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“In my head, you love me back,” said Mike, barely a whisper. “In my head, I deserve it.”
He could feel Will’s eyes on him, burning, and he dared himself to meet his gaze. Will looked like he was about to say something but then thought better of it, his mouth opening and then closing again. Mike hoped he could read his mind. Let me explain, he thought. You don’t have to say anything. You’re not the one responsible for this mess.
“I tried to call you all the time, you know,” Mike began. “When you were in Lenora. But they never went through and you never called back either, so I thought you hated me or something. I thought you were better off without me.”
“Mike—”
“But then El’s letter came. I kept reading that one over and over. She said you were working on a painting in secret. That it must’ve been for someone you liked. So I clung on to that — that maybe it was for me. I don’t know. But a part of me hoped it was. And then I saw you at the airport with it, right after I’d kissed El and given her flowers, and I just — I couldn’t, Will. I’m so sorry. But it made no sense to me.” Mike was shaking now, his voice growing hoarse.
“Why did you do that? Why did you have it ready for me? I couldn’t hug you and I couldn’t blame you for not showing it to me then. I knew I was hurting you. But then, after everything—”
He couldn’t hold it anymore. He felt his eyes burn, tears flowing, and he choked out a sob. Will was still there, frozen, Mike’s name faintly escaping his lips, and Mike turned to face him.
“In the van. Why did you show it to me? Why did you still love me? Love…this?” he asked, pointing up and down at himself. “I’d been so cruel to you, Will. So…selfish. But there you were, pretending that it was El’s idea, of all things, as if she knew anything about D&D—”
“Mike, come on now.”
“She didn’t! She didn’t,” Mike half-yelled, his hands flailing around. “You knew I knew it was all you. You had to have known, Will.”
A beat passed, and Will threw him a sad smile. “I wanted to support you guys. I just wanted to be considerate—”
“Considerate? Really? And hurt yourself even more in the process?” Mike’s voice was raised now, as if in a plea. “You made me say all those things to El. You made me lie. You made me say that my life started when I met her in the woods while you were missing—”
“When did your life start, Mike?”
“The day I asked you to be my friend,” Mike grimaced. “But you knew that already.”
“That’s true,” he heard Will say, his voice low, melodious. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“Then let me fix it,” Mike growled, dropping to his knees. He positioned himself right before Will, looking down, both of his hands clasped together as if in prayer.
“How do you want to fix it, Mike?” Will asked, so honey-sweet and gentle Mike thought about retracting.
“I don’t know,” Mike muttered. “You tell me.”
“Do you ever know anything?”
“Not really, no,” Mike replied, eyes still glued to the ground. “Other than that I don’t deserve you—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Mike,” Will breathed, sounding half amused, half mad. “You really want this, don’t you?”
Mike sniffled, his breaths shaking, and he felt Will’s hand find his jaw, sliding up to his right cheek, propping it up. He gasped at the touch, a pit forming in his stomach. “You want to make this hard,” Will cooed, his thumb stroking Mike’s cheekbone.
“I don’t deserve it, Will, I don’t deserve you—”
“You want me to beat you up.”
Will said it like it was fact, and Mike had never been so thankful that someone understood him — but of course Will would. He was the only one who would.
“Please, Will,” he heard himself beg, finally daring to look into Will’s eyes. “Please. I need it. I deserve it. Please.”
Will let go of his cheek. “Okay.”
A fist swung at Mike’s face. It hit him square on the nose, and Mike lost his balance, toppling backwards as he steadied himself, both hands touching the ground. He could feel blood, the wetness of it, and he looked up at Will.
“That was for getting with a girl while I was gone,” Will drawled, and Mike found himself nodding. He propped himself back on his knees, eyes on Will, face protruding as if asking for more, to which Will landed another blow.
This time he could feel his head spinning. The blood coming out of his nose accumulated, making a line down his mouth, chin, and neck. His breathing became ragged, and he held on to Will’s knee as he tried to hold himself back up.
“That was for that whole summer,” Will retorted. He had Mike’s blood on his hand too, and Mike looked at it with an inexplicable hunger.
“More, Will, please,” he asked, and that was all he needed to do, because Will sent him flying one more time.
Mike fully lost his balance this time. Maybe he let loose on purpose, or maybe Will punched him harder than before — he wasn’t quite sure which. He felt his back hit the ground and ringing in his ears. The world spun around him, stars everywhere, but he could still see Will, his face clear as ever.
Head still spinning, he propped himself back on his knees the best he could. He kept stumbling — the buzz in his head wouldn’t give, and with every downward motion he felt blood leaking from his nose. It was thick now — long strains all over his front, and Mike felt a little sad that his sweater was so dark the red blended in too seamlessly with the pattern. He wished he’d picked a lighter one.
“That one was harder,” he heard Will say, and he finally came to his senses. “Could you feel it?”
To this, Mike nodded.
“That was for everything else. For you not writing. For the painting. For you letting me live in your house all those months, knowing everything and saying nothing—”
“I’m sorry, Will,” Mike croaked, still looking down. “I’m so sorry—”
“Then do something about it, Mike,” Will pleaded, and Mike fought the static in his head to look up.
Will’s eyes were glassy now. The sight of them pierced through Mike — a sight that was always of Mike’s making, because that was the only way Mike could ever make him feel.
“I already did what you wanted me to do,” Will started again, and a tear flowed down his cheek. “Can’t you give me what I want?”
“Yes, Will, I can try—”
“I only ever want you,” Will said, voice cracking. His hands were in Mike’s hair and Mike hoisted himself up so they were both standing, and instinctively Mike pulled Will close, one hand reaching behind his neck and the other on his cheek. He could feel Will’s goosebumps and made a point of pressing into them, making his mark.
“I want you too, Will,” he whispered. “So bad. I just never knew how — or that I could—”
“Take me, Mike,” Will pleaded again. “Please.”
Mike’s hand shifted from Will’s cheek to his jaw, then upwards nearing his lips. He could feel Will gasp — the hot air blanketed Mike’s finger as he stroked Will’s lower lip, opening him up. They were breathing the same air now, and Mike could hear faint traces of his name from Will’s mouth, and he closed the distance between them.
It was hot and sticky — the blood was still fluid but just beginning to dry, and Mike felt it warming back up as their lips clashed. He wanted to go slow, but Will was hungry for it, leaning into the kiss like a starved hare, and Mike’s hand drafted from the back of his neck to the hem of his t-shirt, gently going under.
He pressed on the bottom of Will’s back, and Will quivered, a nameless sound escaping from within him. His fingers were still in Mike’s hair, and Mike pushed deeper into the kiss that Will tugged on his hair, an accidental harshness, and Mike started feeling like maybe he did deserve it after all.
Maybe he did deserve Will.
They pulled back for air, and a string of Mike’s blood hung between them. It eventually gave, falling to Will’s t-shirt, the crimson plainly visible.
“Sorry for ruining your t-shirt,” Mike grumbled, forehead still stable against Will’s. Will puffed an airy laugh, eyes glued on Mike’s lips, and Mike loved what he was seeing — that Will so clearly wanted him back, that Will didn’t mind the mess that he was.
“You planned this, you asshole,” Will protested. “‘Sorry for ruining your t-shirt.’ Yeah, right.”
Mike let an equally breathy laugh escape him and leaned back in, this time slow, delicate. His fingers played with Will’s hair, and he could feel Will almost giggling into the kiss, and all Mike wanted to do was to capture the sound and the warmth it gave him, store it forever all to himself.
“I think — I think I loved you before I knew what love was,” he mumbled against Will’s lips. “It was always there,” he whispered, to which Will groaned, softly. “I just didn’t know what it was.”
Will wasn’t done — Mike felt him, still gentle but going deeper, like he was trying to commit to memory how Mike’s lips felt, how kissing Mike felt. Mike felt everything swelling up in him again — the feeling of being wanted and loved, the overwhelming relief of being chosen.
“It was always you, Will,” he whispered. Will was coming up for air, and Mike dropped his lips to his jaw in an instant, then down his neck, sucking in, needing to make his mark. Remains of his bloody nose trailed down Will’s jaw as he moved, and he could hear Will’s murmurs of his name at the suction.
He leaned back to look at Will. Will’s eyes were still glassy as ever, and his cheeks were flushed in a deep, pinkish hue that was new to Mike. It looked like the sky at sunset.
“Promise me you won’t run away again,” said Will earnestly. His hands found Mike’s, and he brought them up to their chests, his grip firm. “If you ever feel like I don’t need you, or that you don’t deserve it — which is never the case, by the way — don’t run,” Will pleaded. His left hand let go of Mike’s, trailing upwards to stroke the scarred side of Mike’s forehead. “I’ll always need you. Always.”
Mike took all of this in. He grazed Will’s arm with his fingers, a barely-there trail of touch, and held the other in his free hand, bringing Will’s knuckles to his lips. He pressed a kiss there, then another, soft and tender and with meaning, as if Will was a vow he meant to keep.
“I promise,” he whispered. “I won’t run from you, Will. Ever. I promise you.”
For now, that was all that they needed.