Chapter Text
Mike kisses him like it’s nothing.
Like it’s part of the argument, like it’s just another point he’s trying to prove.
Will doesn’t even process it at first—there’s just pressure, warm and firm, and then the delayed realization hits all at once, sharp and disorienting. Mike’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist, thumb pressing into his pulse like he can feel how fast it’s going.
Will makes a small noise—something between a protest and a question—but Mike doesn’t pull away. Not immediately.
He leans in closer.
Too close.
Close enough that Will can feel his breath, can smell the faint mix of soda and fries, can *feel* the way Mike’s lips move—intentional, not accidental, not a joke, not—
And then it’s over.
Just gone.
Mike leans back like nothing happened, like he didn’t just flip Will’s entire brain inside out, like they’re still in the middle of a stupid argument about a movie.
Will stares at him.
Mike smiles.
“Sorry, you had a little mustard stain.”
For a second, Will actually believes him.
Because that’s easier. Because the alternative is—
No. Nope. Not doing that.
Mike keeps talking, already halfway back into whatever he was saying before, gesturing with his free hand while the other one stays locked around Will’s wrist like it belongs there.
“…and I’m serious, we’re watching it again next week. I don’t care if you think it’s unrealistic—”
Will nods.
Too fast.
“—you just have to go in with the right mindset—”
“Yeah,” Will says, even though he didn’t catch most of that. “Totally.”
Mike narrows his eyes slightly, like he knows something’s off. Like he’s trying to decide whether to call it out.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he just keeps going.
And Will—
Will sits there, lips still tingling, brain short-circuiting, trying to act like he didn’t just—
What the hell was that?
---
By the time they get back to the room, Will feels like he’s watching everything through glass.
Mike is still talking. About nothing. About everything. Same as always.
But now every little thing feels different.
The way Mike looks at him.
The way he stands too close when they’re brushing their teeth.
The way his shoulder bumps into Will’s like it’s automatic.
Like it’s always been automatic.
“Hey.”
Will blinks.
Mike’s right in front of him now, frowning slightly, one hand reaching out and catching his wrist again—like earlier. Like he didn’t let go, not really.
“Are you okay?”
There’s something careful in his voice.
Something almost—
No. Don’t go there.
“Yeah,” Will says quickly. “I’m fine.”
Mike doesn’t look convinced.
Will forces a shrug. “Just tired.”
That hangs there for a second.
Mike glances away.
Just for a second.
And there—there it is again. That flicker. Something that looks a lot like guilt.
Will’s stomach twists.
“Let’s just go to bed,” Mike says, quieter now. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Will nods.
That sounds good.
Morning sounds far away.
Safe.
He turns toward his bed—
—and Mike pulls him back.
Not hard. Just enough.
“Do you mind?” Mike asks, not quite meeting his eyes this time, a small, almost awkward smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m kinda cold.”
Will almost laughs.
The heater is blasting.
But Mike’s still holding his wrist.
Still waiting.
Still not letting go.
“…yeah,” Will says, because of course he does. “It’s fine.”
Mike’s smile softens—relief, maybe—and he pulls him along like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like this is normal.
Like everything is normal.
Will climbs into the bed beside him, heart pounding way too fast, and lets Mike pull the blankets up around them both.
And then—
Mike pulls him closer.
Just like always.
Except not like always.
Because now Will knows what Mike’s lips feel like.
And that changes everything.