Work Text:
I LOVE YOU SWEATHEART
By Michael W.
A man risked his life to write the words.
A man hung upside down (an idiot friend
holding his legs?) with spray paint
to write the words on a girder fifty feet above
a highway. And his beloved,
the next morning driving to work…?
His words are not (meant to be) so unique.
Does she recognize his handwriting?
Did he hint to her at her doorstep the night before
of "something special, darling, tomorrow"?
And did he call her at work
expecting her to faint with delight
at his celebration of her, his passion, his risk?
She will know I love her now,
the world will know my love for her!
A man risked his life to write the words.
Love is like this at the bone, we hope, love
is like this, Sweatheart, all sore and dumb
and dangerous, ignited, blessed - always,
regardless, no exceptions,
always in blazing matters like these: blessed.
---xxx---
California winters were, unfortunately, the coldest winter Mike had ever experienced. Miserable. Yeah, teenage Mike would have rolled his eyes into oblivion if he ever heard someone say that a west coast winter could even come close to Indiana’s below freezing ones.
But there was something about the dry winter mornings, before the sun had time to warm the Southern California streets, when the cold air would fill up their bedroom and try to creep beneath the sheet... and the quilt... and the comforter.
He always had to have all three of them pinned tightly around his neck. When they had started living together Mike had been an adamant one blanket kinda guy. It was plenty, but Will made it clear that this was not an option.
Maybe the reason Mike hated California's cold winters the most, was that Will hated the cold. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but someday, Mike would corner California’s winter in a dark alley and personally fight it with his bare hands, in the hope it would make them stop bothering his boyfriend. But until he managed that, Mike had settled for indulging in every warm blanket, steaming cup of coffee and makeshift heater contraption Will had ever suggested. Until eventually Mike had become so accustomed to the warmth that now, whenever he wanted a good night's rest, he also demanded a minimum of three blankets, and full body contact with his boyfriend at all times.
SoCal still being this uncomfortably cold in early February was the moldy cherry on top of a particularly busy few weeks. Mike had been working on the third round of edits for his upcoming novel. It was a good thing, or at least that's what everyone kept telling him. He was constantly going between his manuscript at his desk, driving downtown to meet his editor, and sitting through publisher meetings. It was all quite dreary.
For his previous (and first) novel this process had gone on for almost a year, and he was a husk of a man after. His editor promised that this time around they didn't have to worry about any of the on-boarding work, so really, this awful editing process would only be for as long as Mike took to edit.
This was a lie. Mike edited at hyper-speed, and yet he still had sat through many meetings about marketing, and book pop ups he had lost count. Obviously he was glad that the publishers seemed to want his book to do well, but Mike just wanted this part to be over with. So he was so pushing through. They were on month 4 of editing, and administrative work, and finally it felt like the finish line was insight.
This week was just particularly rough because Will had also had an upswing in work. Over the past 2 years Will’s art has been getting glowing reviews across many different industries. From some local art galleries to his freelance illustration business he was blooming into the SoCal artist he always deserved to be recognized as. But the world of artists had even crazier scheduling times, and weirder concepts of meetings then the world of authors.
Needless to say their apartment had been an icebox with a revolving door all winter. It seemed like Mike only walked in when Will was out. Or vice versa. Both of them overly apologetic for it. Both of them needily clinging to each other during every second of overlap they could get. Of course Mike couldn't stop his own complaining about this, felt a little bad when he was whining about missing Will and could tell the other genuinely felt bad.
Mike was exhausted. And it made no sense why they couldn't both just quit their jobs and live off their meager savings until they had to escape into the woods to continue their life together, free from responsibilities, meetings, and the horrid doom, gloom, and creative death of editing the same piece of writing over and over again for four straight months.
Will had come home on a random day in early January to find Mike defeated and irritable at his desk chair. This process was crushing him, and Will knew better than anyone, knew without words, that Mike was at the end of his rope with this editing shit. And in all his wondrous, genius glory, had suggested that maybe Mike should just write on the side for fun.
Writing didn't sound at all fun right now. But Will had shrugged and said
"You used to write some poetry in college, and you always liked that."
A blush bloomed over Mike's pale cheeks "Well they were never any good... I only wrote those for class!"
Will had smiled down at him, hazel eyes glittering from the yellow desk light, carefully running one of his tan hands through black curls. Petting them out of Mike's face to get a better look at him.
"Sure, and that notebook of your poetry you kept in the nightstand was for class too."
"WHAT! WILL! NO! I JUST.... well... it was just a hobby." Mike scrubbed his hands over his flushed face. "None of it was good anyways."
"I liked it."
"OH MY GOD, WILL!" he was going to pass away from embarrassment "You snooped!"
Will shrugged leaning down to kiss the indignant look off his face. "They were good. You're good. And you seemed to like writing them so much I just peaked at it once."
Mike leaned up, capturing Will's lips again, sinking his teeth into the plush flesh, making the shorter man yelp! Payback for invading his privacy! Though it was hard to actually be upset. After a lifetime of holding onto a secret about himself, Mike was hardly eager to have another secret from Will Byers.
"I won't look at them if you don't want me to."
"This time" Mike grumbled.
Will rolled his perfect, beautiful eyes "This Time." he parroted. "I just think that maybe you should do a little hobby on the side so your annoying editor, who is always to monopolize your free time, doesn't kill your creative spirit."
Mike let his chair lean back slightly, eyes dragging over his boyfriend in their dim bedroom. His acid wash jeans splattered with paint, hugging his slightly wider frame, a half buttoned striped shirt too tight where his shoulders had broadened over the years. His brown bowl cut as endearing as ever framed the high bridge of his nose and the handsome cut of his jaw. Mike would never get enough of looking at him. Distinctly wishing he could see more of him right now. His eyes became half lidded where they caught on the peak of his tan chest at the open v of his shirt.
"Well, you do love my creative spirit." Mike flirted, letting his obvious staring become more so.
Will leaned down again, this time bracing himself on either armrest, caging in the lithe frame of his whinny author. His own bunny teeth biting into the little bruise Mike had made on his lip only moments ago. Leaned in until his nose just ghosted against Mike's jaw, stopping when his lips could press against his ear.
"You do have some good ideas Mike." Will whispered hotly, before finally latching onto the soft skin there, sinking his teeth in and sucking a bruise against Mike's pulse point. A not so quiet moan escaped the taller man, fingers digging into the striped shirt to pull Will in ever closer.
"Will!" Mike whined breathily, felt the way his own voice sent a shiver through the man above him.
When he pulled back they were breathing the same air, the pent up longing about to break over the precipice.
"But I think I have a few better, more creative, ideas for us tonight." Will whispered with a honeyed tone.
"Prove it." Mike goaded before their lips crashed together. All teeth and tongue, hands flying around to capture every handful of warm skin they could. Editing, and midnight artists meet up, forgotten.
Maybe it had been Will's plan all along, but this had done a good job of convincing Mike to do some fun hobby writing again. So whenever he was sure his brain was going to melt into goo from all this ridiculous editing he shifted his focus to writing short poems. They probably weren't any good, and he was never, NEVER, going to share them with any one, but he would write a few a week. Usually on his type writer, which made him feel twice as pretentious as typing them on a regular computer or hand writing them. But then, when had he not enjoyed a little superiority complex as a treat.
He would set his poems in a little typed pile on his desk, sometimes writing new ones, and sometimes re-writing old ones (at least this editing was fun, he'd tell Will when the other asked about his day).
And, to his credit, Mike had never seen his boyfriend snooping through his papers. Even if sometimes things weren't in the same order he remembered leaving them, Mike was fairly certain Will only lingered by his desk to help tidy up the avalanche of mess he made of his manuscript.
---xxx---
Mike had always been a light sleeper. Knowing this Will always tried to be as quiet as possible when he was getting home late. Ever so slowly opening their bedroom door so the hinges wouldn't creak. But still at the dull groan of the floorboards beneath his body weight Mike's heavy eyelids slid open. Tracing the silhouette of round shoulders and square hips where they were backlit from the kitchen light creeping into their dark bedroom.
It was clear Will wasn't watching him, shutting the door slowly as possible, patting over to Mike's desk to carefully set down his jacket and the contents of his pockets. The sound of his pants zipper broke the silence in the room, as he rustled his jeans off, t-shirt and undershirt following quickly after.
The moonlight from their window cast his outline in a soft glow, enough that Mike could make out the shiver that ran through the shorter man's body as he stood stripped in their cold bedroom.
Quickly Mike made his awake state known, shuffling closer to the wall and patting the now empty spot he had been in with a sleep heavy hand. Will smiled, his teeth just barely catching the light, before he all but dashed over. Slipping under the covers into the warm spot Mike had left him.
Lifting the blankets let an unpleasant rush of cold air into their warm cocoon. Which he would have complained about but he was too tired. Instead Mike wrapped up the other man in his long thin limbs. Clinging to him as best he could, Will snorted at the sleepy dramatics of it all. But it didn't matter, it was cold, and this was his boyfriend. If Mike wanted to slip his arms around his waist, and throw one leg between his and one over his hip, he would.
"You’re home so late." Mike grumbled, tucking his face into the crook of Will's neck.
"Yah sorry!" Will whispered back, looping his own arms around his clingy boyfriend. "The guy I was working with today showed up super late and the project took longer than anticipated."
"Tell that guy he sucks." Mike muttered into Will's skin, smiling a bit when he felt the slight shake of Will chuckling.
"Yah ill let Lucas know."
Mike huffed, Lucas was always down to help Will when one of Will's projects needed an extra set of strong hands, the most fit out of all of them ever since his career at the physical rehab center took off. Mike was at least glad that Will got to spend his late night with a good friend, even if it would have been better being at home with Mike.
"Missed you." he breathed, letting his eyes slide closed again.
The arms around his back pulling him closer.
"I missed you too Mike." Will whispered, craning his neck to kiss the top of Mike's head, his grown out curls surely getting in the way.
Mike would never stop wanting this. Their warm skin pressed together, ending every day together even if they had to part first thing in the morning. Mike grabbed the hem of their stack of blankets, tugging them to wrap tightly around their shoulders, preventing any of the treacherous winter air from seeping under and disturbing the rest of their sleep.
---xxx---
His consciousness poured back into his body slowly, like thick syrup over his usual morning breakfast. The thought of which was the only thing making him chase a waking state. But the more awake he became the more aware he was of the warm arm wrapped around his back, the slight salt of the skin pressed to his lips, and the gentle rise and fall of a chest against his own. Mmm, maybe he didn't need to be awake yet. Drifting back to sleep until the sound of his name reached his ears.
"Mike, you have to get up." Will's sleep scratchy voice called to him.
But Mike didn't have to do anything. No, Mike just had to keep laying here, basking in the warmth of their bed. So Mike just shook his head and pressed in closer, too tired to elaborate more.
"Mike." His name was gentle in Will's mouth, was almost as nice to hear as it was to speak his response.
"Will."
Warm hands began to trace a spiral design over his back. Like Will was trying to remember exactly where Mike’s freckles scattered beneath the blankets.
"Mike, if you don't get up, you're going to be late."
But again, neither of them moved to separate. Nothing sounded scary enough to be worth leaving their bed to face the cold winter air and endless responsibilities.
"I can't be late if I never show up." Mike retorted, leaning back just enough to catch the scrunch of Will’s nose that appeared every single time Mike said something ridiculous.
Ah. There it was.
"Mike, you can't miss your meeting."
"Watch me."
This time Will didn't let him cuddle back against him. Which was rude and unfair. It was too early to get up, for him and for—
“Why are you awake right now?” Mike asked accusingly, squinting over at the clock glowing 7:00 AM beside their bed. “You got home so late last night, you should be asleep.”
Immediately Mike grabbed Will’s sleepy face between his hands, goosebumps racing down his arms now that they’d escaped the warmth of the blankets. He dragged his thumbs gently over Will’s eyelids, trying to force them shut again. Will just laughed softly at his antics, indulging him for another minute before ruthlessly ripping the blankets off both of them.
“Hey!” Mike whined, shivering instantly.
But Will was already sitting up, snatching their discarded hoodies from the floor and tossing Mike’s onto the bed.
“Come on, Mike,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. “I’ll make breakfast.”
That sounded good. He watched longingly as Will left, at least enjoying the view of his boyfriend in boxers and an oversized hoodie. Easily conjuring up a mental image of one of his favorite sights. Will standing over the stove, tan legs and toned ass on display, hair messy and soft. The smell of pancakes and scrambled with that slight twinkle Will got in his eye when their domestic life got to be everything they had ever dreamed up. But imagination wasn't everything, so Mike sat up from bed, and went to go see his real life.
The sizzle of the frying pan wais already going when Mike shuffled into the kitchen, sleepily draping himself over his boyfriend's back, and notching his chin over his shoulder.
"Coffees almost ready."
"Thanks baby" Mike nods his response, letting their shared warmth and the quiet sounds of their life wash over him.
By the time they had eaten and Mike had pulled on his clothes for the day he was distinctly more awake and Will was distinctly more ready to fall back asleep. He really should have just lied in while Mike got ready for work. But they both had been missing each other lately and Mike couldn't say he wasn't grateful for any time they got to spend together.
Mike was fussing around his desk, scooping the exploded pages of his manuscript into his work bag, hunting for his notebook in all the rubble. His keys, his wallet, hopeful that today would be the first day this week he didn't forget anything.
There atop his desk was one of his favorite poems he'd made recently. It was silly really, and didn't have the prose of some of his other work. It seemed sort of a happy medium between the flowery language of his poems and the narrative voice of his books. And well, he quite liked it, almost wouldn't mind sharing it with others. Almost. He looked at the simple typed page , it seemed a little beat up and wrinkled for living a life on his desk but then he supposed the whole thing was a hazard so he shouldn't be surprised if it was in rough state. Maybe he'd retype it and file it away when he got home tonight.
He was procrastinating, he really did need to leave if he wanted to be on time. The LA work traffic was no joke, and would take him 3 times longer then that same distance back in Hawkins. But you paid some prices for happiness he supposed.
"Ready to go?" Will asked mid yawn, standing to send him off.
He looked so soft this morning. Mike wanted to crawl back into his warmth. Will stood in front of him, pushing a few of his messy black curls into place with his paint strained fingers.
"Will you be here when I get back?" Mike found himself asking, hoping. Maybe if he gave Will his big round eyed stare the other would say yes. It always worked eventually. Will would smile at him and only pretend to resist Mike’s awesome powers of persuasion.
“You will see me soon,” Will smiled back. Both a promise and a deflection.
But Mike liked that idea. Mike wanted that. So he leaned down and kissed the promise right off his lips, indulging in each other for a few slow minutes.
“Okay, see you soon,” Mike almost purred against Will’s mouth. “You should get more sleep.”
Will waved him off fondly, already crawling back into bed.
“I love you,” Mike called, unable to stop staring at Will's tired face.
“Love you too.”
With a morning like that, maybe Mike would survive his commute after all.
--xxx---
The thing about the 405, is that you couldn’t escape it. If that was your freeway into downtown, well, you and everyone you have ever met, and everyone they had ever met, would all be stuck traveling down the 405 together. Every. Single. Day.
Traffic was so slow he could stand faster than his car moved. But he had found plenty of ways to entertain himself. He would study people through the reflection of their rear view mirror. He would count how many plastic bags were swept onto the side of the road. He would count potholes, and trace weird oil spills, with his favorite radio station crackling in the background.
He had memorized every detail of his whole commute. Including this overpass. Mike had driven under this overpass a million times. He knew how high the vines grew up the pillars. He knew that there were 5 cracks on the left but only one on the right. He knew that there had only been 4 words graffitied across the top, all thin letters in plain black paint. He thought about it sometimes, that freeway overpasses must have been the hardest place to work on, that's why the graffiti up there was always so simple.
Except for today apparently. Because today, covering up most of the old single spray lines was a huge new set of bubble letters. A deep berry pink, with a bright yellow outline, and a navy blue drop shadow. Some of the lines not quite clean, the paint dripping into itself and trailing in thin streams off the bottom of the rounded letters. Probably a rush job so the artist didn't have to be dangling over the edge, 50 feet above the ground, for longer than necessary. Somehow it still looked perfectly crafted.
He was slightly too far away to make out all the letters, but as traffic inched forward it came into view in all its glory. Spray painted across the overpass, a new artwork that Mike would get to drive under every single time he went down town, it read "I love you sweatheart"
His whole body filled with warmth, slammed too hard on his brakes in shock, making the car behind him slamming its horn, but it didn't matter. Mike was a second away from pulling off the road, to stare up at it from the shoulder of the highway until the sun went down. His stomach full of butterflies. Warmth bubbled up inside him, and he couldn't help the little laugh that escaped.
Small at first, and just kept pouring out of him, laughing more and more. Tears gathered in his eyes as he inched closer to it. His whole body was alight with pure unfettered joy and affection. It was exhilarating.
And he wanted to hate it, he really did. It meant that someone had risked their life to dangle over the freeway, and he didn't have to guess at it. Mike knew with intense, intoxicating clarity, that those lines, that color combo, the yellow highlight and navy shadow, was the signature street style of one Will Byers.
It meant Will had risked his life, it meant that Will had been reading the poetry Mike left on his desk. And more importantly, it meant the thing Mike thought he would spend his whole life chasing, the thing that had felt out of reach until they were 20 and tripping over each other's feelings, the thing they had finally clarified when they fell into each other, the feeling Mike craved, the feeling Mike wanted to continue to live in for the rest of his life, it meant Will Byers loved him.
For just a minute his car went dark, eclipsed beneath the shadow of the overpass, before the bright warm morning sun spilled over him again.
Usually traffic continued like this for another twenty minutes. But today, on this not so regular Monday morning, the traffic broke early. A length of empty highway opening up in front of him. Mike pressed into the gas pedal, his old car rattling as it picked up speed, laughter still caught somewhere in his chest. “I love you sweatheart.” stupid and confident. Washing over him as the city blurred by. In the glow of city lights he imagined his reckless brown haired love, the man who was curled up under the blankets, the smell of aerosol and acrylic paint clinging to him. And he knew, even when he was driving in the opposite direction from home, he was rushing towards their future.