Work Text:
Spring, 1986
“I think that we should… break up.”
Okay, ow.
Mike isn’t even surprised by the words, not really, yet he still flinches at them. He isn’t particularly hurt by them, either, it’s just— Blunt. But, then again, this is El, and he shouldn’t have really expected anything different. It isn’t like it was shocking. This breakup was a long time coming, with the way their relationship had been cracking ever since she left for California— before that, really— until it became nothing at all.
They haven’t talked much in the past month, just a few words here and there in passing. Mike hadn’t even been sure if they were really together anymore. This was the first time they’ve been alone since returning to Hawkins. Surely, he could’ve made the time for them to talk, or something, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had to wait for El to do it.
He was, he was scared, okay? He knew what would happen the second they were alone, away from prying eyes. El would break up with him, and Mike wouldn’t know what to do with himself anymore.
The tears prick his eyes before he can stop them.
“Yeah,” he agrees with a strained voice, mindlessly picking at a stray thread on El’s sheets.
“Mike,” El leans in close, bracing a comforting hand against his knee. He kind of wants to push it off. But that isn’t right. El is—was—his girlfriend, and even if they’re breaking up, he should still want her comfort, right?
Right. But he knows. Mike knows, okay? He isn’t sad that El is breaking up with him because he’s in love with her and doesn’t want to be apart, it’s—
It’s because he doesn’t know what to do without her. When she doesn’t need him anymore, who is he? What is he useful for? It’s just that, she’s familiar. Safe. Even if their relationship sometimes felt so suffocating that he could barely sleep at night, it was safe, and he put up with it. This is how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? Relationships are hard. They aren’t always perfect, like holding hands and running through fields and making out while playing cheesy music. (Though, for some reason, none of that felt perfect, either. Something just wasn’t quite right.) That’s why he feels the way he does, because nothing is always perfect.
(That’s bullshit. He’s lying to himself, really. Mike knows.)
“I know—” he sniffs, swipes at his eyes, “I know. We’re not good together anymore.”
“I’m not sure we ever were,” she admits sadly. Mike glances up at her, watches the way her face pinches in solemn thought. “I was… You were all that I knew, really. I never had a chance to find myself. And now, I still do not really know who I am. And we have so many other problems to deal with, I just— I cannot spend time on this, us, anymore. It is not worth it, for either of us. I… I like it more when we are just friends.”
Mike nods, feels years' worth of weight lift off his chest, even if there’s still that fear nagging the back of his mind. The fear of being useless, unneeded. But he doesn’t have to pretend with her anymore, force himself to try and feel what he can’t. “I like it more when we’re just friends, too.” He agrees quietly. El smiles at him. A real smile, not the fake, strained ones they’ve been giving each other recently. El has a nice smile. She looks very pretty like this, sun shining on her face through the window, but Mike doesn’t feel that pull at his heart, the butterflies in his stomach as he should. He should feel like that when he looks at her, but instead he feels it when he looks at—
“And,” El startles him from that thought, “When you finally told me that you loved me, I did not… feel happy, like I thought I would. I thought that if I heard you say it, then everything would be okay. But, then you did say it, and… it just did not feel like you meant it. You said it like you did not believe it.”
“I do love you, just…”
“You are not in love with me. Not like I was with you.”
Mike gnaws on his bottom lip, staring down at the floorboards. Slowly, he nods, a silent sorry. El squeezes that hand on his knee before pulling back.
“It’s okay, Mike. We were just… not right for each other. You were not what I needed, and I was not what you wanted. I think that… we rushed into our relationship before either of us really understood feelings. I still do not really understand.” She sighed softly, “But I want to. I want to understand, but it is something I need to do for myself. By myself.”
She’s right. It’s something Mike had felt, had thought for so long, but he always pushed it down. He kissed El before he even understood what kissing really meant. Before she even knew what a kiss was. They were— They were bonded, through all of that trauma, and it felt right, in some sense. If they were together.
It felt good that she needed him. Until she needed something he couldn’t give. He could never tell her I love you and mean it, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he felt like he should.
“I just,” he says, tugging at that thread again. “I get that you don’t need me anymore, not in that way, obviously, but it’s just— Why that painting, then? I don’t get it…”
“Painting?” El tilts her head at him.
“…Yeah? The one you commissioned?”
“Commission?”
“Um— like, when you tell someone what to draw. Don’t you remember? You had Will make that painting for me.” Mike says, and a slow panic begins to crawl up his throat, tightening, shortening his breath. He doesn’t understand it. There’s nothing to panic about.
“Mike…” El says slowly, shifting her position on the bed. “I do not know what you’re talking about. I told you in my letter, Will never let me see his painting.”
Mike blinks at her. He isn’t sure what else to do. It feels as if his whole world just shifted on its axis, like his stomach is in his throat, and his heart is in his knees, and he isn’t much sure he could say anything even if he did know what to say.
Will lied to him. Friends don’t lie. Especially not Will. That’s just— it’s just not right. They’re Mike and Will. They don’t lie to each other. They’ve never lied to each other.
But Will did. He lied.
Why did he lie?
Autumn, 1987
“…he was just my Tammy.” Will breathes out, gathering his next words. Robin laughs quietly.
He looks Mike in the eyes as he says it. Right into his soul. It seemed subconscious, in the way he looked at him, but he did it nonetheless.
What the fuck is a Tammy?
Mike feels like he’s going to throw up. Everything’s clicked into place now, and suddenly he finally gets it. Really gets it. Why Will lied about that painting. Why Will acts the way he does, in ways that make Mike think he’s going crazy, make him feel delusional, stupidly hopeful—
But he wasn’t, he wasn’t any of those things. He understood as Will looked him in the eyes and spoke about this— Crush. Mike is a Tammy. But he doesn’t know what the fuck that means. Is it good? Bad? Does it mean Will totally hates him now? Does it mean Mike lost his chance?
Will’s crying, Mike thinks, sick to his stomach. It can’t be good if he’s crying like this. He hates to see Will cry. He wants to get up, hug him, tell him it’s okay, but— But his stupid body won’t move. He’s frozen in place, probably looking like he’s about to shit his pants right here on the couch. Or throw up in the middle of the floor, all over everyone’s shoes.
How did it take him so long to notice? How was he so oblivious? How could he make Will suffer through these feelings alone like this, make him believe that he couldn’t tell Mike, why didn’t he ever tell him—
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!
We’re friends! We’re friends.
Oh, god. Mike can taste it in his throat, the awful words he said, the terrible way he treated his best friend—
He’s going to be sick. And, as much as it hurts, he really can’t blame Will for not telling him. Mike definitely wouldn’t have, if he were him. The things he said, the way he behaved— He seems like a total, complete, homophobic asshole. Just like everyone else in this goddamn town. But— But he isn’t, okay? He’s… He’s the opposite.
He’s never really, seriously admitted it to himself like this, but it’s the truth. All that time, throughout that relationship with El, Mike was repressing his true self, his true feelings, forcing them away, far enough down that he never had to think about the whys. And it turned him into someone he hated.
He just felt so wrong all the time, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Will was the source of that ‘wrongness’ in his chest, even his subconscious knew before he let himself fully acknowledge it, and he couldn’t keep that bottled up for long. He took it all out on him, treated him like it was his fault. But it wasn’t. It was never Will’s fault. It was always Mike’s. He didn’t know how to be okay with his love, with being in love with Will, and all those confusing, shameful feelings formed into one oppressive thing he was familiar with: Anger.
No wonder Will couldn’t trust him with this.
And, look, Mike has been trying to redeem himself these past 18 months, while simultaneously trying to come to terms with how he really feels, and how that probably isn’t ever going to go away, but it— It was hard. It is hard. It’s so much to deal with.
But, Will, he just said it. Came out with the truth in a room full of people, whereas Mike could barely admit it to himself, alone. He was so brave, and so purely good, and so much better than Mike, and Mike was so fucking proud of him.
I’m sorry, he thinks, I’m so sorry it took me so long to understand. Please tell me it isn’t too late
He’s still terrified. Scared of that part of himself, of what others would think of him, wonders why Will ever felt anything like that towards Mike of all people, but— He can’t bring himself to feel ashamed anymore. It’s Will. How could he ever feel shame for loving someone as amazing as him?
Will wasn’t ashamed, he wasn’t hiding. Not a coward, like Mike.
Mike doesn’t want to be a coward anymore.
Vaguely, he registers Lucas standing. Then Dustin, and Mike finally snaps out of it. He gets his legs to work, moving to give Will that hug he deserves. Mike can finish thinking later.
Will is more important.
Well, it’s later.
Robin and Mike sit in the basement of the Upside Down’s Squawk, waiting. There isn’t much else to do until Vecna gets close enough. It looks a lot different in here than it does Rightside Up, but that’s to be expected, he guesses. With time being frozen here or whatever. Everything’s old and dusty, even the couch he leans on.
Will had been here too, earlier, but he’d gone out for some air. It’s getting to him, being back in this place. Mike can tell. He offered to go with, wanted to be some source of comfort, but Will asked to be alone.
He’s distancing himself from you, His mind screams. But that’s crazy. Will wouldn’t do that, not after everything he’s just said. The whole point was that he didn’t want to be distanced from anyone.
But, if Mike was a Tammy, maybe that means it’s different with him. Maybe Will didn’t want to be around a Tammy.
What the fuck is a Tammy, he thinks, not for the first time. He wants to ask so badly, but Will has asked to be alone, and Mike isn’t going to disrespect him by prying for answers he might not be comfortable sharing.
He just can’t stop thinking about it. What is a Tammy, and when did Mike become one? Was it in the van, when Mike couldn’t realize Will’s thinly veiled confession?
So yeah, I need you Mike, and I always will.
That’s what he said, or what he meant, anyway, but it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel like Will needs him when he goes off alone like this, brushing off Mike’s worry. When he’s always hesitant to be alone around him ever since returning from Lenora.
It must be because he’s a Tammy.
He wants to know so badly. Why did he say that? And why did he say it like that? A breathless laugh, like an inside joke, and—
And Robin had laughed, too! Why would she laugh? If she didn’t know what it meant, why would she laugh?
Robin knows. She has to. She knows whatever the hell Tammy means.
Bitterly, Mike thinks that it makes sense. Will and Robin have been getting closer recently. And the closer he got to her, the farther he felt from Mike. They were close enough to have inside jokes now.
Okay, whatever. He can deal with all those nasty, envious feelings later. Right now, he’s down, alone in a basement with the answer to his most burning question.
Mike sits up straight, stares at Robin from across the room.
“What does it mean to be a Tammy?” He asks, breaking the calm silence.
Robin startles. “I— What?”
“He was just my Tammy. That’s what Will said earlier. What does that mean?”
“Um,” Robin’s hands fiddle together, nervous. “I don’t… know?” She says, unhelpful.
Mike huffs. “You laughed when he said it. Why would you laugh if you don’t know?”
“Maybe I thought the word Tammy was funny?” She shrugs, but there’s an anxious tick to her brow. She’s deflecting, lying.
“Look,” Mike sighs, “Please, Robin. I just— I want to understand. How Will feels. But I can’t if he’s speaking in riddles. You guys have been getting closer, and I know you know what he meant when he said that. I— I need to know. I need to know if—“ Mike swallows, cutting himself off.
I need to know if I missed my chance. I need to know if I ruined everything.
His eyes burn with the threat of tears, but he refuses to look away. He needs her to know how important this is.
Robin watches him, eyes flicking all across his face, like she’s calculating. Searching for an answer in his expression. She squints at him, opens and closes her mouth a few times, fumbles for words. Finally, she settles on : “Do you… know?”
Mike resists the urge to scream. “No, I don’t know. Why would I ask you if I knew—”
“No, not that,” Robin spreads out in her seat, leans forward, elbows to her knees. “Do you know?” She emphasizes, a brow raised.
Mike pauses, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. Oh.
He understands her unsaid question. Does Mike know that he’s the crush. That he’s the Tammy.
“Do you know?” Mike shoots back, squinting at her.
“I know more than you think,” she says vaguely, but Mike understands anyway. They both know.
“Like, what a Tammy is.”
After a moment, Robin nods.
“Okay, fine. It’s Tammy Tomphson.”
Mike blinks, nearly flinches backward on the couch. His limbs go slack, and he blinks again like it’ll change the answer, change the serious look on Robin’s face.
“… Tammy Tomphson? The girl that can’t sing but acts like she can?”
Robin chuckles softly, “Yeah, her.”
“But… what? Why would he say that? How am I… Tammy?”
Robin leans back in her seat with a long sigh. “Well, my little friend, I used to think that Tammy Tomphson was the most amazing singer alive.
Mike watches her, terribly curious and terribly confused. What the hell does any of this have to do with Will?
“I had a crush on her. Thought she was the greatest thing in the world, and that if I could be with her, then everything would be okay. But that was wrong. I just wanted her to accept me, but it was never about Tammy Tomphson. It was just about me. I needed to accept myself, without Tammy. Move on from her.”
Robin’s like me. Like Will.
“So,” Mike clears his throat, interlaces his fingers together and grips on tight, tight enough that his knuckles whiten, “So being a Tammy means…”
“Means someone who doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Someone you need to move on from and go accept yourself.”
“But that’s wrong,” Mike blurts out before he can stop himself. Robin’s eyes widen, and Mike glances down at the floor. She’s safe, he reminds himself, eyes quickly flicking up to her bug-eyed ones, before returning to the floorboards. She’s like me.
“That’s wrong,” he says, quieter but more sure.
“…What’s wrong?” Robin asks softly. When Mike doesn’t answer, she stands from her chair across the room, quickly making her way over to the couch he’s slumped on. She slowly lowers herself onto the cushion next to him, reaches out for his shoulder like he’s a wounded animal. “What’s wrong, Mike?” She asks again, and he can’t help but lean into the warm hand on his back.
“I’m not a Tammy.” He says, shaky.
Robin is silent for a beat. Mike holds his breath.
“Oh.”
Mike chuckles, though it’s humorless. “Yeah. Oh.”
Robin lets her hand drop, but she leans over to meet his eyes. “Why do you sound so depressed about it?”
Mike nearly scoffs at the genuine confusion on her face, the creasing of her brows, the frown on her lips.
“Uh, because it’s too late, isn’t it? You just— You said it. He’s moved on.” He says, a fresh wave of tears building a lump in his throat.
“No, I didn’t. I said, ‘someone to move on from.’ That’s different.”
“Yeah, how?” Mike asks bitterly, wiping at his nose with his sleeve.
“Come on, Mike. He wants to move on from you because he thinks you don’t feel the same. But that doesn’t mean he already has. It isn’t that easy, you know? There’s no way he got over his feelings in just a couple of days.”
Mike can’t squash that hope that rises in his chest at that, an out-of-control fire burning in his blood.
“…You think so?”
Robin grins at him. “I know it. You’ve got a real shot, Wheeler. You guys just need to be honest about your feelings for once.”
Mike nods, pauses, and nods again. “Yeah,” he breathes out a small laugh, that hope forcing it out of him, “Yeah, you’re right. This whole time neither of us have been completely honest. I think that’s why everything turned into a… mess.”
“Well, messes can always be cleaned up,” Robin pats him on the shoulder. “I believe in you guys, seriously.”
“Thanks,” Mike smiles a small smile, the sudden urge— the need to see Will pushing him up from the couch. “Thank you. I... I have something I need to do,” he says, not waiting to hear Robin’s reply before rushing out of the room. He makes his way around the building, up to the roof where he knows Will is.
He pulls himself off the last ladder rung, climbs up onto the rooftop, and he sees him.
“Will,” he breathes.
He sits on the opposite edge, staring off into the distance with his hands braced against the concrete behind him. He startles at the sound of Mike’s voice, turning to look at him.
“Mike?”
“Hey,” Mike smiles.
Even under the shitty sky of the Upside Down, Will looks beautiful. It glows on his skin, paints his features like a picture worthy of a museum. It’d have its own exhibit and everything.
He’s so, so gorgeous, and Mike feels that tug in his heart looking at him. The one he thought he was supposed to feel for El. The one he never felt for El. The one he always felt for Will. He’s gorgeous, and Mike loves him. He loves him so much he’s practically choking on it, hands trembling for no reason at all.
“Sorry, I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I just… I needed to talk to you,” he says softly, taking small, tentative steps toward him.
Will offers a small smile. “It’s okay. I guess I’ve been out here alone for long enough.” He says, turning his head back to the view. View is a pretty generous word for it.
Mike, unsure of himself, hovers awkwardly next to him. Until Will looks back over with a raised brow and tells him, “You can sit, y’know…”
“Right,” Mike answers, then immediately drops to the ground with all the grace of a baby deer. He winces as he hits the concrete a little too hard, and Will laughs. A real laugh, bright and sunny, even through the biting cold of the Upside Down’s winds, and the hurt is gone before he even fully felt it.
Mike just— stares. Watches the crinkle of Will’s eyes, the smile he lifts the back of his hand to cover. Mike almost leans over to pull his hand away, chide him for trying to hide something that he loves so much.
He doesn’t, though, and Will soon quiets down as he meets Mike’s eyes and notices his staring. Then, he looks nervous, and he swallows and asks, “So, um, what did you need to talk about?”
“Right, um,” Mike glances over his face one last time before looking away. There’s no easy way to do this, and he isn’t sure he can muster the courage if he’s looking at Will like that.
“You lied,” he says, and immediately winces. God, this is not how he wanted to say this.
“I— huh?”
“You…” Mike looks up at him, hands digging into the fabric of his jeans, right over his knees, “The painting.”
Will's eyes widen in realization, and his gaze quickly flicks off to the side, like he wants to run.
“I’m not mad,” Mike rushes out, quick to reassure. Will relaxes slightly at that, but his body is still tense, rigid in the way he sits. At least he doesn’t look like he wants to dart away.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t— you don’t need to apologize, Will. I get why you lied. I get it. I was a total asshole then—”
“No, Mike—”
“Just,” Mike raises a hand, “Just let me talk, okay? Please?”
Will blinks up at him, eyes wide. He looks like he wants to say more, but he slowly closes his mouth, swallows, then nods. Continue.
“I was being a total asshole, so don’t try and defend me, or whatever.”
Slowly, shyly, Mike places his hand over Will’s. Will flinches slightly at the contact, Mike feels it, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in closer, almost imperceptively, but Mike is getting better at noticing. So, he notices.
“I was… when I was dating El, I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t being true to who I really was. To what I really…” Mike stares into Will’s eyes, those eyes that he has burned into his mind, flecked with green and brown and gold. Eyes that shine the prettiest shade in the sun.
He bites his lip, brimming with nerves, “…Wanted. And, and it made me into something I really didn’t like. I took it out on others, and I said some really horrible things to you, Will. For that, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant any of it. Not— Not what I said in my garage, not how I acted in Lenora. I was just… getting so sick of hiding, and I didn’t know what else to do. How to act.”
His hand trembles, so he tightens his grip over Will’s, slides their fingers together. Will still doesn’t pull away.
“…hiding?” He asks, voice so, so small.
Will has been so brave for so long. He hid his feelings, tried his best to stay around Mike and be there for him as a friend, even when he wanted more. He stared Vecna in the eyes and didn’t give up, he told everyone his biggest fears so it couldn’t be used against him, no matter how terrified he was to do it. Will has been so brave. It’s Mike's turn now, to be brave, to show Will that he isn’t alone.
“I’m not Tammy.”
“… Mike, what?—”
“I was using El, our relationship, to hide. Like… Like how you used that painting and El to hide.”
Will’s hand shakes under his, and tears well up in his eyes. Mike wants to kiss them away. Instead, he just holds on tighter.
“I’m not Tammy,” he repeats. “You said that your crush… that I wasn’t different. That I wasn’t like you,” Mike sniffs, forces his voice to steady, “But I am. I am different.”
Will pulls away. Mike feels the loss like a missing limb.
“Mike— I— You—” His breath comes out quick, too quick, and he’s shaking, and his eyes are teary, and Mike reaches a hand out to steady him, feeling as broken apart as Will looks. But Will backs away, away from Mike’s reach. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Mike.” Will croaks, and he sounds so— so sad, and broken, and tears begin to drop down his cheeks, a few catching on his lashes. Mike feels his own tears spring back full force at the sight.
“Yes, I do.”
“No you don’t!” Will shouts, but he doesn’t sound mean. He sounds scared. Mike hates it. Will thinks he’s lying.
A deep breath, and the words are out, “Yes, I do. I love you.”
He can see the muscles constrict as Will’s breath catches in his throat. He blinks up at Mike, lashes fluttering prettily. He’s still leaned away, still trembling, chest still heaving, but he just— Stares. Doesn’t make any more moves to leave or refute Mike’s confessions. Just stares up at him, wide-eyed, expression frozen.
Tentatively, Mike shifts closer. He lifts an arm, moves his hand to gently cup Will’s face. Will doesn’t move, and Mike takes the chance to swipe his thumb across his cheek, feeling the tears against his thumb. He brings his other hand to do the same. He can feel his own face wet as his tears finally fall, long overdue, but he ignores it. However, Will seems to shoot back into motion at the sight. Mike doesn’t cry often.
He springs up, like he’d just awoken from a nightmare or something akin, eyes flitting all across Mike’s face. He’s close enough now that if Mike leaned just the slightest bit forward, their foreheads would touch.
He does it. Closes the distance, gently rests his forehead against his best friend's, and Will’s eyes finally focus on his.
“…What?” He asks, a breathless, warbled whisper.
“I love you,” Mike repeats, steady and sure. He’ll say it as many times as Will needs, and then some. He’ll say it until Will believes him. He’ll say it forever. “I’m in love with you,” He clarifies.
“What?” Will asks again, but his features begin to soften. He doesn’t look so scared anymore.
“I’m in love with you. I think— I know it’s been like this for forever. Ever since I can remember, this feeling has been there. I was always just… too scared to really realize it. But I’m done being scared,” Mike smiles at him, genuine through his tears, “I love you, and I don’t want to be scared of it anymore. I’m supposed to be Mike the Brave, aren’t I?” He jokes weakly. Will, sweet, perfect Will lets out a small, quiet laugh at that. It’s short, but Mike’s heart flutters at the sight of his smile. Will always laughs at his jokes, even when they suck.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore, either,” Will quietly admits. Shakily, he lifts his hands up, softly grips them onto Mike’s wrists. Mike slides his hands lower, cradles his jaw. His skin buzzes under Will’s touch.
Mike leans an inch closer. “We can be not-scared together,” he whispers.
“How brave am I if I need you to help me feel not-scared?” He whispers back.
“The bravest.” Mike grins at him, and in all his not-scaredness, presses a light kiss to the tip of his nose. “Funny, I need you to feel not-scared, too. Guess we’ll just have to stick together.”
“I guess so,” Will’s eyes flick down, and Mike drifts closer. They stay there for a beat, staring, breaths mingling.
“I think I’m feeling extra brave right now,” Mike breathes, eyes dragging down to Will’s lips, the sharp line of his Cupid’s bow, the fullness of his bottom lip.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Will swallows. “…Show me?” He asks, and he looks so hopeful that Mike can practically see it shining in his eyes. How could he say no to that?
He couldn’t. So, he leans in, and finally, finally learns the way Will’s lips feel.
It’s shy at first, a soft, barely-there brush of his lips over Will’s, but it’s everything. Finally, he understands. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what he’d been missing, the feeling he was waiting for every time he kissed El.
He tilts his head, presses deeper, swallows up the soft gasp that escapes Will. He feels it; the butterflies swarming in his stomach, the electricity in his blood, his heart hammering against his chest. One hand drifts down to Will’s waist, tugging him close, the other staying firm in clutching his jaw. Slowly, Will’s arms raise up to wind around Mike’s shoulders, and all he can think is that it isn’t enough. He needs to be closer, they’re not close enough—
Will breaks away when Mike’s tongue starts prodding at his lips. Mike, embarrassingly, tries to chase after him, even lets out a small, pathetic whine at the loss.
Will gasps in a breath, blinks, and looks up at Mike like he can’t believe he’s real.
“I need to breathe, you know.”
“Breathe through your nose,” Mike offers, leaning back in. Will holds him back with a hand to his chest.
“Will!” He whines.
“Mike,” Will mocks his tone, “We’re out in the open. And Vecna is, like, on his way to destroy our world. We have to stay focused. Now isn’t the time for… that.”
“What, making out?” Mike asks cheekily.
Will flushes. “You’re so—”
“So what? Handsome? Charming?” He grins, back to leaning his forehead against Will’s. He looks like he’s going to explode, cheeks burning a rosy red.
“Shut up. Weren’t you just crying?”
“You were, too.”
Will huffs. “Yeah, well. I was scared. But I’m not anymore…” he trails off.
“Because?” Mike prompts.
“…Because I love you.”
His teasing grin turns to a full, toothy, dorky, lovestruck smile. The rush of nerves urges him forward, pressing an array of gentle kisses all across Will’s face. Will, the boy he loves. The boy he’ll love for the rest of his life. The boy he swears to get out of this alive.
“I love you, too. And I’m not scared anymore, either.” It’s the truest thing he’s ever said.
He seals that with a kiss. It’s the best thing he’s ever done.