Archive of Our Own

No longer could Will mistake the trees for the ones that took him that night: instead, the heights of his nights are dominated by city buildings that rip into the clouds—buildings that hold thousands of lives one only could see through the warm windows.

Tonight, those who managed to tickle a laugh from his cries will find each other again, right at the doorway of Will's apartment.

"Dustinnn!!!" Will cheers, a smile aching his cheeks.

Happiness squishes Dustin's face. "Hey, hey!" His glee squeals into a hug, which muffles moist hicks into Will's shoulder. 

Dustin's compassion tumbles Will backwards. He sinks into it—his nose soaks in the aroma of Dustin's house: the moment when his knees scratched of gaiety against his carpet after Dustin had just accidentally pepper-sprayed Lucas. Will's arms tighten around his back, as if his exit would rid of the memory. 

Their separation slaps Will with his apartment's coldness. "Alright," Will sighs, shifting to present Dustin his readied apartment: a horribly made cake sits upon the kitchen's island, beside it a pack of plastic knives and forks and a pile of small paper plates. Accompanying those are red party cups and champagne. A banner screaming Welcome! in rainbow fills the gap between the kitchen and living room. "Here it is!" Will's palms spread as Dustin shifts into the setting. "It's not much, I-"

"It's amazing!" Dustin corrects, steadying Will's fidgeting fingers. His eyes dart around the room. "Though, you were right about us getting our own rooms," he mumbles.

"Yeah," Will agrees through a chuckle, contemplation twitching his eyebrows. "This little apartment could only-"

"Nice set-up!" Lucas’s comment jerks their attention towards the door, to where he’s leaning, leg crossed over the other.   

All of Will’s stressors drop to his feet. “Lucas!!” Will and Dustin’s celebration bounce off the walls, their excitement collapsing Lucas into the hallway. 

A gag squeezes past Lucas’s throat, which is getting choked by their powerful hug. “H…” he heaves, “hey guys,” he blows, his tense arm stressing to pat Will’s back.

The embrace snuggles Will's body, like the energy was releasing a shield that could cuddle him until death—and even then, the happiness would still snuggle his body. 

“Somebody’s excited!” A voice comments, its familiarity dropping Will’s stomach before the hug’s tension cools with separation.

Fuck.

Lucas’s shoulders soften, eyes narrowing at the man with dark, wet dripping hair that blocks the doorway. Then, Lucas's widened expression meet Dustin’s, their chests rising with the simultaneous realization. 

Will’s lips flatten, his glare quickly swiping the excitement off Carlton’s face. 

Dustin and Lucas exhale in unison: “is that-”

“Carlton,” Will finishes with a sough.

The edges of Lucas’s lips twitch into a smile. “Oh my god!” he says, stepping forwards with a welcoming palm. “Hey dude!”

Dustin follows, their kindness replenishing the enthusiasm in Carlton’s face.

”You’ve got a lot to learn,” Dustin states, patting Carlton’s arm. 

A grin creeps up on Will’s mouth. “I’m glad you guys like h…” a figure appears at the end of the hallway, turning the corner: tall and lanky, long, wavy layered hair cuffing his cheeks—the back touches his shoulders, while the front is slightly shorter. He fixes his slipping glasses with a finger, the red walls and carpet embracing his dark blue attire. The beige sconces that warms the hall caresses his cheekbones, shadowing his hollow cheeks. 

“Mike!” Lucas’s cheer could shatter the lamps, his eager shoes echoing against the hall’s carpet. 

“..im,” Will finishes with a tight chest. From looking at flowers, Will would think time only kills a person, but Mike had managed to capture night's beauty—so much so that the Earth probably wonders how the moon still rises.

Lucas's and Dustin’s embracement stumbles Mike backwards, the impact squeaking giggles off his tongue. 

Will’s wrists spark, but a glance at Carlton kills it.

"Come, come!" Dustin beckons, fingers tight around Mike's arm. "It's Will's..." Dustin's gaze lands on Carlton, and Will’s stomach drops to his ass.

Mike's eyebrows twitch with confusion, jaw tightening.

Lucas's glare captures Dustin's words.

Will’s stance softens.  

Dustin's mouth freezes in a gape, a mumble breaking it. "Right." 

Mike and Will's curtailing proximity strains tension. It stuffs a ball in Will's throat. 

"Will's who?" Mike questions, leaning forward to peer at their necklaces, which are a locket and a key. His grin is stern, and his eyes glisten more than usual. 

The ball sharpens in Will's throat. "...Boyfriend," he admits, face heating into a sweat as Carlton's hand drags him towards his side. 

"Boyfriend!" Carlton repeats. The pat of his palm on Will's waist punches the beam off of Mike's face. 

Lucas's forehead wrinkles at Mike's face—his upper-lip lifts, glimpsing at Dustin with curiosity.

"Ah..." Mike expires, adjusting his taut stance: he shimmies his shoulders, and then greets with a welcoming palm. "Mike," he says, gaze towards Carlton faltering down at Will; the soft departure of Mike's lips sizzle Will's fingertips, roasting the air between them—the way his curls tickle his cheeks, curve over his shoulders, and sleep against his neck—his freckles, his freckles-

"A pleasure to meet you.” Carlton shakes Mike’s hand, his smile pinching crows feet beside his eyes.

Will’s psyche shifts back into reality, his feet hardening against the ground. “Yes,” Will heaves, fingers traveling between Carlton’s. “Yes,” he sighs, only allowing his eyes to catch a glance of their confused faces before he turns into the apartment. “You guys have no idea how excited I am for you all to finally meet!” Will’s words survive against the weight in him: a spark. “Don’t forget to take your shoes off!” He reminds, the explosion of happiness dazzling down into nothingness. 

One by one, their shoes shuffle against the floor, and to Will’s surprise, each of his friends organize them against the wall. Then, Mike, to which Will’s two-second stare manages to capture how his eyeliner coddles his dark eyes—but Lucas’s ridicule towards the cake cracks him out of it.

Will blinks, shoving his thoughts into the deepest part of his brain. ”Look,” he chuckles, eyeing Carlton, who’s creaking the door closed. “Nobody told me not to put frosting on when it was still hot," he argues, examining the melted pink frosting and messy rainbow sprinkles.

Carlton’s eyes widen.  “I literally-“

”I think it still looks pretty good.”

Will’s heart skips a beat.

The suspicion in Lucas’s eyes sharpen as they travel Mike’s departure in a stool.

Mike rests his arms on the table, eyebrows stitching together. He scoffs, “what are you guys staring at me for?” 

“Because.” Dustin’s hand gestures at the cake. “That…” His fingers sprinkle as if to represent some kind of incomprehensible ugliness. “Objectively, is not a good cake.” His smile lines pull.

Contemplation twitches Mike’s lips. “…Well.” His tapping fingers on the wooden table sing a gentle melody. “Maybe, physically, yes.” His back crouches, eyes annealing up at Dustin—they crystallize at their quick glimpse at Will; the resin that coats them soften, only for it to harden again with the fixed eye-contact towards Dustin. “…But does it taste good?” Mike finishes with a strict core, and yet his pupils manage to etch at Will—Will’s cheeks swelter, and remorse halts Will’s echoing considerations.

No.

Will peeks at Carlton. 

“Well, the flavor is birthday cake,”  Will mentions, in hopes his verbality silences the nausea in his body. 

Dustin’s nose quenches. “That doesn’t prove shit!” 

A chuckle corks through Mike’s teeth—sneer tucking his jawbones into his eyes. His palm attempts to void his amusement by covering his mouth, but laughter squishes his pronounced eyelashes into a gleam. 

Beneath the ocean of shame, Will’s heart flutters.

Fuck.

His neck cranes, running the calidity of his body into his face.

Carlton tilts his head. “I mean…” he shifts his weight with an impressed glower. “He does have a point.” Carlton pats Will’s back, jerking his attention towards his face. His eyebrows twitch. 

His gentle nod allows Carlton to focus back at the argument:

”Birthday cake could be anything,” he says. 

“Yup,” Lucas adds, champagne sprinkling onto his red cup. “And red velvet…” Will plunged into the pool again, clogging anything that would come from Lucas’s declaration: even through Mike’s tightness, his dark eyes manage to capture the kitchen’s light. His head is tilted, body shifting in simultaneous glare of Carlton—his soft pink lips part, the flickering movement of his eyelids exposing the examination of Will’s stress. 

A scream zips Will back into the room: “you’re so wrong!!” Dustin’s screech only pokes Lucas’s nerves as he’s too occupied staring Mike down, who’s edging the cake towards himself. 

“Hm.” Lucas digs his elbows into the table, fingers tensing around the curve of either forearm. “What do you think…” his nose scrunches. “Mike.” His throat clicks at the K, ensuring its emphasis.

Mike’s head quivers in offense. “What?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry…”

Carlton peers at Will, mouth agape but a smile continuing to lift the borders.

Mike’s gestures towards the cake. “Do you not see this confetti cake I’m edging for?” His stale, yet high tone tickles a laugh from Will. 

Appreciation warms the tips of Will’s fingers. “They’re great, huh?” Love settles his speech into a whisper before the stool creaks at his weight. The shiver of excitement quenches his chest—the shiver that only existed in the depths of Mike’s smelly basement, right before the longest, yet most impactful campaign was told from their childish imagination.

A solid object digs rubs against Will's forearm—it's boney, holds life. Will winds out of his remembrance, the flushed sentimentalism plummeting to the ground: Mike's elbow rubs against Will's, hand focused on relaxing the knife into the cake.

His gaze?

“The thing we should be concerned about…” Mike continues, chin lifting as the knife meets the plate. 

His gaze flutters towards Will, his head stern towards the cake. The homely atmosphere curves his eyelash’s shadow over his cheekbones.

“Is how I’m going to eat this before…” his canine tooth peers under his lip.

Will gulps.

Mike’s stare finally attacks Dustin and Lucas: it looses its depth. “…All of you,” he threatens. 

Will’s knees limp, disintegrating the lava that had been hiding beneath the caps. 

Lucas and Dustin share a glance, to which Mike widens his eyes in protest. He impales a fork into the slice that’s dropped on his plate. 

"...Well," Lucas murmurs, his stiffening shoulders and lift of eyebrows fixing Will's posture. Lucas's hands clutch his hips, his approach towards Mike building a wall of preparation upon Will's back. Lucas peers at the cake. "...If you say so," he declares.

The plate sands across the table, Mike's attention lugging along with it—Will's stomach twists, cake bouncing when it meets Will's palm. The gaping of Mike's face turns to Will, sizzling exhilaration in his chest.

"Fuck!" Will chortles, fingers aching against its thin foundation that is the plate. "Fuck!" He expires with a laugh once more, Mike's edging advancements fringing him off his seat—and through the progressing chaos, Will captures a glance of Lucas's humble grin.

Adrenaline pulses Will's wrists, shins bruising against the beige tiles of the kitchen—his socks struggle against the kitchen's smoothness, but after his shoulder wounds against Carlton, his feet quickly capture a grip at the carpet's exposure. Mike's objections manage to beat through the heart's throb that clogs Will's ears:

"My cake!" A chortle hacks into his throat. "My cake!" 

Beyond Mike's oppositions, the cheers and chuckles of the others travel through the corners of the apartment—even the heavy, passionate weight of their smiles find themselves in the cracks.

Will's ankles snap to halt at the end of the table. Nature's frigid air seeps through the thin glass of the window, blanketing Will's back. Shielding the other end, with his arms sprawled out, stands Mike. His cheer carries a sickening kind of twinkle. It quenches Will's heart, and he chokes on the passion overflowing his body. "No!" Will contorts, legs attempting to shuffle him out of the predicament, only for Mike to follow with a stern defense: try to escape from the left, only for Mike to guard the flee.

"Go Will, go!"

Try to escape from the right, only for Mike to also guard that flee.

"Get that cake, Mike!"

Sweat sedates Will's forehead. "You didn't even..!" Mike's determination wheezes a laugh from his chest, knees burning from the constant left-and-right movements. Will's legs commit to a get away: within the table and couch. "...Make this!" A mass arrests Will's lunge, the couch's cushions relieving his thighs. 

Simultaneously, a roar of merriment reeks across the ceiling. Confusion rides over Will, until his tightened eyes blink to a Mike whose face is covered with cake: pink icing and sprinkles stuff into cracks and crevices he didn't even know existed. 

Will's heart beats. "Oh-" a piece of cake falls from Mike's cheek and onto Will's shoulder. Disbelief raptures a croak from Will's being. "Oh my god!" He gasps; every hick of bliss beats Will's ribs, and in-between Mike's hands that are pinning him down, Will hugs himself, as if his arms would slurp the ecstasy right back into his lungs. Will’s attention flutters back at Mike, realization stuffing bliss into his stomach. “Where are your…” tickling fun hunts Will's words, and a turn of his head reveals Mike’s glasses on the couch, absolutely dominated by cake. Laughter launches into the air, its projection skinning the walls of Will's throat. 

Giggles trample Mike's words: “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. He lifts a hand from the couch, thumb and pointer—fingers running over his eyes.

Will’s wrath quiets. 

Mike’s eyebrows tense, eyes squinting through the icing he’s managed off his face; pink sweetness sit on the tips of his eyelashes.

Will blinks at Mike, his examination whisking towards the singular arm pinning him down. A boulder suffocates Will’s torso. Excitement hardens his nails around his fingertips. Oh. Blush deepens in his face, exhilaration heaving his chest. Across the couch's and Mike's arm, Will glimpses at the kitchen. The flutter of enjoyment decimates into a stab of guilt. Fuck.

A snicker airs from Mike's sigh. “It’s not that funny,” he titters through a gaping jaw, lips churning as if it would diminish the irritation in his lambent eyes. 

Will peeks at the glasses and then Mike again, amusement glimmering over the rue eating at his bones. "I didn't..." A wheeze bucks his torso, coming to the realization that he hit Mike so hard that the pastry managed to fuck up both his face and glasses. Suddenly, the warmth overrides Will again, crushing him into another throb-full giggling fit beneath Mike; his body twists and turns, smile tenderizing his cheeks. 

Mike's face softens, and it stays so before a roll of his eyes breaks it—with a push of his palm, he creaks off the couch. 

"Okay-" Will chokes, conception washing over him. "...Okay," he sighs, remorse draining his high. 

With the rise of Will's body, Carlton comes into sight, behind him Dustin and Lucas still snicker with bent knees. 

Carlton gestures towards Mike, who's lingering towards the bathroom. "...Should I-?"

Will's organs launch to his throat. "No." Carlton's sad-gouged eyes temper Will with contrition. His throat locks. "...No," Will whirs, peeling the black glasses from the couch. "I'm the one that made the mess," he explains a little too quickly, thorax stiff and a jaw cleaved. "It wouldn't be fair," Will manages with hot ears, couch squeaking at his absence.

"Oh," Carlton mutters as Will lumbers past. "Yeah no," he says, voice's lightness squeezing Will's heart. "That makes sense." Is the last mumble Will can capture before a wall of emotion slaps him in the face—the bathroom's heavy atmosphere infiltrates his lungs, as if to test his strength. Mike bends in-front of the mirror, lifting his chin to examine the crooks of his nose. Will's fingertips glint, and in direct response, his ribs fall with disgrace.

The burning contradictions seethe Will's marrow, so he attempts to bury it with a chortle: "I got you good." He twirls Mike's glasses between his fingers.

Mike peers down at the glasses Will's presented onto the counter, which are greased with sugar.

"Didn't I?" Will whispers, pushing his weight into his palm that digs into the counter's edge. 

Mike's fingers halt in the crevices beside his nose. His eyes yawn before breaking with a blink and head shudder  

Will tilts his head, eyebrows knitting. 

Mike clears his throat, feet shifting. "...Yeah," he responds with a breathless wheeze.

Will gulps, saliva tearing over the sharp sphere in his throat. "I..." the vision of Mike's fucked face flickers over his thoughts—Will's puffing cheeks switches a smile on Mike's lips.

"...You?" Mike wets his fingers beneath the water.

A chortle sores Will's cheekbones once again. 

Mike chuckles lightly.

"I'm sorry," Will croaks, tears blurring his vision. "Oh my god..." he sniffles, hands soaking the wetness with a swipe. His vision sharpens, and the dejection that was roaming free has suddenly disintegrated with a wheeze. Mike's simper cuffs his face, and his stare glitters—it's as if Will's happiness feeds the glisten in Mike's eyes—as if his delight carries the angels that lift the edges of his lips—like if this was all he'd ever needed to bring the glow back into his skin.

"What?" Mike flouts, gaze twinkling across Will's body.

Each second of exposure to Mike's beauty burns Will's face; his plump, soft pink lips; the freckles that dance around his nose; his eyelashes that hammock bits of pink glaze and cake; the way shadows curve into his hollow cheeks, and the way his cheekbones carry the light. 

"Sorry?" The disbelief that raises Mike's tone shoots a blush into Will's hands, which flumes to his ears. 

It's too much. The flaming butterflies flapping around in Will's being—they melt through his organs, and swelter his last sorrowful flesh.

"No, no," Mike begins, hands crossing over one another in refusal.

Will squints at Mike.

"You didn't do anyth..." 

Two fingers peel through Mike's hair.

Will's heartbeat finds itself at the tips of his fingers—through the strands of Mike's dark hair, they pulse against one another. With each flick of frosting and cake, the deeper the broil of Will's body gets stuffed back into its nothingness.

Good. Good. 

Will bites his tongue, heart beating against the static. 

Just don't look at him. 

The icing's grease shines on Will's fingers. 

Or else the life that brightens the moon will suddenly find itself in your chest.

“I…” The artistry of Mike’s face allures Will’s gaze: the bump of his nose, the sparse hairs at the head of his eyebrows, the silver piercing hugging his lower-lip—his stare stiffens back to his hair-picking hand. The drowning admiration seeps through Will's objection. "..I like this new hair you got,” Will chokes, stripping icing from his bangs—it leaves a trail of grease behind.

Mike’s jaw tenses. “Oh…” his smile presents itself in a huff against Will’s cheek. “Really?” 

The ends of Mike’s bangs are damp with water. A cackle vibrates in Will's throat. "...Yeah," he says in a gust, flicking cake trapped beneath Mike's eyebrow piercing.

Mike digs his nails beneath the other, then clasps his palms together, then releases them, then cups them again.

"You were..." Will picks a big chunk of cake from the top of his head. The shakiness of Mike's breath caresses Will's forehead, gagging his mouth into a locked gape. "I don't know if you know him..." he croaks, Mike's shifting shoulders edging a giggle at Will's cupids bow. "..But you were starting to look like Ted Wheeler,” Will mumbles, flicking a sprinkle off his fingers.

A wheeze stoops Mike forwards, head’s crane ripping his strands from Will's grasp. "Yeah," he rasps, "Yeah," Mike puffs, fingers pinching his nose bridge. "I realized that," he admits lowly. 

Relief widens Will’s eyes—he nods his head, almost in mockery. “Good,” he says with a pant, which hicks with soft pleasure.  

The raise of Mike’s head locks Will’s jaw, blocking any snivels that could huff from his mouth or nose—a sprinkle drips from his chin, and the giggle that twitches Mike’s lips pitches twinkling stars at Will’s fingers; they leap from one nail to another, and then explode into his hand, and then consume his chest, then deepen the hot redness of his ears and cheeks. 

Will glances at the counter, the stars’ burn mellowing. “Um,” he chokes, glancing at Mike as if looking at him would kill him.

“Um,” Mike repeats, saliva creaking at the lift of his lips. 

A wave of amusement gleams over the stars, and for a second, he glares at Mike with irritation—until the roaring spheres broil Will’s blood. Will shifts, fighting against the atoms begging his gaze to lift towards Mike. The cabinet creaks open, presenting a multitude of colored headbands.

Will clears his throat, fingers resting on the handle. “Your hair’s kind of wet,” he chokes, motioning his palm at the cabinet. "So this'll-"

"Yeah," Mike respires, hands on hips. He blinks, eyes dancing as to catch a fairy touring the room. 

Will's lips part slightly. "Is there..." his examination glances around the room. "..Something in your eyes?" 

"No," Mike's hurried explanation plays with the stars in Will's being, managing the chafe into a steady warmth. "No..." Mike repeats.

Mike’s throat strains, and he begins to lean over to grab a band—their narrowing vicinity floods oil onto the fire blazing in Will's heart—with a palm digging into the counter, another on the door frame, Mike halts. 

Will's organs tie—everything in his body goes to a halt: his jaw locks, and his blood stream muffles his ears. 

Mike edges his palm off the counter, fingers curling into a light yellow headband—is head pitches, eyes carrying the scintillating brilliance of an asshole. Eventually, Mike's hand bounces his weight off of Will, crumbling down the barricade of what the actual fuck.

"Um," Will gulps, frozen as Mike turns towards the mirror to shuffle the headband on.

Mike peers at him, and his eyebrows seem to hem with genuine confusion. "Hm?"

"Oh," Will chokes, Mike's forehead wrinkling. "Nothing," he adds in a hurry, pother in his face intensifying.

Mike lifts his chin, eyelids folding over his eyes—in-between the thin vision, he inspects Will. "Mhm?" A sprinkle sits on the tip of his nose.

Will's heart churns; the yellow headband holding back his hair, and the 'serious' stance he holds with cake, pink frosting, and sprinkles smooshed all over his face. "Nothing, Mike," he heaves, jaw straining at the tilt of Mike's head. Will's tendons grow taunt. "..I'm glad I helped." His ribs squeeze at the fall of Mike's expression. "I'll see you in the kitchen, alright?" 

Mike responds with a gentle nod, and with a turn, the last thing Will sees is him reaching to turn on the sink. He creaks into the kitchen, the white noise of the water traveling through the pipes filling the silence. 

"Somebody needs a drink!"

Will flinches.

Carlton exclaims with open arms: champagne in one hand, and a red cup in another. His stare dances around Will's stance.

Will's body tissue rolls. "...What?" 

Lucas's jaw gapes. His forearms rest on the table, fingers rubbing against one another. "I..." he peeps at Dustin. "I don't think anyone needs a drink."

Dustin's and Lucas's nervous cackling stress together.

"Yeah," Dustin agrees.

"Whaaaaaaaaatttt?!" Carlton laughs, hand's plummet tightening Will's back. "No, no!" he corks, Lucas's and Dustin's expressions jeering into concern. "Everyone needs a drink!" Carlton argues, his mien bordering irritation as it meets Will.

A sweat accompanies his grinding feet against the floor. "Well, not-"

"Yes, you!" Carlton's hoot. 

Will's throat tenses. "No, not me." His breath trembles.

Carlton's widened eyes belittle Will. "Then why buy any drinks?!"

The white-noise halts.

Lucas's nose scrunches. "Hey!" he lifts off the counter. "You-"

"No..." Will’s fingers fret, gaze glinting from Carlton to Lucas and Dustin. "It's okay," he heaves, Lucas's rigid shoulders easing. Will's cheeks wilt. "I've got-"

"Even if Will did drink..." Mike's approach thrusts a sigh from Will: sprinkles space out in his hair, greasy sugar strands breaching his cheeks. He readjusts his cleaned glasses with a finger. "..He still wouldn't have to." Mike’s nostrils flare, and a form of aversion hardens Carlton's face.

Will splutters: "Mike-"

"What?!"

Will's eyes squeeze shut. Maybe to shield the plumping of his cheeks, the rose in them  

"He's trying to force you to do shit that..." Mike suffocates, and even though Will pinches his nose, he can't help but allow his body to get all tingly. "...That you're not comfy with!" Mike finishes with a rasp.

"Yeah!"

"Yup!"

A round of applause claps from the other side of the room, from at most two people.

Mirth scoffs a chortle through Will's teeth—his hand lowers from his nose, eyes flickering open. "...Yes," Will's words wheeze through the chuckles kindling in his lungs. "I know." 

Across the quiet room, his friends glance at each other. Outside wind creaks the walls.

"...I don't.." Carlton's presence heaves over him. "..Need someone to handle that for me," Will states, scowl stirring towards Carlton.

Carlton's head edges back. His offense flames at Will's friends, like they would even take a second to save him from his embarrassment.

Mike picks at his fingers. "Yeah," he suspires, "yup," he suspires once more with quenched eyes. Mike's huff is allayed with what may be disappointment. "...Of course."

Will's heart flutters.

Amusement glimmers across Dustin's face. He learns towards Mike. "...you've got something in your hair."

Mike’s expression flattens. "Oh!" He snickers through whinging breaths. He scoots into a stool, eyebrows ruffling. "Really?!" His pitch is high.

"Alright," Carlton puffs, the resounding champagne bottle on the table jumping Will's body. Carlton's mass steams forward—distress swells Will's limbs. His body rejects the boiling figure; the closer it comes, the deeper the cramp in his legs go—Will's knees lock, ankles cracking and crashing him into a solid. The stool creaks as his spine curves into a ball, weight leaning into Mike.

"Whoa." Worry etches along Mike's face, and it spreads onto Lucas and Dustin—Mike peers at Carlton, and then at Dustin and Lucas once again, concern quivering into a question.  

Will’s spine chisels. His inside's movements throbs in his ears: that moist air, and even though the screams were from years ago they’re still bruising him.

Compassion hugs Will's back, fingers curving around his upper-arm. Will gulps, a gentle assurance caressing Will's cheek: "all he did was place down the bottle." 

The time stops.

Shuffles fill the silence, then a creak leading into the living room.

An exhale envelopes the voice's shutters into a smooth speech: "he's just sitting on the couch."

Shame clogs Will's throat—he tries to gulp it down, but all that does is sicken his stomach. "...Yeah," Will gags through a knife in his chest. "Yeah, right." Disgrace sits on his skull, aching his neck.

"Hey," the soft voice mutters before another form of care coddles Will's chin.

Suddenly, Will's face is lifted from its craned position, and Mike's lips brush his. 

Oh.

Will's ankles tie around the stool's leg, ribs trembling. 

"You're okay." Mike's tender breath skims his tongue, and Will's soul finds itself in its core again; the environment sharpens, and his conscience squeals back into his brain.

The clement tint of Mike's lips smooth into his face like how the moon's light shimmers into the atmosphere.

In a huff, Will responds, "...yeah?"

Mike's neck grows rigid. 

Realization falls on Will's shoulders.

Fuck.

The edges of Mike’s mouth prances. His eyes starker toward the kitchen cupboards, and the shine that had been living in them dies. 

Magma bubbles beneath Will's flesh, ankles aching against the leg. 

Mike's fluster skims Will, jaw tense until an exclamation breaks it: "hey, what game did we want to play again?!" The stool screams at Mike's departure.

Relief.

"It was, uhhh..." Carlton starts with a head slant.

Will's recollection blurs the conversation into a mumble—the scar that bulges on Mike's cheek; the microscopic freckles that fill the blank between the bigger ones; the way his eyes widened in simultaneous dither. 

"Hey, Will!" Lucas's bellow sinks Will back into certainty. "You coming?!" His hand reaches out from under the table, slapping a game of trivia on the desk.

"Oh.." Will lifts his head, turning his attention to the living-room, where they all sit. "Yes, yes," he responds with a sigh, with contesting contrition—it weighs at his hips, feet creaking the floor.

Will shimmies his shoulders, as if to vibrate the negative pests worming in his physique. "Whooooooo'sssss......" he begins, hoping the tremble of his voice-box activates excitement's shine. "Reeaaaadddddy?!" He finishes, embers curling between his ribs. A cheer arises when Will plops down in a criss-cross position beside Carlton, in-between the table and couch. Contagious smiles spread across the table, but Mike's gums are the only ones to hold the canines that's able to flick the cinders roaming in Will's being.

Will clears his throat, fighting against the tension coming off from Mike; it tugs at him, at his skin, like he's the other half of his magnet. 

"So!" Dustin beats his cup on the table, its emptiness singing a delicate melody. "Who's going to be the judge?!"

How could Will forget the harmony that grazed his lip—the affection that walked over his taste buds; the humanity that held his face. 

"I will!" Mike's exclamation snaps Will's wonder; a quick glance of Mike's joy and Will’s heart spasms. His stare plunges, wishing that focusing on the way he and Carlton's fingers intertwine would override literally anything.

The card pile taps on the wood: Mike pulls a card from the stack, excitement filling him as he glimpses at the prompt and then the audience. His wide jaw stiffens the table with tension, the writhe of movement padding the silence—then, finally:

"Who was originally cast as Marty McFly in Back to the Future?"

With blood filling his cheeks, Will's palm stings against the table—a resound of rattling hands shudders the desk.

Mike points at Will, and a sweat fervors his head. "Will!"

"Eric Shultz!" Will's gasp overrides Dustin's sore loser whines.

A mute smile creeps upon Mike's face, and through the silence, Will counts his heart's throb:

The muffled rhythm clogs his ears

One.

Mike investigates the table. The glee that brightens his face intensifies with each inch the others lean in.

Two.

Will gulps, fingers slipping from Carlton's grip.

Three.

Mike fans his arms out. "Correct!" he cheers.

Celebration explodes from Will's lungs. "Yes!" he raves, nails digging into his palms.

"Oh, come on!" Lucas scoffs.

"Really?! I had that!" Dustin complains.

Eagerness rakes a sneer across Will's face, head shaking in belittlement of their demurral. "Haha!" 

Dustin's mass slants into Mike. "...I had that first," his mumble slaps the softness off Mike's face. 

"Yeah, yeah," Mike barbs, rolling his eyes. Then, the table squeaks at his upper-body, chin resting into his forearm, two fingers gripping onto the card.

The glitter in his stare corrals the commotion running around in Will's chest. The head of his eyebrows twitch, and the sweetness that tenderized his eyes finds itself in Mike's voice: "of course you did." 

Will's organs tether.

What.

He glimpses at Carlton, who’s chattering under his breath with Dustin—Will’s chest softens..but Lucas, oh Lucas: his eyes narrow, finger pointing at Mike.

Will's bones can't help but rejoice at the sight of Mike's begging gaze; his muscles fight back the happiness twitching along his cheekbones.

Lucas shifts, tight face softening into confusion.

A grin curves upon Mike’s lips. "What?" he questions, the eagerness in his gaze withering as it meets the others, and yet fucking burns once it meets Will again.

Mike's stare gestures to the card. "Anyone in there?" The hairs on Will's arms tingles.

Will inhales, a blockade of pother blackening his air-ways. "Yup." He sweats, and the snatch of the card peers Mike's teeth from his lips.

"I was starting to get worried." The table creaks as Mike raises his weight. His gaze glimmers at Will once more. Will's core hardens for whatever fuck Mike has up his ass.

"...Alright." Mike flips to the next card. 

Ease slacks Will's core, and then bafflement throes across his psyche. 

Mike fixes his posture, chin lifting to mimic a king. "What..." his eyes scan the division.

Considerations overfill Will's mind—yet each one’s conclusion spills aggravation from his nails.

"Was..." Mike edges, the building strain broadening his shoulders. "...The original name of the Pac-Man game?"

The care Mike’s words carried? His eyes? His fucking smile? The way he leaned over him? The teeth that manage to dig into his heart despite being… like three feet away? Will attempts to find a closure between each line, but all it presents to him is a big wall of nothingness.

“Puck-“

Will’s palm stings against the wood.

Dustin’s eyebrows furrow. “Dude!”

Will’s eyes squeeze at Dustin. “What!?”

Lucas attempts to contain his laughter in his puffed cheeks, but the air slips out of his lips like a balloon.

“I was going!”

Lucas slumps onto the carpet, body thumping with giggles.

Will zips out from his thoughts. Hotness fills his face from chin to head. “Oh,” he gasps stiflingly. Uneasiness sits upon the glances he takes at the audience: Mike’s lips tether, shivering as they hold back a chuckle, and Carlton just hicks quietly next to him. 

“What..?” Carlton mumbles through silent wheezes. 

Will’s eyebrows straighten. “Yeah,” he inhales, attempting to calm his squeezing chest. “Yup,” Will sighs, and his glare towards Mike finally pushes a giggle through the freckle-face’s teeth. “Go on.”

Dustin enlarges his eyes to exaggerate his (very little) distaste. “Thank you!” he scoffs, turning towards Mike. Dustin's jaw reams, but halts to examine Will—he then turns his attention towards Mike again.

With a tilt of his head, he his faces edges towards Mike. ”Puck…” he curls his lips into his mouth to emphasize the P.

Mike flinches.

"..Man.”

Mike’s upper lip churns in fake disgust. “Yeah…” he breathes, a cackle tickling his pleurae as he looks down at the card. “…Yeah…” Mike reiterates, edging his fingers to the furthest corner and slowly but surely giving it to Dustin. 

Dustin snatches it. “Enough!” He jests, and the force with which he slams the card on the table scours Will. "...Enough of that!" Dustin repeats, his chuckles following after Mike's.

The bang buzzes in Will's ears.

Mike’s face hardens with a few glimpses at Carlton—his fingers seethe around the cards, but his examination flickers to Will and then Dustin. Whatever's broiling in him softens with at a peer of Will’s person: his brows tremor; they itch together, eyes full of a puppy's ruth.

Blush beaches on every layer of Will's skin—a whole new universe erupts in Will's body, and the essence that prevails inside it ties Will's words to his insides. So, with suns forming at the tips of Will's fingers, he nods. Mike's gawp tapers, chin lifting before his posture adjusts for another question. Yet his eyes continue to grave at Will, solemn playing with the cosmos dazzling in him. 

A foot frictions against Will's shin, sending the hot clusters forming in his being into a volcanic salvo. Giggles hitch between the finger that clenches between Mike’s teeth—whatever conversation Mike’s having, the gentle glisten that bounces off his dark eyes diminishes Will’s ability to comprehend any of it. Mike’s chortling upper-lip reveals his canines every now and then, and that combined with his leaping gaze, is just enough to explode another sun in the universe that is Will’s vessel. 

A smirk flashes across Mike’s face, his layered hair cuffing the smugness of it perfectly. 

Will’s stomach flips, zipping him out of his Mike Admiration state. His body rests against Carlton, and only when his warmth meets his does Will realize that he had nudged him. 

A smile stretches across Carlton’s face, the click of it cringing Will’s body—yes, guilt builds in his chest, but something heavier and stronger sits on top of it: want. The want’s tug doesn’t stretch to beside him, behind him, or even diagonally to him—it yearns straight in-front of him, towards the most clueless man on earth.

What a curse.

“Alright.” Mike’s weight leans into his arm that holds the card, elbow digging into the table. Despite announcing to the whole table, Mike’s attention only seems to shine towards Will—the glimmer that twinkles in his eyes’ resin holds a pop of antic, a glimmer of appreciation, and a deeper element that hides in the darkness of his irises.

Nervousness grades Will’s palms. His fingers slide against one another.

Mike glimpses down at Will’s hands, gentle laughter lurching his shoulders.

The pride, Mike's pride—something about it, squeezes all of Will's nerves; it toys with them. It’s new. What is this?  

His tongue travels across his inner-cheek, the tip of it bulging through his pale skin. 

A wave of basalt drives through Will, the flutter of Mike’s eyelashes tugging the want that beats oh, so hard on Will’s chest, to a deep-

“How’s Max?” Will blurts, turning towards Lucas. Words beat at Will’s sternum, hoping the painful ache doesn’t dare present itself as a deep blush on his face.

Lucas beams.

”Oh, yeah!” Dustin glows.

Mike?

It seems the spirit that had been keeping his entity bustling had been striped from every corner of his crux.

The wood creaks as Will’s mass leans forward.

Carlton’s eyebrows ruffle. “Who’s-“

“She’s great!” Lucas smiles.

Mike’s glare knots at Carlton, nose furrowing.

A twinge of sadness flickers Lucas’s brows, combating with the glee. “As beautiful as one could get, you know?”

Will pinches the skin that borders his nails.  “She and Jane are on that trip together…” Mike’s stare prods at Will’s muscles—the sudor lathering his skin spasms with Will’s movements, flesh almost sensitive. “..Right?” He finishes, heart’s beat swallowing his voice.

Lucas drones, lower-lip squishing into his upper. “Yup.” His eyes drift.

The red infiltrating Will’s face almost dwindles his speech into something incomprehensible.

“…The letters are going great, though,” Lucas adds, happiness flaring across his face. 

A smile teases Will's lips. “That’s ama…“

His presence sits on the back of Will’s neck—the frigid temperature digs deeper than his nape, slithering between the canyons of his veins and tendons. It sucks his last breaths, static swarming and buzzing in his lungs. 

Will’s thighs quench into his bones, a heartbeat pulsing against his palm as it meets solid warmth.

Hollering of familiar voices stride between the blur—his knees crack—wind brushes against his upper-body; the air is thick, and it lays between the curves of Will’s fuzz. Heat burrows in the depths of Will's skull, climates of glacial and sear flashing through his being. His lips graze against another, tongue heaving out verses the heart in his ears permits him to discern. Shaky wheezes buzz among the ringing, atmosphere slugging off  Will's flesh, neck aching from the raise of his head. Through faint consciousness, his vision picks up a surprised Carlton shuffling off the floor, chest respiring, a frown hooking his lip’s corners.

His temples palpitate. “..Get out.” Anger rushes in Will's ears, fingers full of static—as if some little mites living on them are reaching for reality. 

Shock twitches Carlton’s jaw. “W-“

Moisture encases Will’s back, the acids in him bubbling toxic steam that waves the back of his throat. ”Get out!” Vapor shakes his scream, quieting it into something like a beg.

Carlton’s eyebrows stitch. “You were-!”

Tears stab Will’s thyroid. “Get…” his throat snags, breath fighting the malignant smoke blockading his system. Terror crackles Will’s heart into hard clay. “Ou…” huffs yank at his decree. Anger twitches his frown, nostrils flaring. “..Out.” A harsh respire coats the gentle ache in his lungs, eyes moist.

Carlton's head hones back. "Where am I-?!"

Ire grills Will's shins—the distress that squeezes them thrusts him forward, body floating in-between each lunge. 

"Will?!" Carlton speeds from his low position, wrath cracking his voice.

"...I really thin..."

Will's knuckles sweat against palms, humiliation and anger irritating his pores. The walls quake with a slam of a door. Emotional ache torments him, only relieving for a second when the mattress coddles his body—now, with blankets carrying the weight of Will's misery, his bed may just weep with him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." The wheezes that cry from his chest bounce off the sheets, swathing between Will's features, fingers’ sweat slicking against his nape—between each frightened throb, a feeble utterance of assurance attempts to represent itself in Will's reason: 

It's not real. It shakes, the deep set of twinkling fear numbing Will's ligaments overriding its echo. 

He's not here.

Buried beneath the judder of Will's self, defeat grows—it germinates the depths of Will's core, and questions: why, after all these years, do you still let the shadow of his hands ruin you?

The question subjects a different kind of shame. The kind that's ringed by languor. The kind that bears pity and disappointment. You survived it! It lectures, how come your bones still hold the bruise?

Has it become a warm corpse inside you?

A gentle knock shimmers amid the gasping of Will's cry, and a coo as gentle as a feather exudes amidst the clog in Will's ears. "Hey." The fervor clasping Will's anatomy muffles the voice’s tune. "I'm coming in," it hushes, the door's creak and click following behind.

His stomach slips as an added weight shifts the mattress, bed frame creaking. 

The only comprehensible words waning through his rushing blood are: “… touch your back?” There’s a familiarity to it.

With his jaw clenching a headache, Will nods. His overwhelming heat had transferred into the fabric, enclosing his body into an uncomfortable sweat—the only uplifting tepidity rubs in circles on his back, lightly purging the static that's fronted Will's sentience. 

Has it become all you'll ever be?

"Carlton." The voice holds so much softness it could be caught in the wind. "He's gone." The kindness assures, intertwining with the pulse filling Will's senses.

Will it take the death of you finally total the death of him?

Will chokes and nods, the salt of his tears gluing his lashes. 

The compassion tracing his back smalls to a thumb; it travels down his spine, depleting the stress and rippling a cool surge that billows a shiver from Will's throat.

"Oh." The affection lingers on Will's lower-back, almost in hesitation.

Will's body tenses.

"I..." The warmth strips, its absence emitting the nits that eat at Will's muscles once more. "Sorry-"

Will's lungs tie together, squeezing a breathless, "no," through the sigh of his nose. "It's fine." His tone is beaten from fear.

The air conditioner rumbles in the darkness, its true white hue only embraced by a couple of yellow lights—even then, it's represented as cream.

In the silence, dread crawls up on his shoulders again. 

His touch will so...

An electrifying sizzle abates the defeat; the fingers lure, tips of them bordering Will's spine. They dispel the contaminated fluids foaming his blood, massaging the fear out of his collarbones. 

The curl of someone's lips carries delight into the atmosphere, soaking up the gloom that had been stuffing itself down Will's throat.

"That help, bab..." The question strains, followed by a clearing of the throat. 

Something else heaves the air.

Rebelling against the lashes braided by tears, Will's eyes flicker open to a slender. Prior cries blurs his vision. "Hm?"

"Nothing," Mike utters, a little too quickly. "Nothing," he repeats.

The fingers' pace gladdens Will's muscles; his heart thrashing when they go out of rhythm. 

Mike stutters. "I just..."

Melatonin blankets across Will's body.

"..Wanna make sure you're feeling good."

Will's soul crashes and secures into his core. The fever that washes upon Will's forehead sparks his eyes open.

Mike.

Will's heart batters against the bed sheets. The soft ambient lighting coddles in the shine of Mike's hair.

The room's glow gets sucked in by Mike's eyes; the illumination curves with their depth, almost tailoring a plea. "..Do you feel good?" 

Disbelief squeezes Will's ribs. 

Uncertainty snakes across Mike's face, and the diminishing pressure on Will's back jostles a response from Will's unconsciousness:

"Yes," he chokes, fluster boiling Will's cheeks.

Mike's fingers halt. Hope blinks across his lips, "Oh," Mike whispers.

"...Yes," Will recites, quietly now.

Mike's mouth quivers back a grin.

A tremor's coolness relieves Will his discomfort; the flat of Mike's knuckles knead across his spine. Mike's gaze coats Will, both tugging and scratching at his skin. "..Good," he mumbles with stiff lips. "That's..." his stare narrows, and the slow adjustment of the flatness into gentle sharpness against Will's spine draws a breath along his tongue.

Mike's eyebrows ply, a crave twitching on top of his lips.

The pleasure of Mike's fingers tow Will's nails into the yellow plaid sheets—each inch pumps a heat of bliss along Will's self, the euphoria churning his arms, bundling the blanket.

An inhale broadens Mike's shoulders.

The genial serration dwells into the walls of Will's vertebrae; it electrocutes all of Will's system, shocking down any last tension that were plaguing his thighs' and palms' pit—a shuttering waul breezes from his lungs.

 "...All I want." Satisfaction bears at the edges of Mike's sigh, chin's lift forcing his gaze to shine through narrow sight. 

Ecstasy prances around Will's being: through the curve of his arms, the bridge of his clavicles, from one finger-tip to another and then into the vessel that fights his body from going blue. His pulse rouses, traveling across his head in a way that doesn't burn his skull. His gasps clash against the sheets, the moisture flowing atop his sinuses.

Triumph twitches upon the top of Mike's lips. "Yeah?" Tease and adoration carries his breath; that, itself, is enough to deepen the redness pervading Will's face. 

Will gulps. The fingers' soothe builds a calmness that fringes his vision, flickering it with haze every now-and-then. With Mike's admiration fostering Will's frame, his watery, pleased eyes attempt to gaze back, only for it to wilt under a second.

Mike takes that as an answer. "Yeah," he responds for Will, knuckles lifting into the tips of his fingers once more.

Realization mists over Will: Mike Wheeler is using his hands, like literally, to furbish him back into his body. Shame attempts to weigh Will's chest into the mattress, but the pure enjoyment overrides it—maybe he should be guilty about that too.

"Do you..." Mike's weight shifts against his clavicles, grip bracing.

The pulsing allayment rushing down Will's shoulders tangles his thoughts together—Mike's mass drags the agitation to the small of Will's back, squeezing the smallest, most breathless, "Mike."

Mike halts. His fingers sweat against Will's waist.

Shit.

Stress braces Will's ribs; they shrink, clank against each other in the sharpest way possible. "Yeah?" Will heaves, tissues eager for desire. "..Do I what?" His disquiet shoots the words out hastier than intended, avid to simplify their flushed strokes into something casual.

A curb hitches Mike's breath; one finger slightly loosens after another, unwavering a tickle of thrill in Will's core. "Sorry." His gasp slackens the grip of his palms, stripping Will of the compassion dancing in his arteries. The bed creaks as Mike settles back into a sit.

Fuck.

"I guess I was just..." the mattress announces every inch Mike shifts, squeaking.

The charity of his knuckles sparks light in Will's spine, bouncing the glint through Will's insides.

Thank god.

Flare boils Will's twinged tendons that had been tensed with yearn.

"Wondering if, y'know..." 

The relief that traces over Will's back crawls up to his neck’s curve. Mike's words linger around the atmosphere, the air heaving with each second they go unfinished. Thirst simmers the tips of Will's fingers—reasonings try to leap through his mind:

Take m..shirt?  Lov..what abouss...Sleep?

Only for..

Stnjjaay...sleesfep..sn..?

..The several hundred..

I could..may..kk..?

..Walls of purring pleasure..

Kiss? Feel..fe..sleep..lo..

..To seize and knot them.

"You actually like Carlton?" Mike breaks.

The ties straighten.

The question only weighs on Will's shoulders for a second, his body shifts, interrogating its lightness.  "Ah," he muffles into the sheets, expiration moisturizing his chin. "Um..." Mike's stare cumbers Will's head as he raises it. The room's cool temperature seeps across his tepid face. "No.."

Mike's fingers tremble.

Will's heart swells.

The fingers gain their confidence again, and doing so presses the response that slips off Will's tongue a little too easily. "No..." he rubs the blanket between two fingers. "..Not really."

Accompanying the air conditioner is Mike's breaths—the embrace of Will's spine slows, as if to stop and think. Amongst Mike's heavy stare, Will finally manages to peek at him: his dense pants rise his shirt's drape, the part of his gentle lips sizzle Will's palms. Yellow radiance reflects off his lashes' arch; the bangs that lay atop of them flicker with their blink.

Will's cheeks sizzle; the slow of Mike's fingers wring excitement's shudder.

Orange illumination glows the fuzz of layered hair that tickles Mike's cheeks and neck. His adam's apple jerks. 

Febrile deepens in Will's muscles.

"..I thought so." Mike's release flattens the tension, lashes following his eyes’ drape his fingers.

God.

Fireworks ignite all throughout Will's body, and his rub of the blanket advances to a grip, like doing so could release the raging smoke they had let off.

Mike's jaw and throat tighten. The firework's sparks stitch Will's shoulder-blades into a shear, only for the gleam to be blown out by the traction's fall. The burning in Will's arms seep into his neck, drawing his chin back down onto the sheets.

Mike's beauty is pure torture.

"He doesn't seem to know you very well," Mike chokes, fingers lifting to their tips.

Will stuffs his mouth into the sheets again. "..Yeah," he muffles. "Yeah, he-" a surge of glint sucks Will's words back into his lungs; now, Mike's compassion taps up his spine, heat ebbing the speech that had hardened in Will's chest. 

The air thickens—it brims between Will's teeth, challenging the say that coats Will's bellow. "He..." the weight of the response presses on the back of his throat. "He's never taken me seriously," Will manages limply.

The tapping levels; Will's spine separates Mike's knuckles, their edges driving against his borders again. "..So, that ice-cup thing was on purpose?"

"..Yeah." A shiver boiled from Will's back respires his response.

The contradictions of Mike's smile and bile stiffens the space between them.

"Yeah," Will repeats, delight shaking his attempt of a secure tone. 

Beneath Will's shirt, the rhythmic movement of Mike's affection has etched a trail of redness. 

Mike's biceps taunt, his stiffening fingers tormenting Will’s heartbeat. "..'Thought so.." his voice is low, and yet it still carries an essence of protection.

The blanket victim to Will's grip screams at its tightening, surprised that such more is possible. 

Solace drains Mike’s knuckles of their fuss. "..Have I made you feel better?" His creole’s gentle. "..More than he ever has?"

A whole colony of cosmos swirl through Will's organs; they rupture in impact, the sparks that flutter off them scorching Will's vitals. The trail of Mike's aroha simmers. "I.." 

His knuckles raise to the kind fores of his fingers. "Have I?" A shake lines Mike's breath—beneath its tremor lays a foundation of pride.

Every time his speech overcomes the deep hill of his tongue, fluster yanks it back down to his lungs. "You..."

Will's stifle widens Mike's eyes, his posture adjusting as though it would carry the heap of Will's response.

"Yes," Will chokes, scoria flooding his cheeks.

A dense sigh quells Mike's touch. Bones crack at his torso's rest. "...Good..." he murmurs, sheets rustling. "Good," he repeats, tone now strengthened.

Uneasiness grows around the rim of Will's ecstasy. "What.." his heavy chest pulls at his breath. "What about the others?" The wonder builds a transparent cage around his heavy emotions. 

"..They've left, too." The quiet room manages to amplify his voice despite its softness. 

Will's body mollifies from a strain he didn't even know he had. "Ah." 

The point on Will's back widens to a palm. "I'm sorry." Mike whispers.

The fabric that carries Will has cooled to a neutral state, allowing his blood to pump without it burning his whole body. The percale bed sheets singe against Will's face as his attention turns up at Mike, gut stirring at the sadness burdening his expression.

Mike's lips quiver. "I'm sorry, we've always got tom-"

"Mike."

Mike’s gaze stows an extra glisten.

Will's thyroid hurts. "..I'm not upset," he assures, which seems to draw that extra glisten in Mike's stare.

Relief twitches Mike's parted lips. "..Yeah?" 

The tips of what was pleasure sink into Will's back; now, their kindness carries a basket of pseudo. "I just..." affection's harsh reality sinks his speech, leaving a ball of it in his throat. "..I just think you should go, too," Will manages through a weep.

All the light is stripped from Mike's face, like a city having a power outage: his shoulders slump, and his weakening fingers seep a chilling regret into Will's spine. "Oh."

Will's eyelids narrow, attempting to capture the water forming beneath them—his lips just straighten with a nod that rebels against his body's hunger.

Disbelief melts off Mike's face. "Okay." A sigh winds his response, hand's departure soothing Will the sorrow it had been contaminating him with. "That's okay," Mike repeats, fluxing to an uneasy stand. "I'll.." he scans Will's figure, and the light's shadows capture his tightening throat. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" He edges to the hall.

Heavy lungs weigh Will's words: "yeah," he sighs, heart sore. "Tomorrow." 

Mike's gaze pins Will down. It doesn't diminish until a curl of Will's lips joust against his frown.

His fingers edge around the door's frame. "..Just tired?"

The silence is so deafening that the click of Mike's tongue atop his mouth chimes into Will's ears. 

Will's lashes fall. He nods; he is tired. "Just tired." ...But there's every version of agony weaving between his ribs, which overrides any drowse that could sit on his eyes.

Mike's grip on the frame flexes. A smile flits across his face. "...Alright," he mumbles, hand dropping to his side. His jaw taunts for a second, and, carrying the gentleness of the night that sits in a crescent moon’s curve: "goodnight."

A flash of charm huffs through Will's nose, lip's edges gentling into a simper. "Goodnight." 

Mike's cheeks puff into his eyes, and a string of charity strings between them before he disappears behind the wall. 

Will sinks into the sheets; his bones have turned to steel, and their toughness challenges their bend.

The floors creaks.

Sheets stuff into Will's face, messing his hair and sleeking the sweat off his forehead. 

The door closes. It snaps with such douceur that one could mistake it for a mouse.

His core holds a heavy emptiness. It pricks him, and deflates his body with a deep groan; the heave and silent tears moisten the blanket, swelling the redness in Will's cheeks. His head whips up. "Fuck," he scorns with a sniffle, face's irritation contradicting the room's temperature.

It's a bit comforting, though—the heat. At least he's not living in him.

Will huffs, chin nuzzling into the mattress. A tear tickles his eye-bag; somehow, he'll have to lock the door, and take a shower with the weight of burdens swinging on his chest. 

The water's hot beads massage Will's shoulders, craned head allowing the wetness drip off his hair. His skin sizzles, ruby and irritated, decimating any proof of Mike's comfort. He peers at the handle, a sigh of disappointment exhaling when he catches that the heat has met its limit. 

The bones of Will's feet and ankles scratch against his flesh. His weight tips from his toes to his heels. The heft of thoughts resting on his shoulders pressure onto his lungs.

Why did he look at me like that?

Will's nails pick for flaking skin on his damp lips.

Did he even look at me at all?

Will's lips curl into his teeth, a wince of shame striking him: Carl... his heart snaps it apart, unconvinced.

Exhaust overloads Will's neck, skull dangling, back numbed by the water's torridity. A longing dithers between each beat of heart, the one that reaches back to the squeak of the swing-set.

His spine pulses, searching for the love that had abandoned it.

Make me feel good..?

A buzz bounces off Will's soma, squeezing the tips of his thumbs.

Me..?

Dejection remains in his stomach, fingers tapping his bottom lip. 

Is love something I'll ever be able to cradle?

Will's teeth tug at his lip's loose skin, faith leaching into his organs. 

The light couldn't have been lying. 

His backbone throbs, like it's mistaking the water for the previous glee.

It was all in his eyes; it told me everything.

In that bed, beneath the room's yellow and orange light, the comfort of his mother's soup bled through him—not exactly that, though; it borne a different kind of embracement, the kind that says: even in your loudest wails (the ones that hurt your chest)(the ones that gloss snot over the mountains of your lips), you're the most beautiful creature to ever exist. Let me kiss your pain, yeah? It's a part of you, and I want it to bleed between my teeth.

The kind of cuddle that seems to only prance beneath Mike's fingernails.

Will's upper-arm constricts, the rain on his back halting while his palm meets the fabric curtain. Cold pierces his chest. Will's organs flip, and static waves over his psyche. The shower's fever fogs the mirror. Will's palms clasp the condensation as his weight presses against the counter, mind dripping back into its vessel. 

"Okay." His vocality hardens his self under his skin. "Okay," Will heaves, the atmosphere evening. His vision sharpens, head's spinning coming to a halt. "..Okay," he sighs, the fall of the heavy air allowing his grip to slip off the edge, posture straightening.

Will peels a towel off the rack and pats himself down, original motives creeping up on him.

Muscles squeeze Will's bones, stumbling each foot into his shorts' legs—renegade droplets darken his grey shirt. The bathroom door's screech pushes his blood's stream into his ears, its rush intensifying with each further creep towards the apartment's door. Adrenaline thuds against Will's wrists. The sweat hydrating his touch falters his attempts of undoing the locks: they slip at the chain lock.

"Fuck-!"  His cheeks swelter.

Then the juno knob

"God, damn it!" Will curses under a sharp breath

Then the chain again.

"Why'd I have to..."  Annoyance strains his pitch,

After a minute of aggravated struggle, the anger forming in his cheeks drain at the fall of the locks.

"Yes-!" The door's opening bears Will backwards.

His gut stirs.

Will's heart twinges for the man standing above him; long, dark hair recently showered, darkening his white shirt to an ash. His flesh muddles. The strain that has been tormenting skin has finally made it to the depths of his skull—air traps in Will's throat, his silenced words embodying themselves in the twitch of his gaped jaw. "I.."

The strong, unspoken swelter drifts his words into some other world. They sit somewhere—close, a lingering agreement of flush. 

Mike’s mouth twitches.

With damp warmth flowing across Will's tongue, his stomach plunges, teeth clinking against another's. A familiar compassion holds Will's face, flaming his neck's curve to an ache; he pants through his nose, Mike's tension shuffling his stance backwards. Every ounce of greed that had been lingering in Will's essence batters beneath his skin, charging his nails against Mike's scalp. His smile curves against Will's lips, Mike's heaves that splash amongst his philtrum rousing with each tightened grip. A palm strips from Will's cheek, the remaining fingers bore into his hair, slipping a whine between the messy fever. Among the muddling desire, the door clicks, and a very thin chain burns into the curve of Will’s nape. Contradicting the roasting pull is the table edging into Will’s back thighs. Hot surges of breath coat Will’s puffed lips—pulse swelling a wave of tingle each beat.

The opposing tensions sears Will’s backbone, body’s weight depending on it. “Ah-“

“..You pay for this?” Mike’s trembling voice flits across Will’s tongue.

Will chokes. Their bodies’ heat thud against one another, like their insides hold the magnet’s opposing half.  “..No,” Will manages through a tight core. His fingers tense against the table, despairingly hoping it would suck the pain plaguing his back, hips searing against Mike’s (which stand slightly taller than his). 

The edges of Mike’s mouth caper, examination flickering across Will’s trembling figure. “No?” A chaff elevates his soft tone, a tension’s diminishment relieving the thin boil. 

Mike’s hips raise.

A twinge of relief sparks from Will’s back, a light silver cling upon the wood floor accompanying the tight moan trembling through his throat: “fuck.”

Mike’s fingers crawl up Will’s back, his thin shirt ribbing the touch from his skin. Will’s vertebrae sparks, drawing the amour-contaminated air into his lungs. Will’s weight bruises Mike’s knuckles into the table, their gentle removal kicking out the whine hiding in his chest. “..No.” The flat surface drains his back of the tensing smolder. 

Laughter whiffs against Will’s neck, pooling into his notch’s shallow lake. “That feel better?” Mike’s soft question moistens Will’s collarbones, lips’ softness wafting a chill from his fore-fingers to head, a deep wave of sweat following it.

Bliss fogs every vent of Will’s being, too thick for any speech to linger past it—so with a face that’s being beaten with his heart's pulse, Will just nods.

Mike’s stray hairs tickle his chin. A nostril’s huff melt under Will’s jawline. “Hm?”

The following speech clots the fog:

”What’d you say?” The table screams at Mike’s lift. His hands capture Will beneath him, hair falling over his face, smile lightly touching his canines against his bottom lips.

Will’s face flattens, buzzing stars seeping through his tedium. The stars’ light tapers his speech every time it knocks at Will’s teeth—Mike’s head tilts at Will’s locked jaw, catching breath widening Mike’s gaze: “yes,” Will gags, Mike’s damp hair eliminating the steam in his nails. “You make me feel better.”

A wire of fire laces between them. Luster flickers across Mike’s face, lips parting, as if his life had finally found its way into its soul. 

Their tapering vicinity thickens the flame, and their skin’s touch pyres a shared explosion in their muscles. Their breathes snare with one another, flesh moist both from their mouth’s compassion and the deep sweat their fluster had ached. Mike’s grace shivers through Will’s anatomy, palm’s grip following as Mike marks his bare skin: Will’s stomach twitches with each peck, the flutter squeezing to his thighs and knees. Somewhere, between the love, Mike had mumbled, “I’ll take care of you, baby.” 

Mike’s nose nudges Will’s head, clicks of sorrow comforting his neck.

Will’s gasps hitch, attempting to spill the swelter overriding his forehead through the scratch of Mike’s back. 

The embracement burrows, freeing small balls of love that assures the scared child that dwells in Will’s nape: 

This touch is yours.

May your neck carry a meaning greater than fear. 

May your body realize its control in my touch.

Oh, how beautiful you always have been, and yet, I still find grains of you that make me love you more than all of the days before.