Chapter Text
Trying to party with new people, college “friends,” and a whole lot of alcohol feels incredibly boring compared to what he thought it would be like, how they pictured it in movies, the perfect scenery, drinking and having fun. He always goes just to laugh at his friend's stupid humor the first ten minutes and then, when he’s sure his colleagues are just drunk enough to forget about it the next day, Will goes to the bathroom and stares at the mirror, with the door wide open. Who cares anyway? They’re all intoxicated. No one truly cares about him, not the way his old party did.
Will’s mind has only been able to bring up one thing for the past eight months, something that had been bothering him since last May. When he had seen Mike wearing his orange graduation cap (which made his head look completely flat and gave him the ick if he thought about it too much, but also made his eyes look darker and more intense, something Will hated to admit to himself but actually liked), how was he supposed to act around Mike now that he had “officially gotten over him,” while at the same time it was the first time his feelings had actually felt addressed and reciprocated?
Until last summer, Will had convinced himself that “Tammy and Robin” was the perfect comparison to describe him and Mike’s relationship, but now his friend, the one who had been oblivious to Will’s crush on him his whole life, would look at him with the same admiring eyes he could see in his mom’s old high school pictures, where she stared at Jim, the man she’s currently engaged to. Those eyes, coming from Mike, were a strike directly to his heartbeat, he had always felt a spark, felt like he could be the one for him. Mike would even kick his feet under the table, and Will would flinch every time. It made his stomach flip completely, almost making him spill his guts out of his mouth, but obviously he had to swallow them back again and pretend the flip was just a cough, the blush was just the hot day and bad air conditioning, and the way he covered it with his hand was just a resting pose, not on purpose at all. Since he can't date him. It's betrayal, boys shouldn't like boys. Girls should, that's the role Jane is supposed to play in Mike's life, she is the romantic company he needs, not Will, he is his platonic company.
He doesn’t have a crush on him anymore, was what he told himself after every day that last campaign. Of course he doesn’t. Mike looked incredibly stupid with the fake vampire teeth that didn’t even fit him right (probably because they were made for children), and him being the only one acting up the whole campaign was cringe enough to actually make Will reconsider how he could have ever crushed on him in the first place.
“Tammy, Tammy, Tammy,” he sang himself to sleep the night he came home after that, lying on his bed, sideways and facing the wall that had a few unpainted spots and badly glued posters, knowing that if he even dared to peek to the other side, he’d see a thousand crumpled letters in his trash bin, each one ending with “Love, Will” or “I miss you,” things too romantic for a person you used to crush on but don’t crush on anymore, right? And definitely too romantic for his straight guy best friend.
While the rest of his room was a mess, the only part of it that stayed organized was the desk, where an unfinished sketch of an unfinished face with an unfinished big nose laid, clearly curved downward in the exact same way as Mike’s. Almost like his mind, where everything and everyone had been a mess, when the particles of the mind-flayer were still on his organism, the only part of his mind that helped clear it all up was Mike, the only one who stayed throughout the chaos of that year. A piece of his heart laid bare on the desk, just waiting for anyone to see it, just waiting for Jonathan to burst in and make fun of him for ages for crushing on someone like Michael, of course, in a joking way. No one had ever cared more about Will’s feelings for Mike more than Jonathan. Except maybe Mike, now that you think about it.
Jonathan had seen every stage of Will’s love for Mike, and he had always followed it quietly. From when he came home in 1976, excited to tell his mom and him about the new friend he made on the swings, to when he went missing and when he was found, Mike was the only one keeping him company in the hospital, or even when he came home crying in the middle of a heavy rain and locked himself in his bedroom, claiming he had just had a little fight with Mike, and even when he ran to the wooden castle they had built together to destroy it, thinking his life was completely ruined.
Jonathan walked him through all of that, and that’s exactly the same reason he was the first person to know about his crush on Mike. When Will encouraged Mike to love Jane on the back of a pizza van, acting like he wasn’t confessing right to Mike’s face, giving him the most beautiful painting ever along with a lie: “El commissioned it.”
When all the memories finished and Jonathan actually entered his room and saw him on his bed, crying and facing the wall, he didn’t even see the sketch on the desk. He saw his little brother, who he knows never sleeps facing the wall. He had checked on him sleeping almost every day after that day he went missing, and one of the things he noted was that, in an instinct of protecting himself, Will slept facing the room, ready to run directly forward if woken up by an emergency. Something had to be wrong with him.
“Will?” Jonathan called.
Absolutely no answer.
“Will?” He raised his voice a little bit. “Are you awake?”
Will flipped on his bed, lying on his back now, and after a few seconds that felt like he was still asleep, sat on the center of the bed, looking directly at his older brother.
“You don’t need to babysit me anymore, you know that, right?”
Jonathan shrugged. Really softly. How could he not be worried about his brother after he was taken from his hands for days when he was just a kid?
“You don’t ever sleep facing the wall. Can I ask why you were doing it tonight then?”
He entered the room, not before turning the light on, and sat on the edge of his bed, visualizing the chaos of Will’s room. His clothes were discarded on the floor, his desk chair (that coincidentally was also on the floor) and his bed, right below where his body laid now. The floor was also decorated by a pair of shoes, with the laces still tied, along with his bag somewhere on the floor near the door. Jonathan had to be careful with his steps, or he could have left a dark mark on one of Will’s socks, or maybe even stepped on his Walkman, that was also on the floor.
You could see a clear path followed. Will had entered the room and thrown his backpack to the floor along with his Walkman next. Then he had kicked off his shoes angrily, not even bothering to untie them, just forcing them off his feet. While doing so, he had fallen, and that’s why the chair was also on the floor, along with the clothes it held. Then he had pulled his shirt and pants off, letting them rest on the sanctuary that was forming on the floor, putting on an old The Clash T-shirt that used to belong to Jonathan and worn out pajama pants, to finally rest on the bed, on top of where the clothes he had used that day lay, his belt still on the loop of his pants, now making a mark on his calf because of his own weight pressed against it.
“I don’t know,” Will finally answered, not even trying to open his eyes to look at his brother.
Jonathan sighed. Maybe Will was right. He worried about him way too much. He was already 18. It’s not like he’ll get lost again. He stood up, giving him a bit of space, and proceeded to look around his room, of course noticing the cleanness of the desk and also the recognizable face printed on the paper.
“So, is this Mike?” he asked, making Will’s body spurt out of bed (making all the clothes fly away) and grab the sketch before Jonathan got time to scan it deeply.
“No,” he said, going to bed with the thick paper in hand, covering himself (and Mike from the drawing) with the thin, burgundy sheets. If it’s not a drawing of someone like Mike, then who is it for Will to hide it with such passion? Why would Jonathan judge anyone that isn’t Mike?
Every night that passed went almost the same as that one. Will slept, thought a bit too much about his old crush, hid the drawing (that each time got more detailed), and woke up the next morning wasted.
Eight months had passed. Eight months of a boy crushing on someone he doesn’t even see anymore, lying in bed and (sometimes) crying.
It had been so long since he had last seen him. The clothes that lay every night on his chair showed the timeline, from the lightest shirt you could picture and the fan on, to a light jacket and shoes with a thousand leaves stuck on them. Then finally, to a big brown puffer jacket that kept him warm every hour of the day, and the smell of wood getting burned in the old heater of the living room. The sketch also proved the passing of time. The paper had yellowed a bit too. He continued it every night. There were nights where Mike’s face was clearly Mike’s and he would go to bed happy to see him again. And there were also nights where he looked like a complete stranger, making it his task the next day to fix it, to spend hours working on every single detail of his face and every freckle he could possibly remember.
But he always messed it up somehow. It was looking perfect, but he insisted on one single freckle, erasing it and drawing it again until it stopped looking like a freckle at all. It turned into a mole that got bigger with every attempt to fix it. Then it started looking more like a pimple, and why would he draw such an ugly feature on the face he loves? Eventually, the erasing of one single part so many times started leaving a dark mark on the paper, and now it looked like Mike had a birthmark on his cheek, or that he was slapped across the face with a hot pan that left a permanent burned scar beneath his right eye.
He had gotten extremely close to tearing the paper into pieces and throwing it away, along with the pile of old letters he had once written for him when he was away in California and his phone was too occupied by his mom for him to use it to call the Wheelers. But he could never reach the peak point of anger. He’d grab the paper’s corners and begin to try to rip it in half, but as soon as he saw the smallest tear in the middle, he’d stop, glue it back together, and feel bad about himself, like he had just tried to kill the real Mike.
His face started scaring him. In a way that continuing the drawing was not done every day, he started taking breaks from it, breaks that got longer and longer each time. By the time it was winter, the drawing had been untouched since October. He was completely scared of seeing Mike’s face again. Of what he would feel watching the face he had loved throughout all of his teen years, of how he would react to seeing the face he had admired silently, the face he had supposedly “fallen out of love” with. But every time he glanced at the edge of his desk, where the drawing lay rolled up, where a peek of Mike’s eye could be seen through the hole of the tube, his mind flipped upside down. How was he ever supposed to stop loving the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen?
The same eyes that looked at him softly and were paired with the warmest voice tone, that was only reserved for him, with the most perfect lips and beautifully arched nose he never failed to draw perfectly. He hated it. All of his face structure. The way he looked so handsome, but his beauty would never belong to him, but to his sister, now resting in peace. He felt so guilty for loving someone who wouldn’t love him back. For loving the same person his sister did, like he was in some way ruining their relationship, even if he crushed on Mike first, and even if Jane wasn’t here anymore. For loving a man.
The next day, Will woke up and turned around. He had been sleeping with his back to the room for months now, looking at the wall during his sleep. The drawing wasn’t there anymore, neatly rolled up against the leg of his desk.
He had never stood up so fast. He paced around his room, looking for his art, now lost. Losing it felt like losing control, like losing Mike. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how life would be without him, and now he was being taken without even letting Will prepare himself for the loss. The only part of him that he had kept was in that drawing, and even if he hated himself for it, he wanted it back. He needed it back, just to make sure he wasn’t alone, that Mike was keeping him company from a distance. The cold wind entered through his open window. He had forgotten it was already December, that he couldn’t sleep with only his shorts on anymore. The drawing was nowhere to be found. He stumbled into the living room, where Joyce and Jonathan sat quietly at the table.
“Did any of you see a drawing that was on my desk?” He didn’t even space his words out, babbling them out of his mouth and having to repeat himself again after.
“Honey, slow down. What did you say?” his mom asked, with a worried expression, as she put a coffee mug in front of an empty chair, clearly for him.
“Did any of you see a drawing that was on my desk?” He sat down. The words came out a bit more fluently now that his mom had calmed him down a bit.
“The one with Mike in it?” Joyce asked, and both Will and Jonathan almost spit out their coffee. The mention of Mike made Will’s face contort slightly, even when he tried to keep it normal. He didn’t know if it was disgust or love that he felt towards him, maybe even both. Maybe disgust toward himself and love for Mike, or maybe disgust toward his love for Mike. Jonathan flinched just because he had been keeping an eye on Will lately, and he knew something was out of place, but now, with his reaction and the information about what the rolled up drawing was about, everything clicked into place for Jonathan. It was obvious what was happening to his brother. Sleeping facing the wall, having a mess in his room when he used to be the tidiest person on earth, and freaking out about a drawing he hadn’t even looked at for the past month. Only love makes you that crazy.
“Yes, have you seen it? It was on my desk until last night,” he stuttered the words out. Joyce had always been a bit more oblivious than Jonathan. She had never realized the crush Will talked about that day at the radio tower was Mike, and had just dismissed it as some high school crush from when they used to live in Lenora. So the mention of his name felt completely normal for her. It’s his childhood best friend after all.
“I thought saving it in your folder was okay. It would’ve been collecting dust for ages if not, Will,” Joyce answered.
What folder? He just draws in sketchbooks now. There is no need for a folder. There hasn’t been for a while.
“What folder, Mom?”
“The one with Mike’s drawings, of course. Where else would I put it?”
An ice cold bucket of water hit his head along with that comment. No one was supposed to know about those drawings. They’re from the time he was in love with Mike, years ago, and now a new drawing appeared in there. It almost felt like a metaphor. He’s definitely falling again, and he can’t even hide it from his mom like he used to anymore. His gaze found Jonathan’s across the table, who was watching the scene in silence, but looked away and pretended his toast was way more important, staring at it deeply, as if telling Will, “you’re on your own with mom now.”
It felt like he had completely hit rock bottom. His mom knew about this, about the drawings he used to do of him. His privacy had been completely violated, they're hidden, how did Joyce even find them? Does she know about his crush on him? He thought it was clear now, she did. She always did, the drawings were from when he was in love, and when he fell out of it, he stopped doing it, stopped picturing Mike. But now, a new one had appeared, like his emotions had just started all over again.
Will stayed silent for the rest of the breakfast, there is nothing else to be added. His mom knows, Jonathan does, his heart is opened in the middle of the table, for everyone to see and touch.
After putting on his light yellow shirt, which he always kept neatly buttoned to the top, he decided to head out for his first lecture of the day, a boring Art History class. Who even cares about Greeks and their admiration for male bodies? How is it possible that Michelangelo spent so much time sculpting a man's anatomy and didn't get called a faggot across every hall, but Will got called it just by existing? His teacher's talking about 'male intimacy' being commonly showed in art made him almost want to stand up and leave the class, he kept talking about drawing being a form of intimacy, of drawing the one who they love. Of how they expressed their love through creating eachother, remembering their features and sculpting them with their own hands, retouching their lover's faces until every detail was perfect.
Isn't that the exact same thing he's been doing with Mike these past months? Rendering his face so much, so perfectly, that he has to stop looking at it. Feeling like the drawing was the actual Mike, staring at him through the paper.
He starts sweating, it's like the world is basically plotting against him, reminding him about Mike every step he takes, forcing him to accept it. Eventually, it's too much for Will to take, feeling so related to a guy who existed before more than four hundred years ago and thinking of his own drawing, now with the perspective of a greek man who drew their loved one, make him have the courage to leave the hall, almost running.
Some people turn to look when he accidentally slams the door shut too roughly, but he doesn't even care, he just needs air, and getting out from a class that feels like old torture to his emotions. He gets to the dispenser and with a crumbled bill from his jean's pocket, pays for a Coke can.
Some girls walk around the facility, with pretty styled bangs and voluminous hair, one wearing a light blue blouse and the other one, the highest raised jeans he had ever seen. They talk in the hallways, holding a small bookbag each. As Will waits for the machine to drop his Coke, they get closer, and when the drink is finally in his hand
"You're totally like, in love with Micheal" The blonde girl says to her friend, making her giggle. And also, making Will drop his soda to the floor, making the gas leak out along with the dark fluid that spilled all over the floor.
He was so struck by hearing the name Micheal he had thrown to waste his last fifty cents. He had to pick it up and wrap the drink in tissues to avoid making a mess while convincing himself that the Micheal the girls were talking about was not a Wheeler and probably someone from the campus, a normal guy, a partygoer, not his Mike, his nerdy, D&D player Mike.
When he came back to class after the incident, the teacher kept talking about the same topic, and his loud entry from the big old door made him pause as the whole class turned to look at him. He coughed and walked back onto his seat, with a stain of Coke in the bottom of his jeans.
"As I was saying, your assignated project for this semester will be based on the topic we finished reading today. I want you to choose anyone and use them as your muse, exactly like greeks. Possibly a partner or a close friend, you have until end of this semester to work on it and you'll present them at the end of the year."
The word "muse" only brought one person to mind. His muse for the past months, he hated thinking about it that way, that Mike was the person he loved and chose to portrait in his art, that he was the person whose face he could sculp with his eyes closed and not forget a single freckle.
Fuck. Did everything really had to be about love, Mike, and his emotions? It felt like everyone could read his mind and just quite literally hated his guts enough to torture him with his own feelings he couldn't even figure out. What if he just gave his professor his drawing of Mike? The idea crossed his mind. That way he could have his task done easily, and also not see Mike's face ever again, it's a double price. To finally stop whatever he's feeling towards someone he shouldn't feel anything else than platonic love. But it would also make him face his fear of losing him, the part of hm that only Will knew about, the part he had created, his Mike. Loose the only part of him that actually belonged to Will, not to anyone else, the only part of Mike that he could love shamalessly because it's purely his.
The drawing was the only part of Mike that could see the real him, even when the real Mike will never do so, because letting go with him would just be embarrassing knowing that he isn't like him. But this Mike is, almost like he was an original character of Will, one that reciprocated his love, one that didn't care they were both men and obviously didn't still mourn romantically for Jane, and only saw her as his lost best friend, just like he thought of Will when he went missing.
Home feels just as embarrassing as college, no one is looking at him, but his mind spirals alone. He thought the people in his classs were judgung him and they weren't even looking his way, and the dinner table made him feel like his mom and Jonathan were both staring at his soul, when they were simply eating in silence, or casualy talking about Jonathan's own artsy project. No one was paying attention to him, but he was so embarrassed of himself that it felt like they were, like they knew what he was thinking and also found gross that he had to create a version of his friend that didn't love his sister just to feel better about himself, it sounds like he's the worst erson ever if it's put with those words.
"What about you, Will? Any new interesting project?"
Will didn't even look up, completely staring at some point, gaze unfocused and brows furrowed as he chewed on something, his hand half up in the air while holding a fork.
"Will, mom's talking to you."
The interruption of a deeper voice like his brother's had the power to snap him out of his dissociation.
"Sorry, what, mom?" He asked as his eyes focused back on his plate and now moved smoothly, when seconds ago he looked like they could water up from being still that much.
"I asked if you also have some interesting project to do for college"
The word "project" punched him right in the face exactly the same way it did earlier today.
"Yeah, something about homoeroticsm in old greek art" He said, while he almost cried but tried to play it off, chewing inito a piece of meat.
"And? Do you have any plan for what you'll do? You always liked about learning about those things, the meaning behind art" She answers with a warm smile as she takes a sip of her glass of wine
Meanwhile, Jonathan had frozen mid bite
"Homo what?" He acted oblivious, even though he had definitely heard the full word.
"It's just statues, you know, Michelangelo and that." He paused for a second. "It's stupid, just a project" He said, stabbing his fork onto the meat a bit more roughly than intended.
"No, honey! I'm sure you'll do fine, you always put all your whole heart into your art" Joyce said, with a warm smile, as she held his younger son's hand, not knowing what she had just said.
"Yeah, that's... Kind of the problem" He murmured, almost to himself, and didn't get an answer, but a small kick from his brother's feet under the table, telling him that they'll definitely have a talk later.
He tried to focus on chewing, the meat felt stickier with each bite, until he felt like he was eating pure rubber, so he stopped. Even when he had to dine calmly with his family, so supportive and warm, Mike had a way to get to him.
When he used to get mad at him and try to avoid him as teens, Mike would call his house a thousand times or even come knocking on his door, getting through Joyce and entering his room without asking, he always had that instinct of looking for him, and now that they don’t even see each other anymore, Mike’s spirit remains in every conversation at the dinner table and now, in every single one of Will’s thoughts. In his art, he is portrayed. In class, it feels like his professor knows Mike personally and describes exactly what he does to Will. In his room, letters to Mike are scrambled in his trash bin, and Mike’s letters to him are saved in his nightstand table. He always keeps a part of Mike close to him, it brings him safety.
But that’s not the real Mike, is it? That’s just the one he made up in his head. The real Mike left him alone to have time to make out with Jane, the real Mike refused to play with him, the real Mike has a girlfriend. He has to stop with this nonsense of loving someone like him, he needs to understand that it’s not reciprocated, that he’s a homewrecker and he must respect her sister because that’s what she would have wanted.
Laying on his bed, feeling full after shoving too much food in his mouth to avoid talking, a thought crosses his mind.
Maybe seeing him could be the solution, last time they did, Mike surely did cringe him out and talked about Jane, maybe seeing him, the real one, will make Will fall out of love with him. He pictures it in his mind, Mike doing some stupid shit and wearing his hair in that ugly middle part that makes him look exactly like his dad, who can’t even satisfy his wife and is definitely the most miserable person Will has met in his whole life. Maybe that would help, it would pop the bubble he’s been living in and confirm that Mike is, indeed, an ugly asshole.
But if he was, indeed, an asshole, why did he start acting like that during their last campaign? Like he actually cared for Will, like he was flirting with him, looking at him as if he were planning on practicing cannibalism on his body. And if he was, indeed, also ugly, why did Will like him so much? Why did he look so attractive through his eyes?
A knock on his door.
"Will?"
Another one.
He stands up and opens the door to see Jonathan, standing in the hallway, with a worried expression. "Can I come in?"
Will just noods and moves out of the way, closing the door behind his brother.
Will sits back on his bed and gets followed, now they're both in it, Jonathan looking down as if thinking of what to say, on how to start such a deep conversation. And Will is not looking up either, probably thinking of the same thing. He can't hide anymore, he knows Jonathan knows, he always did, but had been trying to avoid the conversation forever.
"So, did Mike call?" He asks, he assumes the reason behind Will's acting may be an unexpected message from his lover, but there is none. Will shakes his head.
"C'mon, Will... Talk to me" He says, shaking his leg a bit and making it brush against his brother's.
"He didn't, Jon."
His tone comes out a bit harsher than he wanted it to, but Jonathan doesn't seem to care much, he knows it's not easy for Will to open up on any topic, and specially not on Mike Wheeler.
"So, did he send you a letter?" His brother asks, completely lost.
"No." Harsh again.
"Did he radio you on the walkie?"
"No. And I lost my walkie."
Yeah, he sure did with all the mess in his room.
"Oh, so, did he-"
"He hasn't contacted me since May, Jonathan."
He freezes in his place, he realizes his brother's obsession is beyond anything new, and just Micheal.
"Why Mike?" He asks, trying to at least joke to lighten the mood between them, Will giggles.
"I don't know, he's pretty. I guess." He says, glancing at the drawing.
"Oh, so that's him? I knew it." Jonathan says, stealing another laugh from Will.
"Can I see him?" He meets his eyes, asking for permission, it's like asking to see a part of his soul, he had been hiding, thinking he would be safe if no one knew about it, if he kept just telling himself that it's a dumb crush and that no one has to know.
He nods and grabs the neatly rolled drawing, handing it to Jonathan, who gasps as soon as he unrolls it in his hands.
"Did you seriously do this?" He asks, not tearing his eyes away from the paper; it's like seeing Mike himself.
"Yeah, it took me a while, though." He says, a bit flattered but also embarrassed.
"It's not that good, you don't have to pretend." He looks away for a bit.
"Are you kidding me? The only bad part about this drawing is the fact that it's Mike."
They both chuckle softly.
"What did Mike do that made you despise him that much?"
Jonathan lifts his eyebrows as if Will's question had personally offended him.
"Uh, exactly what has Mike not done for me to hate him? He treated you like shit back in Lenora!"
He says it like it was the most obvious answer ever. Will doesn't catch it, like shit? When had Mike ever treated him badly? He had always been an angel towards Will.
"C'mon, Will, you did notice, didn't you?" Will's still furrowing his brow, trying to think about one single time where Jonathan's statement was true.
"He didn't even hug you after not seeing you for a year, Will. He barely even called you."
"Well, it's been eight months now and he still didn't even call me, that's just how he is."
He says it. That's it, is that the reason he's so mad? Because he's in love and getting absolutely no answer from Mike? Because he teased him and acted like there was a chance and then proceed to avoid him like he'd never known him?
Jonathan relaxes his eyebrows.
"Is that why you're acting this way?"
He just gets hugged tightly, Will buries his head on his brother's shoulder, and when the hug is about to end, he lets out a small sob.
"Hey, don't cry, it's okay, Will" He says, slightly patting his younger brother's back, he won't pull away now that he's heard the sob.
"I know you really like him" He says, making another whine come out of Will's mouth.
"I wish I didn't" He says.
Jonathan pulls away to look at him, his eyes about to water too, seeing his baby brother in such a state makes him weak too.
"Don't say that. Ever." He says, making Will look at him, a question in his eyes.
"You can't control who you love. No one can." He tightens the hug.
"I felt something similar a few years ago." He smiles at his little brother.
"Nancy was dating Steve, and I thought I was the worst person to ever exist for liking her too. Because she only loved him... Even when they had already broken up."
"But then I realized that you can't just, stick to someone forever if you already broke up. I thought she was stuck on him, but she really wasn't, their story was over. She had something with him, of course she did, but not anymore, and I can't erase that from her memory. The only thing I can do is make her happy now. Because that's what matters."
Will's eyes almost shine for a second.
"Are you saying Mike... Likes me back?"
Jonathan giggles softly.
"I certainly don't know that. And I wish he doesn't, because you clearly deserve someone better than that asshole," They both smile at eachother and Will slightly kicks his elbow.
"But what I mean is, you can love him now, and you don't have to feel bad because he ever loved someone else. He loves you, Will, platonically or romantically, I don't know, but he cares for you." He says, hugging him again.
"Though he definitely had a crush on you growing up." He makes Will shock and pull apart.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
Jonathan smiles as if he's about to tell the best story.
"When you two were little, Mike used to say he'd marry you when you were older."
Will blushes completely.
"And one time, you both were home, a few days after we built Castle Byers, you asked me to take you both there because Mike wanted to do something, and you still didn't even memorize how to get there" Jonathan smiles at the memory, vivid in his head.
"So I took you there, it was pretty dark, so mom told me to stay with you both." He takes a second to breathe and smile, trying not to be too emotional.
"What? What happened?" Will asks.
"Mike told you he wanted to make sure you married, so he had to seal your future with a kiss" He giggles "I still don't know where he got that from."
He makes Will giggle too. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
"I figured you'd never want to know that if you ended up dating a girl."
Will chuckles.
"Did you really think I'd end up with a girl?"
"Not really."