Chapter Text
The swear jar lives on top of the fridge.
It’s a chipped ceramic mug that says World’s Best Dad, which makes Will furious every time he looks at it, and Mike delighted, which is why it’s still there.
“Why is it full again,” Will says, dropping his bag by the door and toeing off his shoes. “I was gone for six hours.”
Mike swivels in the kitchen chair. He’s mid-rant, holding a spoon like it personally offended him. “Because the landlord is a—”
“Mike,” Will says flatly, eyes flicking to the jar.
Mike freezes. Stares at it. Scowls. “That’s bullshit.”
“You started it.”
“I started it for fairness.”
“You started it because you swear like it’s a competitive sport.”
Mike exhales through his nose, reaches into his pocket, and drops a coin into the jar with a sharp clink. “There. Happy?”
“No,” Will says. “But continue.”
Mike lights up instantly, like he’s been waiting for permission. “Okay so first of all, he says the sink is ‘technically functional,’ which is a lie, because when I turned it on, it made a noise like it was summoning something ancient.”
Will walks to the fridge. “You turned it on again?”
“I had to test it.”
“You tested it yesterday.”
“And it failed yesterday too,” Mike says. “Consistency matters.”
Will hums, grabs a soda, and leans against the counter. “Did you tell him it leaks?”
“Yes. I told him it leaks. I told him it cries.”
“Did you use those words.”
“I used better ones.”
Will sighs. “I’m so tired.”
Mike points at him with the spoon. “You’re always tired.”
“Because I live here.”
Mike gasps, offended. “Wow. Hostile.”
“Realistic.”
Will is half-sitting on the counter, arms folded, radiating irritation. Mike is behind him, pressed in far too close, chin hooked over Will’s shoulder like this is his God-given right.
“I’m too hot,” Will says. “This is illegal.”
Mike tightens his arms around him anyway. “You’re fine.”
“I’m literally not,” Will snaps. “You’re a furnace. Why are you like this.”
“Because you didn’t explicitly forbid cuddling,” Mike says smugly. “You said, and I quote, ‘don’t be annoying.’ That’s vague.”
Will tries to wriggle away. Fails. “Get off. I hate counters. And people. And heat. And you.”
Mike grins against his neck. “You love me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Will mutters.
Mike ignores that, because of course he does. “So anyway, while I’m on the phone with the landlord, Mrs. Kline from downstairs walks by and asks if my wife is home.”
Will chokes.
“She didn’t even hesitate,” Mike says, pleased. “Just went straight for it.”
“What did you say,” Will asks, already exhausted.
Mike leans back slightly, still trapping him. Smug radiates off him in waves. “I said, ‘He’s working late. He’s very mysterious.’”
Will groans. “You’re the worst.”
“I know,” Mike says cheerfully. “She nodded like it explained everything.”
“It explains nothing,” Will says. “Also you’re crushing me.”
Mike hums. “Everyone assumes you’re the calm one.”
Will scoffs. “I complain constantly.”
“Yeah, but you do it quietly,” Mike says. “Very elegant. Very wife.”
Will elbows him. Hard. “Stop calling me that.”
“Make me,” Mike says, delighted.
“I will push you off this counter.”
“You won’t,” Mike says. “You need balance.”
“I need air.”
Mike finally loosens his grip just enough to pretend he’s compromising. “See. I listen.”
“You absolutely don’t.”
Mike presses a quick, smug kiss to Will’s temple. “You stay though.”
Will goes still. Then mutters, “It’s temporary.”
Mike smiles into his hair. “Sure, babe.”
Will closes his eyes. “I hate you.”
“Then why didn’t you correct her last week when she asked if we wanted matching mailboxes.”
“Because I was tired,” Will says. “And she scares me.”
Mike nods. “Fair.”
Will takes another sip. “Did she ask about the cheating yet.”
Mike brightens. “No, but I’m waiting.”
“You shouldn’t wait,” Will says calmly. “You should plant the seed.”
Mike blinks. “What.”
“Next time someone asks how long we’ve been together, say five years. I’ll say six.”
“That’s evil.”
“I know.”
Mike’s grin crawls back onto his face, slow and pleased with itself, like it just remembered something evil. He taps the spoon against the counter, eyes bright.
“And the cheating,” he says, casual. “You forgot the cheating.”
Will blinks at him, unimpressed. He considers this like he’s choosing paint colors. “You cheated on me with a barista named Chloe.”
Mike recoils instantly. “I hate that name.”
Will nods, satisfied. “Good. It hurt me deeply.”
Mike bursts out laughing, bending forward, one hand braced on the counter, the other waving the spoon wildly like he’s losing a duel. “Oh my god, you’re unbelievable. I would never cheat on you.”
Will doesn’t even look at him. “You would emotionally.”
Mike straightens up mid-laugh. Freezes. “Okay. Rude.”
“Accurate,” Will says, deadpan, popping the cap off his drink.
Mike squints. “I am emotionally present.”
“You abandoned me for foam,” Will replies immediately.
“That was one time.”
“You talked about it for a week.”
“It was good foam.”
Will turns to him slowly. “You described the foam like it was a spiritual experience.”
Mike defends himself with both hands now, talking faster. “She did that leaf thing. It was art. You, of all people, should respect that.”
“I respect actual art,” Will says. “Not your emotional affair with dairy alternatives.”
Mike scoffs. “It wasn’t an affair.”
“You learned her schedule.”
“I wanted consistency.”
“You asked what music she liked.”
“That’s small talk.”
“You said she ‘got’ you.”
Mike winces. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “Because it was.”
Mike points at him with the spoon again. “But I came home. To you. Complaining. Like a loyal person.”
“You complained about her to me.”
“That’s intimacy.”
“That’s cruelty.”
Mike grins anyway. “You love it.”
“I tolerate you,” Will says. “There’s a difference.”
Mike leans in, smug and relentless. “You didn’t deny it.”
Will sighs, long-suffering. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet,” Mike says brightly, already winding up again, “you keep inventing elaborate backstories where I ruin our fake marriage.”
“Because you deserve consequences,” Will says.
Mike laughs, delighted. “So I cheat, emotionally devastate you, and you still stay.”
Will finally looks at him. “Obviously. Someone has to stop you from talking to strangers.”
Mike’s smile softens for half a second. Then he ruins it.
“So Chloe,” he says. “Do I leave you for her or do you forgive me dramatically in public.”
Will drains his drink. “I fake forgive you. Then tell everyone you cry in the shower.”
Mike gasps. “That’s slander.”
“That’s character development.”
Mike drops the spoon into the sink, still talking. “You know what, fine. I accept my role as the villain husband.”
“You’re not the villain,” Will says flatly.
Mike perks up. “I’m not?”
“You’re the nuisance,” Will finishes.
Mike beams. “I knew it.”
Will is just about to tell Mike to shut up again when something merciful intervenes. A knock at the door. Loud. Insistent. Uninvited.
They both freeze.
Mike whispers, “If this is the landlord, I’m going to swear.”
Will whispers back, “I’ll get the jar.”
Mike opens the door. It’s their neighbor from across the hall, holding a package.
“Oh,” she says, smiling immediately. “Hi! I found this in the wrong mailbox. Is your partner home?”
Mike doesn’t even blink. “Unfortunately.”
Will steps into view. “He means emotionally.”
Mike slips an arm around Will’s shoulders like it belongs there. Casual. Possessive. Annoying.
Will stiffens for half a second, considers shoving him off, then decides he doesn’t have the energy and lets it stay.
“We’re actually going through a rough patch,” Will says, voice flattened by exhaustion but still painfully polite. He exhales like the sentence physically costs him. “He cheated on me.”
The neighbor’s face crumples instantly. Eyes wide. Hand flying to her mouth. “Oh no!”
Mike reacts like he’s been shot. He clutches his chest, staggers half a step closer to Will, scandalized. “It was one time.”
“With Chloe,” Will adds, without hesitation, without mercy.
Mike bows his head. Nods slowly. Gravely. Like a man confessing under oath. “She made good foam.”
The neighbor makes a distressed noise somewhere between a gasp and a prayer. She murmurs something sympathetic, backs away, and pulls the door shut a little too gently.
Click.
The lock settles.
Silence crashes down around them.
Mike drops his hand from his chest and bursts out laughing, bending forward like it knocked the air out of him. “Oh my god, her face.”
Will peels himself out from under Mike’s arm, rubs his eyes, and stares at the door like it personally betrayed him. “I hate you.”
Mike straightens, still grinning, still glowing with satisfaction. “You absolutely don’t.”
“I am exhausted,” Will says. “I am lying to strangers about your fake infidelity.”
“And you’re incredible at it,” Mike says, warm and delighted. “Really committed to the bit.”
Will drags a hand down his face. “You said ‘one time.’”
“I panicked.”
“You enjoyed it.”
Mike shrugs, unapologetic. “I thrive under pressure.”
Will lets out a long, tired breath and mutters, “This is my life.”
Mike looks at him for a second too long, grin softening just a little. Then, like always, he ruins it.
“So,” he says lightly, “do I cry later or in the shower.”
Will doesn’t look at him. “Both.”
Mike nods. “Fair.”
Will glances at the swear jar. “You owe the jar for ‘foam.’”
Mike groans, fishing for another coin. “This is a scam.”
Will takes it gently from him and drops it in. “Marriage is full of sacrifices.”
Mike looks at him. Really looks. “So we’re married now.”
Will shrugs. “Apparently you ruined it.”
Mike smiles, soft around the edges, and immediately ruins the moment by saying, “I could never shut up long enough to cheat properly anyway.”
Will snorts despite himself. “God. You talk so much.”
“You listen,” Mike says, easy and fond.
Will doesn’t argue. He just grabs his soda and walks past. “Make dinner. And if you swear again—”
“I know,” Mike says, already reaching for his wallet. “The jar. My greatest enemy.”
From the kitchen, he keeps talking. He doesn’t stop. He never does.
And Will, exhausted, stays right there and listens anyway.