Chapter Text
The first month that Will lived at the Wheeler’s house could maybe have been likened to literal torture. It was a special kind of torture, one that involved living in the basement you practically grew up in, surrounded by the frankly unpleasant smells of spilt coke and dorito crumbs from years of boys playing games, years of memories of smiling and laughing, planning campaigns and watching and rewatching movies. It was like being taunted, being back in that basement that had been his whole life, before he was kidnapped and possessed, and found and used and forgotten, and the boy who used to stick to his side like glue could barely bring himself to look Will in the eye. And to make this whole situation more unbearable, Joyce still wouldn’t let him leave her side, would panic if she didn’t see him for even a couple hours, or if he woke up a little later than usual. She still hesitated letting him go to the grocery store, or to visit Max for gods sake. It was exhausting.
Three weeks into hell, Will woke up in the basement to a loud clap of thunder. It was raining, the kind of late spring rain that smelled like earth and the promise of summer. It was a pleasant kind of rain, the kind that meant the snow was well and truly gone, and that lawns and flowers and leaves would soon be green and healthy, but the rain, and the cold it brought with it, no matter how nice it might be, would always bring back memories of shivering until he thought he might die, the sensation of coughing and coughing and coughing until he retched, slimy bodies forced out of his throat. Things like that, they stuck to you like orange juice stains on your white shirt, or cigarette smoke in a house that Joyce had lived in for years. No amount of washing was going to get them out. Will closed his eyes, breathing in, and out, in and out. Maybe if he was younger he would have wished for Mike's presence to comfort him, a small hand to cover a small hand, Mike's eyes, ever concerned, asking him what was wrong. Crazy together? Will’s eyes settled on a 20 sided die that had fallen, discarded, by the corner of the couch. He kicked it. Hard. yeah, living in this basement was a special kind of torture. He pulled out a book and tried to read, to ignore the rain, and the cold, and the basement that used to feel like it belonged to him.
The next night, it still rained. On the couch, Will tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. He pulled out his book again. He was reading an old copy of the Fellowship of the Rings that he'd found gathering dust in the basement. The book had always comforted him, reminding him of times Jonathan would read it aloud when they were both little. Sometimes, reading it now, he tried to pretend that he was still there, and that none of what had happened to him was even real. He got so engrossed in the story that he didn’t notice the basement door creak open, footsteps descending quietly down the stairs, until Mike was right in front of him.
“Hey”
Will dropped the book. “Jesus! You scared me”
Mike was looking at him, hands fidgeting even in his pyjama pockets. He looked down, a little sheepishly, shuffling his feet a bit. “Sorry. Do you mind if I sit?”
Will looked at him. Everything about this was weird. Before his mind caught up, he was nodding. Mike walked over to the couch and settled on the floor, back facing the couch, arms crossed over his chest. Will could feel his curls brush against his thigh. He picked back up his book. At one point in time this would have been normal. At one point it would be weird that he even asked. At one point, he would have sat with Will on the couch.
“El broke up with me.” it sounded a little like it was forced out of his mouth.
Oh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Will's heart sped up, against his will. He didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t really know how to feel. He didn’t really know why Mike was telling him in the first place.
“No.” Mike shrugged. Will felt the movement against his leg, even through their layers of clothing, even through the thick blanket. “What’re you reading?”
Will turned the cover to face Mike. “Lord of the Rings”
“Read it to me” Mike's eyes were closed.
Will didn’t really want to. He didn't particularly want to do anything for Mike these days, but he never was very good at telling Mike no. And anyways, apparently Mike had just been dumped. So. He started to read. The strange imagery of the shire, wizard fireworks and elves and rivers and fog, and trees that talked washed over them, wrapping them in its magic, making the basement feel lighter and warmer if only for a second. Will didn’t know how long he read for, but at some point, Mike started to relax, his head falling back against the couch, against Will. At some point he had drifted into sleep. He looked more relaxed than he did awake, no monsters or government agents to run from, just him, and will, and the basement, and the shire. Will’s chest ached, somewhere deep and painful.
The next morning, when Will woke up, surprisingly rested, Mike was gone. He supposed this made sense, the floor couldn’t have been all that comfortable, he must have woken up some time in the night and gone back up to his own bed after Will, finally tired and still had let his own eyes drift closed. It was silly to think he would have stayed there, on the floor, with Will, all night. Or maybe he had never been down there at all, and the whole thing had been some weird, foolish, dream. He took his time getting ready, pulling on his jeans and a blue flannel, the days were still chilly in Indiana even as they approached May. He spent some time in the little bathroom mirror fussing with his hair- he’d been trying, without much success, to grow it out of its aggressively straight bowl shape.
When he stepped into the kitchen, Mike was pouring a cup of coffee for himself. The sun was streaming through the window of the Wheeler’s kitchen, making everything look golden and magical and for a second he could almost believe they weren’t in the middle of a government lockdown prompted by the maybe-apocalypse. He looked up when Will entered, and for a moment he caught his eye, and gave Will a small smile. It hadn't been a dream then. Then he spilled coffee all over the counter and looked away again. Will went to the cupboard and poured himself the smallest bit of cereal, the one he knew none of the Wheelers actually liked. Mike started to walk out of the kitchen, and tripped over a crayon Holly had left on the floor. He swore. Will tried, and failed, not to laugh.
He ate his cereal, washed his bowl, and retreated to the basement. So, in the light of day, nothing had changed. That was fine. When they came back from California, after they had really talked, after promises of friendship were made, Will thought things might eventually go back to normal. And maybe they would. But so far, they continued to dance around each other. And that was fine. He started to read again. In his book the journey was just beginning, four hobbits setting out together, not knowing what lay ahead, but that they must complete their quest or never return home, knowing that if they did not, there would be no home to return to. But for now, though the shadow of dark horses pursued them, they journeyed through golden fields and forests, along riverbanks and streams, bathed and laughed and ate, and sang together. And try as he might to depart the shire alone, Frodo’s friends were too stubborn to let him.
The stairs creaked. Will looked up, and found Mike there, looking at him.
“Its been wayyyy too long since I've really read those. I forgot how good they were” he said, by way of an introduction, as if the past 12 hours hadn't been the most they'd spoken in weeks.
“Well yeah, it's only like, the greatest fantasy series ever written” Will grinned, out of habit.
“Can I read with you?”
Mike's face held an expression Will couldn’t read. And really was he going to say no? Maybe he could have this, Mike wanting to spend time with him again, in this basement, reading together. “Sure. but i’m not reading it aloud this time”
The two of them lay on the floor, book spread out in front of them. And oh god this was so much worse than last night. Mike's head was bent over the page, moving slightly as his eyes scanned the words. Their faces were so close Will could almost feel Mike's breath. It made him dizzy, unable to focus on the page. Their forearms lay next to each other, just a hairs breath apart on the floor. He could feel Mike's body heat. He made the mistake of glancing over, just once. Mike’s side profile was beautiful, eyelashes casting small shadows over his cheekbones in the dim basement lighting, his hair that had grown so long while Will was in California curling around his shoulders, bangs falling into his eyes. Mike touched his hand. Just a quick tap, long fingers making brief contact with his. Will jumped, jerking back. Mike was looking back at him, slight confusion evident on his face.
“Hey turn the page”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry” Will reached over and flipped the page. Not that he had taken anything in at all from the page before. Whatever. As he did so, his elbow knocked mikes. The contact made him startle again. Jesus. He needed to get a grip. Will stood up abruptly. “Sorry Mike, I promised Jonathan I’d help him out with something this afternoon.” Mike opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, to ask what on earth Jonathan could be needing help with, but Will just started up the basement stairs, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t still racing. He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back once. Mike's eyes were still on him.
That night, Will reread the passages from the afternoon he hadn’t been able to concentrate on, and thought about how suddenly, apparently Mike wanted to speak to him again. The rain had stopped, but when he closed his eyes, he still couldn’t sleep. In his dreams he was angry. He didn’t know what about but he was angry, he could feel it churning inside him, he could feel it coming out of him as he scribbled across his notebook, pencil digging into the paper so hard it broke.