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The downpour is making it hard to see the road, an annoyance, since he'd been convinced the rain would stay light just a few hours ago. When it rains, it pours, he supposes, the phrase a little too accurate.
Mike shouldn't have been so unprepared for this. Should have known the moment he confessed to hating every man his best friend dated, he would have to confess it wasn't because of the nature of it. That confessing to not being against Will's queerness would lead to confessing what actually bothered him.
Would lead to confessing that, hey, Will, do you know you're the love of my life? Do you know that every time a man at the bar I go with you to makes you tip your head back and laugh I imagine running him over with my car? Do you know every time you smile that soft, fond smile that used to be just for me at anyone else I think about running myself over with my own car?
"Do you know you're everything?" he whispers, and there is a stinging in his eyes he doesn't bother to will away. "Do you know that every time you're too far from me I feel like a piece of my heart's being torn out of my ribcage?"
"What the hell are you saying?" Will hissed, wide eyed, and it's a testament to how truly angry he is to be cursing at Mike. It's also a testament of how it wavers, when he could easily free his wrists from Mike's grip, but doesn't fight him off. "You don't get to do this now—"
"Do you know?" he insists, croaks, and he feels the tears finally roll down.
"Why do you always do this?" Will asked, small and miserable in his hold, not even trying to step away. "When I'm— When I have a chance to move on from you?"
Mike grits his teeth, hands tightening around the wheel. His own leather jacket feels tighter around his shoulder. The small shield figure Will had made and painted to hang from his rear view mirror dangles in his periphery, the bright red heart vivid even in the dark. The rain continues to drum loudly on the roof of his car. Echoes in his own ears.
He sees the neon lights flash pinks and blues in his vision before he hears the music.
"I think I'm gonna give him a chance," Will smiles tentatively from where he's looking at himself in the mirror, tugging on too-long jacket sleeves. "I mean, he's nice. And he's not like— Not like the other guys before. He wasn't immediately asking to sleep with me. He's still not. He thinks we should date first."
He says the word 'date' with a giddiness, like the bar wasn't in hell. He tells him so.
"The bar is in hell," Mike says flatly, arms crossed where he's leaning against the doorframe of their apartment, keys clenched tight in his fist. "That should be, like, standard."
He's not even picking you up, he says without words. I'm the one driving you to your date, to a place that isn't even your scene.
Will eyed him dubiously through the mirror's reflection. "Mike."
His chest feels like it's caving in, as Will doesn't have any more words after that; focusing instead on prettying himself up some more.
The rain patters against the windows of the apartment, barely there.
Will is laughing, head tipped back as some woman with a bleached bixie and rainbow hoops spun him around to the music, the both of them so obviously drunk off their asses.
Will's legs are clumsy as they try to keep up with the beat, sweat shining off his skin under the bright pink lights in the way that makes it obvious he's been moving nonstop over the course of the night.
He notes with a simmering resentment that Will's date, some douche bag named Carlton, with his ugly, fizzy curls and annoyingly blue eyes, is nowhere to be spotted in the crowd.
"You can drop me off here," Will hums when they're two blocks away, his fingers tapping against his thigh. "I'll meet him inside."
"He can't be assed to get out and meet you out here?" Mike mutters, hyper aware of how Will sighs from the passenger seat. "Too cold for him?"
"Mike," he pleads. "You never hated any of the other guys as much as you hate him. Did he do something? If he's been an asshole to you, you know I'll drop him. But you have to actually tell me."
"He got closer than any of them had." he blurts.
Will's breath hitches. "What?"
Mike swallows.
There's a manic delight in Will's eyes as he's moved around by his friend, his carefully tousled hair from earlier now a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, going in various directions. His jacket is gone, leaving him in just a polo, buttoned to the fullest.
He looks like a wreck. He looks like a boy whose whole life had collapsed on top of him just moments before, and now he spiraled with a maniacal joy.
He looks beautiful.
Won't you teach me how to love and learn?
"Will," Mike calls out, pathetically quiet when he's always been loud. Will doesn't hear, still swaying dangerously. "Will!"
There'll be nothing left for me to yearn
"Leave," Will hissed, fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks, from the cold or from his frustration, Mike can't tell. "Leave right now."
Mike pulls his hands into his own, vice like, desperate. He croaks, "Will."
"You're gonna pick me up later at eleven thirty, on the dot," he continued, still glaring through the blur. "And then you're gonna pretend you weren't being an asshole, and you're not gonna talk about anything you said tonight, you'll avoid it like the plague while you apologize and I'll fucking forgive you as soon as you do— just like I always do!"
"That's not true," Mike murmurs, heart wrenched. "We will— I will. Talk about this with you. I promise. No avoiding. Please— Just don't go—"
"You're gonna talk about how you always hated when I went out with guys?" Will pushed at his chest, their hands still joined. "How you only— Only stayed around because you've known me so long? Even though you hated what I am?"
"That's not what this is, Will, please—"
"Then what is it!?"
"Found you," he murmurs, hand automatically coming up to Will's shoulder, gentle. "Finally found you."
Will's glazed eyes widen at the sight of him, like he's surprised he came. Like he hadn't been the one who pushed Mike back into his car and told him not to come back until it was time to pick him up.
Think of me and burn
"Mike?" he breathes, slurred.
And let me hold your hand
"Found you," Mike repeats, like twice wasn't enough. "Come on, let's go home.. You shouldn't be here."
Anymore. In general.
I don't wanna face the world in tears
"Or what?" Will hiccups, squinting at him. "Who said you could— Could decide where I go?"
Please think again, I'm on my knees
"Who said you had to— Had to find me?"
No one did, Mike wants to say. No one has to, because I'll find you anyways.
"Will—"
The boy shoves at his chest again, for the second time this night, his manic happiness replaced by a hysterical frustration. "Who said you—"
Sing a song to me, no reason to repent
"—Had any right to come back?"
I know you wanna say it
"I love you," Mike whispers into the crook of Will's neck, Will's wrists held in his hands and pulled to feel the beat of his heart pounding in chest. "I love you, I love you—"
"Stop, you're just—"
"Do you know?" Mike breathes into his skin, soaked with sweat. Will's wearing perfume instead of cologne, a brand Max had convinced him to use. He smells like coconut and mint. Mike breathes like a greedy man taking up all the air before anyone else. "Do you know that I love you now?"
That I always have?
"Stupid Mike," Will heaves, bottom lip quivering. "That's who."
He looks as devastated as Mike feels, not even struggling when Mike's hands come up to hold his wrists just as they had hours ago.
This is the rhythm of the night
"Stupid Mike Wheeler," Will sobs, head hanging, hiding his face in his trembling palms. More quietly, and just as heartbreaking, "Stupid."
"I love you."
"Stop— Stop saying that, you don't mean it!"
"I love you."
The music is loud, but all Mike's ears pick up are the soft sobs and sniffles from the boy in his arms, always attuned to him and him alone. He closes his eyes, presses a tentative kiss to Will's hair.
"Let's go home, okay?" he whispers, rubbing a soothing hand from Will's shoulder, down his arm. Will melts like he doesn't mean to, like it's instinct. "Let's go home."
The rhythm of my life
"Don't leave me," Will mumbles wetly into his chest. "Please."
Mike kisses his hair again. "I love you," he mumbles, bearing the truth raw and hoping he'll believe it this time. "That's never gonna happen."
Will doesn't respond, and that's okay.
As they wobble together to the car, he'll drape his leather over his best friend's shoulders. As he opens the passenger door to help Will inside, he will ask for his glasses in a tired mumble. As Mike drives them home, to their shared apartment in the city, both their names on the lease and decorated in everything that makes them them, Will dozes off beside him, clutching Mike's hand on top of his thigh like a lifeline.
"We'll talk," he murmurs, knowing Will can't hear, but wanting to speak aloud the reassurance anyways. "I promise."
He brings Will's hand up to his lips, eyes still on the road. He drops it back just as gently.