Archive of Our Own

Their dorm room was cramped, and perpetually smelled of a noxious blend of acrylic paint and whatever Mike had decided to microwave at 2 AM.

Mike was pacing. He'd been pacing for twenty minutes, and it was making Will dizzy.

"I don't get why you’re so terrified," Will said, not looking up from his sketchbook. He was perched on his bed, knees tucked, pencil moving in slow, languid strokes. "It's a routine procedure. You never hear of someone dying from a wisdom tooth removal gone wrong."

"Then I’ll be the first," Mike shot back, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "They put you under, Will. Under. You go to sleep, and then you wake up and your face is all swollen and you said god-knows-what to god-knows-who."

Will looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "So, you're afraid of saying something stupid? It’s never worried you before."

"I'm afraid of talking to you," Mike said, then immediately went red. "I mean. To anyone. To the nurses. To the Uber driver. To the fucking fish in the waiting room aquarium. I'm a fucking menace on painkillers, okay? My mom still tells the story about the time I had my tonsils out when I was 14 and I tried to get the anaesthesiologist to marry me."

Will laughed, and set his sketchbook aside, before patting the space next to him on the bed. "Mike. Come here."

Mike stopped pacing, suspicious. "Why?"

"Because you're going to wear a hole in the floor and then we'll both lose our security deposits. Come here."

Mike perched on the very edge of Will's bed, shoulders hunched, looking utterly miserable. Will shifted so they were side by side, their shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

"You’re going to be fine," Will said, his voice soft and steady. "I'll go with you. I'll wait. I'll be there when you wake up. And whatever embarrassing thing you say, I promise I'll never use it against you. I won’t even tell Max what you said.”

Mike turned to look at him, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes for just a moment. "You swear?"

"Cross my heart." Will drew an X over his chest with his thumb.

Mike huffed a laugh and stood, shuffling back over to his own bed. He paused at the foot of it, looking back. "Hey, Will?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For… everything."

Will smiled in the dim light. "Always."

-x-

Will sat in the sterile white waiting room, flipping through a two-year-old issue of Sports Illustrated he had absolutely no interest in. He'd watched as Mike was led away by a cheerful nurse and tried (and failed) to stifle a laugh every time he looked back at Will with the expression of a man walking to the gallows.

After several hours of mind-numbing boredom, the door to the recovery area swung open, and a nurse appeared, guiding a figure that looked like if Mike had been spliced with a chipmunk. Mike's face was already puffing up, rapidly-reddening cotton wads shoved in his cheeks. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and he was wearing a sticker on his shirt that said, "I SURVIVED!" in a cheerful cartoon font.

He spotted Will and his whole face, swollen cheeks and all, lit up. "WILL!" The name came out garbled, mushy, because of the cotton gumming up his mouth. "My dude. My guy. You're here. You stayed."

Will stood, shoving the magazine back in the rack, grinning. "I told you I would. How do you feel?"

Mike took a wobbling step toward him, then another, swaying slightly to the left. "I feel…" He paused, considering the question with the performative gravity of a Renaissance philosopher. "I feel like my mouth is full of bees. But, like, friendly bees. Bees who are here to help." He squinted at Will. "You're very tall."

"I'm the same height I've always been."

"No," Mike said, shaking his head solemnly, which made him sway dangerously from side to side. "You grew. Since I went in. It's been, what, …" He glanced dramatically down at his wrist, which had no watch. "…a really long time. You’re definitely taller. I would know."

The nurse handed Will a paper bag with a piss-coloured bottle of painkillers in it, and a sheet of aftercare instructions. "He's all yours. Keep him upright for the ride home, lots of fluids, no straws. He'll be like this for a few hours at least."

-x-

Will guided Mike outside, one hand firm on his elbow. Mike kept trying to stop and admire the things that they passed, a faded red fire hydrant, an innocuous crack in the sidewalk, a cloud that apparently looked like "a fish who had dreams of making it in the big leagues”, whatever the fuck that meant.

The Uber arrived; a silver Prius driven by a friendly older man called Gary. Will opened the back door and tried his best to manoeuvre Mike inside. Mike, however, had other ideas. He flopped onto the seat and immediately lay down, his head landing squarely in Will's lap as Will was still trying to buckle in.

"This is good," Mike announced to no-one in particular, his voice muffled by the cotton of Will’s shirt. "This is where I belong."

"Mike, you can't – "

"Shush your pretty mouth," Mike tried to press a finger to his own lips, but missed, instead poking at his angry, swollen cheek. "The universe has spoken. I'm precious cargo now.”

Will looked up at the Uber driver, who was smirking at them in the rear-view mirror. "Sorry."

The driver just shrugged. "It's not the weirdest thing I’ve seen this week."

Mike, now apparently fully settled and comfortable, gazed up at Will with adoring, glazed eyes. "You have a very kind face," he said. "Did anyone ever tell you that? You look like… like if a sunset decided to be a person."

"That's… thank you? I think?"

"And your hands," Mike continued, reaching up to grab at one of Will's hands. He brought it down so it hovered millimetres away from his own face as he inspected it like a rare artifact. "They're so nice. They've probably touched lots of beautiful things." He paused, then added, his voice very serious, "Can I hold it for the rest of the ride?"

Will's heart did a ridiculous, traitorous flip. "Sure, Mike."

Mike smiled, blissful and loopy, and clutched Will's hand to his chest.

"Gary," Mike said suddenly, addressing the driver's reflection in the rear-view mirror. "Gary, can I ask you something personal?"

Will winced. "Mike, maybe Gary just wants to drive …"

"No, no, it's fine," Gary said, because Gary was a kind man who must learn from this mistake. "What's your question, man?"

Mike lifted his head slightly, his swollen face earnest. "Do you ever look at your hands and just… think about them? Like, really think? Think about what they mean?”

A long pause. Gary glanced at his own hands on the wheel. "Can't say I have, no."

"You should try it," Mike said, settling back onto Will's lap. "It's profound. Will has good hands. I've been thinking about them all day."

Will's face was the colour of the stop signs they passed on their drive. "Mike, stop it."

"They're just nice, Gary. You'd understand if you saw them. They're artist hands." Mike paused, then added, "They're touching me right now.” Will spluttered and swatted at Mike’s shoulder, before Mike clarified, “On my arm. It's very soothing."

Gary caught Will's eye in the mirror and gave him a look that said, I'm so sorry but also this is the most hilarious ride I've had in months.

"Gary," Mike continued, apparently now best friends with the driver, "what's your deepest fear? Existentially speaking, of course."

"Mike, leave him alone!" Will tried.

"No, I want to know. Gary's a man of the world. Gary has seen things." Mike patted Will's knee. "Gary, hit us with it, don’t be shy."

Gary considered the question for a few seconds before answering. "Probably… dying alone?"

Mike gasped, genuinely horrified. "Gary. No. Absolutely not. You have us. You have me and you have Will. We're your friends now. You're not alone."

Will buried his face in his free hand that wasn’t gripping onto Mike’s shoulder.

"That's very kind of you," Gary said, openly laughing at Mike.

"It's not kindness, it's truth," Mike insisted. "We're bonded now. You drove us through the dangerous streets. You protected us from the bees.”

Gary pulled up to the dorm, put the car in park, and turned around to look at Mike with genuine warmth. "This has been the highlight of my week. You take care of your friend there, son."

"He's not my friend," Mike said, and Will's heart stopped for a full second. "He’s my Will. That's different. Very different. You wouldn’t understand, Gary."

Will paid and tipped Gary fifty percent. Hush money.

-x-

The elevator was, of course, broken. Their dorm was on the fourth floor. Will looked at the stairs. He looked at Mike, who was currently attempting to hug a lamppost.

"Mike. We have to go up the stairs."

Mike detached himself from the lamppost with visible reluctance. "Stairs," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "You know what they don't tell you about stairs? They're just lying. They pretend to be floors, but they're actually just… folded up ground. Think about it. Think about it."

"Yes, stairs are just folded ground, how very profound.” Will said, trying not to roll his eyes at Mike’s raised eyebrows. “Come on, I can’t carry you, you’re going to have to walk.”

The first flight went okay. Mike held the railing with one hand and Will's sleeve with the other, taking each step like a toddler learning to walk.

By the second flight, Mike's energy began to flag. He grabbed the railing with both hands. "This is like hiking. But indoors. We're adventurers, Will. You're my cleric, I'm your paladin. Sing me a song of courage and determination. Inspire me."

"I don't sing."

"Then hum. I accept humming."

Will hummed tunelessly, but, fortunately, it pleased Mike enough that he continued to shuffle up the stairs.

But, by the middle of the third flight, he collapsed on the floor in a heap of arms and legs.

"This is my home now," Mike declared, patching the stair. "I live here. You can visit me on weekends."

"No, you don't. Get up."

"I'm a stair troll. To get past me, you must answer my riddle."

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was fighting a smile. "What's the riddle?"

Mike thought hard, his brow furrowing. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"That's not a riddle, that's a joke."

"No, it's a riddle. The answer is…" He paused, then whispered conspiratorially, "I don't know. That's why it's a riddle. Riddles are dumb, anyway, like, who the fuck even does riddles?”

Will grabbed both his hands and hauled. "Up."

Mike came willingly but dramatically. "You're so strong. Is it from carrying all that artistic talent? Or from carrying my heart? Both? It's gotta be both."

They made it to the fourth floor with only two more rest breaks, one to examine a particularly interesting scuff mark on the wall, and one because Mike needed to tell Will that his eyes looked "like the ocean if the ocean was nice."

As they walked down the corridor to their room, Mike fell again, this time catching himself on his hands and knees. "I'm a baby. A big baby. A baby who loves you. Crawl with me, Will."

"I'm not crawling."

"Elitist."

Mike crawled all the way to their room. "We did it. We conquered the evil stairs. I'm never doing that again. I'm moving here. This hallway is my home now."

"You said the stairs were your home."

"The stairs were a phase. This hallway is my future."

Will unlocked the door and pushed Mike inside.

-x-

Finally, blessedly, Will managed to manoeuvre Mike through the room and unceremoniously shoved him onto his bed. Mike fell onto it face-first with a dramatic groan.

Will grabbed a glass of water, set it on the nightstand, and started trying to arrange Mike into a position that was less likely to result in his immediate suffocation.

"Okay, I'm going to let you sleep –"

"NO."

Mike's hand shot out and grabbed at Will's wrist with surprising strength. He looked up at Will with wide, panicked eyes.

"You can't leave me alone."

"Mike, I'll literally be three feet away from you."

"No, you don't understand." Mike tugged, pulling Will closer. "What if the bees come back? The friendly bees? What if they turn unfriendly? I need you here.”

Will snorted. "The bees."

"Three feet is practically an entire ocean, anyway. A cold, lonely ocean. Full of… fish. And bees. The bees are in the ocean now, Will. They've evolved."

"The bees have evolved."

"They have gills, Will. Gills. We're not safe anywhere."

Will pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I stay, will you stop talking about aquatic bees?"

Mike considered this thoughtfully. "No. But I'll talk about them quieter. Into your shoulder. So, they'll be like… secrets."

Will should have said no. He should have laughed it off, patted Mike's head, and retreated to his own bed. But Mike was looking at him like he was the only safe harbour in a world of swarming bees. And Will's heart, the traitor, could never say no to Mike.

"That's not … you know what? Fine." Will climbed onto the bed. "Scoot."

Mike beamed, a wobbly, swollen, ridiculous beam, and made just enough space for Will to squeeze in. Will lay on his back, immediately pressed against the wall, with exactly four inches of personal space.

Mike, apparently, believed in zero inches of personal space. He immediately curled into Will's side, his head finding the hollow of Will's shoulder, one arm draping across his chest.

"This is nice," Mike mumbled, already half-asleep. "You're warm. My warm Will."

Will stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding, Mike's body a warm, solid weight against him. "Go to sleep, Mike."

"Mm. Don't let the bees get me."

"I won't."

"You're like a person-shaped blanket. A Will-shaped blanket. The Will-ket." Mike murmured into Will's collarbone.

"The Will-ket?"

"It's a portmanteau. I'm learning about them in English. Portmanteaus. Like 'brunch.' But romantic." He paused. "We're a portmanteau. Will and Mike. Wilke? Mill?"

"Go to sleep, Mike."

"Mill. That's us. We're Mill. Goodnight, Mill."

Will stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, Mike's warm breath on his neck. There was a long, peaceful silence.

Will thought Mike was asleep. The breathing had evened out, the weight against him had gone slack. He let himself relax, just slightly, into the impossible warmth of it.

Then Mike spoke again, his voice small and slurry and devastatingly sincere.

"The thing about Will," he murmured, his voice muffled against Will's shirt, "is that he glows."

Will's eyes snapped open.

"Not like a lightbulb," Mike continued, apparently in conversation with himself. " Will glows from inside. Like… like he swallowed a star. A gentle star.”

Will didn't dare breathe.

"And his laugh," Mike sighed, a dreamy smile on his swollen face. "When he really laughs, not the polite one he does for people he doesn’t really like, the real one, it sounds like… like…" He paused, searching his anaesthetised brain for the words. "Like the first bite of something really good. When you're really hungry. That sound. That happy sound."

"I like him. You know, like… like-like him," Mike continued, his face smooshed against Will's shoulder. "Y'know? Like-like. Not friend-like. The other kind."

Will's throat closed. He couldn't breathe.

"But don't tell him," Mike whispered, a conspiratorial hush in the dark. "It's a secret. He doesn't know. He's too busy being… beautiful and talented and making my heart do the thing. The stupid thing. The thing where it goes all fast."

"Mike -" Will's voice cracked.

"And his hands," Mike sighed, like a lovesick teenager. "I told you about the hands before. They're so nice. They draw all those pretty things. I wanna hold them all the time. But I can't. He's… he's Will. And I'm just… me."

Will finally found his voice, shaky as it was. "Mike. Mike, I am Will."

"No, you're not." Mike patted at his chest vaguely. "Will's over there. In his bed. Being all Will-like."

"I'm literally right here. This is my voice. You're talking to me. I’m in your bed."

Mike lifted his head, squinting at Will in the dim light filtering through the curtains. He studied his face for a long, terrifying moment.

"Oh," he said, with the profound realization of someone who'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Oh. You are Will."

"Yes."

"So… you heard all that?"

"Yes."

Mike's face, already pink from the swelling, somehow got pinker. "Oh no."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I'm going to pretend to be asleep now," Mike announced, and promptly buried his face back in Will's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut with theatrical obviousness.

Will lay there, heart racing, Mike's arm still across his chest, his confession still echoing in the air between them. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know if Mike would remember any of this in the morning. He let his hand drift, just slightly, to rest on Mike's arm. Just for comfort. Just for now.

Mike, ‘asleep,’ smiled against his shoulder.

-x-

Will woke to the feeling of being too warm and the sound of someone groaning loudly. The someone was Mike, who had somehow migrated even closer in the night and was now essentially wrapped around Will like a very puffy, very miserable koala.

"Ughhhhh," Mike whined, his voice thick and pained. "This fucking sucks.”

Will blinked awake, the memories of the night before flooding back. The confessions. The like-like.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, trying desperately to sound as normal as possible.

Mike peeled one eye open. It was bloodshot and miserable. He looked at Will and blinked. "Why are you in my bed?"

"You asked me to stay. To protect you from the bees."

Mike groaned again, but this time it sounded more like embarrassment. "Oh god. What did I say?"

Will's stomach dropped. He had a choice. He could either tell the truth and watch Mike's face crumple with horror as he realized he'd confessed feelings he probably didn't actually have. Or he could lie and protect them both from the awkwardness and continue to pine after his best friend from afar.

"Not much," Will said, the lie tasting acidic on his tongue. "You tried to become a stair troll. You were very concerned about bees. The usual."

Mike winced. "That tracks." He extracted himself from Will's personal space, shuffling back and wincing as he moved. "Sorry for… whatever that was. The cuddling. The… everything."

"It's fine. You were on drugs."

"Yeah." Mike was quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Then, carefully, "Did I say anything else? Anything… weird?"

Will's heart hammered. Here it is. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. He could end it now, rip the band aid off, watch Mike's panic.

"Just the usual Mike weirdness. You called me a sunset person. You were very complimentary about my hands."

Mike snorted, and then winced at the pain. "Your hands are nice. That's just scientific fact."

Will smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

The day passed in a haze of ice packs, soup, and carefully avoided eye contact. Mike slept on and off, his body recovering from the ordeal of having his teeth ripped out of his skull. Will sketched, or pretended to, his mind swimming.

By evening, Mike was more lucid, though still puffy, and pathetic. He sat propped against his pillows, watching Will draw.

"You're quiet," Mike said.

"Just focusing."

"No, you're quiet. Different quiet. What's wrong?"

Will's pencil stilled. "Nothing."

"Will." Mike's voice was soft but insistent. "You're a terrible liar. Something happened. Did I say something to you? When I was… you know. Bee mode. Did I upset you?"

Will looked up, meeting Mike's eyes. They were clear now, sober, and full of genuine concern. He could lie again. He could protect Mike from the embarrassment, protect himself from the rejection.

But lying was so exhausting.

"You asked me not to tell Will something," Will said quietly.

Mike's brow furrowed. "What? That doesn't make sense. You are Will."

"I know. That's the thing."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and loaded.

"What did I say?" Mike asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Will took a breath. This was it. "You said you like-like me. And that I'm beautiful and talented and make your heart do 'the stupid thing.' And then you said not to tell me."

Mike's face went pale beneath the swelling. He stared at Will, unblinking.

Will forced a laugh, brittle and fake. "It's hilarious, right? The drugs just -"

"It's hilarious?" Mike interrupted, his voice strange. "Why?"

Will froze. "Because… you obviously don't actually like me?"

The words hung in the air, ugly and raw.

Mike was quiet for a long, terrible moment. Then he did something unexpected. He laughed. Not a mean laugh, but a disbelieving, almost relieved one.

"Will," he said, shaking his head slowly. "You are possibly the most oblivious person I have ever met."

Will blinked. "What?"

"I've been pining for you for months. Writing terrible poetry about you. Staring at you while you draw. Asking to watch stupid movies just so I had an excuse to sit next to you on the couch." Mike's voice was gaining strength, embarrassment burning away in the blissful fire of finally, finally saying it. "And you think I don't actually like you?"

"But you're…" Will trailed off, the words failing.

"And the one time I finally get the courage to say it out loud," Mike continued, ignoring Will entirely, "I'm so high I don't even know I'm talking to you. Which means I don't even get to remember saying it. Which means you've been sitting here all day thinking I was going to wake up and take it back." He reached out, grabbing Will's hand. "I'm not taking it back. I like you, Will. Sober me. High me. Every me. And I'm genuinely fuming that drugged-up me stole my moment."

A sound escaped Will, half-laugh, half-sob. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm yours. If you want me to be."

Will squeezed his hand, the tears finally spilling over. "I like you too. Just so we're clear. Sober me. All the me’s."

Mike's grin, despite the swelling and the exhaustion, was incandescent. "Good. Because I was going to have to stage a very dramatic rescue if you didn't."

Will laughed, leaning forward, their foreheads touching. "You're the worst."

"The worst who's about to kiss you," Mike murmured. "If that's okay. I know my face is a disaster right now, so -"

Will kissed him, just to shut him up. It was nothing more than the gentle press of lips, overly cautious of Mike’s poor, beaten up face, but it was absolutely perfect. Mike’s hand came to rest on Will’s cheek, and as they pulled away, Will grabbed at Mike’s hand, pulling it into his lap.  

Will nodded down at their intertwined fingers. "You know, Gary would be so proud of us. Two people with hands, holding hands. Very profound."

Mike's laugh was a soft puff of air against Will's neck. "We should invite him to the wedding."