Work Text:
Mike wishes it were raining.
The only sound echoing throughout his room is the typewriter, the letter presses no longer as jarring as they used to be. His curtains are closed, hiding the apt feeling cloudiness from his eyes. His new glasses sit on the perch of his nose, no less strange feeling than when he'd tried them on.
Despite doing his favorite hobby, writing, his heart isn't in it.
It can't be.
Will had moved out, had left again, and his hollow heart seemed to have followed.
He really wishes he were that brave.
Mike the brave.
Ha, ha.
