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It's early, the August sun shining down at them from the window just a few feet away. Will's nose scrunches, eyes squeezing shut as he only sees brightness, ducking his head to Mike's shoulder, the younger man still dead to the world.
Finally, Will's eyes open blearily, blinking a few times, not usually a late sleeper, but last night he'd gone later just to finish a commission and give himself a day of rest.
Pulling back just a bit, enough to see Mike's face, his own immediately softens, eyes following the hints of laugh lines already forming. Mike's freckles are as dark as ever, dotting his face in a way that always reminds Will of the myth of angel kisses; a story his mom had told them first after Mike had brought up hating them in front of her.
He melts a little thinking about it.
"I just don't like them... they look so bad on me," a younger Mike pouts, his hands over his face as they sit on the couch, off track from trying to pick a movie.
"I don't think so," Will had replied, glancing over what he could see of them- the specks on Mike's face and sparse ones elsewhere over him.
"You know, some people say they're from an angel kissing you."
Mike's head had popped up, confusion written all over, and Will hadn't blamed him before Mom explained.
Carefully, present day Will brings a hand to Mike's cheek, gently swiping a thumb over a section of them, caressing. He bites back a laugh as Mike's face twitches, but he stays asleep.
Out of the two of them, Mike had always been the deeper sleeper.
Will's hand moves, down, pressing to the clothed bump protruding from Mike's middle, this being a rare night Mike would get good sleep. Their daughter was hardly lenient and rather feisty even before birth, which would be happening sometime in the next four weeks. Will finds himself chuckling at how much he sees Mike in her already; hyperactive and impatient, but procrastinates on almost everything.
"You're going to be a handful, aren't you?" he murmurs, feeling nothing under his palm but heat. Mike always ran hot.
Seconds later, Will moves down a little, eye level with Mike's unbound chest, but still looking under the blanket at where his hand sits. He and Mike had talked extensively about parenthood, whether Mike was comfortable getting pregnant, if he'd breastfeed or bottle feed, what he'd want to be called, and when they'd both be ready for this if they did want it.
The talks always took around an hour, taking pros and cons for each of them, what would be realistic versus what wouldn't be.
With Mike still on hormones, the idea of biological kids had to be deliberate, planned, but with both of them finally out of college and satisfied on that front- Mike, with his creative writing and film double major and physics minor, and Will, with his art major and psychology minor, both sporting degrees from these things- they'd spent a year putting up savings and talking near constantly about it.
Now, at twenty-seven years old, they'd be having their first child: a girl, Felicity Wheeler-Byers.
The wedding had only been a few months ago, making Mike around five months pregnant, and both of them had cried, Mike even laughing at himself for crying so much more than usual before destroying Will himself with a vow that had him, arguably, just as emotional.
Back in real time, Will's thumb rubs gentle circles onto Mike's stomach.
He smiles gently, a bit in awe of how far he'd gotten from the timid kid he'd used to be, leaning on his best friend's protection, to this; they're both equal here, sharing responsibilities and trading name tags of protector and caregiver.
"You're a miracle," he adds, softer, remembering how he used to be so convinced that Mike didn't even love him like this, much less would want a full life with him. "You don't even know..."
A soft snore escapes Mike, the suddenness of it startling Will a little, who laughs quietly at himself.
Then the world is calm again, warm, bright, as the curtain fails to shield all of the sun's rays from them.
"You'll be so loved, not just by dad and me, but all of our family," he murmurs next, calmed down again. It soothes his nerves just to talk like this, to prove himself capable, at least now, of being different from his own father. It's a thought both of them struggle with, Mike having a fear of being apathetic and unattached, or of being irritated by every imagined flaw enough to demean them, and Will... no matter the reassurance that he's not like that, just hopes he can raise a child without resorting to violence like his own father.
A third silence hangs around them, Will's thumb still moving in a comforting, repetitive path, back and forth.
"I can't wait to meet you," he confesses finally, feeling the truth in his bones as he imagines having her in his arms after a long nine months. He'll cry, he just knows it, but it's comforting to know they all will. "I bet you'll have your dad's hair, maybe my eyes?"
His voice is soft, but questioning. He's thought a lot about this.
"You'll have your grandma's nose, dad's cheeks, and... and you'll have dad's freckles, too," he decides, the whispered words keeping both of them company, even if she can't exactly understand them.
He takes a breath, leading to a strong yawn.
He falls asleep again like that, hand settled to Mike's stomach, over their baby, his whispered praises and predictions tapering off.