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    Summary

    Will comes close, peering up at him in the way that meant he was reading Mike like the back of his palm. His brows furrows. "You're sick."

    "I'm fine. Come on we're going to miss Dustin singing as that girl," Mike said, swooping down to peck a kiss onto his boyfriend's cheek.

    He made a move to walk past, down the stairs when Will caught his wrist. He turns, confused. Could Will actually hear his thoughts? He didn't feel that sick, maybe a bit sweaty and tired.

    "You can tell me anything, you know that Mike. What's wrong?"

    Will's hand comes up to feel his forehead, he dodges it. It's easier to open up to Will, always has been, probably always would be, but he didn't feel that sick. No need to worry him.

    "Nothing's wrong, just tired."

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