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The office hours smelled faintly of printer ink and leftover takeout, a low hum of chatter and laughter drifting from the bar down the street. Will tugged at Mike’s sleeve, his tie loosened just enough to look deliberately careless.
“Come on, Mike, we’re missing the fun,” he insisted. “Everyone’s here! You can’t hide forever.”
Mike shook his head as he adjusted his glasses and glanced at the neon sign across the street. He turned to Will and immediately regretted his decision.
Oh boy. His eyes were glinting under the soft streetlight and it made it impossible for Mike to think. Why did god make him suffer like this?
“I know that. I just…” He trailed off, unsure what to say. His words always got tangled around Will. “…I just don’t want you to drink too much”
Will rolled his eyes but smiled with a coaxing tilt of his mouth that made Mike’s stomach tighten.
“Mike, please. It’s one night. One. I’ll be fine.”
“You say that,” Mike muttered, “and then I end up—”
“End up what? Chasing after me because I cause you trouble?” Will laughed softly, the sound a gentle push to Mike’s chest. “I’ll be careful. I promise. You can…you know…keep an eye on me?”
Mike blinked. He liked that. He gave a small, reluctant nod, tugging the door open for Will.
“Fine. But I’m staying sober enough to drag you home if needed.”
Will leaned against the doorframe, grinning, as he raised an eyebrow. “I think I got it covered.”
The bar was a cozy chaos. Low wooden tables were already surrounded by cushions, glasses of beer and soju clinking in mid-toast. Warm light bounced off the polished floor and the faint scent of fried snacks and citrus-laced drinks made the place feel alive.
Will let go of Mike’s hand just long enough to wave at the group, already being pulled into the centre of attention by familiar co-workers. Mike trailed behind, surveying the laughter and loud conversations.
He was never a party guy. Hell, he’d even lock himself in the bathroom during his own birthday ceremony. But his eyes sparkled as he watched Will glide into the crowd like he belonged everywhere.
It was enchanting. It was terrifying. But most of all, it was distracting.
Mike sank onto the floor cushion across from Will, trying to appear casual as he cleared his throat.
“Just don’t overdo it,” he muttered quietly, almost pleading.
Will caught his eye and flashed that infuriating grin.
“Mike relax,” he lifted a glass and gestured towards him. “I told you I’ll be fine.”
Yea alright. Maybe he was going a bit overboard trying to look out for Will. He can manage. He always has. Mike just wants to be there. He has to be there.
Because he doesn’t want to miss it. He doesn’t want to miss anything. He doesn’t want to make the same mistakes again. Ever.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting his position so he could at least keep Will in view without seeming…obsessive? He studied the way he laughed, so carefree and relaxed. Mike’s heart thudded in a way that was almost painful.
How can someone be so damn…magnetic and oblivious at the same time?
Mike sank further into the cushion just letting himself watch. The bar faded around him. The clinking glasses. The laughter. Even the dimly-lit lights blurred into the edges of his vision.
All he could see was Will.
Everything about him was hypnotic. Time seemed to stretch, each second lingering like a held breath.
He barely registered the first bottle Will lifted, let alone the second. Will’s hand curled around it with effortless grace and Mike’s chest ached with some unfamiliar intensity.
How was he allowed to watch this?
“You’re staring,” Will muttered, the distance suddenly too close, though Mike hasn’t even noticed him moving.
“I…am not,” Mike mumbled back, flustered, as he clumsily adjusted his glasses that were already slipping down his nose. His eyes refused to leave Will. “I—I just…I notice…things?”
“Notice things?” Will grinned, raising the bottle in a mock salute before chugging another sip.
Mike blinked, heart hammering, but he didn’t stop Will. He couldn’t. He was too caught up in the way Will’s voice made his stomach twist. Too captivated by the warmth in his eyes.
That damn magnetic pull that made Mike forget everything else. God, he needed to stand up. He was such a fool.
The world hummed around him but he felt like he existed in a small, perfect bubble. The world around it was blurred. And Will…Will was the sun at the centre of it.
Someone laughed nearby. Glasses clinked. The room kept going, but Mike barely noticed. Will tipped his head back to drink, easy and unthinking and Mike’s gaze followed the motion automatically.
He didn’t count how many bottles disappeared. He didn’t notice the cheering or the way people refilled each other’s glasses without asking. He simply watched.
“Hey,” Will nudged suddenly, glancing over. “You’re being quiet.”
Mike blinked, pulled back into himself, “I’m fine. Just…tired.”
Will hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. He took another swing instead, resting his elbows on the table. “You don’t like places like this.”
“I like…you liking them,” Mike stated, then immediately regretted how that sounded.
Will snorted amusedly. “You’re so weird.”
“It’s true,” Mike shrugged.
The music changed—not loud yet, just a beat settling into the room. A few people stood, stretching and laughing. Will’s foot started tapping without him noticing.
Mike noticed.
Will pushed himself up, wobbling slightly, “Oh, I love this song.”
Mike straightened. “Shit. Wait—Will—”
“It’s finee,” Will whined slightly, already moving a few steps away, swaying where he stood. “I’m not doing anything.”
He wasn’t wrong. Not really. He just moved with the music. Mike stayed seated, hands curled into his knees with his eyes fixed.
“You’re gonna fall,” Mike said.
Will glanced back, “Boy, I’m literally standing?”
“You’re standing badly.”
That earned a laugh. Will leaned closer, bending at the waist to hear him over the music.
“Mike cmon, you worry too much.”
Mike swallowed. “Someone has to.”
Will straightened again, rolling his shoulders, laughing when the beat picked up. Someone pressed another bottle into his hand. Mike opened his mouth to say something, then stopped.
He needed to get a hold of himself. Will drank.
The change was almost immediate.
People whooped. Another bottle popped, champagne fizzing over the rim and spilling onto the floor. The music swelled, louder now, bass thumping through the cushions and suddenly Will wasn’t just swaying anymore—he was laughing, louder than before, climbing up onto the low table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Holy shit.
“Will—” Mike started, already halfway out of his seat.
Too late.
The room erupted. Cheers, claps, someone chanting his name. Will steadied himself with a hand on someone’s shoulder, hair falling into his eyes, grin wide and reckless. Mike’s heart slammed into his ribs as he looked up at him, frozen, every rational thought short-circuiting at once.
“Oh my god,” Mike muttered. “Oh my god, get down, you’re—”
Will was losing himself. He was dancing. Recklessly raising his arms. Swaying himself to the beat of the music.
Champagne sprayed somewhere to Mike’s left. Someone laughed too loudly. The lights felt harsher, flashing off glass and skin. Mike felt like an absolute mess.
He stood fully now, hands half-raised like he could catch Will from across the table.
“Will, please,” he said, voice tight. “You’re gonna fall.”
Will looked down at him.
Really looked.
His grin softened into something unfocused but intent, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. He leaned forward slightly, balance questionable, pointing at Mike like he’d just noticed him for the first time all night.
“You’re still here,” Will slurred, words stretching together. “You always are.”
Mike flushed hard. “I’m literally right in front of you. Get down.”
The crowd laughed, cheering louder as Will swayed, clearly encouraged. He laughed too, a breathy, unguarded sound and crouched just enough to get closer to Mike’s eye level.
“You look sooo serious,” Will said, blinking slowly. “Did I do something?”
Mike swallowed. “Yes. You…climbed on a table.”
Will considered that, brow furrowing deeply. “Hmm.” Then he smiled again. “You’re seeing things, Michael.”
Mike flinched slightly at his name, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re drunk.”
“No way,” Will panicked. “Am I? Why aren’t you?”
“Because one of us has to be responsible.”
Will tilted his head, studying him like this was fascinating. “You always do that,” he said, words thick. “Take care of things. Take care of me.”
Mike’s chest tightened painfully. “Will,” he said, softer now. “Please come down.”
Will didn’t answer right away. The music pulsed. The cheering continued. Then he laughed again, leaning forward just a little too far, pointing at Mike’s chest.
“You’re cute when you’re stressed,” he said, slurring around the words.
Mike’s face went incandescent. “Okay. Wrap it up, Will.”
He moved forward, arms already bracing, panic overriding embarrassment as Will wobbled again under another wave of cheers.
“Hey—” Will protested lazily, laughing as Mike reached up for him. “Mike, relax, I’m—woah.”
Mike barely registered the cheers as he lifted Will off the table. His arms moved on instinct, one under Will’s knees, the other braced firmly around his back. Will laughed loudly, the sound dissolving into the noise of the room.
“Wow—hey,” Will said, words stammering together. “You’re…you’re…did you start working out?”
Mike flushed, grip tightening automatically. “You were about to fall,” he panted, breathless. “You can’t just—do that.”
The crowd only got louder, someone wolf-whistling as Mike turned, Will draped in his arms like the most humiliating cliché imaginable. Mike could feel every eye on them and hated that his heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with panic.
Oh screw this.
Will shifted, looping one arm clumsily around Mike’s neck to steady himself. “Mike,” he murmured, face far too close now. “You look really serious.”
“Because I’m holding you,” Mike hissed under his breath. “And you’re drunk.”
Will laughed again, softer this time, head tipping toward Mike’s shoulder. His fingers found Mike’s tie, tugging it lazily. Not hard—just enough to pull it loose.
Mike froze.
Was drunk Will always this…bold?
“Don’t—” he started, voice cracking slightly. “Will, stop pulling that.”
“Why?” Will asked, blinking up at him. “It’s tight. You always wear it so tight.”
“That’s not—” Mike swallowed, painfully aware of how close their faces were. “That’s not the point.”
Will squinted at him like he was trying very hard to focus. “You’re kind of blurry,” he said thoughtfully. Then he smiled. “But still cute.”
Mike’s ears burned. “Okay. We’re leaving.”
“What?” Will sulked, tugging the tie again, more clumsily this time. “The party’s still going.”
“You’re done,” Mike voiced, firmer now. “You can barely stand.”
“I’m standing,” Will said, entirely unconvincing.
Mike adjusted his grip, carefully shifting Will’s weight. He was painfully aware of how this must look—office clothes, loosened tie, flushed faces with Will cradled against him like he belonged there. The thought made his chest ache in a way he refused to unpack.
“I’m taking you home,” Mike said quietly.
Will frowned, thinking hard. “My home?”
“Yes.”
“Not yours?”
Mike nearly dropped him. “No.”
Will laughed, delighted, head tipping back. “Okay. Yeah. My home. That’s fine.”
Mike exhaled shakily, relieved he hadn’t argued. “You’re gonna hate me in the morning.”
Will’s fingers slid down the tie, grip loosening as his energy dipped. “No,” he said softly. “You’re…nice to me.”
Mike’s throat tightened. He looked down at Will and spluttered at the trust in the way he leaned into him without thinking.
“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Mike said.
Will hummed, already half-limp in his arms. “You won’t let that happen.”
Mike didn’t answer. He just turned toward the door, holding Will a little closer as he walked, trying very hard not to think about how natural it felt.
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By the time they reached the hallway, Mike had shifted his grip.
Will was on his feet now—technically—but most of his weight leaned into Mike’s side, an arm draped loosely over his shoulders. Mike kept one hand firm at Will’s waist, the other hovering like he wasn’t quite sure where it was allowed to be.
“Okay,” Mike muttered, mostly to himself. “Elevator. We’re almost there.”
Will laughed quietly, breath warm against Mike’s neck. “You’re really stressed.”
“I’m being careful,” Mike said. “There’s a difference.”
“Mhm,” Will hummed.
The hallway was too bright and quiet after the bar. Every step echoed. Mike became acutely aware of how close they were—how Will’s shoulder brushed his chest and how his grip tightened whenever Will swayed.
He needed to remain calm. He was such a loser.
They reached the elevator. Mike hit the button a little too hard.
While they waited, Will leaned more fully into him, head tipping briefly toward Mike’s shoulder before he caught himself. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move away.
“It’s fine,” Mike said quickly. “I’ve got you.”
The doors slid open with a soft chime. Mike guided Will inside, pressing the button for his floor. The space suddenly felt too small. Too quiet.
The elevator started moving.
Will swayed again, and Mike’s hand tightened at his side instinctively. Their faces were closer now. Too close to ignore. Mike stared straight ahead, jaw clenched.
“You can look at me,” Will said softly.
Mike hesitated. Then glanced down.
Will’s eyes were glassy but focused, tracking him with surprising clarity. He smiled, small and tired. “You always do that. Pretend I’m not here.”
“I’m literally holding you upright,” Mike said. “You are very here.”
That earned a quiet laugh. Will shifted, fingers brushing Mike’s sleeve. “You’re nice to me when I’m like this.”
Mike swallowed. “You shouldn’t remember it.”
The elevator dinged.
Mike exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire ride.
Will’s apartment door was only a few steps away, but it felt longer. Will fumbled with his keys, dropping them once, then laughing at himself.
“Wow,” he said. “Oops. That’s…not great.”
“Here,” Mike said gently, taking the keys before Will could protest. He unlocked the door and guided Will inside.
The apartment was dim and quiet, the kind of lived-in neatness that felt very Will.
Mike guided him gently onto the couch, careful not to jostle him. Will slumped immediately, letting the cushions swallow him.
“Alright…that’s better,” Mike murmured softly, adjusting him so he wasn’t half off the edge.
Will hummed as he stared at the ceiling. “Yea feels good,” he mumbled.
Mike reached for Will’s shoes, tugging them off slowly and setting them neatly to the side. Will shifted lazily as Mike worked, letting out a soft, exhausted sigh.
“Mike,” Will murmured, voice thick with alcohol. “It’s always you doing this…why?”
Mike’s fingers froze briefly on the second shoe. “I just need you safe,” he replied carefully.
Will hummed again contently. Then, almost imperceptibly, he moved closer. His hand brushed lightly against Mike’s side. “Don’t go,” he slurred, voice low. “Stay here.”
Mike blinked, caught mid-motion. “I…uh…I was just—”
Will shifted again, leaning just enough that his arms wrapped gently around Mike. He was surprisingly firm for someone so drunk, the weight of him soft but insistent.
Mike stumbled slightly, caught off guard and ended up perching on the edge of the couch with Will pressing against him.
“You don’t have to move,” Will murmured, breathing warm against Mike’s chest. “Just…stay.”
Mike’s hands hovered, unsure where to rest them, muttering quietly.
“I…okay…alright.”
Will leaned into him more fully with his soft weight against Mike’s side. “Good,” he murmured, eyes closing briefly.
Mike exhaled, shifting carefully so he wasn’t crushing him. “You’re not in your senses,” he said softly.
Will let out a lazy laugh. “Maybe but it’s finee,” he slurred, tugging lightly at Mike’s sleeve.
Mike muttered something else under his breath, hands still tense, heart hammering.
“I should get you water,” he suggested, finally lifting the glass he’d brought.
Will’s fingers found Mike’s side again, tugging gently. “Don’t go,” he murmured. “Not yet.”
“Okay,” he muttered, quiet enough that it was more to himself than Will. “I’ll stay.”
Will let his body settle fully against Mike’s back. His arms wrapped around Mike’s waist and he shifted just enough to rest his head near Mike’s shoulder. Mike felt the warmth, the soft weight pressing into him and stiffened slightly.
Mike’s throat tightened. “I don’t…I don’t understand why you do this,” he mumbled, almost a mutter. “Why you just lean on me like this, like I’m supposed to just…deal with it. It’s confusing. You’re confusing, Will.”
There was no response. Will’s breathing was steady and slow. Mike assumed he’d drifted off and the silence pressed against him almost painfully. He could feel the rise and fall of Will’s chest against his back and the slight movement of his arms tightening subtly whenever Mike shifted.
Mike swallowed, muttering again under his breath. “I…I don’t know why I let myself care this much.”
The room felt smaller suddenly, tighter. The quiet hum of the fan, the faint distant city sounds, the warm weight of Will against him—it made every nerve in Mike’s body tingle with a strange, restless awareness.
He shifted slightly, trying to adjust his own position without disturbing Will, but the contact made it impossible to think straight. Every instinct told him to move, to pull away, to give space—but every other instinct rooted him firmly in place.
Mike’s eyes flicked down to Will’s head resting against his shoulder. His lips parted almost without thinking. “You’re…making this so hard for me,” he muttered, voice almost lost in the quiet.
Will tilted his head idly toward Mike, eyes half-open now, a drunken awareness in them. One hand moved slowly to tilt Mike’s chin towards him.
Mike froze.
Will’s lips met his in a soft, lingering kiss.
And everything else—the room, the city outside and Mike’s muttered questions, all of it—fell away.
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Mike was still reeling from the first kiss as his fingers gripped the edge of the couch like it could anchor him.
Will had pulled back, just slightly, but the mischievous curve of his lips lingered in Mike’s vision and the way his hair fell across his forehead made Mike’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.
Mike’s glasses were fogged, his eyes blinking rapidly as if that might make sense of the world again.
“This isn’t…right,” he muttered, words tangled, voice trembling. “You—you’re not…in your senses.”
Will leaned closer again, brushing a hand across Mike’s shoulder, tilting his head so their foreheads nearly touched.
“Trust me,” he slurred softly, smiling just enough to drive Mike insane, “I am.”
Mike froze. Heart thudding. Thoughts scattering like paper in a windstorm.
He was fucked if he stayed here any longer.
He tried to pull back and get some space but Will had already shifted, lowering himself onto Mike’s lap, intent pressing against him. Mike’s hands landed on Will’s shoulders then his chest and then his back. This was impossible.
“Then I’m just…not in the right mind,” Mike gasped, tugging at Will. “I…I can’t—”
Damn this.
Will laughed, brushing his nose against his. “Mike, you’re not trying to resist though.”
Will was taunting him. This was so unfair.
Mike blinked, flustered, vision blurry and his stupid hair sticking to his forehead. His top two buttons were undone from the earlier shift.
“I…I am resisting…sort of,” he protested, voice wobbling.
“Sort of?” Will teased, tugging the tie again lightly, leaning just enough to press against him again. “Come on. You’re being a loser.”
Loser? Is this how Will saw him? God, he needed to get out of here.
Mike shoved at him weakly, almost laughing despite himself. “I’m not a...loser!”
“Yes, you are,” Will said, brushing his lips along Mike’s jaw. “It’s okay though. I like you that way.”
What the hell? This was terrible timing. Why’d Will have to be wasted right now?
Mike yelped, flustered, tugging at the tie again, fumbling to fix his hair.
“You…you’re drunk!”
“And?”
“And I…I can’t…I…this is—” Mike gestured vaguely at their entangled positions, chest heaving. “I’m…I can’t trust you!”
In reality, he couldn’t trust himself. He was sober and this was decaying his morality more and more every second.
Will laughed as he leaned closer. “You can trust me. I said you could.”
Mike groaned, face heating. “I…don’t…you’re…I can’t think straight!”
He knew how stupid he looked. But he didn’t care. It was either he stayed there and allowed himself to lose focus. Or he firmly denied, stood his ground and excused himself. Or maybe he could lock himself in Will’s bathroom until sunrise.
Will’s hands were impossibly warm as they slid beneath Mike’s shirt, teasing the edge of his ribs. Mike froze mid-breath, a shiver running down his spine and suddenly every rational thought fled his brain.
Oh come on Mike, you piece of shit. Think. Think!
“I…I—” Mike stammered, chest heaving before rambling. “I need to get home…to my kids!”
Will froze, hand paused, blinking down at him. “You have kids?” he asked, voice thick with drunken confusion.
Mike nodded frantically, eyes wide.
“Yes! I’m a single father. I adopted…three kittens!”
“For rea—?”
“Yes!” Mike exclaimed, chest tightening. “They’re very needy, very loud and they require…full…parental supervision!”
Will tilted his head, leaning back just a bit, “And that’s…why you’re leaving me…like this?”
Mike’s hands clenched, panic building in his chest. “Yes! They need me! I…I can’t…I can’t stay! They’re…fragile!”
Will chuckled, eyes sparkling with amusement despite the alcohol. “Michael owns 3 fragile kittens,” he teased. “You’re…serious about this?”
Mike nodded, still pressed upright on the couch. “Absolutely! Life and kittens are…very serious matters!”
Will laughed again shaking his head.
Okay. This is going well. He fell for the lie.
Mike’s stomach twisted. He tried to calm his racing heart, but Will’s hand moved slightly, brushing a loose piece of linen caught in Mike’s hair. Mike’s eyes went wide.
Oh no. Oh hell no. He's going to—shit he's going to kiss me.
"I'm straight!" Mike shouted frantically. Before Will could even process, Mike shoved him backwards, startling even himself, and he scrambled off the couch.
He grabbed his watch, then remembered he’d left his blazer behind. Didn’t care. Shirt slightly rumpled, tie loose, glasses crooked. Nothing mattered. He bolted for the door.
“Forgive me, Will!” Mike yelled over his shoulder, panicked and serious. “I just…I’m constipated! Damn it!”
What the hell was he saying? For god’s sake. Constipation?
Mike didn’t look back. Not even for a second. He vanished into the hallway, leaving a trail of chaos, blazer and dignity behind.
──────── ୨୧ ────────
The fluorescent lights felt sharper than usual. Mike rubbed at his eyes as he stepped into the office, the panic from last night still clinging to his chest.
His head throbbed faintly, exhaustion pressing against every nerve. He hadn’t slept—not really. Not after what had happened, or more accurately, what he’d done.
He cringed, remembering the chaotic flight down the hallway, the ridiculous excuse and the ridiculous words.
Constipated.
For god’s sake. He groaned, spiralling silently as he walked to his desk, praying no one would notice the wild look in his eyes.
Mike sat down carefully. He pulled out his laptop, shuffled papers and opened spreadsheets—anything that would make him look unshakeably professional.
Anything to avoid thinking about Will, who, for all Mike knew, could be anywhere right now. He ducked his head lower, focusing on the numbers and graphs in front of him as if they could shield him from the panic clawing at his chest.
The memory of Will leaning into him, the heat of the small room and the warmth of the couch pressed against him, all of it flashed and Mike shook his head as if shaking could erase it.
If anyone could read his mind, he felt terribly bad for them.
He avoided glancing at the doorway. He avoided Will’s usual spot by the printer. He even avoided the coffee machine, which was absurd, because avoiding caffeine would make him even more miserable, but he couldn’t bear the thought of running into Will right now.
Hours passed. He worked furiously. Tapping keys. Scribbling notes. Muttering quietly under his breath at numbers that didn’t care about last night.
He kept his head down, hoping his obsession with work was convincing enough that no one would notice the wild, jittery energy beneath.
Then, around mid-morning, he saw him.
Will.
Entering the office.
Mike froze, eyes glued to the spreadsheet as if it contained the answers to some impossible calculus problem. He didn’t look up. He didn’t breathe. He barely moved.
Please don't look this way. Please don’t look this way.
And Will…didn’t look at him either.
He was avoiding Mike completely. Walking past without the slightest glance, setting his bag down a little too quickly, muttering a brief greeting to someone else. Mike’s chest tightened. His stomach churned.
Okay maybe Will could spare Mike a glance now. But he never did. Bummer.
The day became a delicate dance of avoidance. Mike didn’t let his gaze stray toward Will and Will didn’t let his eyes meet Mike’s. The office was unbearably loud in contrast to the silence hanging between them.
Each time Mike caught a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision, his chest sank, half-expecting to see Will staring, judging, frustrated—or worse, disappointed.
But nothing.
Will was moving through the office like a ghost in his mind, busy and silent, deliberately keeping a distance Mike didn’t think he deserved but couldn’t deny he’d earned.
The silence was heavier than the chaos last night ever had been.
By lunch, Mike had convinced himself of two things:
1. He was the absolute worst.
2. Will was angry—or at least he should be and that was unbearable.
And all the while, every tick of the clock, every shuffle of papers and every keyboard click reminded him: they were still in the same office.
Same air. Same space. And yet…utterly apart.
──────── ୨୧ ────────
Mike finally gave in sometime past noon.
His head was pounding, his eyes burned and he was running on something between caffeine deprivation and pure self-loathing. He stood abruptly, chair scraping softly against the floor and made a beeline for the coffee machine before he could overthink it.
Of course it went wrong. Screw this.
The cup tipped just enough—just enough—and hot coffee sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the counter and dripping onto the floor.
“Shit,” Mike muttered, immediately mortified.
A couple of heads turned. Someone laughed softly. Mike flushed, already reaching for paper towels, hands clumsy and irritated.
He should just dump his head inside the machine and call it a day.
“Hey, it’s fine,” a coworker said easily. “There should be a broom or mop in the janitor’s closet. On the other side of the floor.”
Mike nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Alright, I’ll—yeah...”
He abandoned the mess with an apologetic glance and headed down the corridor. His jaw was tight and irritation buzzed at his skin. The janitor’s closet was tucked away near the back—narrow hallway with dim lights.
Perfect.
He tugged the door open and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him with a soft click.
It was dark. Not pitch-black, but close. Mike squinted, then reached up and flicked the switch above his head. The light came on reluctantly, casting long shadows over shelves stacked with cleaning supplies.
The space was small. Uncomfortably so. A broom leaned against the wall, mop bucket beside it. Mike grabbed the broom, turning back toward the door.
He twisted the handle.
Nothing. Huh?
He frowned, tried again, harder this time. The door didn’t budge.
“Oh,” he said flatly.
Mike exhaled, long and tired, forehead resting briefly against the cool metal of the door. He wasn’t panicking—not yet. Mostly he felt…numb. Resigned. Like the universe was personally invested in humiliating him today.
Great. This is top tier. Locked in the janitor’s room. During work hours.
People would think he's slacking off. Or hiding. Or dead.
He straightened, eyes scanning the cramped room, then made a decision. If the door only opened from the outside, maybe enough force from the inside would jolt it. Or at least make enough noise to get attention.
Mike backed up as far as the room would allow, shoes bumping into the mop bucket. He adjusted his stance, broom clutched awkwardly in one hand, heart starting to thud a little faster.
You got this, dude. Just a kick.
He charged.
The door swung open suddenly.
Mike barely had time to yelp before he stumbled forward—and froze.
Will stood in the doorway.
They stared at each other.
Mike’s brain short-circuited. His heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
“The door—!” he blurted, pointing uselessly, voice sharp with panic.
Will stepped back instinctively. The door swung shut behind him.
Click.
Silence.
Mike stared at Will.
Will stared at Mike.
The broom slipped slightly in Mike’s grip. And that was when it really, truly sank in.
Mike and Will were both locked inside the janitor’s closet.
──────── ୨୧ ────────
The closet felt smaller with Will in it.
Mike became acutely aware of everything all at once. The dim light buzzing faintly overhead. The shelves pressing in on either side. The way the door sat flush and unmovable behind them.
There was barely enough space for the two of them to stand without touching and even that felt like a lie.
Mike couldn’t handle this at all. He so badly wanted to dig a hole and disappear into it. Maybe this time he'll take all his belongings.
“I—” Mike started, then stopped.
His mouth opened again, useless. He shut it, jaw tightening as heat crept up his neck. He stared anywhere but at Will’s face: the broom handle between his fingers, the scuffed floor, hell even the mop bucket nudged askew by his shoe.
In front of him, Will shifted slightly. The sound was small, but in the quiet it might as well have been thunder. Mike felt it more than heard it—the subtle change in air and the way Will’s presence filled the space.
“So,” Will started gently.
Mike swallowed. “It’s locked.”
“Yes,” A pause. “I noticed.”
That should not have been funny. Mike let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so strained. He adjusted his grip on the broom.
He hated today. He hated everything about this day. He was cursed for sure.
“I was trying to kick it,” he admitted stupidly, because apparently humiliation was the theme of the day. “Before. The door. Not—” He stopped himself, cheeks burning.
Will hummed softly, the sound brushing against Mike’s nerves in a way that made his shoulders tense. “That’s nice.”
Mike risked a glance up then—and immediately regretted it.
Will was close. Closer than Mike had realised. Close enough that Mike could see the faint crease between Will’s brows and the way his hair fell slightly out of place.
Damn his life.
Mike shifted his weight back instinctively, only to bump lightly into the shelf behind him.
There was nowhere to go. He was trapped. Trapped with someone he so badly wanted to avoid.
“Sorry,” he blurted foolishly. “About—everything. The coffee. The door. This. All of it.”
Will didn’t move away. If anything, he seemed to settle, hands loosely at his sides, eyes steady on Mike. “It’s okay,” he said. “It happens.”
Mike nodded too fast. “Yeah. Sure. Totally normal.”
The light flickered overhead, as if mocking him.
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m not,” Mike said immediately. Then, more honestly, “I might be.”
He didn’t know why he was like this.
They stood there like that, breathing the same stale air, close enough that Mike could feel warmth radiating from Will’s side. Every second stretched, thick and uncomfortable and unbearably aware.
This was bad.
No like, this is seriously, really bad.
The silence stretched until it felt deliberate.
Mike kept his eyes fixed on the broom like it had personally offended him.
“Hey,” Will said quietly.
Shit.
“About last night.”
Double shit.
“I shouldn’t have—” Will stopped himself, then tried again, more carefully. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line. I was drunk. I don’t want things to be weird.”
That word hit harder than it should have.
“No,” Mike said too fast. “It wasn’t— I mean—”
He cut himself off, jaw tight. His brain scrambled, every thought colliding with the next.
This was going wrong. This was all wrong.
Will frowned slightly. “Mike…I thought you weren’t interested.”
Mike let out a breath through his nose, sharp and frustrated. “That’s not— It’s not that simple.”
Will studied him for a moment, then asked, “Aren’t you straight?”
Good lord.
Mike’s mouth opened. Closed. He gestured vaguely with one hand like the answer might be floating somewhere between them.
“I—” He stopped. “That’s…not relevant.”
Will blinked. “Okay?” A beat, “And the kittens?”
Mike made a strangled sound.
Screw his life.
“That,” he said, turning abruptly toward the wall, “was a panic response.”
He planted his hands on the shelf in front of him, forehead hovering just short of the metal. His glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them back up with two fingers, breathing out slowly.
What the hell would anyone do in his position?
“I don’t have kittens,” he muttered. “I don’t have kids. I don’t have—constipation. I just…needed to leave.”
He straightened his back to brace himself. He nodded once, like he’d made a decision.
Okay dude, you got this. Just say something normal. Something adult.
Mike turned around.
Will was impossibly close.
Holy shit.
Mike’s eyes dropped immediately, catching on Will’s collarbone, the soft fabric of his shirt and the faint rise and fall of his breathing. He stepped back without thinking. His shoulder hit the shelf.
“Sorry,” Mike said automatically, heart slamming. He had nowhere else to go. He swallowed, trapped between the shelves and Will’s steady gaze.
Will didn’t move away. He didn’t move closer either.
“Mike,” he whispered. “Why did you run away?”
He saw this question coming from a mile away but it still shook him.
The sound was loud in the tiny room. His throat felt tight. He looked anywhere but at Will’s eyes as his fingers curled uselessly at his sides.
“Because you were drunk,” he said finally.
Will didn’t interrupt.
“And I wasn’t,” Mike added, quieter now. “I was…completely sober.”
He laughed once, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself.
“And that felt—wrong. Not you. The situation. Me. I didn’t trust myself.”
That got Will’s attention.
His expression shifted, “You didn’t trust yourself to do what?”
Mike hesitated.
“To stop,” he admitted. “To think. You were touching me and I—” He broke off, jaw tightening. “I was already losing control and I didn’t want to…cross a line. I didn’t want to wake up and realise I ruined something.”
Will stepped closer.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” he said quietly. “I knew what I was doing.”
“I know,” Mike mumbled, voice rough. “That’s what makes it worse.”
The space between them shrank until it barely existed. It made Mike’s chest tighten, made him painfully aware of how shallow his breathing had become.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Will murmured. “You didn’t push. You didn’t take anything. You just…left.”
Mike let out a slow breath as his eyes dropped to the floor.
“I left because I don’t trust my judgment when I’m overwhelmed,” he said. “And you were—” He stopped himself, then tried again. “You were right there. And I stopped being rational.”
For a moment, Will didn’t respond. He just watched him as if he were piecing something together instead of reacting to it.
“It’s not wrong, Mike.” Will started. “Wanting something doesn’t automatically make you careless.”
Mike let out a humourless breath. “It does when you don’t know how to want things normally.”
He must look like a total bum.
Will stepped closer.
“Why?” he asked.
Mike hesitated as his hands curled at his sides. “Because I don’t ease into things,” he admitted. “I don’t hover in the middle. I either overthink myself into paralysis or I stop thinking entirely and last night I didn’t trust myself not to—”
He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “I didn’t want to wake up and realise I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know that now,” Mike said quietly. “At the moment, it didn’t feel that clear.”
They were close enough now that Mike could feel the warmth coming off him, could pick out the faint, familiar scent of soap beneath everything else. His back brushed the shelf behind him again, the cool metal grounding and useless all at once.
From this distance, Will’s voice dropped instinctively. “From where I was standing,” he said, “it looked like you ran because you cared too much…not because you didn’t care at all.”
“That’s not—” He stopped, breath catching, because denying it felt dishonest.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Will’s gaze lingered this time and Mike hated how visible his reaction was, the way his breathing gave him away.
“You’re shaking,” Will murmured.
“I’m tired,” Mike replied automatically.
Will didn’t push. He just shifted again bracing one hand against the shelf beside Mike instead of touching him. The restraint made it worse.
Damn it, Will.
“You don’t have to decide anything,” Will said. “I just needed to know you didn’t regret it.”
“I don’t.”
That was enough.
Will leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Mike time to move if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
Their foreheads brushed, barely there, the promise of something heavier hanging between them. Mike’s eyes slid shut on instinct, his entire body tense with the effort of staying exactly where he was.
The air felt thick. Mike could feel Will's warmth against his own skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Every damn movement and breath made his heart pound. He wanted to turn, pull back, run away but his body refused.
Should he stay or should he go? Gosh, this was all confusing.
Will leaned in a fraction closer and Mike felt the teasing brush of his lips against his own. His stomach twisted. Time slowed. Every sound outside the closet faded. Mike could hear his own heartbeat. Will’s quiet breathing so close it was almost a vibration against his face. His lips tingled at the nearness, his mind a jumble of warning and desire he couldn’t name.
Mike’s fingers twitched at his sides. He felt the faint press of Will’s shoulder against him, a grounding weight he didn’t want to move from.
This was taking too long.
Alright. He’s heading in. Wish him luck.
There’s no going back now.
The faint brush of Will’s lips against his own became the spark he’d been holding back, the quiet dare he couldn’t resist any longer. Mike didn’t give himself time to think it through.
One second he was frozen in place and the next he surged forward like he’d been pushed. His hands came up fast, gripping Will’s face before either of them could react, and he crashed their mouths together.
It wasn’t gentle and careful with pure perfection.
It was clumsy and desperate and full of everything Mike had been holding back since the night before. His glasses knocked awkwardly against Will’s cheek and his grip a little too tight.
Will made a small, surprised sound into the kiss, stiffening for half a second before melting into it, hands lifting instinctively as if to steady them both. Mike barely registered it. All he knew was that he’d finally done it. That he was kissing Will. That the fear had lost.
Hell yeah! He could do this all day.
Somewhere outside the closet, something slammed. The door handle rattled violently.
Then came a muffled voice. “—no, I said pull, not push—”
Mike was still kissing Will when the door gave a loud crack, the cheap latch finally surrendering with a pathetic snap. The door swung open far too fast, smacking against the wall and bouncing back.
Light flooded in.
"Hey guys, you two are safe—”
Mike tore himself back with a startled gasp. His shoulder slammed into the shelf and the world immediately punished him for it. Bottles tipped. A mop slid down and smacked him in the leg. Something metal clattered loudly to the floor.
What the actual fuck was going on?
“Oh—oh my god—MIKE?”
He flailed; glasses crooked, tie half undone, arms windmilling uselessly as cleaning supplies rained down on him. He ended up trapped between a fallen shelf and his own poor decisions.
Silence hit the hallway. Every single coworker stared. Mike’s brain short-circuited completely.
Great.
No, totally. This is great.
He finally properly kisses the guy he’s been in love with.
And he also gets taken out by a mop in front of the entire office.
──────── ୨୧ ────────
By midnight, the office barely felt real.
Most of the overhead lights were off, leaving only a handful glowing dimly. The hum of the air system was broken only by the soft sounds of paper shifting and drawers sliding open.
Mike worked through a stack of files at a desk near the windows, placing them into neat piles. Across the room, Will was focused on a filing cabinet. They hadn’t said much since everyone else left.
Mike kept thinking back to earlier.
To the way their boss had looked at them, in total disappointment, as she explained their punishment.
“Indulging in inappropriate behaviour during work hours is not something we tolerate here. You’ll be staying late tonight. Cleaning. Filing. Every last thing.”
It should have embarrassed him more than it did.
But to be real, he was hella geeked.
Mike felt something close to pride. He’d kissed Will. He’d crossed that line in front of everyone. The memory still made his stomach twist with the sharp awareness that he’d finally acted on something he’d been holding back for far too long.
That didn’t mean he knew how to do it again.
He reached for a drawer at the same moment Will did. Their fingers brushed but the contact lingered in Mike’s chest long after they pulled away. Will murmured an apology, already stepping back, his attention snapping back to the files in his hands.
“It’s fine,” Mike shrugged nonchalantly.
He mentally noted 10 points for himself for being smooth.
Will passed him a stack of folders without looking up. Mike took them, their hands almost touching again, and for a second the space between them felt charged in a way the rest of the office wasn’t. They fell back into silence, but it was different now. Heavier. Mike tried to focus on the labels in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting.
The bar. The closet. The way Will had looked at him afterward.
He wasn’t sure where the line even was anymore. Hell, maybe there wasn’t a line at all.
Mike glanced up and caught Will watching him. Just for a moment. Will looked away first and Mike felt a pang of frustration.
Okay. This was bugging him. Now what? He didn’t know how to move. He couldn’t just lean in like last time. He needed a plan. Or maybe he just needed a miracle.
He shifted his weight debating his choices.
1. Wait for Will to look at him again and send flying kisses.
2. Walk over and ask for a kiss on the cheek.
3. Wait for Will to make the first move.
Mike chewed the inside of cheek as he weighed each option. Every second he didn’t act made his chest tighter with an urgent ache that had nothing to do with work. He pressed his palms against the wall to give himself a moment to breathe. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling Will's presence everywhere around the room. It all gnawed at Mike's resolve.
Just wait a moment. Think it through. The perfect time will come.
When he opened them again, Will was a step closer, his hand reaching for a high shelf, tilting slightly to grab a box of files.
Holy shit.
Mike froze, caught off-guard. Will’s eyes flicked to him and with a small tilt of his head, he asked, “Do you…know how to do this?”
Mike blinked. The words sank in slowly, but his mind refused to stop racing.
Do this? Hell yea—
“I do know how to kiss.”
Will froze, turning his head toward him. “What?”
Mike’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He could feel heat flooding his face, burning across his cheeks and down his neck.
He just lost 100 points for that.
Will’s eyes widened, lips parted and an eyebrow raised. He stared at Mike, somewhere caught between shock and surprise.
Mike’s breath hitched and all he could do was hope that Will didn’t notice just how completely unprepared he was for this.
──────── ୨୧ ────────
Mike made friends with the bathroom.
He leaned heavily against the sink and continuously splashed water over his face. The cold hit like a shock, dribbling down his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt and matting his hair against his forehead.
It felt like a reset, like it might wash away his stupidity, his embarrassment. His glasses were set aside somewhere on the counter as he dragged a hand down his face and through his damp hair.
He could practically hear the echo of his own words bouncing in his head.
“I do know how to kiss.”
Well, Mike, do you also know when to shut the fuck up?
“...how to kiss.”
Stop thinking about it.
“...kiss.”
Shut up.
“...kiss…Will—”
Cursed.
He felt cursed. Cursed for saying it out loud. Cursed for the way his chest had tightened when he’d looked at Will. Cursed for how he’d been thinking about it since the closet.
And maybe—he didn’t want to admit it even to himself—cursed for liking Will in ways that scared him, that didn’t feel safe, that felt…wrong somehow.
He buried his face in his hands for a moment, trying to convince himself that breathing would make the heat in his cheeks go away. That this wasn’t the end of the world. That he could focus on work like a normal person again.
He didn’t notice the soft creak of the door opening behind him at first.
“Mike?” Will called out cautiously.
Mike’s head shot up. His heart flipped into overdrive. Will was leaning against the doorframe, eyes scanning him with an intensity that made him forget to breathe.
He couldn’t do this. Not right now.
Will’s gaze lingered. On his hair. On his face. On his flushed cheeks. On the water dripping down his neck.
Mike didn’t realise it until he caught the faint flicker of color in Will’s face—subtle at first but then impossible to miss. Crimson rising across his cheeks. Will’s eyes darted away quickly and then he lifted a hand to cover his face.
Was Will checking him out or judging him?
He muttered something under his breath and walked out, the door clicking softly behind him.
Mike sank back against the sink, exhaling shakily. The water dripping from his hair and shirt didn’t matter. His stomach churned and his chest ached.
Now Will won’t even look him in the eye. Just what was he meant to do?
He trudged out of the bathroom, dragging his sleeves down over his damp arms. The office was silent. Not a single rustle, no hum of conversation, nothing except the soft whir of the lights above. He froze for a moment as he scanned the space.
No sign of Will.
He must’ve left. Couldn’t blame him.
Mike shook his head and let out a long breath. He slid into his chair at the desk, leaned back and let his head fall almost against the top of the backrest. His chest ached as the exhaustion he’d been holding back finally caught up to him.
He didn’t notice the subtle scrape of another chair moving until it pressed against his. His heart jumped. He didn’t turn immediately, he was just aware of the warmth behind him.
“Still alive?” Will’s voice came quietly from just behind him.
Mike exhaled slowly. “Barely.”
He felt the faint press of Will’s chair against his back. It was grounding and infuriating all at once. He could hear his quiet breathing and that made him hyper-aware of every inch of space between them.
“You…you didn’t finish what you started,” Will pointed out.
Mike froze, stomach twisting. “…What do you mean?”
Will tilted slightly in his chair. “The kiss,” he murmured. “You stopped.”
Oh god.
Mike blinked, heat rushing to his cheeks. “I…I didn’t…I—”
“You hesitated,” Will mentioned softly. “I get it. But…I wanted to continue.”
Say what.
Mike’s pulse spiked. His mind scrambled. He had forgotten—completely—how bold Will could be. And he had also forgotten how foolish it made him.
“I…I don’t know if I—” Mike muttered fumbling with the papers in front of him.
“You do,” Will interrupted softly. “I saw the way you froze. You wanted it too. I can tell.”
Damn it. Of course he’d get caught.
Mike’s fingers twitched on the edge of the desk. His heart felt like it was trying to escape his chest. “…Yeah,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. “I…I wanted it.”
There was a pause. Then Will’s voice dropped even softer, a whisper just for him:
“Good. Because I don’t want to wait.”
Mike’s remaining control and resolve faltered as he swallowed hard, finally letting himself acknowledge it—he wanted this too.
He wanted it so bad.
Will shifted behind Mike and tugged gently at the back of his chair. With a firm but careful motion, he spun Mike around to face him, lips hovering just a breath away. Then his hand found Mike’s tie, tugging it just slightly before pressing his lips against his. Mike’s fingers clutched the handles of his chair like a lifeline, knees trembling.
He had to make a move.
He tried to reach for Will but the fumbled angle made it impossible. Will leaned closer, grounding him, and then shifted so he could sit on Mike’s lap. Mike let out an embarrassingly loud sound, somewhere between a gasp and whimper, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his hands roam along Will’s back and the nape of his neck.
He’s really doing it. He’s really going for it.
Just as Mike was planning out his next move, Will began undoing the top buttons of his own shirt, guiding Mike's hands to explore freely now. He let his touch linger, tracing over Will's chest, allowing himself to feel the heat and the heartbeat.
Will responded with soft kisses along Mike’s lips and down his jawline, neck, every brush of his mouth electrifying him. His hands traced the fabric of Will's shirt desperately, feeling it loosen under his fingers as Will continued to undo the remaining top buttons.
Holy shit.
With Will now fully seated on his lap, Mike's back arched slightly into him. Their lips met again and every touch made Mike's control unravel. He could feel shivers running down his spine, the reckless abandon in every brush of his fingers over Will's torso.
Will’s hands returned to Mike, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. The office around them didn’t exist anymore.
Only the feel of Will against him that was tangled within the careful intensity of this shared moment.
Mike’s hands froze for a moment against Will’s chest. His forehead rested lightly against his temple as their breath mingled.
“I—” Mike started, voice rough and unsure. He swallowed. “I think…I’ve wanted this…for a long time.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Will whispered. “I’ve wanted it too. I’ve wanted you.”
“Oh r-really…,” Mike’s voice faltered. “Great…”
Will tilted his head, brushing his lips gently against Mike’s temple, soft enough to make him shiver.
“You’re an idiot,” he murmured with a tiny laugh. “Of course I want this. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”
Will pressed a soft kiss to Mike’s lips again. It wasn’t urgent or desperate. It was just full of everything they hadn’t said out loud.
And Mike was internally counting the loud, noticeable beats of his heart.
He rested his hands on Will’s shoulders. He didn’t move away. He let himself feel the warmth and the steady pressure of Will against him. Will’s lips trailed over Mike’s jaw and temple, brushing the corner of his mouth. Mike shivered and leaned closer. He kissed back slowly letting the moment stretch.
When they finally pulled apart a little, their foreheads pressed together. Neither spoke. Neither moved.
Mike let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I…didn’t think this would happen.”
Will smiled against him and brushed his nose along Mike’s. “Neither did I. But I’m glad it did.”
This was perfect. This was all he ever wanted.
“I think,” Mike whispered, “I’m going to like this. Us. Whatever this is.”
Will tightened his hold and nodded. “Me too, Mike”
Mike let himself relax for the first time all night. He stayed pressed against Will, letting himself feel, letting himself be here and most of all…letting himself be wanted.