Chapter Text
One area that seemed way too familiar faded into one that seemed like it hadn’t been explored before.
Where did it go wrong?
There weren't any tears. Not today, at least. There was only the lingering scent of an old coffee pot. One that was beginning to wither around the edges, and its buttons became harder to press. The one they still shared, unlike most things. The kitchen still smelled like a coffee shop. Their favorite coffee shop.
Mike was still around, but it felt like he was thousands of miles away. Slowly fading from a point of view. His slightly taller stature was like a ghost, transparent. All signals that were intended to be sent never reached Will's conscience.
Surely because the only thing in his head was their ending. On repeat. On a constant loop. Similarly to how their favorite song once was. He hated how it seemed never-ending just a day ago. If that managed to end, could the memories tormenting his head manage to end, too?
The covers of a once-shared bed swarmed him. Mike hadn’t slept under these sheets with him in four days. Despite it feeling like years.
He refused the idea of Will sleeping on the couch. Resented it. When he proposed the idea, Mike's face twisted into a bitter disgust. Similarly to the way it contorted when he'd tried Will’s black coffee for the first time.
Still a gentleman, despite everything.
The mornings were long. Never-ending almost. He’d thought they’d get easier, but it only appeared to be going in the opposite direction. Running a hand through his tousled brown curls even felt like a chore.
Each moment felt like a constant reminder of Mike. His words when Will realized that their time together was up. The call to an end of shared mornings, quiet nights and lovey bickering. Not even the buzzing city beneath their small apartment could silence the awkwardness that haunted the space.
But, Mike? He seemed fine. Regular smiles, normally timed showers, the same early morning routine he always had, same spot on that old couch. The only difference was that those moments weren’t shared like they once were. Yet, Mike didn't seem too bothered by that difference.
It wasn't fair. None of this was.
The comforter slipped off his body, and the sun that was clouded over failed to reach his skin. Immediate exhaustion settled over Will's body, even after having twelve hours of sleep. His gaze reached the digital clock. Ten thirty-six. Mike had to have been up for three hours now. At least.
He slipped his feet into the regular yellow pair of slippers he’d worn each day. One of the little things felt normal.
Creating a gentle pace to the door, the sound of ceramic clinking together echoed from the kitchen. Irritatingly loud, when in reality, it wasn't. It was only loud because he knew Mike was there.
It was a new sight. Mike's pillow on the now sunken couch. The blue plaid blanket he’d always hogged in the midst of nights. So new, but strangely familiar. Everyday objects, only in different places. Minuscule details like that still managed to torture his being. A bittersweet curse.
Will mentally observed that they were both avoiding all possible conversation unless completely necessary. In all honesty, it didn’t help either case. Only heightened the strange awkwardness.
He couldn’t help the urge to stare at Mike between every blink. To notice his features. The way the dulled sunlight reflected off his pale, freckled complexion. Casting shadows off his jawline. Managing to illustrate a painfully beautiful vision.
It reminded Will of the few nights he’d painted Mike while he was resting asleep beside him. When their bedside lamp created the most beautiful warm luminance. Creating a scene where Mike didn’t even need to be painted, because he already looked like a piece of art in Will's gaze.
“Will? Hello?”
A blink. A heavy breath.
His gaze fell onto Mike, who was looking at him like he was just a bit insane.
“Y-Yeah?.. Sorry. I zoned out. Just woke up.” Will managed to form words, despite his throat feeling dry.
“Right… My clothes are out of the dryer. It's all yours.” Mike spoke awkwardly, his gaze returning to the cupboard in front of him.
“Oh, alright. Um… Thanks.”
No response.
Mike was always awkward. His speech always lagged, as his words ran too fast for his mind. Sentences came out without thought, ending in quick apologies.
’Will, you knew this wouldn’t work out. We both did.’
Wrong. So painfully wrong.
Will, on the other hand? The opposite. Always thinking. Far too much for his own good. Sometimes he’d thought so much that it felt like his world was collapsing upon him. Thoughts that turned into heavy breaths and inescapable realities. Uncontrollable, yet exhausting. Similarly to everything else in his current state.
Some days are short and easy to get over. Others, suffocating and never-ending.
’I don’t think we can talk this one out… We need time to breathe. To separate for a while.’
How long is ‘a while’?
Said thoughts became so prominent that the sound of his stomach roaring nearly passed his conscience.
A few quick steps to the fridge, opening the door with a slightly shaken palm. He was greeted by the familiar sight of an amount of food near none. Basic necessities. Milk, eggs, soda cans, and a container of leftovers from six nights ago. Leftovers that they’d shared.
Will convinced himself that the only reason they weren’t gone was that neither of them had the guts to do it. That's why he hadn’t thrown them out at least. When in reality, it was probably just a sight passing Mike's eyes. Something he’d forgotten about.
He grabbed the eggs. Milk. A mug that was fresh from the steaming dishwasher. Warmth spread against his fingers. Something Mike hadn’t touched yet.
One egg after another cracked into the mug, mixing them with a fork while staring absentmindedly at the city below. The window above the kitchen sink didn’t provide much of a view. It only numbed the thoughts of Will's busy mind for a few measly seconds. Giving him an insight into how many people lived around them. Travelling to and from work, going on dates, and experiencing good and bad days.
His life felt so small in the world of billions.
He wondered how many others were living in the mental and physical suffocation of living with their significant lover who’d left them after four years.
Probably not many.
Maybe that's why Will felt so alone, and so painfully singled out. Quite literally.
Mike was now on his laptop. Reading glasses lay atop his nose, staring at the screen so focused. As if there was nothing else going on in his head.
How could one be so unbothered while Will was burning at the sight of every object in their apartment? Solely because each thing had some sort of memory attached to it.
The rug they’d stepped on each morning.
The mirror where Mike would hold Will's waist from behind,
The wardrobe where both of their clothes were still laid out.
Mike's scent still lingered everywhere Will went.
Once the eggs were far too beaten, Will placed butter in an old pan and fired up the stove's heat. Watching blankly as the substance melted. Soon, he added the eggs from the mug into the pan and grabbed a spatula. Watching the egg whites quickly cook, he shuffled them around in the pan. A silent wait until they cooked to his liking,
His head turned, and he caught Mike’s typical expression of concentration. Pursed lips, furrowed eyebrows, eyes slightly squinted.
Will could count over a hundred things that Mike did. However, only a few would he ever admit he missed.
That look of concentration would definitely be one of them.
So focused, yet peaceful and unmistakably beautiful.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The eggs. The smoke detector. Shit. That thing still worked?
“God damn it!” Will cursed what he thought was himself, until he saw Mike in the corner of his eyes.
“Will, you were standing right here. What’s going on with you?” A tone of sternness, yet concealed worry.
‘What’s going on with you?’ Ironic.
“I–… Just zoned out again, Mike. I’m fine.” A lie straight through his teeth. One that Mike Wheeler could definitely believe. Even if they dated for four years and knew one another like the back of their hands. He’d turned his head, and there Mike was. Staring at him. Right into his eyes.
“Listen. Just…” A pause.
“Be careful, yeah?’
“Yeah, um… yeah. I will, thanks.”
Mike was already off, back to the couch, where he resumed his work on his laptop. Composed. Okay. Even after they had just had their first real glance since their breakup four days ago. Maybe Will was the only person who wouldn’t be okay after something like that.
After the smoke had aired out and Will had a plate of dark yellow, slightly burnt scrambled eggs, he paced his way back into his bedroom. Almost immediately, he settled into the comforters, wanting to shove his face into his pillow and scream until there was no air left in his lungs.
But no, of course not. God forbid he let some of his feelings out.
There was zero motivation. No desire to leave the once-shared space, despite it being the source of his constant pain. Yet, it was also the only place where comfort lingered.
Will always thought memories from breakups would turn sour.
How incredibly, disgustingly wrong he was.