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Mike is rooted to the floor beneath his feet. Head spinning, as he tries to regain his breath. Every single thought he ever had, scatters like a startled flock of birds into the sky.
The tck tck tck of boots—the squealing of sneaker rubber on tiles, bordering close on too smooth—was reverberating inside his head. Only amplified by the way in which his heart rate accelerates behind his ribcage.
He feels like slipping, in and out of himself.
Their friend's movement not registering with him, not after his world just got turned belly up.
It had been four words. Just four.
"I don't like girls."
And they change everything.
He knows that he's staring. Knows that he should have looked away, but he just— he couldn't. Will's eyes were glassy, puddles filled to the brink of spilling over. His whole face contorted in anguish, lips wobbling dangerously as his voice breaks.
He looked guilty. And Mike doesn't get why. Doesn't seem to be able to piece the bits and pieces back together, not even when they seem to spread out right in front of him.
Will had talked about a crush, talked about how this crush of his was not like him and Mike, Mike had wanted to get up and hug his friend. Yet he did so nearly last. Hands and limbs feeling out of his control, foreign to him.
His mind doesn't seem to be able to let go, not able to stop running around in circles. Spinning round and round and round. Because, who was Tammy? And what did he mean with saying that this— this guy, was his Tammy? That it was never about him.
If all, Mike just got more confused with each second in which his mind kept itself occupied spinning up these intricate webs of confusion, pillowing every sane thought in a thick coat of white noise.
Somewhere in the next room echos a sneeze, and a muted “Bless you” from Joyce, though Mike barely registers it.
Their fight, back in the rain, two years ago, replaying inside his head.
"It's not my fault you don't like girls." He had said.
Mike remembers vividly how Will recoiled from him, flinched as if Mike had hit him. And he may as well have done so, if the way Will's whole frame just shook from it was any indicator. The hurt in his eyes, before he got on his bike and drove off, right into the downpour… It was still haunting Mike from time to time.
And he knows that they have more pressing matters than this entire tangle of confusing emotions inside of him. That the world could very well be ending come tomorrow.
But… but he needs to talk to Will. Needs to get things straight. Tell him it is okay, that he is sorry, ask who Tammy is.
"Hey, are you… are you alright?" a firm, warm squeeze on his shoulder pulls him back into the room. Back into himself. Where he still stands, facing the way everyone had gone off to, settling their unfinished business for what was ahead of them.
When he turns around, he's meet with soft hazel. Will looks at him with worry pulling between his brows.
"Uh… Yeah." Mike mutters, transfixed on the way Will's gaze is holding his own. Eyes still rimmed red from crying earlier on.
For a moment, Mike is about to get lost inside of them, like he had done many times since their first days together, before he regains composure.
Will's hand falls away as he takes a step back. And Mike immediately wishes for it to return. Misses the proximity it provided. Its warmth.
"I'm, uh" Mike says, "I was just, just about to search for you," shifting on the spot. Being acutely aware of his knickers riding up his ass.
For a second, Will seems taken aback by that.
"Oh," he breathes out, gaze softening as his brows lose their tightness.
Do you wanna go for a walk? He almost asks, but instead swallows it down. Not the right time, Mike, he scolds himself.
The moment stretches out in front of them like bubblegum. Their silence clearly making both of them antsy in their respective way.
"Yeah, I mean, I just thought we could," yeah what exactly did he think they could do? Spend their time like they did when they were kids, reading comics, painting figurines for their sessions together? Mike tries to sound casual as best as he can, "maybe, I mean if you would like to, go get something to drink and eat. You know, fuel up before tonight."
He used to daydream about what it would like to be older. To grow up alongside Will. Decorate his whole room in his best friends painting and go to college together. But with what is about to happen, these things seem further away than ever.
Rubbing at his neck, he looks down. Feeling sheepish for even suggesting something as simple as this. It's not like it is their first time, sharing one on one time together. In the 18 months under the same roof they had done so, plenty of times.
Or, in theory they did. Because there was always someone interrupting. With eight people under one roof, privacy, or time to oneself became a scarce currency.
Mike remembers the one time they had sat in his room together, listening to The Clash while Will painted and Mike read Wonder Woman.
He had started reading the comics after Max had fallen into a coma. She had always nagged him for his bias in male heroes, had tried to slip one of her favorite comics into his bag on multiple occasions.
And, as it turned out he liked them. Truly did.
Not just because Max had recommended them. Or because he felt guilty about what had happened to her— well, at least not solely because of it— Or because they didn't know what was going to happen with her, or if she would wake up.
But because she had been right.
It was a good comic. And he was often biased. But he no longer wanted to be.
Mike longs for change. Longs for things to be different. For Will by his side at all times. Their contact, not just consisting of playful punches to the chest and awkward smiles shared when they thought no one was watching.
He wished for more than just a brush of the knee.
Mike wants Will around him forever. For the rest of their life. And if that should be so much as be their last moments in relative peace, before the world would end, then he just wants to spend treasuring this time with Will even more.
"Yes, that— that sounds wonderful," Will beams up at him, the hairs at his nape slightly curling upwards, and Mike cannot not smile back.
They walk to the break room in silence, bodies closer than would probably be necessary. But Mike doesn't mind. Quite the opposite, if he was honest. The air smells faintly of freshly brewed coffee when they pass the corner. Mike, with all going on, is pleasantly surprised how quiet it has gotten around the radio station.
Hasn't really experienced it that way ever since he had gone there the first time.
Seems like the lot of them simultaneously decided a break would do them good.
"You know, you could have talked to me." Mike speaks into their very own bubble of peaceful silence, disrupting it.
"Talked about what?" Will mumbles, looking at his feet. His hand brushing Mikes, and Mike has to take a deep breath to resist the urge to grab it.
His fingers twitch.
"About not liking girls," he says. A draft is passing by, making him shudder.
Will comes to a sudden halt. The sun from outside painting him in warm, orange hues. Mike's breath hitches in his throat. And if he didn't know better, he wouldn't believe that the world could very possibly end that very day.
Would call it a lie. For a day in which the sun just painted Will in all its loveliest colors couldn't be a day with such horrors ahead of it.
"And I know what I said back all those years ago. I know that it was probably mean-"
"Probably?" Will looks at him, eyebrows raised.
"Certainly! It was definitely mean! I see how that could have contributed to you not having much confidence in coming to me with any of this." Mike confesses, gesturing widely.
"It's not a big deal Mike, really I-" Mike interrupts him, hands flailing in emphasis, "No Will!" then softer, "no, I know that wasn't right. What I said, I mean. And I know we were young, but I never got to properly apologize for any of it. I tried, but then so many things happened, and you weren't home when we drove after you-"
"You what?" Will stutters, all rabbit-caught-in-headlight.
"Lucas and I drove after you. Or at least, we attempted to. When we reached your house though, no one was there."
"You two really drove after me in that rain?" he sounds astonished.
Mike nods, "Of course. We both felt terrible for how things went down during our session. And I for myself can say that I still feel awful about what I said. I just need you to know, that I know how messed up that was from me. Because I never want you to have the need to run away from me ever again, Will."
Will looks taken aback.
"I thought you just searched for me much later, when you found me in the woods."
"Well, no, not just then! We drove around for hours to find you." It is important to Mike, that Will knows how much, above all, he matters to him. Had back then, and still does; "And I would always do it again."
"Oh" Will breathes, almost inaudible, before bashfully turning his face away from Mike. Yet he still notices red creeping up Will's neck. And it makes Mike all fuzzy on the inside. To see him like that. To see Will looking that way, because of him.
When they finally reach the break room, it is already occupied by Lucas rummaging around the fridge, head turning their way when he hears their approaching footsteps.
"Heyyyy, guys," Lucas says, kneeling on the floor, head halfway submerged inside the fridge, " Can I interest you in some breakfast bars or pizza rolls?" holding up each item, Lucas pauses, "Or some Chinese leftovers? Wait- ew no, never mind. That's disgusting." He shudders, as he throws the container out, "I can't believe Steve and Robin stored it for so long, that it started looking like that." Mike is tempted to ask for more details, but when he looks towards Will, who just shakes his head in a don't even think about it kind of way he keeps his mouth shut.
"Oh, no, we can wait," Will assures Lucas, waving him off. Not wanting to be a burden.
Just like always.
Making himself smaller, dismissing the weight of his own problems, his hurt. Putting himself into the background. It somehow rubs Mike the wrong way.
He doesn't like when Will does it. Fading away, that is. Deflecting and making it about someone else instead of him. Other people's problems always more prevalent to him, than their care for him.
"Cool," Lucas says, grabbing some pizza rolls and two bottles of Gatorade, "If you need anything I'm with Max,"playfully bumping into Mike as he leaves for the others. Mike somehow wishes he could get closer to Will. The distance between them too large for his liking. And his fingers twitch again.
"Coffee?" He asks, to distract himself, stepping towards the Mr.Coffee Automatic. Will nods, following close behind.
"Still with two creams?"
"Yes, thanks, Mike." Will takes the cup he is holding out to him.
It takes a while for them to say anything to one another after. Both of them nursing their beverage. The bitterness of the coffee grounding Mike in the moment.
It almost succeeds in distracting him from the chaos around.
"You know, I sometimes think about when we were kids. Before all of this happened. Before you disappeared. About how carefree it all was. How the worst thing in our life were bullies in school or campaigns failing. Not an extraterrestrial being kidnapping and killing kids," Mike muses, blowing at his cup.
"You mean like when we made lemonade and tried selling it outside your house?"
"Yes, I still remember mom giving us advice on the amount of sugar needed and us winging it anyways."
"It was vile-"
"Oh nah, don't throw around these big words so carelessly. It was disgusting, is what it was. Vile was how you still tried to convince everyone passing us to buy a cup. And they did, because you were cute and the moms of the street weren't able to say no to your goddamn puppy eyes."
Will giggles, trying to hide it behind his cup. Mike still notices. And warmth spreads inside his chest.
"Well, it got us some money to buy ice cream later on didn't it?"
Keeping his eyes on Will, Mike tries to gather up the courage to bring up what has been bothering him since Will told them about… well, about himself. And in a way, it feels nerve-wracking.
Imagining the words leaving his mouth, feels vulnerable.
He curses silently. Tries covering it with a cough.
Hesitation traps his tongue beneath spiky feet. Another couple of seconds pass. The sun now already on its way to setting.
Suddenly what he wants to ask feels too big, too private in the quiet between them.
The muscles in his cheeks twitch from how hard he's gritting his teeth. Electric buzzing racing through his body. The ceramic beneath his finger tips going cold.
It weighs on him. It lays on his tongue like dead weight.
He tries swallowing around it.
"Do you—" his voice breaks, he clears his throat, "Do you remember when we were back in Cali? Searching for El, and you gave me that painting?"
"I— what?" Will looks startled. His cup almost slipping from his grasp, before he catches himself and puts it down.
"The painting. You said El commissioned it for me, because I am the heart. But, it never added up. She wrote about you painting it, suspecting you were drawing for some girl. Yet, after what you said, that can't be true, and on top of it, why would you give it to me of all people I mean, why lie about it?" Mike can't sit still any longer. His chair almost clattering to the floor as he springs up, starting to pace around. Agitation evident in each step. It's hard for him to hold the accusation out of his voice when he continues speaking, "You said all these things. About El, about her being lost and being different from other people. How being so different can make you feel like a mistake, but how I give her the feeling of not being one. All this talk about her pushing me away because she is scared of losing me and—" Mike pauses, taking a deep inhale, then whispers, "and I don't get it. Truly, I don't. Was that painting for this, this Tammy of yours? And who even is that?"
Will sits frozen in place, coffee gone cold, a veil of guilt on his face. Mike waits a couple of moments, standing still, breath labored, before he starts getting restless once again. He doesn't know what to expect. What will come of it.
When the silence gets so heavy, Mike feels like drowning in it, he says, "Can you please say something? Anything?" almost begging.
"Yes, just, give me a moment," Will sighs, slumping in on himself. Glance flickering towards Mike briefly, before focusing back on his hands still fiddling with the cup's handle.
"You're right. About me lying. The painting, it was never commissioned by El. I drew it all of my own volition. I drew it for you because I wanted to." Will takes a shaking breath, before he continues, "I wanted to give you something that showed you how important you are, to me, to the others. And, well I made up all these scenarios in my head about how we would meet again. And I was so, so exited. For you to come over. But then you were there and things were so different. You didn't even hug me when you landed, and then I was third wheeling and you were so adamant to emphasize how we are best friends while you've not been acting accordingly, forgetting my birthday and—" Will is shaking now, whole body rocking in motion. Tears barely holding on, from flowing over.
Mike hadn't realized, that he stepped up to Will, and this time when he reaches out, he doesn't hold back.
He falls to his knees, still easily being eye to eye with Will, all while he pulls him in. Not able to stand it a minute longer. Seeing him like that, it breaks something inside of him.
The second Will's body collides with Mike's, he crumbles. Tears overflowing as he shakes. Sending wet, snotty sobs down Mike's neck, as Mike caresses Will's head. Holding him tightly to himself. Their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. As if they were molded for one another.
"Shh, shh," Mike whispers into Will's hair, strands of it brushing his lips, tickling them, "it's okay, Will. I am sorry. It's okay."
The day they pulled that child's body from the lake— all thinking it was Will's— Mike thought he had to die too. Thought Will disappearing was the worst things to ever happen to him.
Yet in this moment, remembering the shake of Will's shoulders in the Van, or how he hadn't reached out back then, had left him all alone with it, again and again…
Mikes lips wobble dangerously. He had been such a tremendously big asshole.
An oblivious one as well.
Guilt burns through him in rivulets, wanders down his chest and spreads throughout his ribcage.
Taking a steadying breath, Will sniffles, "No, Mike. No it's not. I lied to you. I lied so.many.times. You don't understand-" he breaks off, shaking his head.
"What do you mean?" Mike pulls back a little, looking into Will's face. Searching for answers he can't find.
"First of all, I don't even know anyone named Tammy. It was just someone a friend of mine, in a similar situation, told me about and I just said it about the person I like because it felt safer to do so. Like, all I said in the van, about El, was just me speaking about myself. That day, I tried to… I-" another inhale, followed by an exhale as Will pulls back. Out of Mikes embrace, wrapping his arms around himself tightly as if to shield himself. Putting some distance between them.
"I tried back then, telling you about the way in which I am different to all of you guys." Something doesn't sit right with Mike about that. A weird feeling coils tightly inside his stomach, his throat. "Tried telling you, about how I feel."
Nothing Will says truly clears up the confusion Mike feels. And now he sits there, in front of Will, not knowing how to continue any of this.
"I am not following-" Mike confesses. Hands fiddling with a lose strand on his trousers to distract himself from the twitchy-ness he feels.
"This crush, the person I am having feelings for in our friend group," Will takes a steadying breath, as if to prepare himself for what he's about to say, and in a sense it feels foreboding, "Can you truly not see what I am trying to say here, Mike?" he ask, faltering in on himself a little, voice wavering.
Mike feels unable to form words. It feels like being 12 all over again, standing at the cliff's edge ready to jump. To follow after Will. He closes his eyes, attempting to calm his racing heartbeat.
He thinks back to how inseparable they had been as kids. How he did everything just to find Will, how he recognized his breathing and held on to all his drawings in a folder hidden under his mattress.
Thinks back to shared glances, a brush of the knee, fingers passing each other so many times and the way in which he always itched to reach out. Not really understanding why and—
And—
"Oh," he breathes.
Vividly remembering the way in which his eyes have always been drawn to the other's lips. How Mike never handled Wills rightful anger about things he said well. Or how he got jealous whenever Will so much as drew a painting for someone else that was not Mike. How disappointed he had been when he said that El commissioned that painting for Mike.
Because deep down, he had wanted for it to be from Will, for him.
And he realizes that without Will pushing him, he would've never said the three words to El. Because when he truly looks into himself, when he's honest, then he knows he loves El, but not in the way she wants. Nor needs.
It occurs to him, in that moment, what Will is trying to say. While he unravels a part of himself alongside it.
"It is me." Mike feels heat rushing to his face. Burning, all encompassing.
Will just nods. Defeat written all across his face. Tear-stains long dried.
It is overwhelming.
Panic flutters inside his chest, a bird inside a cage, when he reaches out for Wills hand, taking it in his own. Closing the distance between them, as he molds himself between Wills thighs like he belongs there.
Ready to lay himself at his altar, begging for mercy, begging for forgiveness. Laying himself bare, all just to feel Will close one more time.
His eyes search out the other's, seeking absolution in them.
"Yeah." Will nods, confirming it. Making it real.
It feels like Mike is about to combust.
He needs to say something. Do something. Anything. To seal whatever it is that's happening between them. Make it real, make it tangible.
Mike's gaze slips from Will's hazel eyes to his lips. And this feels dangerous, like breaching a line, he knows there won't be a return from.
Whatever this even is.
Wills fingers hesitantly rest against his arm. And Mike brushes over Will's wrist wistfully, almost convincing him of feeling the other boy's pulse flutter beneath his thumb – but maybe that's just his own heart palpitating.
He doesn't know what to do next.
Or maybe he does, but is afraid of crossing that last little line marking their friendship and the territory of what lays behind.
Mike inhales deeply.
He can smell Will. He smells like laundry detergent, like smoke and a hint of brimstone mixed with sweat and something that is so utterly himself, it makes Mike wince. He takes his time, getting lost in the familiarity of it all. Will's stuttering breath. Skin meeting skin.
"What- what are you doing, Mike?" Will whispers, staring back into his eyes, as if he too can't seem to look away.
He isn't entirely sure himself. Just feels this enormous pull towards him. Needing to be closer. Nerves twist inside his stomach, when he shifts ever so slightly. Their noses nearly brushing now.
Their height difference balanced out by him kneeling. Sun-rays paint Will in the softest light.
Mike feels like loosing his mind. Pulse hammering in his ears.
A nervous breath in. Another one out.
Mike can feel Will's breath on his lips now, can almost taste him.
Does Will know he shifted closer too? Or was it something that happened subconsciously, like Mike dropping down for him.
They look at one another.
Seconds, minutes, hours, seem to pass. Before Will's lashes flutter, and his face tilts sideways questioningly.
"Can I?" Mike asks, holding his breath in anticipation.
Will nods, hesitantly folding a hand over Mikes neck, pulling him in. Closing these last, painful inches of room between them making his breath hitch in the back of his throat.
Mike grabs for Will's shirt, holding on tight. It starts out slowly.
A mere brush of lips, warm and soft. Innocent in their inexperience with one another. Stubbles lightly graze his chin and he wonders if Will can feel that too.
When Will's hand inches up towards his jaw, something inside of Mike comes lose. No longer able to hold back, he presses them closer. Eyes fluttering shut, as everything fades into the background.
Will, and the way their lips move desperately against one another, becoming his sole focal point in all of it. Mike's fingers slip into Will's hair, tugging lightly – and Will gasps, lips falling open.
And that's it. All holding back, all caution, flies out the window.
Pushing closer, Will slips from the chair, settling in Mike's lap and it feels like he has always belonged there. Mike's hands find their way towards his hips, slipping beneath Wills shirt and brushing further up. Feeling his ribs beneath his fingers, holding on tight.
Their hips brush – and it's too much. Mike's head is spinning. Their breaths blends together in the same way their mouths do.
It just then hits him, what it is that they are doing, when Mike pushes his tongue against Will's. He didn't even know he wanted any of this, yet it feels so right. He feels dizzy from it all. As his beanie comes loose, Will's fingers find their way into his curls, burying into them by the fistful, Mike can't bring himself to care.
Because having Will in his lap feels right unlike anything else he ever did.
It's as if Will belongs there, the way a king does on his throne. And Will is warm, so, so warm above him. Mike feels like burning up. Acutely aware of all the layers he's wearing. His whole body feels too hot, too tight, from it all.
Their teeth clank together, their kiss turning more desperate. Mike knows their time is running out. That this can't go on forever. That they have to let go of one another at one some point, but for now he keeps on indulging. Getting lost in all the little noises Will makes, as he rocks atop him.
When it all gets too much, Mike groans, deep inside his chest as he bites down Will's bottom lip. Before pulling away, Will following his lips like a man dying of thirst.
Both their breaths come out in heavy bursts, filling the surrounding space with their sound. Their faces are flushed from their exertion. And Mike can't resist the pull to press one last kiss against Will's lips, all red and wet from what they've done.
The reality of it all a bit much when he lets his head rest against Will's shoulder. Seeking refuge there.
Neither of them says a word, as they struggle to catch their breath.
It just dawns on him that they're still in the break room. Out and about for everyone to see. But as much as he tries to care, he doesn't. Because the world may very well be ending in a few hours. But he just kissed his best friend and everything is more confusing than ever. Yet crystal-clear.
Because Will has feelings for him. And Mike does too. And what ever may come, they will be in this together.
"I like you too." Mike says, into the skin of Will's neck. Making him snort.
"Yeah, Mike. I guess I figured after this."