Work Text:
23 June 1998, New York City, 10.00 am
Morning arrived, shining brightly over Mike and Will’s apartment, sunlight slipping past the curtains and painting the bedroom in soft gold. Dust floated lazily in the air, untouched and peaceful, while the two adults remained tangled together beneath the sheets, still asleep, holding each other like they had done countless mornings before -- limbs intertwined, breaths synced, bodies fitting together with the ease of years.
They slept like this every night. It had started as something shy and uncertain when they first moved in together -- hesitant touches, awkward elbows, whispered goodnights.
But now, after years of shared rent, shared groceries, shared fights about whose turn it was to wash the dishes, and shared quiet evenings on the couch, it had become instinct. Mike’s arm automatically wrapped around Will’s waist even in his sleep. Will’s fingers curled into Mike’s shirt like muscle memory.
Both of them were deep in sleep when Will wriggled slightly, trying to slip out from under Mike’s arm.
“Hm, come on, Will, stay still. It’s not every day I get a day off,” Mike murmured, voice still thick with sleep. He huffed a warm breath against Will’s hair, his jaw brushing against the soft, fluffy chestnut strands he’d grown so used to waking up to.
Will giggled quietly -- the same soft giggle Mike had memorized years ago, the one that still made his chest tighten in the best way. “No can do, Mike. It’s already 10 a.m. Max and Lucas could be here any minute,” he replied, though he made no real effort to escape just yet.
Instead, he tilted his head up slightly, his forehead brushing Mike’s jaw, and let himself look at him. Really look at him.
The faint crease between Mike’s brows. The curls falling messily over his forehead. The barely-visible scar on his chin from when they were kids. The man he’d been in love with since he was a child -- and somehow, impossibly, still was.
Will lifted his right hand and traced the rough stubble along Mike’s jaw. “You need to shave,” he murmured absentmindedly, more to himself than to Mike, already making a mental reminder the way he always did because after all these years, he still took care of the small things.
His fingers drifted to Mike’s cheek. The cold metallic band wrapped around his ring finger brushed against Mike’s skin, and Mike instinctively leaned into his touch without even opening his eyes. The rings were still slightly new, but the weight of them had long since stopped feeling foreign. It felt right.
Still half-asleep, Mike dragged his lips lazily to Will’s wrist and pressed a slow, absent kiss there, like he’d done a thousand times before.
“Can’t they just open the door themselves? Or just leave the baby by the door?” Mike muttered, tightening his arm around Will’s waist and pulling him impossibly closer, as if adulthood could be postponed if he just held on tighter.
Will gasped and lightly punched Mike’s bare chest, playful. “You did not just say that. That’s plain cruel.”
That finally made Mike open his eyes. His curls fell into his vision as he blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. There was no panic in his expression, no awkwardness, just comfort. The kind that only comes from waking up next to the same person for years.
A lazy smile spread across his face.
“I’m joking. You know I would never do that,” he said softly, his voice dropping into something gentler as he rested his hand against Will’s cheek. His thumb brushed warm skin, slow and familiar.
“Would you?” Will asked flatly, but the teasing glint in his eyes gave him away.
“Hey--!” Mike began, already preparing his dramatically offended demeanor, one Will had seen far too many times, when the front door suddenly shook with a loud, aggressive knock that echoed through the apartment.
“Mike Wheeler! Open the fucking door!” a loud young woman’s voice rang out, unmistakably Max.
Mike closed his eyes again. “We should’ve pretended we weren’t home.”
“Honey, please. You said no cursing in front Eli,” Lucas responded gently in the background.
“Oops, sorry. Wheeler just brings it out of me, darling,” Max replied quickly, followed by the unmistakable sound of a peck landing on Eli’s soft cheek.
Mike groaned dramatically and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling like a man betrayed by fate. “Can we take back agreeing to take care of their baby?” he muttered, side-eyeing the door while rubbing his face with both palms.
“No can do, baby. We promised to take care of Eli a month ago,” Will reminded him, already slipping out of bed. He stretched briefly, Mike couldn’t help but watch, before walking quickly toward the door.
Mike followed behind at a much lazier pace, dragging his feet like a man marching toward unavoidable responsibility, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.
Because as much as he complained, they both knew this. The shared mornings, the chaos, the friends who never stopped barging in. This was exactly the life they had once only dreamed about.
Will walked through their small studio apartment, the open layout still slightly messy from the night before. The kitchen stretched along his left side, the pantry lining the right wall, and he quickly made his way to the front door.
He opened it, and was greeted by Lucas and Max.
Lucas stood there with Eli, their nine-month-old son, sleeping peacefully against his shoulder. One of Lucas’s hands supported the baby carefully, fingers splayed protectively across Eli’s tiny back, while his other hand held a small luggage bag that looked dangerously overpacked, most likely filled with Eli’s necessities for the week.
Beside him, Max stood with one hand on her hip, already looking impatient. The second she saw Will instead of Mike at the door, her expression softened immediately. A wide grin spread across her face as she pulled Will into a tight hug.
“There’s my favorite Wheeler,” she teased warmly.
But the moment her eyes drifted past Will’s shoulder and landed on Mike, half naked, wearing only loose blue flannel pants with the waistband of his boxers peeking out slightly, yawning and scratching his head, curls becoming even more chaotic. Her smile dropped instantly.
“Ugh, seriously, Wheeler? You couldn’t at least put on a shirt?” Max said, disgust plastered dramatically across her face as she released Will.
“Shut up, Max. It’s my house. I should be able to do whatever I want,” Mike replied lazily.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Will from behind, hands settling comfortably around Will’s waist as if it was their natural position. His chin rested on Will’s left shoulder, and he inhaled quietly -- still half asleep, still clinging.
Will didn’t even react to it anymore. Years ago, he would’ve flushed bright red. Now, he just leaned back slightly into Mike’s chest.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Max asked, eyeing Mike suspiciously. “Leaving Eli in this jerk’s hands?”
She turned to Lucas as if reconsidering her entire life decision.
Lucas just laughed softly. “Dustin and Jane are busy with their constant experiments. Plus, they always go home late,” he explained calmly. “And you said you didn’t want Eli around chemicals again.”
“Okay, okay, fine. Whatever,” Max muttered, throwing her hands up in defeat.
“You’re going to Amsterdam for a week, right?” Will asked, attempting to turn his head toward Lucas. It was slightly difficult with Mike’s full weight resting on his shoulder, making it nearly impossible to move.
Lucas noticed and chuckled. “Yeah. A college friend gave me tickets to the 1998 UEFA Champions League Final, so Max and I decided to go. And while we’re there, we figured we’d take a breather. You know… after all this.” He gently bounced Eli, who remained fast asleep.
“We never really got the chance to go on proper dates after he was born,” Lucas continued, smiling softly at Max. “Plus, Max hasn’t had real rest in months. So we thought… second honeymoon. One last carefree trip before reality hits again.”
Hearing that made Max visibly swoon. She turned to Lucas and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.
“Okay, gross,” Mike muttered immediately. “You guys have a plane to catch, right? Better leave now or the traffic’s going to be insane.”
He finally detached himself from Will and stepped forward to carefully take Eli from Lucas. The moment Eli was transferred into his arms, Mike instinctively adjusted his hold -- one hand supporting the baby’s head, the other steady on his back. He placed Eli gently against his chest.
Eli stirred slightly, tiny fingers curling into Mike’s bare skin as he searched for warmth, then settled again, falling back into deep sleep.
For a second, Mike froze. He tried to act unaffected, but something in his expression softened, something almost vulnerable.
Lucas handed the luggage over to Will, who grabbed the handle with both hands, already feeling the weight of responsibility, physically and emotionally. Then Max launched into rapid-fire instructions.
“Okay, so the formula is in the side pocket. Two scoops, not three. Warm water, not hot. Shake it properly or he won’t drink it. He needs milk every four hours. Solid food twice a day -- mashed, not chunky. Diaper changes every three hours or immediately if it smells. And bath time before 8 p.m., not after, or he won’t sleep.”
It was a lot.
Will tried to absorb everything, nodding repeatedly while mentally taking notes. As the second child in his own family, he had never felt this kind of pressure before. This wasn’t babysitting for a few hours.
This was a week.
Max’s voice began to tremble near the end. She stepped closer to Eli and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. A thin sheen of tears gathered in her eyes, though she tried to blink them away quickly.
Lucas did the same, lingering just a second longer before pulling back.
“Thank you. Seriously,” he said quietly.
Before Max could change her mind, Lucas gently took her hand and guided her toward the elevator. She kept looking back at Eli until the doors finally closed.
And just like that, the apartment felt much quieter.
Much heavier.
Mike looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms.
“…We can still run,” he whispered.
Will smiled softly in response, watching the elevator doors close before turning back inside.
They re-entered their apartment, and the quiet felt different now -- fuller, heavier, alive with responsibility.
Will carried the small luggage into their guest room and carefully began unpacking everything Eli would need for the week. Tiny folded clothes. Baby wipes. Bottles. Formula. A small plush toy that looked well-loved.
He arranged everything neatly, double-checking that the diapers were within reach and the crib was properly set up. When he finished, he stood there for a moment, staring at the small space they had prepared.
It felt surreal. Then he walked back into the living room -- and froze.
Mike was lying on the couch, his head resting against the side armrest, one leg bent upward while the other stretched along the cushions. Eli was cradled securely against his chest, held firmly but gently, instinctively protected.
Mike’s hand rested over the baby’s small back, fingers slightly curled as if even in sleep he was afraid Eli might fall.
Both of them were asleep. The sight made Will’s heart warm instantly.
Mike looked so soft like this. So different from his usual dramatic, sarcastic self. His curls were falling over his forehead, lips parted slightly as he breathed evenly. And Eli, tiny and fragile against Mike’s broad chest looked impossibly small.
The thought of Mike holding their own child like this someday made something in Will’s chest tighten.
God, he looks so handsome.
The moment felt too precious to let slip away.
Will quietly grabbed his sketchbook from the kitchen island and returned to the couch, sitting at the edge of the dining table where he could see them clearly without disturbing their sleep.
And he started to draw.
His pencil moved gently across the page. He made sure to capture every detail, the way the vein in Mike’s arm flexed slightly from how tightly he was holding Eli, unconsciously protective. The contrast of Mike’s dark curls against Eli’s soft ginger hair. The softness in Mike’s face that only appeared when he was asleep or when he thought no one was looking.
Will drew the quiet intimacy of the moment. The peace. The future he had once been too afraid to imagine.
After about forty-five minutes of sketching, he finally leaned back and examined his work.
He was proud of it.
It felt honest.
Carefully closing the sketchbook, he placed it aside and decided to make a small brunch for the two of them.
They rarely had breakfast together during weekdays because of Mike’s work schedule. Mike was an English Literature professor at Cornell University, currently buried under a new thesis about the impact of 20th-century literature. Between lectures, research, grading papers, and endless meetings, he had been constantly busy.
Meanwhile, Will had become a stay-at-home artist, something younger him would have never believed possible. Just last month, he’d held his first successful art exhibition. People came. They bought his work. They praised him. Everything felt like a dream he had once whispered into the dark when he was younger.
Life felt… sweet these days.
Even though Mike had been busy with his thesis and classes, they never missed their small rituals. Late-night dates in the kitchen with takeout. Movie nights on the couch. Slow dancing in the living room when one of them couldn’t sleep.
And their anniversary was coming soon.
They weren’t officially married -- not yet. But on their fifth anniversary, Mike had given Will a silver ring, Will’s birthstone delicately embedded around the band. A promise ring.
As soon as gay marriage was legalized, they would get married.
Even if they had to elope.
Even if they had to run somewhere far away just to make it official.
It was their quiet rebellion. Their promise to prove to the world -- to the earth itself -- that their love existed, solid and unbreakable.
This year, though, Will wanted to give Mike something.
Something meaningful.
Something that could hold all the years they had survived together.
An hour later, Mike woke up to the smell of something delicious drifting through the apartment. He stirred slowly, blinking against the light, and carefully shifted so he wouldn’t wake Eli.
Gently, he adjusted the baby in his arms and laid him down on the couch, tucking a small pillow beside him for support.
The smell grew stronger.
Mike dragged himself toward the kitchen island, still half-asleep, and then stopped.
Will had made a steak sandwich, thick and stacked with lettuce, tomatoes, and what looked like homemade sauce dripping slightly at the edges. A glass of fresh orange juice sat neatly beside the plate, condensation sliding down the side.
Mike’s mouth watered instantly.
Will hadn’t noticed he was awake yet. He was standing at the sink, washing the dishes quietly, humming under his breath.
Mike walked up behind him and wrapped a warm arm around his waist.
“God, you scared me,” Will laughed softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you. I already ate my part.” He leaned slightly to press a kiss to Mike’s cheek.
Mike tightened his hold, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder. “How am I so lucky to have you?” he murmured. “I think I just fell in love all over again.”
He peppered small kisses along Will’s cheek, making him laugh breathlessly.
Will turned off the tap and turned around fully, Mike’s hands still resting securely around his waist. Without hesitation, Will leaned forward and kissed him -- deep, intimate, and soft.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t playful. It was the kind of kiss built on years of knowing exactly how the other person breathed.
“Well, you should thank our friends for knocking some sense into your thick skull,” Will teased gently, his fingers sliding into the curls at the back of Mike’s neck. “And let them know I loved you first.”
“Yeah,” Mike admitted, smiling faintly. “I was stupid. Almost let you go.”
He leaned forward again, ready to steal another kiss, but Will pressed a hand lightly against his chest to stop him.
“Ah-ah. Eat first,” Will said, trying to look stern but failing. “Do you mind taking care of Eli for a couple of hours? I got a new idea for my art and I want to start sketching right away.”
Technically, it was for Mike.
But Mike didn’t need to know that yet.
“Of course. Anything for you, my love,” Mike replied easily. He left a quick peck on Will’s forehead before moving toward the island.
He absolutely demolished the sandwich.
Within minutes, the plate was empty and the orange juice was gone. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed the plate in the sink.
“Remind me why I’m staying with a beast?” Will said, staring at the empty plate in disbelief. “You basically inhaled that whole sandwich.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Mike defended, raising his hands. “My office is buried under mountains of work. I’ve had to learn how to eat fast just to survive.”
Will chuckled and continued washing the dishes.
Then suddenly --
Eli began to cry.
The sharp sound filled the apartment.
Mike reacted instantly, walking quickly to the couch and scooping Eli up with surprising confidence. He checked the diaper, adjusted his hold, and gently bounced him in his arms.
“I’ll take him to the guest room,” Mike said calmly as he walked away. “You should start your sketch. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?” Will asked, hesitating slightly. There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes.
“Yeah,” Mike replied, glancing back at him with a small smirk. “I may look irresponsible, but I had a baby sister, you know.”
That was true.
Mike might be the second child, but he grew up with Holly. He’d learned how to hold a baby properly, how to warm a bottle, how to calm crying with steady patience.
Maybe… he was more experienced than Will in ways Will hadn’t fully realized yet.
23 June 1998, 9.30 pm
As Will finished the base of his painting, he glanced at the clock and froze at how fast time had passed.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
He quickly stepped out of his studio corner and saw Mike in the kitchen, carefully arranging food onto a tray -- clearly planning to bring it to him.
Will practically sprinted across the room.
“Why didn’t you call me out? Where’s Eli?” he asked, slightly breathless.
Mike just chuckled.
“I did call you. You were too focused to notice,” he said calmly, lifting the tray slightly to show him. “I was about to bring this inside.”
On the tray sat takeout Chinese food, neatly packed, a glass of cold water beside it, and a hot cup of coffee -- exactly how Will liked it whenever he had a painting to finish. Mike knew that on nights like this, Will would pull an all-nighter and only crawl back to bed around dawn, curling into him like always.
“And Eli’s already asleep,” Mike continued gently, lowering his voice instinctively. “I’ve got class tomorrow morning, so I need to wake up early. You don’t mind taking the night shift tonight, right? I already set the baby formula out, and the hot water’s in the vacuum flask. You just need to mix it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course I can,” Will replied quickly. “I’m pulling a nighter anyway.”
But the way he looked at Mike changed.
Softened.
His sweet, sweet Mike.
He couldn’t believe Mike hadn’t complained. Hadn’t asked for anything in return. Had just quietly taken care of Eli while Will got lost in his painting.
God, he was so lucky.
Will stepped closer and placed a soft kiss on Mike’s lips.
Then another.
The second one lingered longer.
He opened his mouth slightly, and their lips parted naturally, tongues meeting in a slow, familiar rhythm. Will’s hand slid up into Mike’s curls, fingers tangling gently before giving a small tug.
Mike responded immediately, deepening the kiss, pressing closer until Will let out a soft, involuntary sound against his mouth.
But before it could go any further, Mike pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Will’s.
“I need to sleep, Will,” he murmured, smirking faintly. “You’re going to make me late to college tomorrow.”
Will laughed softly, still close enough to feel Mike’s breath.
“Yeah… yeah, I think it’s a good idea we stop,” he agreed, though his hand lingered for a moment against the warm muscle of Mike’s half-naked torso before finally pulling away.
There was comfort in this.
In knowing they didn’t have to rush.
In knowing there would always be tomorrow.
In knowing that even unfinished kisses felt complete.
Mike leaned in one last time and kissed the corner of Will’s mouth.
“Don’t stay up too late,” he said.
Will smiled.
He absolutely would.
29th June 1998, 8.30 am
It had already been a week since Eli started staying with Mike and Will.
And somehow… things were weirdly okay.
Will had finished Mike’s painting the night before, adding the final details with careful hands. He had stepped back from the canvas, studying it quietly under the dim studio light, and for the first time all week, he felt satisfied. Proud, even.
As for Eli, strangely enough, it didn’t feel as hard as people had warned them.
He and Mike had fallen into a rhythm.
Mike took the day shift whenever he didn’t have class -- which, weirdly enough, felt like almost never -- while Will handled the night shift. But even that wasn’t too difficult. Eli had developed a pattern: he woke up around 3 a.m. every night for milk, fussed for a few minutes, then settled back down once he was fed.
And whenever Will crawled back into bed after that. By morning, Mike was already awake.
Already holding Eli.
Already playing with him.
Already walking around the apartment with soft murmurs and quiet laughter.
Every single time.
Will had told him more than once, “Let me take him. You should rest.”
But stubborn was practically Mike’s middle name.
He would just shake his head and say something dismissive like, “I’m fine. Go finish your masterpiece.”
So for most of the week, Will stayed in his studio, painting. He told himself it was fair. That Mike insisted. That it wasn’t one-sided.
Still, a small part of him wondered if he should’ve noticed how tired Mike looked sometimes.
Then, yesterday afternoon, everything shifted.
Mike received a call from Cornell about an urgent group meeting regarding his thesis. Something about revisions, deadlines, collaborative feedback -- well the usual academic chaos.
He had to go in immediately.
Which meant today would be different.
This morning, Will woke up to an empty bed.
And Eli crying.
For a brief second, disorientation settled in. The side of the bed beside him was cold. No messy curls. No half-asleep hand reaching for him.
Just silence -- followed by Eli’s sharp, demanding cry from the guest room.
Right.
Mike had left early.
Tomorrow Max and Lucas would come back to pick Eli up. Just one more day.
Just today.
Will sat up slowly, rubbing his face.
He could manage one full day on his own.
He had been handling nights all week, after all.
How hard could it be?
29th June 1998, 12.00 pm
Will was definitely wrong. Taking care of a baby was insanely difficult. How did people do this every day?
Eli had been fussy all morning. Every attempt to feed him seemed to fail, he would push the food away, spit it out, or grab it and fling it across the kitchen. Will tried to play with him, but Eli’s attention span lasted only a few minutes before he started fussing again.
Then came the bath --and in his flustered rush, the water had cooled too quickly. On top of that, he was juggling the preparation of Mike’s anniversary gift, the cake, the letter, and the painting, all set to be presented perfectly.
Panic began to curl in Will’s chest, tightening around his ribs. Anxiety gnawed at him from the inside, each thought sharper than the last.
What if Eli won’t eat? What if he won’t settle? What if the cake burns? What if Mike comes back and sees the mess? What if I can’t do this?
He forced himself to push the feelings down, focusing only on the task at hand. Step by step, he soothed Eli, humming softly and rocking him in his arms until -- finally, the baby drifted into sleep.
Will closed the door slowly, trying not to make a sound, and leaned against the frame for a brief moment. His body ached from exhaustion, his thoughts spinning with everything he had to finish.
Then, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the apartment.
He leapt toward it. The 1998-era house phone sat on the coffee table, a classic design with chunky buttons, a coiled cord stretching toward him, and a slightly yellowed plastic base. He snatched it up, nearly dropping it in his panic, and pressed it to his ear.
“Yes? Wheeler Byers,” he said, his voice tight, forcing calm even as fatigue weighed him down.
“Professor Wheeler? I’m so sorry,” a male voice came, hurried and apologetic. “I know you said not to bother you during your break, but the class is about to start, and I… I couldn’t find the analysis of Shakespeare. Today was about his piece.”
Will blinked, heart pounding.
Shakespeare? Analysis? Oh no…
“Oh! I’m sorry. This is Mike Wheeler’s roommate. He’s not home -- he had an emergency meeting for his thesis at Cornell this morning,” Will said gently, trying to calm his own racing thoughts.
“Oh! I’m sorry to bother you, sir. Do you perhaps know where it could be?” the voice asked.
“You should try his drawer,” Will replied, tone tinged with exhaustion. “Mike always keeps his next-class materials there.”
A pause, then...
“Ah! I found it. Thank you, sir.” Relief in the voice practically leapt across the line.
Will exhaled slowly, a slight shiver running down his spine, before curiosity nudged him. “Wait -- what do you mean Mike took a vacation? I thought he was free from his classes this week.”
“Oh? Professor Wheeler took a two-week break starting last Sunday,” the TA explained. “He said something about needing to help a friend. Professor Wheeler is famous for never taking a break, so everyone was curious about the reason.”
Will’s chest tightened, and then bloomed with warmth. He could barely believe it. Mike had deliberately taken a break from work -- just to help Will handle Eli, just to let him breathe, just to make this week manageable.
His love for Mike swelled, mingling with exhaustion and awe. The thought made the tiredness in his limbs feel both heavier and lighter at the same time.
Just as he was about to hang up, Eli started crying again.
Will’s fingers tightened around the coiled cord as he pressed the “end call” button, and he rushed to Eli’s room, heart hammering, determined to calm him down.
29th June, 7.00pm
Mike drove home as fast as he could, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He felt terrible for leaving Will alone with Eli, even though he had taken a vacation. He shouldn’t have left Will on their anniversary, he always made sure that day was theirs, a day where he would never leave Will alone. But the universe had other plans.
Thank God, the meeting had ended before late night -- worst-case scenario, he would have been stuck at his office for hours. And at least, tomorrow, Max and Lucas would be back, giving Will some much-needed rest from taking care of Eli today.
Mike had managed to buy a bouquet of soft pink peonies, lush and fragrant, for Will. Alongside that, he got a brand-new sketchbook -- Will’s old one was nearly full.
He rushed to the front door and opened it… and froze.
The apartment was a disaster.
The kitchen island was covered in flour, bowls and measuring cups scattered across the countertop, a freshly baked cake sat precariously on a tray, and the sink overflowed with dirty dishes. The living room was no better -- Eli’s toys littered the floor, and in front of the television, Will stood trying desperately to calm a crying Eli, flour smudged across his cheeks and clothes.
The moment their eyes met, Will’s composure shattered. He burst into full-blown sobs, clutching Eli tighter.
“Mike! I’m so sorry…I messed everything up! I… I didn’t know what to do…I’m so sorry!” he wailed, his voice cracking.
“Mike… I tried… I tried to calm him… and the cake…” He cried harder, the tears spilling down his flour-dusted cheeks.
Mike froze for only a second. Then his heart softened completely. The sight of them -- two tiny, overwhelmed crybabies in the middle of their chaotic home was somehow utterly adorable.
He dropped his suitcase beside the fridge and hurried to Will, taking Eli gently from his arms. He pressed a quick kiss to Will’s forehead and carried the baby to his room.
With practiced efficiency, Mike prepared a bottle, fed Eli, changed his diaper, and rocked him until the baby finally sank into a deep, peaceful sleep. He switched off the light and closed the door slowly.
When Mike returned to the living room, he found Will dozing on the couch, a couple of teddy bears clutched in his hands, surrounded by the remnants of the morning’s chaos. Mike smiled fondly, carefully taking the bears from Will’s grip, and started cleaning the living room.
After a while, he moved to the kitchen. He washed the dishes, wiped down the flour-dusted island, and then noticed a letter lying on the counter. It was half-written.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to write more, but Eli was crying in my arms. I love you, Mike. Thank you for taking a break to accompany me while I took care of Eli. I took you for granted this past week, but I’m ready to make it up with my entire life. My soul belongs to you, and only you, Michael. The painting is for you. I love you for eternity, Mike Wheeler.”
Mike glanced at the letter a few times, and a goofy, breathless smile spread across his face. He couldn’t stop the warmth blooming in his chest, the flutter in his stomach. He peeked at Will sleeping on the couch, flour still dusted across his hair and cheeks, and couldn’t help but laugh quietly. His heart was so full it ached.
Mike tucked the letter under his chin, inhaling the faint scent of Will’s hair and the lingering sweetness of flour, and giggled softly like a fool.
“Goddamnit, Will.” he muttered, pressing the letter to his face again, letting himself savor every word. He carefully folded it and tucked it into his pants pocket before returning to cleaning the kitchen, his hands moving almost automatically.
When he finished, he grabbed a damp cloth and walked over to Will, gently wiping the flour off his face. Will was too deep in sleep to notice Mike picking him up, so he carried him to their bed. Will snuggled into the blankets immediately, and Mike tucked him in carefully, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
Before leaving the room, Mike glanced toward Will’s studio. The light was still on. Curious, he walked over and froze. The painting Will had made for him sat on the easel -- it was him and Eli sleeping together on the couch, bathed in a soft ray of sunlight.
“Fuck, Will,” Mike breathed, tracing his fingers lightly over the painting. “You always know how to surprise me.”
He knelt down, studying every detail: the way his arm flexed holding Eli, the soft curls in his hair, the light catching on both their faces. Mike felt dizzy with love, his chest tightening, a goofy, warm, giddy laughter escaping him. Mike gently placed the bouquet of soft pink peonies next to the painting and whispered, almost to himself,
“God… I’m the luckiest man alive.”
30th June, 9.45 am
Sunlight streamed through Mike and Will’s bedroom, gently waking Will. He blinked a few times, his eyes puffy from all the crying last night. A sudden warmth pressed against his face --Mike’s bare chest wrapped around him. Without hesitation, Will tightened his arms around Mike, pulling them closer.
Mike stirred, a cold hand pressing firmly on Will’s back. “Hey, baby. Good morning,” he said, drowsily.
“Did Eli wake up again last night?” Will asked, a pang of guilt in his voice.
“Yeah, a couple of times, but it was nothing,” Mike replied lazily, his eyes still half-closed.
“I… I’m sorry,” Will whispered so softly that it might have gone unnoticed.
Mike’s eyes opened fully in an instant. “What? No, no, no. It’s not your fault. Nobody’s perfect.” he said. “Plus, I bet my ass Max couldn’t even change Eli’s diaper the first time,” he continued, gazing at Will’s glossy eyes.
Will let out a soft giggle, the tension in his chest easing. “But… you’re perfect,” he said, his hand resting over Mike’s chest, exchanging warmth.
Mike shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not. I had my practice with Holly. I dropped her in our tub when she was four.” he chuckled. “After that, my mom wouldn’t let me take care of her anymore,” he admitted, ruffling Will’s hair gently.
Will’s face softened at Mike’s confession. Mike pressed a tender kiss to the top of Will’s head before speaking again. “Will, the fact that you baked that cake, wrote me that letter, and painted that painting already proves that you’re incredible, okay?” he said, staring intently at Will to make sure his words landed.
Will felt warmth rush through his chest, his eyes glistening again. “Okay,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Mike’s lips. “I… I just wanted you to know how much I love you. And how thankful I am… for everything you did this week.”
Mike smiled, brushing his thumb over Will’s cheek. “I don’t need thanks, baby. Seeing you try… seeing you care… that’s enough for me.” He leaned down to kiss Will again, softer this time, full of tenderness and quiet reassurance.
A soft knock came at the front door, breaking the intimate moment.
“I’m not experiencing déjà vu, right?” Mike muttered, glancing at Will.
The knock grew louder. “Yup. Definitely déjà vu,” Mike said, earning a small laugh from Will.
Mike went to gather Eli and his things while Will walked to the door, followed shortly by Mike.
“Here. I already changed his diaper, so he should be good,” Mike said, handing Eli to Max and giving the luggage to Lucas.
“Thanks, man,” Lucas said, securing the bag.
“Thank you. We should get out -- let us treat you to a meal,” Max added. “Well --” Mike began, but Will cut him off.
“No.”, Will said. “You see, Mike has been taking care of Eli the most, and I didn’t even do anything."
"Plus, I’m so horny because we didn’t get to…uhm…you know…on our anniversary last night. So, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to have my ass fucked by Mike now,” Will blurted, his words tumbling out in a rush.
He then proceed to shut the behind him with a soft thud, leaving Max, Lucas, and even Mike completely flabbergasted.
Without missing a beat, Will cupped Mike’s face and crashed their lips together. Mike staggered slightly, caught himself. He quickly deepened the kiss.
It was messy, hungry, and urgent, the apartment echoing with the sounds of their mouths meeting.
Mike pulled back slightly. “What?” he asked breathlessly.
“You heard me right,” Will murmured, leaning forward. “Please, fuck my brain out right now.”
Will wrapped his legs around Mike’s half-naked torso as Mike caught him, carrying him to the bedroom. Their bodies pressed together, every inch desperate, every touch hungry and electric.
Mike slammed the door shut behind them, leaving the world behind, only him and Will.
Will pressed his forehead to Mike’s forehead for a brief second, whispering, “I… I love you so much.”
Mike’s hands tightened slightly around Will, his own voice low and ragged. “I love you too, baby. More than you’ll ever know. You’ve been so strong this week, even when it was hard.”
Will let out a shaky breath, melting into Mike’s embrace. Their lips found each other again, slower this time, tasting, savoring -- a tender, urgent contrast to the messy hunger moments before.
Every kiss, every sigh, every touch carried the weight of the week, the love, the exhaustion, and the trust between them.
Let’s just say… Will got exactly what he wished for.