re dripping wet.’ ‘You’re completely insane.’

But all that came out was, “Mike?”

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” Mike explained through breaths, hands still on his knees. “Kimpton Clock Tower, Holiday Inn, Britannia, Moxy, just about every fucking hotel in Manchester and, of course, you happen to be in the last one I check.”

Will was shaking his head. He didn’t understand what was happening. Mike had made it clear he didn’t want to go to rehab, nor had he said he’d be with Will.

“Mike,” Will breathed out. “What’s going on?”

“I was wrong.” The words tumbled out of Mike like they were a large stack of books falling out of a librarian’s grip. “You were right. I want to be with you…and I’m not letting anything stop me.”

He straightened, still taking deep breaths. “I’ve been such an idiot and such an ass, but I hope you listen…”

He looked Will in the eyes, the colour was a shining brown that was almost golden. “I thought about you every night, too. I saw each of your calls, I broke down every time I ignored them. I finally snapped and called you because I just needed to hear you. I just needed to be relieved of the pain…but it made things so much worse. So much worse because I was freshly reminded of what I couldn’t have.”

Will’s breathing had quickened. A small glow had appeared in his soul, such light which had been diminished for months returning. With each of Mike’s words, it grew bigger, brighter.

“And, I’m going to try,” Mike said. “I’ll go to rehab, I’ll try and get better. I’ll do anything for us to be together, I promise, Will. I’ll do it all for you because I’m unbelievably in love with you.”

Will’s eyes widened as his limbs were gripped with shock. His hands had completely abandoned his suitcase, entire body turned towards Mike, forgetting they were both in the middle of the street in the pouring rain.

Mike let out a crazed laugh.

“I won’t just go to rehab,” he said, “I’d quit being a musician for you. I’d never tour the world again for you. I’d marry you. I’d become a scientist and figure out a way for two men to have a baby so I could have your child for you. And if that didn’t work then I’d adopt every child in the world for you. I’d learn to ride a horse for you-”

“Alright,” Will said, the ridiculousness that was so unbelievably Mike allowing him to find his words. A faint, but powerful happiness was pulsating inside him, the glow in his soul coming near its full strength. “Enough.”

“The point is, I’d do it all.” Mike stepped closer to Will. His hands were laid bare, waiting in anticipation. “And…I hope you’d do it for me, too?”

Will stuttered, subconsciously shaking his head in confusion and probably looking like a robot whose coding had completely malfunctioned. He managed to say, “You’ve…just changed your mind about getting help? Overnight?”

Mike tipped his head. “I had been thinking about it for a few months…and if you and everyone else really think rehab could be beneficial…I want to try again. If I get better, then my addiction won’t affect you as much.”

Will swallowed thickly. He reached out and took Mike’s hand, feeling as if rainbows were bursting from the point of contact. “I keep telling you it’s not about me.”

“And I keep telling you that it is about you,” Mike smiled, eyes looking watery with a powerful emotion which Will’s chest swooped at the thought of naming. “Ever since I met you, it’s been nothing but you. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you…if you’d let me. I love you.”

The rainwater trailing down Will’s face and still drenching his hair and clothes.

He let out a laugh, caressing Mike’s cheek.

‘If you’d let me...’

As if Will could possibly be even slightly opposed to the prospect of spending the rest of his living days with Mike Wheeler.

He tucked Mike’s hair behind his ear, gazed into the man’s eyes. “I love you too, idiot.”

They leaned into one another at the same time, and their lips met.

And Will had complained numerous times to Mike over the phone and in person at how much he hated sappy romantic comedies, and even when he’d been alone and watching TV, it hadn’t taken much for him to cringe at the cheesy moments on screen so that he’d turn the show off.

But, as their lips collided, connected, melted into one, he had to admit it was as if everything was complete.

The fireworks were set off, the cheers sounded, the bells rang their celebratory chimes.

Will felt just about every cliché soppy romantic thing inside his chest, pumping in his heart out into his blood, consuming his body.

He heard Mike let out a small sigh as their mouths moved, and Will’s stomach tugged as he put his other hand on Mike’s face, cupping the man with both hands.

Raindrops pelted at them, surrounding and wetting them. Car wheels on the road loudly sped by. Will’s hands were freezing cold on Mike’s face. Their clothes stuck together at their chests and where Mike’s sleeves pressed against Will’s waist.

Their lips were soaked and it was wonderful.

They parted, leaning their foreheads against one another. Will felt the raindrops mix with tears of joy.

“I can’t believe it,” he breathed.

“Well.” Mike drew back so they could look one another in the eyes. “I figured since you flew all the way from Michigan to see me, that it would just be disrespectful if I said no.”

“Idiot.” Will kissed him again. Because he loved him. And because he could.

“Seriously. What a romantic gesture.”

“I didn’t do it to manipulate you,” Will assured him, realising just now that he may have unintentionally backed Mike into a corner. “I just needed you to know how I felt, I promise-”

“Will, stop.” Mike was laughing. “I was joking.”

Mike glanced to the side briefly, then back into Will’s eyes. “We should probably go inside.”

Will looked around, too.

Everyone within eyesight had stopped whatever they were doing and were staring at them. A woman walking her dog just five feet away had her mouth open. Customers of the café across the road had come out of the indoor dining area to watch Mike and Will’s exchange, having left their drinks on the tables. A couple getting out of a taxi had halted with the door half-open. The taxi driver had wound down the window to see them.

“Fuck,” Will said, thinking of Mike’s career and imagining it slowly slipping down a shower drain. There would be no way of covering up this, not with so many witnesses.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mike took Will’s hand, seeming to know what Will was thinking. “I don’t care. I’m with you.”

Mike led them back to the hotel—Will just remembering to grab his suitcase. Mike was clearly unabashed by the open stares that followed their way in. Will couldn’t help but blush, the ramifications of what had just happened, and how it would affect the media outlets the following days briefly flashing in his mind, but he was just simply too happy to even care at the moment.

They went to reception to ask for a room, and upon seeing Mike, the woman wordlessly handed them a keycard, mouth open in shock. Perks of being famous, Will supposed.

They reached the elevator, stepping inside, and watching all the gawping strangers disappear as the doors slid shut.

Will pressed the button to their floor.

A calming jazz music emitted from the above speakers. Will and Mike stood there, hands holding as the elevator processed their request, beginning to go up.

Mike was biting his lip, quenching down a smile as his gaze was fixed on the elevator doors. His finger rubbed over Will’s in their grip.

Will felt as though there were many things he could say, but despite this, there was one thing in particular that was bumping to get out of his mouth.

He turned to Mike. “You would ride a horse for me?”

Mike looked at him. The man had a small tear down his cheek, and Will knew it was a happy one. “Yeah.”

“Why specifically that?”

“Fucking difficult, don’t you think?” the man said, a familiar mischievous look forming on his lips. “Never done it, but I’d imagine there’d be a lot of work involved, having to know how to use the reins and not get bucked off. Arguably more challenging than rehab, if you ask me.”

Will sighed, but he felt so ridiculously happy, he could hardly conjure a spec of irritation on his beaming face. “You’re making me regret coming to Manchester-”

Mike mock gasped. “Are we going to break up a mere five minutes after getting back together?”

“I’m sure some high schoolers have had shorter relationships.”

Mike burst into laughter, that was much too loud and much too over the top considering the joke wasn’t even very funny. The man drew Will in for a kiss, and their hands and lips were all over one another for the rest of the elevator ride up to their floor, all the way across the hallway to their room, and to their bed which they collapsed on after locking their door, embracing one another on the homely sheets.

Will drank it all in, as if he were a dying old man and Mike was the Fountain of Youth. He revelled in the man’s after-show sweat mixed with his deodorant and the smell of rain that clung to his clothes. He pushed his whole body against the man’s, wanting his soul to intertwine with Mike’s, wanting them to become a whole that would never part again. He wanted to engrave himself on Mike’s skin, he wanted it all.

Mike’s soft kisses down his neck were euphoric. His comforting hands around his waist, cupping his face, touching his hair softly were the greatest sensations known to humankind. It was a feeling that was more electric, more colourful, more beautiful than any other Will had experienced in his life.

And he was more than relieved to know that Mike, with his starry bright eyes and pure joy etched on every feature, was feeling the exact same way.

***