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mike opened the door to his room with his usual kind of clumsy, like he hadn’t quite figured out how to carry the silence. will stepped in after him, hesitant, the overhead light catching in the folds of his wrinkled t-shirt, the same one he’d slept in the last few nights.
the bandages underneath the shirt were tight, but it didn’t really matter. because mike was the one who put them on, and that’s really what will cared about.
the hallway light behind them cut long shadows across the floor, and for a second, neither of them said anything. will hovered just past the doorway. his eyes scanned the room like it was something he hadn’t seen before — even though he’d been here a thousand times.
mike’s room wasn’t exactly as will remembered. the layout was different and he had some new signs and posters hanging around the walls. he still had the comics on the shelf. the scratchy comforter. the dent in the carpet where the desk chair always sat. and his walls were still the same dark blue, which brought will the tiniest bit of comfort.
but now? now it felt different. they were different.
will stepped into the room fully, fingers twitching at the hem of his shirt.
mike shut the door behind them. the click echoed louder than it should’ve. he rubbed at his eyes. “you can sit, if you want.”
will looked at the bed, then at mike. then back at the bed. god, it looked so… small now. almost ridiculously so.
it hadn’t used to feel that way. they used to fit on it fine, lying shoulder to shoulder as kids, socks mismatched and heads at opposite ends, laughing at comics or talking about star wars.
still, will nodded and sat. hands in his lap. eyes on the floor. “so…” he started, then turning slightly toward mike. “are we… both supposed to fit on this?”
mike lingered awkwardly by his desk, fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them. he chuckled awkwardly. “i mean— technically? yes? but, uh— probably not comfortably.”
will just laughed quietly along with him, hoping it would clear the thick air.
“i didn’t… uh— realize how much we both grew,” mike continued. will gave another quiet laugh — just a huff of air through his nose.
“you haven’t grown that much,” he added.
mike looked at him, a little startled. “yes i have!”
will raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up at him — and the look on his face was almost smug, almost teasing. almost. “sure,” he said, dragging out the word a little, letting it linger somewhere between playful and disbelieving. “if you count your hair.”
mike blinked, then huffed a laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “okay, rude,” he then cracked a smile. “fine, then. the bed shrunk. clearly.”
“it’s not rude if it’s true,” will murmured, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile.
the corner of mike’s mouth tugged up involuntarily, and for a second, things felt… light again. easy. but then the silence dipped back in, slow and stretching.
mike shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then padded over to the bed. his knee hit the edge of the mattress as he sat beside will, not quite close enough to touch.
will bit the inside of his cheek, the mattress creaking under both of them as mike sat.
“well…” he looked up at mike, who looked straight back at him. “which side do you want?”
“oh— uh, yeah. of course,” mike stood awkwardly for a moment. “i…. i mean, i can just take the couch. it’s fine. i’ve slept on it before.”
will just blinked at him. “are you sure?”
“yeah,” mike nodded quickly. “it's more about you being comfortable anyway. the couch shouldn't be that bad.”
“i just don’t want it to seem like i’m kicking you out of your bed…” will laughed quietly, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.
he quickly shook his head, the same awkward chuckle coming back. “no! no… don’t worry! i just want you to sleep comfortably.”
will just smiled at him, and mike smiled back. “if you’re sure,” he mumbled, still sitting at the edge of mike’s bed.
mike just grabbed the blanket from the end of his bed. it slipped from his hands once, and he had to grab at it again — like even the fabric could feel the nerves buzzing under his skin.
he slowly turned around, walking towards his door.
will watched him go — watched his fingers fidget at the edge of the blanket, watched the way his hair fell in front of his eyes.
but before mike could reach for the knob, will cleared his throat.
“wait,” he said, a little too fast. “uh— can i borrow something to sleep in?”
mike paused, mid-step, then turned, looking over his shoulder. “oh— oh, yeah! yeah, of course.”
he dropped the blanket on the dresser and crossed the room, rummaging through a drawer, pulling open one of the lower drawers and rummaging around. “you’re probably swimming in most of my stuff,” he mumbled with a nervous laugh, “but— oh. this one’s decent.”
after a second, he pulled out a hoodie — old, soft, and obviously worn — and handed it over. it had cracked white lettering on the front and the cuffs were stretched, the hem frayed in one corner. but will didn’t care. it was mike’s, and that’s all that mattered.
will held it with both hands, fingers brushing mike’s for half a second too long.
“it’s… it’s big on me,” mike said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “but it’s warm.”
will studied the hoodie silently. it looked around his size, so hopefully it wouldn’t be tight. he hadn’t even realized how much he had grown in comparison to mike.
“thanks,” will said, voice low, even though he gave mike a faint smile.
mike gave a little nod and backed away, suddenly weird about eye contact. “okay, uh… i’ll be out there. goodnight.”
“goodnight,” will mumbled, before mike slipped out the door — and then, it was just will.
alone. in mike’s room. about to sleep in mike’s hoodie. about to sleep in mike’s bed.
will stood alone in mike’s room, fingers still clutching the hoodie.
it smelled like mike — a little like fabric softener, a little like something warm and familiar. he changed slowly, the hoodie falling just past his hips, sleeves sitting at his wrists like it had always been made for him. it fit quite nicely.
he glanced around his room, like it was a foreign land. mike’s room was dim now, just the glow of the hallway seeping in under the door.
the room hadn’t changed much. posters still covered the walls — some old, some new.
will walked to the bookshelf. let his fingers ghost along the spines of old comics and campaign journals. his eyes wandered up — to the drawings still taped on the wall. his drawings. some of them were faded from sunlight. others crooked, curling at the corners. but they were there.
still.
there was something warm and painful about it.
one of them — the one of the party all drawn as knights fighting a dragon — was front and center.
huh… mike put that up? he just shrugged it off, even though his body begged him not to.
he turned back toward the bed, and as he moved to sit down, he caught the corner of something sticking out from underneath.
a shoebox. worn at the edges. half-tucked under the bedframe.
will didn’t reach for it just… looked. and wondered. took a small mental note.
eventually, he climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest. the mattress squeaked under his weight, familiar and too soft. the hoodie clung around him like a second skin.
he laid back, tried to relax, closing his eyes softly and pulling the blanket up to his chest. the hoodie smelled too much like mike. so did the sheets did too. he rolled over. rolled back. opened his eyes. closed them again.
he groaned into the room softly, bringing his hands up to his eyes, pressing firmly. he couldn’t sleep.
he thought about mike, in the living room, probably sleeping peacefully — not thinking about will how will was thinking about him right now. not feeling the pang in his chest that will feels constantly.
and then — a knock.
soft. two taps.
will sat up, heart suddenly skipping and fluttering in a way that made him feel ridiculous.
mike peeked through the door, hair ruffled, probably from trying to sleep. he looked sheepish, one sock twisted halfway down his ankle. “hey,” mike mumbled, “sorry. just…” he ran a hand through his hair. “i can’t sleep.”
will’s lips twitched. “me neither.”
mike stepped further into the room, but he was still at the door. “i don’t know how you did it,” he chuckled. “that couch is extremely uncomfortable.”
will just nervously laughed with him, giving him a shrug. they stared at each other for a second.
mike shifted. it seemed like he didn’t know what to say — or, how to say it. “could i— would it be weird if i, just—”
will was already shifting to the far side of the bed, lifting the blanket.
mike crossed the room in two quick steps and slid in, careful not to look directly at him. mike padded in and climbed in slowly, trying not to make it weird. but it was already weird. they both knew it.
so they lay on their sides, backs turned to each other.
slowly, will came to realize that — the bed wasn’t built for this anymore. they would bump together when one tried to move, making the silence in the room even more unbearable.
after a few minutes, will was sure that mike was asleep. he closed his eyes, trying to quickly do the same. after will closed his eyes, there was silence, for only for a few moments.
then, quiet—
“will? you still awake?” mike whispered.
will’s breath hitched softly. “yeah.”
“can’t sleep?”
will huffed a tiny laugh. “i already told you that.”
mike smiled. “still counts.”
at first, they didn’t move. they continued to bask in the silence. then, will rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. “it’s too quiet,” he said. “and your hoodie’s warm."
mike turned too, his gaze landing on the side of will’s face. “sorry,” he mumbled underneath his breath.
will just smiled faintly. “it’s not a bad thing. i like it."
mike didn’t talk again. not right away.
the quiet settled again — not awkward this time, but heavy. full. like they were both waiting for something that neither of them wanted to name yet.
the streetlight outside mike’s window cast a faint orange glow across the ceiling. will stared at it for a second, eyes unfocused. they were both on their backs now, arms loose at their sides. will could hear mike’s breathing — not quite steady, not quite calm.
it matched his own.
“do you ever think,” mike said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper, “about how different things are now?”
will turned his head slightly, not enough to look at him yet. “yeah. a lot.”
mike’s fingers tapped against the blanket. “it’s weird. its like… like i keep waiting for things to go back.”
“to what?” will asked, soft.
“i don’t know.” mike exhaled, slow and long. “to when it was easy. when we didn’t have to… think so much.”
will hummed quietly, almost a laugh. “yeah. but even then, i think i was still thinking.”
mike looked over, just for a second, then flicked his eyes back up to the ceiling. “about what?” you. it was always you.
will didn’t answer right away. his fingers pulled at the sleeve of the hoodie — mike’s hoodie — curled just over his hand. “just stuff,” will said finally. “what i wanted. what i couldn’t say.”
mike glanced at will again. “and now?” mike asked in a mumble.
will paused. then, finally, he shifted.
rolled onto his stomach, arms folded beneath him, head tilted just enough so he could look down at mike.
he blinked slowly, studying mike in the dim glow of the room — the soft edges of his profile, the mess of dark hair across his forehead, the way his eyes searched the ceiling like it held answers.
mike’s eyes shifted over again, and when he realized will was looking at him, he completely turned his head, all his attention on will.
and when their eyes locked, it was like the air between them changed. mike looked up at him softly through his eyelashes — a look he’s never seen before, due to being shorter than him.
will parted his lips softly, without even meaning to.
they didn’t speak. didn’t move. it felt almost criminal to do so.
mike’s breath caught slightly, like he wasn’t expecting will to be looking at him like that.
will noticed, but didn’t say anything. he didn’t need to.
his eyes dropped to mike’s mouth for a second — just for a second — and that was it.
mike leaned in slowly, almost like he wasn’t even doing it on purpose. and will? well, he just met him halfway. it wasn’t rushed, or messy.
just… slow. natural. like the moment had been waiting for them.
their lips brushed once — soft, uncertain — and then again, firmer this time, mouths moving together like it made sense, like they’d done this before in another version of the world where they hadn’t been so scared.
maybe this was that version.
will’s fingers curled in the blanket. mike’s hand lifted just enough to press into the side of will’s arm.
it was quiet again. but not empty. the soft sounds of mike and will shifting under the blankets. the sound of their lips colliding. there was something in it — a weight, a warmth — that settled into both of them.
they pulled apart slowly, but only an inch. they just stayed there, faces close, breathing the same air, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and finally honest.
mike just smiled softly. then, mike barely had time to register it before will leaned back down, low, careful, like he couldn’t help himself. he pressed a soft kiss onto his lips.
mike tilted his head, just slightly, and their mouths slotted together again, slower this time. will’s breath hitched when mike’s fingers brushed his arm, and neither of them pulled away.
they kissed again. and again. tiny, quiet kisses — barely sounds at all. like secrets passed between them. like a language they hadn’t spoken out loud yet.
mike’s hand slid up, slow and unsure, resting gently against will’s forearm where it was folded beneath him. just enough pressure to feel real. grounding.
will shifted slightly, weight on one elbow now, head still tilted downward, body angled toward mike like he’d been drawn that way.
their noses bumped. they both smiled, but still didn’t say anything.
and kissed again.
mike’s lips parted just a little, and will went with it, the kiss deepening only slightly — like the slowest of tides rolling in, inch by inch, warm and inevitable.
mike’s hand finally settled on will’s side, fingers curling in the fabric of the hoodie — his hoodie. still warm.
will pressed his forehead to mike’s for a second. "mike," let his eyes flutter shut. their breathing was even now. quiet. in sync.
mike opened his eyes, just barely, and will was right there — closer than close, close enough to count his freckles in the dark. his gaze flicked down to will’s mouth. once. then again. "yeah?"
will just smiled at him, and kissed him one more time.
not tentative this time. not testing.
this one was deeper. long. the kind of kiss that came from somewhere low in the chest, that made mike’s fingers tighten around the fabric of his own hoodie.
will shifted slightly, leaning into it, snaking one hand up his neck and to his jaw, bringing him slightly closer.
their mouths moved together like they knew what they were doing now. like they’d already memorized each other in the last five minutes.
mike let out a soft sigh against will’s lips — his breath hitching again, almost like an instinct. will pressed forward, just a little more.
will pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes still on his. then he whispered, “okay?”
mike nodded, barely moving. “yeah,” he said. “yeah.”
that was it. no declarations. no dramatic pauses. just that.
will slowly lowered himself down beside mike, arms shifting until they were curled in toward each other. mike rolled slightly, his nose pressing against the crook of will’s neck, and will tucked his chin down, letting out a soft breath that ghosted across mike’s cheek.
their legs tangled together easily — without thought, without hesitation.
will’s fingers curled in the edge of mike’s t-shirt. mike’s hand rested lightly on will’s back.
no space left between them.
the kind of closeness that could only happen in the dark — in the hush between hearts that finally knew how to listen.
they didn’t talk for the rest of the night, even though they didn’t fall asleep right away. they just laid there, in each other’s presence, cuddled up.
because there was no need to speak again. not when the silence felt like this.