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Mike’s not going to have a good day.
He can already tell when he lets the incessant blare of the alarm clock ring after three presses of the snooze button, knowing in the back of his mind that nothing good is going to come out of him lying in bed for this long. He has class at 10, and if he doesn’t get up and move soon, he’s going to subject himself to the humiliation of stumbling into the room ten minutes late and doing the walk of shame to his seat with the professor’s eyes burning holes into his skull. A situation he’s all too familiar with, but would prefer if it didn’t happen today.
He just can’t. He cannot muster the energy or wherewithal to even care about being late at this point. He slams his hand down on the alarm clock and silences it once more, then decides to go with his better judgement for today and forces himself to sit upright. He glances to the empty space on his right and feels his lips pull down in an involuntary little pout.
Every other day of the week, that space is filled with Will. Every other day, he spends his mornings with his arms wrapped around Will’s waist and face smushed into the crook of his neck, pressing kisses anywhere and everywhere that he’ll let him while Will runs a hand through his hair and fake-protests, insisting that they have to get up and they have to go to class and all this other nonsense about being functional members of society that Mike can hardly stand.
But today is Wednesday. Dreadful, awful, horrible, terrible Wednesday. On Wednesdays, Will has an 8:30 class, and is long gone before Mike even wakes up. Without Will’s warm body and sleepy little giggles to ease him into the day, Mike is screwed. He wakes up every Wednesday completely and utterly disappointed, and spends it counting down the absolute milliseconds until he can see his Will again. It’s downright pathetic, he can admit, but he can’t help it.
Codependency or whatever.
Foregoing his usual routine of cuddling Will until they both push the limits of their attendance grades, Mike swings his legs over the side of the bed and starts mulling about, haphazardly throwing on some decent clothes and heading to brush his teeth. When he reaches the bathroom, he stares at himself in the mirror and briefly analyzes his face.
I look like shit, he thinks to himself, a little shocked if he’s being honest.
In the past, this would’ve been the standard for Mike. When he was fighting interdimensional monsters and struggling to save the world, yeah, he looked like shit every day. Even after that, when he had to mourn the loss of a girl who changed his life (for better or worse, who knows) and became more depressed than he ever knew was possible, he looked more like the decaying ghost of Mike Wheeler than anything else. But this was ages ago, and not to brag on himself, but Mike’s been doing pretty okay recently. Moving out of your cursed hometown to New York City with the love of your life and working through your trauma with a government-mandated therapist will do that to you. He even started hormone therapy, something that a little boy from a small town in Indiana didn’t know that he would ever be able to obtain. In terms of Mike’s general well-being, he would venture to say the word ‘happy’ right now.
Given these circumstances, Mike finds it a little weird that he’s got dark circles under his eyes and a select few red dots that are threatening to form into a full acne breakout on his chin. Upon this observation, Mike also notices that he kind of feels like shit too. There’s this dull grogginess all through his body, like he’s moving through cement. He can already tell that today is going to be one of his more irritable days that leaves his skin buzzing and unable to speak at the end of it. He hasn’t felt like this in a while, though, not since…
Nope, not possible, he reminds himself quickly, and gets to brushing his teeth before he changes his mind and gets back in bed.
As Mike is throwing his belongings into his backpack and hurrying towards the door, he catches a little yellow sticky note on the fridge. He turns to skim over it quickly.
Working a shift in the art center tonight, be back around 9. I love you! – Will
There’s little hearts and stars drawn on it to make it all cutesy and sweet, a classic Will maneuver. There’s nothing wrong with the note, but all Mike feels is this sinking dread pooling in his stomach. All he gathers is that he’s not going to see Will until almost bedtime, and that makes him more upset than he thinks it should. He already feels tired and practically sickly, and now he won’t have his boyfriend to look forward to at the end of his day. No midday nap cuddled up in bed, no idle conversation about their classes, no movie to watch while they eat dinner and share a blanket on the couch. All he wants right now is Will, and he won’t have him for at least another 11 hours.
The thought almost makes him want to… cry? What?
Stop being ridiculous, he reminds himself, and shakes his head to clear the thought out. Crying because he won’t be with his boyfriend for half a day, what is he, five? He’s being so stupid right now.
Mike slams the door behind him and rushes off to class, scolding himself in his head for being so emotional over Will having a four hour shift at an on-campus job like every other normal person. He blames it on just not sleeping well last night (which isn’t even true) and tries, really does try, to make himself have an okay-ish day. These plans do not work in his favor.
—
By the time his third and final class rolls around, Mike thinks he’s going to die.
He swears he’s coming down with something. That murky feeling from the morning has only gotten worse, and his stomach is building itself up to a steady ache. While he normally gets a little overwhelmed with the everyday noises, bright lights, and textures of outside, something about today is going to send him over the edge. Every sound is amplified, striking his growing headache in just the right spot to make it hurt a little more. He’s aware of every thread in his sweater and jeans, and they’re all touching him wrong. He wants everything to stop, needs everything to vanish into thin air and just leave him alone.
What is going on with him?
Flu season is just around the corner, and he makes a mental note to check his temperature when he gets home. Mike has never had much luck with his immune system, and being in a heavily populated city doesn’t do anything to help.
He mulls this thought over in his head instead of taking notes, wondering if there’s any cold medicine back at home and if he can even afford to skip classes due to illness right now. With the state his grades are in, especially this class in particular, he thinks not, and starts hoping and praying that this will all blow over with a good night’s rest and some vitamins.
As Mike tries to push this worry down and focus on the lecture, his body decides to do something else to get his attention instead. He gets hit with a sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen, so strong and sudden that he sucks in a deep breath through his teeth.
Ow, he thinks to himself, unhelpfully.
He keeps writing, letting the minutes tick by and hoping that it’s nothing. Mike reminds himself that he tends to let his anxiety manifest into physical symptoms, and stomach pains are a very common occurrence when his nerves are shot on a day like today. He would like to think that that’s what is happening right now.
Yet another wave of pain wracks through his body, and he clenches his jaw and grips his pencil so tight that it leaves a big smudge of graphite on his paper.
Something is really wrong, he realizes while trying to steady his breathing and not groan out loud when another stitch twists through his lower stomach. He’s digging his teeth into the back of his hand, a nervous habit that has now turned into a form of pain management. Every few words in his notes is adorned with a misplaced streak of pencil as the ache drills through his whole lower half, throbbing and writhing and wrenching.
Uncomfortable as it is, Mike also finds this particular feeling to be familiar. It feels like–
Mike glances to his left and sees the girl beside him staring at him. He must look like an absolute fool right now. He can see the concern written on her face when they make eye contact.
“Are you okay?” she whispers to him, genuine worry in her eyes.
Mike’s only spoken to her a few times, certainly not enough to remember her name, but he recalls her being sweet and funny whenever they had to do group work together. She has this dark, unruly hair, and totally dresses like one of Will’s artsy friends from his eccentric side of the world. She reminds Mike of Robin, in a way. He doesn’t really know why. Robin is certainly ten times louder and sporadic.
“Um, I’m not sure, honestly,” Mike answers, stifling another cry as an imaginary knife is driven through his left side.
She nods, offering him a brief smile and returning to her notes. Mike tries to do the same, but can see her peeking over every time his body jolts in time with another spike of discomfort. He knows he’s causing such a distraction right now. He feels embarrassment crawling through him, intertwined with the agony inside.
“Do you think you need to step out for a second?”
Mike jumps, not expecting the girl to try speaking to him again.
“Oh, uh, y’know what– yeah. Probably.”
Getting up in the middle of class will only draw more attention to him, but Mike thinks that she might be right. There’s another feeling in him, a feeling of knowing that he’s trying to shove down and not acknowledge. Leaving will be accepting that something’s happening to him, but he knows better than to try and ignore it. He stands abruptly, not looking at the girl again and rushing out before he can count how many eyes turned to look at him.
Out of the crowded lecture hall and in the hallway, Mike crouches down against the wall, arms wrapped around his middle and teeth gritted as the pain gradually becomes stronger. This is a position that he’s found himself in plenty of times, but he’s really not ready to admit why yet. The dots are connecting in his head and he’s trying to force them apart so he doesn’t have to face the truth.
Mike knows what’s happening.
He tries to reassure himself through another wave of red-hot agony, starting to feel himself break a sweat. There’s no way this is happening. It isn’t possible.
Mike’s pretty sure that he can’t deny it anymore, though. He forces himself to stand upright with a grimace and walks down the hall to the bathroom.
He stares at himself in the mirror before entering the stall, mentally preparing himself to encounter what he already knows is there. He tells himself that it’s okay, really, it’s fine. Everything is fine and dandy and wonderful and nothing bad is going to happen. This is totally fine. Just breathe.
In. Out. In. Out. In–
He shuts the door, takes a deep, steady breath in, and pulls down his pants. He stares at the ceiling, not letting himself exhale yet, still trying to brace for impact even though the damage is already done. He spares one, quick, calculated glance downward.
Out.
Yeah, he knew it.
Mike looks back up to the ceiling, this time trying to keep tears from falling past his eyelids. Sure, this isn’t anything new to him, but he thought it was over. It’s been almost 6 months now, and his cycles stopped pretty much immediately after Will did his first injection for him. Why is this happening now?
What did I do wrong?
His initial feelings of general annoyance immediately bubble over into frustration and shame. He’s spent so long trying to escape this monthly reminder of his biological shortcomings, and he thought that he finally had it under control, and now all of his progress is just flying out the window. All of this hard work for nothing. Is he not trying hard enough? Has he not already been punished thoroughly?
Mike hears the door fly open and holds back a sniffle, hurriedly rubbing the streaks of tears off his face.
Get it together. Think.
He patiently waits for the unwanted company to leave while he decides his next move. Does he still have any products at home? He can’t remember, he’s always so scatterbrained. Will is usually the one who knows these types of things. Will would know what to do right now.
Will wouldn’t have let this happen in the first place.
He thinks back to the girl in his class. She’s nice, right? Surely she has something on her and would gladly lend it to him. Girls ask each other for help with this all the time.
He can’t just do that, though, can he?
She doesn’t know. The idea of asking her for a tampon sends humiliation burning all through Mike. She would be confused as to why he needed one, and then he would have to, what? Tell her? He can’t just out himself to a stranger like that. Not only is it unsafe, but the thought of it makes Mike anxious enough to start trembling. Nobody in this new life that he’s built outside of Hawkins knows. Will and his doctor are the only people in all of New York that know what’s wrong with him. He didn’t anticipate being in this situation.
He feels the tears continue to run down to his neck at the thought of how difficult this all is. Why couldn’t he have just been normal?
He feels a tightness in his chest and his breath start to quicken as he continues to think about how stupid he must be for this to happen. He wants to keep crying until he suffocates in this bathroom stall. Then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. It would all be over and he could–
Shut up. Quit being a crybaby and figure this out.
Mike forces himself to breathe, a task that’s a lot harder without Will here to guide him. They usually help each other through bouts of panic like this, but this time Mike’s all alone. Another sob wrecks through his body at the reminder that he’s by himself in this. Will isn’t here to save him right now. Nobody is.
C’mon, you idiot. In. Out. In. Out.
Mike tries to get his mind back on track while desperately trying to calm himself. The girl in his class. Right.
Admitting to someone who he doesn't even know the name of that he’s… different and needs their help is going to take a lot of courage from Mike and most likely result in another round of sobbing. Then again, she’s the one who acknowledged that he was grunting and fidgeting in his seat. She already knows something’s wrong. No lie he makes up is going to make any sense when she’s aware that he’s in enough pain to have to leave the room.
Fuck it.
Mike wipes his face one final time, absolutely positive that he looks a mess but not caring enough to fix it, and exits the bathroom. By the time he’s back in the room, class is being dismissed, and his last line of defense right now has her backpack on and pushing her chair in.
“Wait!” Mike says as he approaches his seat, trying to grab her attention. She pauses, utterly confused. She watches him as he shoves all his stuff back into his own backpack, trying to hurry before the room clears out. The more commotion that’s in the room, the easier this conversation will be.
“Oh, did you need the notes? You can have mine, I probably won’t look over them anyways,” she says, assuming that that’s the only thing Mike could possibly want from her right now. She reaches to get back in her bag.
“No, uh–”
“I can tell you the reading for next time, too. Sorry, you missed a lot–”
“No, I-I don’t need that either.”
She stops and turns to look at Mike in the eyes, her face silently asking him what is it then? Mike automatically thinks that she must be annoyed with him. God, she probably has another class to get to and he’s holding her up right now. She’ll be late and it’ll be his fault and she’ll hate him forever. Mike glances around the room, making sure no one is paying attention to this dumpster fire of an interaction before he opens his mouth to speak again. She beats him to it.
“Are you alright? You, uh, you look like you’ve been… crying,” she lowers her voice, closing the distance between them slightly. Mike can’t tell if she really does care or if she’s just trying to save face.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Listen, can you just… do you, um…”
Fuck.
“Do you have a tampon on you by chance?” He says it to the ceiling, not able to look at her. He’s not even entirely sure that she heard him, he said it so quickly. This is awful.
He slowly lowers his gaze down back to her face. It’s impossible to read. Is she offended? Is she angry? Is she confused? He can’t tell.
Silence stretches out between them, suffocating Mike and causing his breathing to pick up its pace again. Fuck, he should not have done this. This was a terrible idea. He should’ve walked home and just dealt with it himself—
“Why?” she asks, snapping him out of his brief moment of panic.
He doesn’t have it in him. There’s no way in hell he can say it out loud. The room is completely empty now, everyone including the professor long gone. It doesn’t matter if there’s a thousand witnesses or one. He’s not saying it.
He stares at her, not trying to come up with an alternative answer. His insides are turning in time with his cramps, pricking and prodding every organ that he has. He might throw up in her face. That would probably be a great answer to her question.
Her eyes widen suddenly, as if a light bulb has just gone off in her head. She mutters a quick “oh” under her breath, then swings her bag around to dig in its front pocket. She pulls the requested paraphernalia and hands it over, not saying a word. Mike feels like he’s participating in a drug deal.
“Thanks,” he mutters, and turns on his heel to leave. He feels like he just ran a marathon and got hit by a bus all at once. That was easily the worst thing he’s ever done. That was so, so bad.
“Hey.”
Goddamnit. He turns back around.
“It’s okay that… you need one. I’m not gonna tell anybody. And I’m okay with it. I’m not, like, disgusted or anything.”
She stares at Mike, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. Mike doesn’t know how to respond. He feels like a deer caught in headlights.
“Sorry! Oh my god, that was probably out of line. I– I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I can just tell that you’re really upset and felt like maybe you needed some reassurance, or something, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Despite every bone in his body that is shivering with embarrassment right now, Mike feels the pressure of tears start to build up behind his eyes again. If he cries in front of this girl, he might actually never live to see another day.
But she’s just so nice.
His lip trembles.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry. I totally said the wrong thing. I did not mean to–”
“Thank you.”
Mike bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort to keep his tears from falling. If he says anything else, his voice will break and he’ll lose his composure.
“Oh, uh, you’re welcome. I just know that it probably took a lot of courage to ask a total stranger something like that. I get it. You’re really brave for that, you know,” She offers him a gentle smile, genuine kindness radiating off of her.
Yeah, there it is. Now he really is crying in front of her.
“That’s… That’s really nice of you,” he forces out, focusing all of his energy into letting as few tears as possible slip down his cheeks. He’s trying to keep his mortification to a minimum here. She hesitantly reaches out to stroke his arm, seemingly afraid to push any more boundaries but wanting to comfort him. It’s so awkward. He’s pitiful.
“I gotta go,” she says softly, “You… probably should too.”
She gestures to what’s clenched in Mike’s fist. Oh yeah, that.
“See you next week!” she says, and she’s gone without another word, leaving Mike standing in the classroom with a tampon in his hand and tears drying on his face.
—
When he finally gets the door of his apartment open, Mike is profusely sweating, despite the freezing February winds, and his legs have turned to jelly as the persistent ache in his body spreads throughout. He throws his backpack against the wall with a loud thud and finally lets himself groan out loud. He lands face first onto the couch and lets out some sort of grunt-moan-cry-scream into the throw pillow. Everything from the second he woke up has been building up inside of him and the pressure of it all is too much. He wishes he would melt into the threads of the couch and disappear. Maybe then his fucking stomach would stop cramping.
After several long minutes of contemplating his death, he really can’t stand the pain anymore. He forces himself to stand up and directs his attention to the bathroom, searching for his next target. Fucking Ibuprofen.
He reaches the medicine cabinet and grazes up and down the shelves, looking for the little white bottle. He goes over it once, then twice, then a third time. He doesn’t see it. Panic settles in as he frantically starts to take out all the miscellaneous pill bottles, searching for something, anything.
They don’t have any.
Mike runs out to the kitchen, thinking maybe Will left it out on the counter this morning. That poor boy has a headache almost every other day, surely he misplaced it after taking some earlier. Mike’s eyes scan over each and every surface in their kitchen, in the living room, even in their bedroom. Nothing. He finds himself back in the kitchen, pacing back and forth along the tiles with his hands behind his head in an attempt to get himself to breathe. He glances at their shared grocery list pinned to the fridge with a little pink star magnet.
Lo and behold, ibuprofen is written in all its glory, right under tomatoes.
“Fuck,” he says to his empty apartment.
Mike feels tears brimming at his eyes again. He’s in so much pain, emotionally and physically. His brain short-circuits, and all he can think now is the question, Why?
Why does this have to hurt so bad? Why did his period come back after 6 months on hormones? Why don’t they have any pain medicine? Why isn’t Will here? Why is Mike like this?
Why, why, why, why?
Mike slides down to the floor, back against the cabinets and head tucked in between his chest and his knees. It hurts a little less this way, and he also feels the need to make himself smaller. He feels like the world is shouting at him, despite the only sound in the apartment being the hum of the heat rushing through the vents. Maybe the noise is just his brain shouting at himself. Either way, he covers his ears.
He stays like that for a while, gently swaying and keeping his eyes screwed shut. If he tries to do anything else, he knows he’s just going to panic again. He thinks about Will instead. How badly he needs him here, how his warm embrace would feel, the comforting words he would say. The thought of Will is what finally motivates Mike to get up and move to the bedroom, where he can feel a little bit closer to his presence. Will would probably scold him for sitting on the dirty kitchen floor anyway.
He finds himself changing into one of Will’s old paint-covered band t-shirts and his oversized pyjama pants with Snoopy and Woodstock on them. He stares at the pants in the mirror, thinking about how cute Snoopy is and how much he loves the soft material, and feels another bout of crying threaten to break free.
Stupid cute Snoopy, and stupid cute Will even for owning these pants, and stupid Mike for wanting to cry about it.
He curls into the bed, grabbing Will’s tiger stuffed animal and holding it close against his chest with his knees tucked nearly all the way up to his chin in an attempt to get his insides to stop throbbing. If he can force himself to go to sleep, then he won’t be able to feel any of it at all. The fetal position and comforting plushie helps subside the pain just enough for Mike to calm down a little. He steadies his breathing, and focuses on the lingering smell of Will in the sheets and on his clothes. He needs him right now, but the sooner he goes to sleep, the closer he is to Will coming home. The promise of Will is what lets Mike drift into a dreamless nap, still hurting from head to toe.
—
“Mike, guess what?! I got out an hour early! We were super dead, and I literally did everything that I could possibly do, and so Sharon said I could–”
Mike’s eyes shoot open at the sound of Will’s voice drifting through the apartment. For a brief moment, his excitement overrides the turmoil in his body, and he’s ready to jump out of bed and greet Will at the door until it all comes flooding back to him in one massive pang. He turns his face back into the pillow to muffle his whine of agony.
“Mike?”
“In here,” he mutters into the pillow, knowing good and well that Will couldn’t have heard it.
“Hey– woah…”
Mike shifts so that he can meet Will’s eyes. He’s standing in the doorway, a look mixed with confusion and horror on his face. Mike must have looked absolutely pitiful, because the look morphs into immediate concern, reminiscent of Will’s own mother. He crosses the room and crouches down beside the bed, resting his head in his arms against the mattress.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong, hm?”
There were many situations in which Mike could be tucked under the covers with dried tears on his face, and Will was familiar with most of them. He knows to lower his voice and talk softly to Mike like he’s some sort of scared animal whenever he’s emotional and tired, so as not to make things worse. It’s something that he picked up from Mike doing the same to him all these years, and eventually started to return the favor. Mike appreciates the sentiment so much that he wants to bust open the waterworks all over again.
Will reaches to brush Mike’s stray hairs out of his face and waits patiently for him to open up. Mike is almost ashamed to say it, like saying it out loud will be admitting that he did something wrong.
“It’s kind of crazy, actually,” he settles on saying.
“Yeah?” Will giggles, letting his hand fall down to Mike’s arm and gently brush his fingertips up and down in a soothing motion. Will clearly can’t imagine anything actually bad happening, and thinks Mike is being his usual dramatic self. Mike feels awful knowing that what he’s about to say is going to ruin this false sense of security Will has.
“I, uh, my– shit. Um,” Mike gulps. It’s so embarrassing. Will stares at him expectantly.
“My period came back. Uh, for some reason.”
Will stops his hand on Mike’s arm. Mike scrunches up his face and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Will’s face. He also happens to be grimacing in time with another cramp.
“What?”
Mike cringes. God, he’s such a fuck-up.
“Mike, why? Do you know why?” He’s dropped the soft baby voice now, completely shocked.
Mike knows that Will isn’t actually mad at him, he never could be, but in the moment it feels as though he’s demanding something from him. The “why” of it all stings. Mike’s been asking himself that question all day long, and he’s not any closer to answers.
“No, Will, I don’t know why.” He says it with some bite to it, frustrated with himself and the world. He turns around and faces the wall, feeling guilty. And angry. And sad. And miserable. Every emotion at once is just one big heaping mess in his head.
He hates that his body is making him act like this. He never snaps at Will, ever, yet those words just flew out of him like it's something he does on the daily. It almost seemed like something he was comfortable with. It’s going to be hard to forgive himself for that one.
“Woah, don’t get mad. I was just asking if you knew, is all,” Will nudges Mike in the back, trying to get some sort of playful mood back in the air to counter Mike’s doom and gloom that’s radiating off of him. Mike settles on no response, since he doesn’t trust himself to say something nice right now. He can’t take all of this emotion and throw it up into Will’s lap. He doesn’t deserve that.
“Hey, c’mon, let’s think for a second. Did you miss a dose?”
Mike wracks his brain for any reason as to why he would miss a shot. He’s so used to doing them now, he doesn’t think about it all that much. Now that Will mentions it, he doesn’t know if he did or not.
“We went to the movies last week, right?” Will keeps pushing, “You said you would do it when we got home, but it was super late–”
“--And I forgot,” Mike finishes for him, turning back around. The movement makes another cramp shoot through his body.
“What about the week before? Did you do it then?” Will raises his eyebrows at Mike, like he wants more out of him.
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Mike–”
“I know, I know, I’m stupid and a failure and I suck at this–”
“No, no, I didn’t say that,” Will shakes his head, softening his tone once more. Mike instantly feels horrible for being so mean. All he wants to do is help, and Mike’s being an asshole, and yet he’s still making an effort to be gentle with him.
Mike can feel the tears start to build up at his lashes again. Will must see them, because he reaches out and swipes at Mike’s cheek.
“Stop talking about yourself like that,” he adds, moving to scratch at Mike’s scalp.
As much as Mike would love to discuss the ins and outs of his self esteem and negative self-talk right now, he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold up a conversation while his organs are trying to eat their way out of his stomach. There’s a beast in there, gnashing its teeth at the inner walls of his flesh and draining the life force out of him. Mike never got good at trying to tame this thing.
“It just hurts so fucking bad.” Mike feels his face twist up, threatening to break out in another series of sobs. He’s wearing himself out with all this crying and really wishes that he would stop. Wishes he was stronger than this, too.
Without a word, Will hoists himself up on the bed and pulls Mike into a hug. Fuck, Mike’s been waiting for this all day and he’s too much of a mess to appreciate it.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Will says against Mike’s hair, cradling his head and stroking his back. Mike buries deeper into Will’s chest, letting himself go limp under the touch.
“And I’m sick of crying too. It’s making my head hurt,” he whines into Will’s shirt. That gets a chuckle out of Will. Mike feels a feeble smile growing on his own face, despite everything else that’s happened since 9 this morning. If he can make Will laugh, then things might be okay.
Will pulls him back slightly to press gentle kisses to his temple, then looks into his watery eyes again, holding Mike’s face in his hands like he’s something fragile.
“Did you not take anything for the cramps?” he asks, searching in Mike’s eyes for the answer.
“You took all of it.”
He doesn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory, like a little kid telling someone they stole his toy, but it comes out that way.
“Shit, that’s right. Oh, I’m so sorry, Mike. I should’ve got some more as soon as I ran out. I know better than that.”
Mike falls forward again, trying to push himself closer to Will. He doesn’t even care about the pain anymore or where the ibuprofen went, he just wants to be held. Will takes the hint and hugs him even tighter, delicately rocking the two of them back and forth. They both know it's a soothing motion that helps Mike calm down. It makes Mike feel a little bit childish, like a baby who needs to be rocked to sleep. Will keeps murmuring “sorry, baby” and “it’s okay” into Mike’s curls. As much as he loves being babied, he wishes that it wasn’t something that he needed. Normal people don’t need to be coddled and shushed like this.
Will moves to sit up, and Mike feels a spike of panic rise in his chest. Wait, no, where’s he going?
“Alright, I’ll go get you some more then. They should have some in the drug store across the street–”
“Wait, no!”
Mike grabs at Will’s sleeve, stopping him from leaving. Yes, Mike would do anything to get some relief right now, but Will just got here. Will playfully scoffs at him as if this is something silly. Not to Mike, it’s not.
“Mike, seriously? I will literally be five minutes max. You can time me, if you want,” Will says, taking Mike’s hand off his sleeve and holding it in between both of his.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Mike pouts, trying his best to put on his pleading puppy-dog eyes that he knows always work magic on Will. Will gives him a knowing look, fully aware of the tricks that Mike is trying to pull with his sad little face.
“Again. Just five minutes.”
Mike just keeps staring into Will’s eyes, hoping that he can transfer the way he’s feeling to him through the contact of their hands. Not because he wants him to suffer the same way as Mike, certainly not, but he wants him to understand.
“You’re going to seriously regret it if I stay, Mike. You need pain medicine.”
Damn it, it’s not working.
Mike deflates, letting himself give in. Fine, he can mope in the bed for “five minutes”. Will’s right, he is hurting insanely bad, and knows that it won’t get any better without medicine. He needs to be rational for a second and let Will take care of him.
In the moment, Will’s eyes light up, and he quickly says something that sounds like “hold on” under his breath. He drops Mike’s hand and scurries down the hall, and Mike can hear him rifling through what he believes is the coat closet. There’s a thud, and an “ow”, and some more clatter. Mike lurches over the bed in an effort to get up and see if Will needs help with whatever he’s doing, but his stomach twists again and forces him back down. He heaves a great big sigh and throws an arm over his eyes, exhausted and aggravated with all of this.
Will comes back into the room with a hot water bottle in his arms and presents it to Mike with a beaming smile, proud of himself.
“We have this, remember? I can fill it up for you and it might help while you wait for me to get back,” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely towards Mike in all his misery on the bed.
Of course Mike would forget about the hot water bottle. It hasn’t been used in months, stored in the back of the hallway closet and collecting dust. Mike bought it ages ago for Will when he was out of ideas for how to help him fight the freezing cold of New York winters, and the trauma that came with it. Multiple layers of sweatshirts and socks, blankets, hot showers and baths, stuffed animals, hot chocolate, cuddling– all of it worked momentarily, and then Will would have another nightmare accompanied with a panic attack and Mike was sent back to the drawing board. The hot water bottle didn’t make any difference to Will at the time, but now, Mike was so grateful for his past self’s purchase.
Mike offers a weak smile and nods, and Will rushes to fill it up in the bathroom sink. He’s back in no time, and carefully places it into Mike’s lap. He leans forward and places a kiss on Mike’s forehead, then the tip of his nose, then his cheek, leaving several to make a trail that follows his freckles.
“Okay, okay, you need to go before they close,” Mike giggles, reluctantly pushing Will away.
“Need anything else?” Will asks, pulling his shoes back on.
“Oh, um… more tampons. Probably.”
Mike says it meekly, looking down at his hands instead of meeting Will’s eyes. He still can’t admit that this is a reality that he has to live in for another 5 days. It’s a touchy subject.
Will comes back to the bedside, Mike still averting his gaze. Will reaches to hold Mike’s face in his hands again, and his eyes dance across Mike’s features hesitantly. Mike can almost see the gears turning in his head. He knows he’s coming up with something to say.
“This isn’t your fault, okay?” is what he decides on.
Oh.
“I know you’re beating yourself up in your head right now,” Will looks off to the side, still trying to find the right way to say it, “It’s… just don’t worry about it, alright? It’ll be okay. This doesn’t change anything.”
“It quite literally is my fault. I didn’t do my shots like I’m supposed to,” Mike shrugs, not willing to accept Will’s reassurance right now. While he appreciates Will trying to make him feel better, it’s undeniable that nobody did this to him but himself.
It’s fine, he could use a beating from himself every once in a while.
He can see the hurt reflecting in Will’s eyes, still trying to convince Mike to be nice to himself. It’s a tough task, Mike would know. He can see him accept defeat, letting out a sigh with a slight frown. He leans down to kiss Mike, melting into it and letting it deepen for a moment before pulling back and patting Mike’s hands where they’re folded over the hot water bottle. He can feel it start to alleviate his pain slightly, and whispers “thank you” to Will as he rises once more.
“Five minutes,” he says, and then he’s gone again. Mike squeezes his arms around his abdomen tighter, wishing the warmth was coming from his boyfriend instead. This will have to do.
—
Mike doesn’t get the chance to wallow in his sorrows of missing Will before he’s back again. He was right, it wasn’t even five minutes. Mike feels his face light up when he walks back through the bedroom door, carrying a whole bag of stuff and a glass of water.
“How did you even have the time to get all that?” Mike asks, sitting up as Will hands him the glass and shakes two pills out of the brand new bottle. He eyes the bag and spots various brands of chips and candy inside. Thank God for Will.
“I just grabbed a bunch of stuff. I know you’ll eat anything,” he smiles, giving Mike his pills to take, “Especially when you’re like this.”
He winks at him. Mike glares back. Not funny.
Mike swallows the pills and tries to placebo himself into thinking that they’ll immediately start working. He still has at least thirty minutes before they actually kick in, but anything’s possible with enough willpower.
“Want anything?” Will asks, holding up the bag. Mike shakes his head. He can save those for later, once he stops feeling like he’s going to die.
Will sets the bag aside, then starts pulling his clothes off and changing into something comfier. Mike lays back down and watches him, listening to him hum as he does it.
“What do you want for dinner?” Will asks, pulling one of Mike’s shirts over his head. Mike finds it funny and endearing how they both hardly wear their own clothes anymore.
“Anything,” Mike answers, the mention of a full meal reminding him that he’s starving underneath all the cramping.
While the hot water bottle isn’t doing much to stop the pain itself, Mike finds that it’s soothing, and he can feel himself getting fuzzy around the edges. He wants Will. Will Will Will Will Will—
“Alright, let me order something and I’ll be back,” Will says. Mike whines in response. No, please stay, Will. Will Will Will—
Will must not have heard his pathetic little cry, because he’s gone without a second glance.
Mike is still hurting while he listens to Will ordering dinner for them over the phone in the kitchen. He tries to pay attention to what it is, but finds that he doesn’t really care. He wants to writhe around on the bed and bite his cheek until it bleeds, but he knows it won’t fix anything. He can wait it out. Everything will be fine. His amazing boyfriend is ordering food for them, and he took pain medicine, and he’s going to be okay.
Will wanders back into the room and leans in to plant a kiss to Mike’s temple. Mike hums in response, feeling a bit like a cat purring. Will! His Will is here!
“It’s gonna be a while. Scooch.”
Will waves for Mike to make room for him on the bed, and climbs over to slide underneath the covers. He presses himself up against Mike’s back, then wraps his arms around his waist, enveloping Mike’s hands where they rest against the hot water bottle. Mike can feel the warmth pulsing through him, as if Will is conducting it himself like electricity through a wire. They both push closer to each other, practically until their individual atoms are aligning. Will sighs against Mike’s neck, leaving gentle kisses along his spine and letting his hands wander along Mike’s front.
“Missed you today,” Mike babbles into the pillow, letting his eyes flutter shut and focus on Will’s touch, “Missed you so, so much.”
“I know, sweetheart. I missed you, too.”
“You don’t understand. It was so hard.”
“Mhm, yeah, I bet.”
“‘M serious. I hated today.”
Will squeezes Mike’s middle harder in response. Mike grunts– it still hurts, but he knows Will is trying his absolute hardest to make it all go away. The pressure of Will’s hands against the hot water bottle makes it feel better than before. The pressure of Will altogether makes Mike’s brain melt a little.
“We’ll do your shot tonight, okay?”
“Mhmph.”
Will lets them fall into a comfortable silence, Mike’s breathing slowing as he finally, finally, fucking finally, feels some relief settle in. The anguish and misery of today dissolves and dissipates into the air surrounding them, leaving just Mike and Will wrapped around each other. Mike starts to forget what he was even upset about now that the pain is subsiding and he’s in a comfort-induced daze.
“Y’know,” Will says against Mike’s skin, bringing him back from the brink of sleep.
“Hm?”
“I read somewhere that orgasms can help with period cramps.”
Mike’s eyes fly open and his eyebrows shoot up far enough on his head to float in the air like a cartoon. He immediately feels his face start to burn, a red-hot flush that spreads to his ears and down his neck.
Absolutely not. He lifts his leg to kick Will in the shins.
“That’s fucking disgusting, Will.”
Will’s laughter vibrates against Mike, his whole body trembling along with his fit of giggles. Mike lifts his arm behind him to jab Will on his ribs, still trying to find adequate punishment for saying that.
“You’re blushing,” he says through gasps, still finding himself hilarious.
“Gross. That’s gross,” Mike reiterates.
“You’re thinking about it, though.”
Yeah, he is. But only because he knows that what Will said is true. Mike learned a long time ago that desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Shut up.”
Will does not listen to this.
“How will we know if it’s true or not? I mean, there’s only one way to find out. We can’t have people spreading misinformation like that–”
“It’s true. Now, be quiet.”
Will sits up to look at Mike in the face, gawking. Mike smirks at him, then tries to bury his face back in the pillow and end this conversation.
“Well, then maybe you should… Let me help?”
Mike reaches up to smack Will in the chest, still avoiding eye contact with his face twisted.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Will receives the message and finally drops it, laying flat on his back. Mike shifts to lay his head against his chest, despite feigning anger at him. He can’t stay away from Will’s touch for long. He would crawl inside of Will and live in him if he could.
“I’m serious about what I said earlier,” Will says after a moment, simultaneously rubbing Mike’s back and holding his head firm against his chest.
“About what?” Mike doesn’t want to recall anything from earlier. Please, just let him think about cuddling Will now.
“Being mean to yourself about this.”
Mike groans into Will’s shirt. Why does he want to have this conversation right now?
“I’m fine, Will, really. I’m just irritated today. You know that.”
“I worry about you.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
“You’re deflecting.”
Mike turns his head to look Will in the eyes. He shoots him as much of a menacing look as he can manage, warning him to drop it. Will’s face shows nothing but earnestness, though.
“I love you, okay?” he whispers, petting Mike’s hair as he says it, “I know it’s hard to talk about. We don’t have to. I just want you to think about it, alright? Always remember that I love you.”
Mike thinks back to the girl in his class from earlier. What she said about him being ‘brave’. Why does everyone think that he needs a pep talk today? He’s fine.
He also remembers how he felt in that bathroom stall.
Maybe Will has a point.
“It’s just… It makes me feel like I’m not trying hard enough. And it’s also, like, a reminder, you know?” He lets himself open up, just a little bit, for Will’s sake. He doesn’t expect him to understand what he means or how he feels. He hopes that he doesn’t have to specify what ‘it’ is.
Will nods, then pulls Mike impossibly closer.
“I’m here for you,” is all he says, “And I love you, no matter what.”
Mike’s played this game with him before, has been playing it for all of their lives. This back-and-forth where Mike is persistent in hating himself, and Will has to talk him off the edge without explicitly saying that’s what he’s doing. It must be exhausting for Will, Mike thinks. He should let Will win for once.
“I’ll do better,” Mike says, turning back around so he doesn’t have to see Will’s reaction. Do better in what exactly, he doesn’t know. He just knows that he’s going to do it.
“Maybe not today. That’s asking too much,” he adds, quickly before Will can get his hopes up. He reaches to pick up Will’s hand and play with his fingers, smiling to himself when Will laughs lightly at his little comment.
“Thank you for putting up with me. I love you,” Mike mutters. He kind of realized that he hasn’t said it back to Will all day. He’s already learned from making that mistake once before.
Will hums noncommittally, indicating that it’s time for both of them to be quiet now. Mike lets his eyes close, hand still intertwined with Will’s and revelling in the fact that he can’t feel his cramps anymore. The soft rise and fall of Will’s breathing is what lulls him to sleep, finally allowing his brain to go silent.