Archive of Our Own

Will's vision slowly clears, static still buzzing around the edges. His lungs burn with smoke, the taste of ash and death lingers in the back of his throat. Blood runs down his lips, staining them crimson.

He can't hear much outside of ringing, stubborn whispering in the back of his skull. His mom's voice manages to break through, worried sick, but muffled. As if Will's head is submerged in murky water.

He feels her gentle hands on him, and it's like his body moves on its own. Will rises to his tiptoes, wraps himself around his mother's short frame. His hands cling to her, fist at her jacket like it's the only thing holding him upright.

She keeps talking to him, caresses his face, asks him question after question. Will doesn't register any of it. His eyes are locked on a familiar face, battered and terrified, but alive. His lungs open up enough to breathe, and reality slowly starts to settle.

Their surroundings come back in focus. Blood and bodies staining the earth, sky filled with smoke. The ringing in Will's ears fades away. He can finally hear his mom talking, her voice a mix of awe and overwhelming worry.

"I don't understand! How did you-"

"He's a sorcerer!"

Will's ears perk up, head snaps towards the sound. His chest hitches and he nearly collapses where he's standing.

Mike is running towards them, his legs frantic and shaky. There's blood smeared over his temple, hair is soaked and sticking to his forehead in inky streaks. Fire blooms behind him, a thick cloud of smoke rising up into the sky.

Despite all the blood and gore, his face is bright, almost excited. Eyes round, brows up in his hairline as he rambles.

"A real life, honest-to-God sorcerer!" Mike exclaims, colliding into Will.

A warm, solid hand presses against Will's shoulder blade and pulls him in. Long arms wrap around his frame and hug him tight.

"Mike," slips out of Will's mouth from the impact. Breathy and pained.

It takes him a second to register what's happening. Mike is hugging him, face tucked deep into Will's shoulder. He's here, he's alive.

Will looks ahead, sees the pile of skin and bone that used to be a demogorgon. Now just a broken puppet with its strings cut. Will should probably feel happy at the sight, that he defeated the monster, but his stomach clenches painfully instead.

He wraps an arm around Mike's shoulder, lets his eyes flutter shut in relief. Just breathes, trying to settle his racing heart. Mike holds him tight, a feeling Will missed so badly. He lets himself enjoy it for just a moment.

"You did it! You really did it!" Mike keeps borderline yelling into Will's ear, a wide smile splitting his face in half. He pulls back, keeping his hands clamped over his friend's shoulders. "Will, you.."

He doesn't finish that thought. His eyes jump all over Will's face, lingering somewhere low before snapping up again. There's something behind them, sitting deep, yet refusing to come out. Mike's expression twitches for a second, switches to a more serious one as the awe fades.

"We gotta go. Can you walk?" he says urgently. His back slouches until his gaze is leveled with Will's, brows pinch together.

Will tries to reply, but all that comes out is a quiet sound. He nods instead. Mike nods back.

"Come on," he breathes, and grabs Will's arm. Nods at Joyce, quickly checking on her, too.

Will barely has time to register the contact before he's pulled away. He drags his legs, trying to keep up with Mike's frantic pace.

The smell of blood doesn't leave even as they walk through the tunnels. It's persistent, soaking into the ground, clothes, hair, sticking to skin like a leech. Will feels nauseous.

His head swims more the further they go. As they find injured Lucas and patch him up, see another pile of meat and bone on the ground. Mike gushes over it, rambles again about the differences between sorcerers and wizards. So bizarre in a situation like this.

It all becomes fog in Will's mind. His temples throb, legs start to feel weak as he stumbles every other step. His mom checks on him, but he brushes it away. Lucas literally has a gash across his chest. They don't need to worry about Will's headache.

He tries to contribute to conversation, gives fragments of information he could piece together. The images are very fuzzy, as if peeking at a staticky TV from behind a curtain. He's not sure if it's helpful at all.

When his vision starts to blur, he glances up at Mike. His broad silhouette is leading the way, constantly checking back on everybody and making sure no one is left behind.

Their eyes keep locking. Most likely on accident, but Will's heart can't help but stutter every time. Mike's brows do a little twitch when it happens, and he lingers for just a beat before turning away or stumbling.

As he and Lucas get into another petty argument, Will stops. His symptoms get to him, and he can't drag himself further anymore. He stumbles, braces himself against the earthy wall. His mom's worried hands are immediately on him, holding him upright as much she can manage.

Lucas and Mike stop in their tracks, turn around abruptly. Will wrenches his eyes shut, tries to pull in air. His chest stutters, clenches painfully.

More hands are on him. A firm one on his shoulder, smaller ones on his arm and back. Two biggest, slightly cold ones, cradle his face. Concerned voices overlap, yelling his name out on a loop, throwing out question after question.

'Baby, what's wrong?'

'Will, you okay?'

'Sweetie, what is it?'

'Can you stand?'

'Is it him again?'

It all just makes the noise worse, Will's face tenses up. He clutches his head, lets out a pained groan. His body starts to shiver. The voices intensify, growing chaotic. One breaks through the fog, soft and almost tender, a little scratchy around the edges.

"It's okay, Will. I've got you."

Hands leave Will's face, and something warm gets draped over his shoulders. He makes a small, weak sound in the back of his throat, and his knees buckle completely. Gravity takes him, world narrows down to a single point before fading.

His body feels weightless as he floats in the syrupy space between being asleep and awake. Everything is dark, his lids too heavy. Will is pretty sure he's moving, but his feet aren't on the ground. They're dangling loosely, held up under the knees by something solid.

There's warmth enveloping him. He feels safe despite not seeing anything. All sounds are muffled again, drowned out by static. Some words make it through every once in a while, disconnected and fuzzy.

'Watch your step, man.'

'You're distracting me.'

'You're gonna drop him.'

'I'm not.'

'Boys, please.'

Will tries to open his eyes, really tries. His body is too heavy and limp. Like his bones are filled with cement. The grip around him tightens, and he lets himself relax and slip away once more.

Next time he somewhat wakes up, the world isn't as muffled anymore. Will manages to open his eyes just a little, lashes fluttering. In the small gap of vision he sees Mike's sweater. The deep, bruised blue one with a weird pattern on it, now stained with sewer water, grime and possibly even blood.

"And how do you plan on getting him up?" Lucas's voice comes through, exhausted and irritated.

"I can just.. Shit. Fuck," Mike ponders, sighs deeply. Will can feel the vibration of it against himself. "I'll just.. I'll stay with him here. Wait 'til he wakes up, and catch up to you guys."

"We can't just leave you two here. It's too risky. We have to stick together," Joyce argues.

Mike lets out another long defeated sigh, shoulders slumping. Then Will feels himself getting tugged upwards, a small adjustment. He uses all his strength to properly blink his eyes open, a small strained sound emerges from his throat.

"Woah. Hey," Mike breathes, voice much softer than it was just mere seconds ago.

"Oh, thank God," Joyce exhales in relief, hands immediately going to Will's cheeks and hair. "Are you okay, baby? What happened?"

"Was it him again?" Lucas joins in, wide eyes scanning his friend.

Will feels all sorts of lost and overwhelmed with the sudden attention. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly, but nothing comes out.

He looks around. They're still underground, standing around a ladder. The air has a faint scent of copper to it even all the way over here.

Will sees Lucas, sees his mom. Only when he turns his head does he find Mike, way closer than he expected. He can practically feel his breaths ghosting over his face. Mike's arms are wrapped around him. One against his back, the other under his knees. Will's cheeks ignite immediately.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks softly, almost a whisper.

Will looks at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, before blinking back to reality. For a second he considers the possibility of this being another cruel illusion, a manipulation of his mind.

Mike carried him this whole time? And was going to stay with him in the tunnel until he wakes up?

"Uh.. Y- Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," Will stammers, awkwardly shifts his weight.

Mike loosens his grip, but his face looks almost pained as he does it. Will must be heavy. If Lucas wasn't injured, he definitely would've been the one to carry him.

Will lands back on his feet, stumbles a little. Mike lets out a quick 'careful' and shoots a hand out as if to catch him. He slowly curls it into a fist and lets it fall limp at his side. His expression almost looks disappointed.

Only now does Will notice Mike's jacket hanging off his shoulders. Still warm, enveloping him almost completely. His brain short circuits again.

"How are you feeling?" Joyce cuts through Will's inner crisis, presses her palm to his forehead.

"I'm okay," Will replies, manages a weak smile.

"Come on," Lucas says, claps Mike on the shoulder. He blinks a few times, as if deep in thought, then grabs onto the creaky ladder.

Mike goes up first, stays to help Lucas. Joyce follows shortly after, groaning and cursing under her breath. Will stays back, waits for his mom to make it up before walking to the ladder himself.

As soon as he does, he jumps back. Mike yells out and practically leaps back down into the tunnel. Barely manages not to land straight onto Will's head.

"Oh my-"

Will yelps, his arms coming up instinctively to shield himself. A cloud of dust rises from beneath Mike's feet. He lets out a pained sound, his entire face scrunching up.

"Ow, fuck," Mike hisses, clutching at his own knees.

Will stares at him in bewilderment. His arms come down, corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Mike curses some more and stands up straight, face still tense from pain.

"You need help getting up?" he asks, tilts his head towards the ladder.

"Uh, no. I don't think so," Will shakes his head.

"Oh. Okay," Mike's pin straight posture falters, shoulders drop down just a bit. He chews on his lip for a second before speaking again. "Was it another vision?"

"No, no," Will denies once more, walks closer to the ladder. Stops just about a step away from Mike, arms crossed tightly on his chest. "I just.. felt really dizzy all of a sudden. Sorry."

"You're sorry for feeling dizzy?" Mike whispers, head dipping down.

"I just.. Nevermind," Will groans into his palm, embarrassed. He feels so awkward.

Through the gaps in his fingers he can see Mike looking at him with an almost pained expression. The one that always makes his heart do a clumsy flip. Those thick, expressive brows curved together. His dark eyes even bigger and rounder than they already are. How he always seems to look up at Will, somehow, despite their height difference.

"Um. Anyway," Will clears his throat, tugs the jacket off his shoulders and hands it over. "Thanks."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Mike mutters. His expression crumbles, eyes dart back and forth, as if he's not sure what to do with his own jacket. He slowly puts it back on, gaze locked on the toes of his shoes.

Will can't help but miss the weight of it against him, the warmth radiating from the fabric. Almost wishes he put his arms through the sleeves to fully feel it. See if they would cover his hands, or his fingers will still poke out. His cheeks go pink at the thought, so he swallows it down.

"I guess yours is gone forever now, huh," Mike mumbles, lets out a little dry laugh.

"I guess so," Will chuckles softly. Thinks about his jacket, wet and dirty, abandoned in some military bathroom. He feels a little sad about it. He liked that jacket a lot. The colors were nice.

"It was a good jacket," Mike sighs, leans on the ladder. Drapes an arm over one of the steps.

"It was, yeah," Will nods solemnly, presses his lips together.

"It looked nice on you."

Will nearly chokes. He clutches onto the ladder, or else he might crumble and fall to the ground. His cheeks become embarrassingly red, he's sure of it. So stupid. It's just a simple compliment.

Will feels pressure against his foot. He glances down, sees Mike's sneaker nudging his own. Probably just an accident.

He tries to think that, but then Mike's second sneaker joins. The already small distance between them shrinks. Will can feel the heat radiating off of Mike. He looks up and almost stumbles backwards.

Mike is practically looming over him, eyes focused somewhere below. His brows twitch again, tongue runs over his dry lips. Will looks, just for a moment, then snaps his eyes back up. Mike's mouth opens, trembles slightly.

"Will-"

"Come on! We don't have all day!" Lucas yells from up above, kicks some dirt onto Mike's head.

"Fuck," Mike practically hisses, eyes rolling back into his head. He scowls, pats the grass and dust out of his hair. His expression softens once he looks back at Will. "Go ahead."

"You sure?" Will asks out of habit.

"Yeah. Right behind you," Mike nods. His lips curl into a small smile.

Is Will ever going to get used to this?

Back at the Squawk, the initial awe fades, and Will feels uneasy all over again. All these talks about him killing the demogorgons, saving their friends. Mike gushes over it the most, even gets into a full on argument with Lucas all over again.

Will should probably feel proud about it, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, his stomach churns at the memory. The images of his friends, terrified and defenseless. The monsters lunging at them, teeth and claws bared, eager to to kill.

The sounds of bones snapping and flesh ripping are going to haunt Will's dreams, he's sure of it. It's so brutal, violent, and Will was the cause of it. No matter what, he just can't feel even a little happy about it.

He listens as conversations flow around him, fragments of a plan slowly fall into place. His eyes are burning holes in the floorboards, palms are clasped tightly in his lap.

After a little while, everyone scatters, decides to take a breather. Will uses the opportunity to slip away. He quietly gets off the couch and walks downstairs. Everyone's voices slowly fade out the further he goes.

He finds the small bathroom that's rarely ever used, and steps inside. As soon as the door clicks back into place, Will leans on it with a sigh. Finally, the world becomes just a little bit more quiet.

The cold wood presses into his back, grounding him. His shirt feels disgusting, damp and soaked with God knows what. It sticks to him in a way that makes him want to rip his skin off.

Will tries to breathe, settle his racing heart. Runs his fingers through his dirty hair, scrubs his face. Just feeling himself. Warm, in the flesh. Real.

Despite all his efforts, tears spill over. Hot, bitter, leaving red tracks on his cheeks. His chest heaves with deep sobs. Will tries to muffle them by covering his mouth. He slides down to the floor and pulls his knees up to his chest. Hugs himself tight, rocking back and forth.

It's like all the terror he's been bottling up makes its way out, running down his face in boiling hot waterfalls. The bathroom blurs, and Will simply cries. Small, hidden away from everyone else.

His hands tremble violently, he almost feels like he's back in the heart of the chaos. Explosions, fire, soldiers getting torn apart as they scream their lungs out. The terrified kids desperately trying to escape, just to end up captured anyway.

Will claws at his own hair. His shoulders shake with every choked up sob. His face hurts, temples throb all over again and stomach twists into a tight knot.

Eventually, his vision clears up enough for the bathroom to come back into focus. Will looks down at the cracked tiles under his sneakers, listens to the dripping sink. His breathing slowly settles, though still shaky around the edges.

Will stands back up. His legs feel like they're made of cotton. He walks over to the sink and clings to the edge of it. His fingers tremble against the porcelain. Blood clings to his cuticles.

He looks up at the mirror and sees a blurry, fogged up version of himself staring back. It has barely any details, almost like a fading memory. Just a blurry silhouette, vaguely resembling him.

Will swallows, presses his palm against the damp glass and swipes. His reflection comes back into focus. This isn't a vision. This is real.

His hair is a complete mess, skin is dirty and irritated, covered in splotches of red. There's more blood clinging to his lip and nose, evidence of what happened today.

Will turns the water on, listens as the old pipes hum and rattle. He washes his face, scrubs at it with more force than necessary. Does the same with his still trembling hands, gets all the dirt and grime out.

No matter how much he does it, his skin still doesn't feel clean. He's not sure if it ever will.

His vision blurs with tears again. Will huffs out of frustration. He keeps crying, again and again. That just makes him want to cry even more.

Tears fall off his lashes and smash against the sink. Will just stands there and lets it happen. The running water helps hide his broken sobs.

He's not sure how long he stays like this. Apparently long enough to be noticeable, as he hears a knock on the door. Careful and a bit hesitant.

"Be right out!" Will says. He feels like his throat is lined with sandpaper.

"Will? You okay in there?" Mike says from beyond the door. Of course it's him.

Will panics, scrambles for a good enough excuse or explanation. Comes up with nothing, and stays quiet. Focuses on stabilizing his breathing. As always, Mike is persistent.

"Can I come in?" he asks, knocks again. The door is not locked, he can just open it, but doesn't.

Will swallows, shuts his eyes tight. He should say no, but can't bring himself to. It's impossible when it comes to Mike, always has been. So, Will gives in. He walks over to the door and hesitantly opens it. The hinges creak, slowly reveal worried Mike.

His broad shoulders are pulled in, the usually tall frame is slouched until he's practically at Will's height. The jacket is off, leaving him in just his stained sweater. Blood is still smeared over his temple, the dark specks clinging to his pale skin.

"Hey," Mike says softly. His brows pinch together, form a worried wrinkle in between.

"Hey," Will rasps, throat scratched raw.

"You okay?"

"Y- Yeah, just.. needed to wash my face," Will scrambles for an excuse. Mike nods, but doesn't look convinced.

He steps inside, each movement careful and cautious. Like he's trying to not spook a terrified animal. Will stays at the door, shifting on his feet. He should probably leave. He can't just hide in here forever.

"Crazy night, huh?" Mike breaks the tense silence, a little awkward.

"You could say that," Will mumbles, crosses his arms on his chest.

Mike lets out a dry laugh, then his eyes lock on something.

"You.. You got a little," he says, pointing at his own neck.

Will jumps, starts scrubbing at his skin almost frantically. Mike watches him, brows pinched.

"No, the other- Hold on," he says, and crosses the narrow bathroom.

He steps into Will's space, wets the hem of his sleeve in the sink before lifting it. Will stays impossibly still as Mike wipes his neck, painfully gentle. Something tightens in his chest, face feels warmer all of a sudden. Mike's other hand holds his shoulder, keeping him in place. After a few soft swipes, he pulls away.

"There. Just.. some dirt," Mike mumbles. His eyes jump all over the place before he turns away, lips pressed together tight.

Will could've sworn his neck was clean. Must've missed a spot.

Mike lets out a long, loud sigh, paces around the narrow space like he isn't sure where to situate himself. He turns, tries to lean back against the sink. It dips under his weight. Will winces.

"You shouldn't-"

"Shit. Right," Mike yelps, steps away from the sink.

"Yeah, it's gonna-"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

They look at each other, then burst into quiet giggles. Some of the tension leaves Will's shoulders, he feels lighter for that brief moment. He focuses on how Mike's nose scrunches as he laughs, something familiar.

"Um.. I, uh.. Thank you," Mike says once the giggles die down.

"For what?" Will asks, earning a baffled laugh in response.

"Saving me? I- I mean us. All of us. But me also- Fuck. Shit," Mike stumbles over his words, hands flying around in awkward gestures. He shuts his eyes tight and takes a moment to gather himself. "Thank you. Seriously."

"You're welcome," Will says timidly, eyes falling to the floor.

He feels Mike's gaze on him, like a physical weight. The two stay in place, awkwardly shifting on their feet. Both look like they want to say something, yet nothing comes out.

Will feels like an intruder all of a sudden. Mike probably needs to use the bathroom, and is too polite to tell him to leave. He should stop standing in the door like an idiot and do something, move out of the way.

"Anyway, um.. I'm gonna.. yeah," Will starts, fingers curling around the door handle. Something flashes over Mike's face, similar to disappointment.

"You're leaving?" Mike mutters, brows curving up. Will stops in his tracks.

"You.. probably need to clean yourself. We all do," he manages a small, dry laugh, scratches the side of his neck. "You have blood on you and.. stuff."

"I do?" Mike mumbles, turns towards the mirror. He scans his own reflection with a tense expression, sees the crimson smear on his temple. "Oh, shit. I do."

"Is- Is it yours?" Will can't help but ask.

"No clue," Mike brings a hand up and traces his fingers over the dried blood, hisses when he gets close to his hairline.

Will moves like on autopilot. He crosses the small bathroom in what feels like a split second, and grabs onto Mike's wrist.

"Don't," he blurts. Pulls his hand away like he got zapped with electricity. "D- Don't.. touch it. Need to clean it."

"Right. Yeah," Mike mutters. His face does something weird, but it's gone as quickly as it comes. "Can.. Can you do it for me?"

A breath gets stuck in Will's throat. Mike turns towards him with that earnest, sparkling look in his eyes. They're standing so close their shoulders brush.

Everything in Will screams to decline. Mike knows how to do it, it's not rocket science. The first aid kit is hidden behind the mirror, both of his hands are working and the scrape can't be anything too serious.

"Sure," Will says instead.

He can practically feel the floor split beneath his feet as the word leaves his mouth. A small part of him, nesting deep in his chest cavity, beams. Especially when it sees the boyish smile spreading on Mike's face once he gets his answer.

This might be the most terrifying thing to happen to Will tonight.

They maneuver in the cramped space, brush past one another to situate themselves. As Will opens the mirror to get supplies, Mike nudges the door shut until it gives a soft click. That's not really necessary, but neither of them comments on it.

Mike brushes past Will again, puts his hand on his shoulder as he does so. Brief and casual contact, yet Will's heart beams. God, he's hopeless. It doesn't mean anything.

Mike sits on top of the toilet lid, knees spread wide. One of his legs bounces, radiating with restless energy. Childhood habit that most people find irritating. Will thinks it's charming, somehow.

He grabs the flimsy first aid kit, consisting of thrown together supplies, most emptied halfway but some still full. With a steadying breath, Will closes the mirror and turns around.

Mike's eyes are immediately on him, deep and dark. Expectant and restless, darting from side to side. His fingers drum nervously against the denim of his jeans.

"Okay.. Um," Will breathes, stands there awkwardly for a beat before putting the kit on the edge of the sink.

He opens it, the metallic hinges creaking. His moves are stiff, muscles locking up from nerves. He's greeted by dressing, a half empty tab of painkillers. Will picks it up and looks at Mike.

"Does.. Does your head hurt?" he asks, his voice sounding thin and unsure.

"No," Mike shakes his head. His brows do that thing again, pinching together and pulling upwards. "Yours?"

"No. Not.. anymore, at least," Will rasps and puts the pills back.

Among the cotton pads and more dressing he finds a few antiseptic wipes. That's a relief.

Mike sits still for him, just turns his head slightly for easier access to the scrape. Will keeps some distance, enough to have to stretch his arms out awkwardly so he can reach the wound. Mike's curls are in the way, caked with dirt and more blood, obstructing the view.

Will carefully pushes them aside, with just his trembling fingertips. Careful not to graze Mike's skin. He tucks one curl behind his ear before he can stop himself, and snatches his hand away immediately after. Mike doesn't seem to react.

Will takes a good look at the wound. He's not sure if there's a bruise already blooming, or if that's the dirt and dust. There's a thin streak of dried blood going from Mike's eyelid and down his cheekbone. That probably doesn't belong to him.

The scrape itself is by Mike's hairline. A jagged line, the skin there irritated, but it doesn't look like anything threatening. Should be fine once cleaned up and bandaged.

Will rips the first wipe open, the scent of rubbing alcohol hits his nostrils. He takes a breath, and brings it to Mike's face. After the smallest touch, Mike hisses, his eyes wrenching.

"S- Sorry," Will winces, pulls his hand away like he got burned.

"Don't be. You're helping," Mike says through gritted teeth, exhales sharply.

Will brings the wipe back, pats it down gently. No matter how feather light his touch is, Mike's face still twitches. His jaw tightens, brows jump. Despite that, he stays still.

After the first few soft swipes, Will grows more confident and cleans the wound properly. Wipes away the dirt and the dried blood, wincing in sympathy as Mike hisses at the burn. Soon, the wipe gets too stained to keep going.

Will crumples it up and whips his head around, looking for a trashcan.

"Here," Mike says, lifts his palm.

Will puts the dirty wipe into Mike's hand like reflex, barely processing it. Their fingers brush for a fleeting moment. Will's hand jerks back a little too fast.

Mike curls his fingers and lets his hand fall back into his lap. Will opens another wipe and continues the process. He gets rid of the remaining dirt, and now it's clear what was dust and what is a bruise.

The skin around the scrape is slowly turning purple, splotches moving towards Mike's eyebrow. He must've hit his head pretty hard. The cut itself is now on full display. Will studies it with steady focus, doesn't see any signs of infection, luckily.

"Are you hurt?"

Mike's soft tone breaks Will out of his little trance. It takes him a few seconds to process the question. He opens his mouth, then feels something on his hip. His eyes snap down, and he sees Mike's big hand on him, thumb hooked around his belt loop.

A solid, warm touch that's probably meant to comfort, but it just throws Will off balance instead.

"Um.. N- No," he blinks back to reality, turns towards the kit to hide his boiling hot blush.

"You sure?" Mike presses, keeping that painfully tender tone that makes Will's insides turn to goo. "'Cause.. you know, back there, it looked-"

"I know," Will interrupts. It comes out more hurried and raspy than he meant to, so he lowers his tone again. "I know.. how it looked, but.. it's fine. I mean, I'm fine."

Mike stays quiet. Will risks a glance at him. His expression is unconvinced, he chews on the inside of his cheek and fidgets with the dirty wipe in his hand. Radiating with worry.

"It's just.. when I connect to the Hive," Will continues. "I.. You know."

Mike's brows twitch as he processes the words. He remains quiet for a bit before it seems to click.

"You.. You could feel what.. they were feeling," Mike mutters, like he's reading out a death sentence.

"Yeah," Will rasps, wets his hands because he's not sure what else to do. Can't just keep staring at the sink to try and avoid Mike's eyes.

"Shit," Mike mutters.

"It's fine-"

"No," Mike interrupts, firm. "It's.. Jesus. You felt the.. the bullets and the.."

Mike's voice falters, dissolves into a soft huff. Will can almost see it all again. Teeth, claws, ready to pounce and kill. Bullets flying, fire blooming.

His skin itches as he recalls each pierce of flesh and bone, as the flames cling and melt the muscle beneath. Then his mind is hit with dissonance as he looks at his undamaged body.

"Yeah," Will rasps, wipes his hands on his pants. "But it was just.. in my head, I guess. I don't have anything on me."

He tries to sound calm and collected, but his voice still wobbles around the edges despite his efforts. Mike doesn't look any more convinced. If anything, his face just crumbles more. He stares down at the tiled moldy floor as his nervous fingers tear the wipe to shreds.

Will's chest feels heavy. He's not sure what's filling it. Guilt, shame, fear, anxiety. Maybe a nauseating mix of all of it. He crumples the other dirty wipe and shoves it into his pocket while Mike isn't looking.

"Sorry," Will whispers, voice tight.

"For what?" Mike lifts his eyes, darting back and forth between Will's.

"We.. We lost the kids," Will slumps, feels wetness in the corners of his eyes. Tries to hold the tears in as much as possible.

"Will, that's not your fault," Mike argues, his voice impossibly tender. He tightens his hold on Will's hip.

"I just-"

"It's not," Mike interrupts. His eyebrows rise up high, eyes widen. "Not at all, okay?"

"I could've done more," Will persists, shaking his head. Dull heaviness nests in his gut, makes him feel sick. His vision blurs, the details of Mike's face melt together.

"Will, you did more than enough," Mike's free hand lifts to Will's other hip. His fingers tremble.

Will can't even focus on the touch as anxiety and guilt dig their jagged claws into him. His throat hurts, refuses to let air in. Temples throb, like his skull is too tight and heavy.

"I mean.. Holy shit," Mike continues. His voice grows more frantic, almost excited. A nervous laugh rips out of him, eyes never leave Will's face. "Without you we would've been dead. Lucas, your mom, Robin."

That seems to ease Will the tiniest bit. He manages to take a shallow breath, clings to the edge of the sink so he doesn't tumble to the floor.

"I would've been toast!" Mike laughs almost hysterically, his voice squeaking. He seems to catch it and lowers it back. "I thought I was for a second."

Now the tears are back in full swing, even stronger than before. The images flash before Will's eyes like he's back in the heart of the chaos. Mike, trembling and screaming in fear, shielding his face because it's all he can do. The monster lunging at him, claws bared and eager to tear him to shreds.

Will feels his heart dip painfully just recalling the memory. His lip wobbles, a sad little sound echoes in the cramped bathroom. Mike's face twitches at it, every feature tense and deeply concerned.

"Hey, what's-"

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Will tries, but the syllables come out as sobs.

He folds in on himself and turns away, hides his face in his hands. His entire being is tense, dead set on holding the tears in. Will feels embarrassed, annoyed at himself. He just can't stop crying.

Gentle hands find his shoulders, grounding and squeezing gently. Will feels the heat radiating off of Mike against his back, his breaths tickling his skin from close proximity.

All he wants is to hide, get away from those deep eyes and protective hands. Cover his ears to avoid that tender tone he knows so well.

"Hey, it's okay," Mike says, quiet and careful.

"It's just-"

Will tries to speak, but his throat contracts around the words. His voice breaks, tears roll down his face before he can stop them. Painful, almost violent sobs rip out of his chest, ring between the tiled walls.

"Don't talk. Just breathe," Mike comforts. His hands never leave Will's shoulders, even as he circles him to try and face him. "Everything's fine."

Mike's fingers twitch against Will's shirt. With a huff, he pulls Will into a hug. Warm and solid, palms flattened against his shoulder blades.

Will has no energy to fight against it. He focuses on the heat, the contact, the rough fabric of Mike's sweater scratching his cheek. His eyes are wrenched shut so hard it borders on painful, skin feels tight from all the tears.

"It's okay. We're safe," Mike whispers, and Will feels it rather than hears it. The warm puffs of air tickle his temple, making shivers run down his spine.

That seems to settle him ever so slightly. His throat stops spasming, lungs open up enough to pull in air. He breathes slowly, fighting through the stutters in his chest. His cries turn to sharp involuntary inhales.

"S- Sorry," Will manages, feels the arms around him tighten.

"Don't say that," Mike replies without skipping a beat. His thumb rubs back and forth against Will's back, soft and almost hesitant. "It's okay. We all had a shitty day."

Will should probably laugh, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, he sniffles, slowly pulls his hands away from his face. He's sure he must be all snotty and blotchy right now. A complete mess. He keeps his face hidden against Mike's shoulder.

"I.. God," Will rasps. His knuckles brush Mike's sweater where it drapes over his waist. He wants to cling on, embrace properly, but holds himself back. Keeps his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides instead. "I.. I saw the demo.. jumping at you. I thought.. I thought.."

His voice threatens to break again, so he shuts up. Clamps on his bottom lip with his teeth hard enough for it to be painful.

"I know," Mike breathes. Now it tickles closer to Will's eyelid. "I.. I did, too."

Will feels movement. One of Mike's palms leaves his back, dragging along the fragile line of his spine in the process. Will exhales, already mourning the loss of warm contact. He almost regrets not processing it, memorizing the burn of it on his skin.

Then, he feels a brush against his sore cheek. His eyes shoot open, body jerks. He sees Mike's hand in front of his face, fingertip wiping away a stray tear. The softest, most feather light touch. Something so tender it sets Will's heart ablaze.

His spine goes rigid, every muscle tense. He doesn't realize it as his fingers curl around Mike's sweater, looking for any kind of anchor. The hand on his face stills, the skin tingling under the lingering touch.

"S- Sorry," Mike stutters, but doesn't pull back.

His eyes are wide and almost terrified, jumping all over Will's face like he's looking for something in it. Will holds his breath without realizing, until his lungs burn. He exhales, shaky, yet stays unmoving.

They stare at one another for a long moment. Mike's hand hovers dangerously close to Will's face, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Then, he moves again. Presses his thumb down properly, lets his knuckles brush against the flushed skin. Will shivers, swallows audibly as those bony fingers gently wipe his tears away.

He could float. Kind of feels like he already is.

The tenderness makes him a little dizzy. A small part of his mind considers the possibility of this being another vision, a taunt. Just something to play with his heart again, to torture him.

Another, more buried part of him blooms, relaxes into the contact. For a moment, all worries and bad memories step away. The only thing that matters is the feeling of Mike's slightly cold fingertips brushing against Wil's face.

Mike swipes at the remnants of salt. Will feels like his skin has been set on fire. He waits for the contact to end, for Mike to pull back. Instead, Mike's thumb rests under his eye, lingers there.

Will doesn't dare look up. His eyes burn holes in the side of Mike's neck, unmoving. He might just explode if he meets Mike's gaze. He'll just wait for him to pull away and they can forget about this.

Mike's fingers uncurl slowly. One by one, they settle against Will's face. Over his cheek, brush the shell of his ear. Pinkie rests right at the soft line of Will's jaw. Each finger finds its place.

Will feels like he might just crumble, or melt and become a pathetic goopy puddle on the moldy floor. Why does Mike keep touching him like this?

Everything in Will screams, alarm bells go off and demand to pull away, twist out of the tight embrace. At the same time, this is the most settled he's felt in what feels like forever. Held tight, getting his tears wiped away so tenderly it makes his guts twist.

"I was so scared," Will says, more air than sound. His voice is rough, trembling like a leaf in the breeze.

"I know," Mike whispers softly, swipes his thumb just under Will's lash line.

"I.. I could've-"

"Will," Mike interrupts and dips his head. The lower half of his face comes into Will's view. That sharp jaw, bitten lips. It almost makes the words feel more real. "What you did was incredible. I- You looked.."

Mike stops, presses his lips together like he said something he didn't mean to. His tongue pokes out to wet the sore pink skin. Will's eyes can't help but snag on the movement, before snapping back down.

They stay quiet, breathing against one another. Mike's hand goes idle, thumb lingering on the bruised skin under Will's eye. Will stares at the collar of Mike's sweater, stained with sewer water, dust and grime. His heartbeat vibrates in his ears.

"Um," he manages, pulls back by a fraction. It feels like peeling his own skin off. Mike's fingers brush against him as he does it, before jerking away. Will gestures at his own temple, mirroring Mike's scrape. "Your, um.. It still.."

"Oh," Mike breathes. His hand hangs awkwardly in the air before lowering, curled into a fist. "Yeah."

After a moment of hesitation, Mike moves. He brushes past Will and sits back on the toilet lid, his spine visibly more tense than before. His usually pale face looks more pink than usual.

Will takes a second to settle himself before returning to the sink. He avoids looking at Mike as much as possible as he finishes cleaning the wound. The side of his face burns.

This stretches for a bit. They're both silent, even breathing without sound. The rusty pipes hum and rattle, somewhere beyond the door people are arguing and talking over each other. All a distant, muffled background noise.

A growl rips through the quiet. Will's stomach sticks to his ribs, demands to be filled. He feels like he hasn't eaten in months. His face flushes from embarrassment.

"Oh," Mike brightens up, starts digging through his pockets. "I actually, um.. I got you these."

He pulls out a pack of Skittles. The bright colors look almost out of place in contrast to the washed out bathroom. Grey walls, mold, even Mike and Will look drained and desaturated.

"For me?" Will asks, points at himself.

"Yeah," Mike smiles, a little crooked. The bag crinkles in his hand as he fidgets. "Snatched them from the pantry. Thought you'd, uh.. be hungry."

"Nutritious," Will jokes and takes the candy. Their fingers brush in the process, but he doesn't jerk away from it this time.

"It's the only thing you like in there," Mike shrugs timidly, rubs the back of his neck.

"It is, yeah," Will mutters, feels something warm bloom in his chest cavity. He rips the bag open and throws a few colorful sweets into his mouth. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Mike nods, fidgeting again.

Will continues on with his task, rummages through the first aid kit for anything else that can be useful. A few more candies make it to his mouth in the process, and the sweetness is a relief. Something to distract him.

Then, another growl rips through the silence. This time louder, and it's not coming from Will. He turns, sees Mike wincing with a palm flat against his own stomach.

"That's loud," Will says before he can stop himself. His mouth twitches upwards with a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," Mike grins, embarrassed.

"Do you have anything for yourself?" Will asks.

"Uh.. No," Mike deflates, shoulders dropping.

"Oh," Will's brows jump up. He looks at the Skittles in his hands, and moves them towards Mike. "Um.. Want some?"

He gets a nod in response. Will pours a couple into his palm and stretches it out. Expects Mike to grab them, braces himself for the inevitable brush of skin that will probably keep him up on a random night. If they make it that long, anyway.

What he gets nearly makes his heart leap out of his throat. Mike dips his head and eats the candies straight from Will's hand. Will feels the skin of his lips, the slightly cold tip of his nose brush against the inner part of his wrist. It sends electricity rushing up his arm.

It lasts no more than a second. Will doesn't even get to jerk his hand away. By the time he processes this, Mike is already sitting back and chewing on the rainbow candies.

"Thanks," he says, grinning, yet his eyes drop to the floor.

"Y- Yeah," Will wheezes out after a brief pause. His palm feels warm. "You're welcome."

"You know you can step closer."

Will feels like he got whiplash. There's light pressure on his hip again, a thumb hooking in his belt loop.

"What?" Will breathes, finally has the courage to lower his eyes.

"You're just.. far," Mike says, looking up straight into Will's soul. His brows are curved, expression almost pained. His mouth curls into a small frown, and he lightly pulls.

Will follows like a puppet, slotting into the space between Mike's spread knees. His lungs close up out of reflex, refusing to pull in air. He stumbles a little, then Mike grabs his other hip. A gentle touch, something that must be simply casual to Mike, yet sets every nerve in Will's body on fire.

"Oh. Sorry," Will mumbles, quiet and careful. Like making any noise will shatter this. He's not even sure what 'this' is, exactly.

Mike's palms stay where they are as Will fishes out a band-aid and fumbles to get it open. His thumbs drag back and forth against the denim of Will's jeans, hold him in place. Each swipe feels like an explosion.

Will finally gets the band-aid open and brings it to Mike's face, hands trembling violently. Mike closes his eyes, and it feels like a relief. Without that heavy, never faltering gaze on him Will can finally breathe. It comes out shaky, nervous.

Mike's skin feels soft and warmer than expected as the band-aid gets pressed to it. Will smoothes it out gently, making sure it sticks. A few of Mike's curls tickle his hand, the grip on his hips tightens ever so slightly each time his fingertips graze the pale bruised skin. Must be painful.

"Can I have some more?" Mike asks quietly.

"Okay," Will breathes. He smoothes his thumb over the band-aid one last time and grabs the Skittles again.

He repeats the process. Pours a few into his palm and presents it. This time he's ready when Mike's head dips, only now the contact feels damp.

"Don't lick me," Will winces, wiping his hand on his shirt. His mouth curves into a smile outside of his control.

"I'm not," Mike whines, chewing on the candy.

"You are," Will laughs, and Mike joins. A light, easy sound. Like there are no threats looming over them. They're just best friends messing around.

Will's cheeks ache from how wide he's smiling. He looks over at the sink, closes the aid kit with a creak. The giggles die down, and they both go quiet. Will swallows and turns, only to be met with Mike's dark eyes.

They look softer, almost relieved. There is a small smile on his face, and his thumbs resume their movement, drawing circles on Will's hips. Will feels taken aback at the sight, like he's been cracked completely open.

"What?" he mutters.

"Nothing," Mike blinks. His expression falters slightly, but he doesn't look away. If anything, his gaze grows even heavier, almost feeling physical.

"Okay," Will clears his throat. "Um.. It's done."

He awkwardly points at his own temple. Mike's brows twitch, that softness gone and replaced by something sharper. It looks almost like disappointment, but Will pushes the thought away.

He steps out of Mike's grasp, as much as it pains him. His heart already mourns the contact, but he shakes that off, too. Instead, he focuses on grabbing the aid kit and putting it back.

This is it. The quiet is over. They'll step out of the cramped bathroom, jump right back into making plans to save the world. Maybe, if they're lucky enough to survive, Will can replay these little moments in his head as he goes to sleep.

Brush his fingers over his own cheek, desperately trying to imitate Mike's touch. Hold onto his own hips. Nose at his own palm. Something to cling onto as he lays restlessly in bed.

Will closes the mirror and exhales heavily. Goes to walk towards the door, but his shirt gets gripped. The fabric strains against his torso, pulled on. For a split second, shivers rush down Will's spine.

The grip is sharp, unexpected. The invasive voice in the back of his mind screams. As soon as he turns around, he'll be met with a twisted version of his best friend. Of course. What else would explain all this affection? The touches? The looks?

Then, the pull eases, becomes timid like a child tugging at their mother's skirt to gain her attention. A soft breath fills the small room. Will swallows, and cautiously turns.

Those eyes again. Round and dark, gaze deep and like it's holding something back. Soft around the edges, the look Will knows better than he knows himself. This isn't a vision.

"Can I.. Um," Mike starts, his voice wobbling. He clears his throat. "Can I hug you?"

Will's heart skips a beat. His face explodes with blush, knees buckle for a second.

"Um.. Sure."

The word can barely leave his mouth before he gets pulled. Arms wrap tightly around his waist, lock on the small of his back. All air gets knocked out of his lungs from the impact. Mike's face presses into his chest, and Will forgets how to breathe.

"Oh my-"

A small sound falls out of him, barely louder than a breath. He stays there frozen like a statue, processing what's happening. His shirt wrinkles under Mike's palms, he feels him breathing against his chest.

Slowly, Will calms down. His hands stop hovering awkwardly in the air and lower. He hesitantly puts them on Mike's shoulders, and stays there. They both fall quiet. It seems like the rest of the world does the same.

"I can hear your heart."

Mike's voice comes out soft, muffled by the fabric of Will's shirt. Will feels the vibration of it against him.

"W- What?" he breathes.

"I can hear your heart," Mike repeats louder, pulling his face away by a fraction.

"Oh."

Then, Mike pulls back more. A jerky movement, like he's been caught doing something he's not supposed to. His eyes widen, hands leave Will's back, resting on his sides instead.

"Sorry," Mike mumbles, looks at the moldy wall. "I just.. I'm just glad you're here."

Will melts, some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He looks down at the crown of Mike's head with overwhelming fondness. The hands holding onto his sides feel scalding hot, but so safe at the same time.

"You, too," Will whispers. His hands, perched up on Mike's broad shoulders, move further. Flatten against his upper back, and nudge.

Will feels impossibly nervous about the move, that perhaps he's overstepping. Mike folds into him immediately, face colliding with his chest again. That encourages Will to hug him back properly, arms locked in place. He exhales in relief.

Mike huffs against him, a quiet laugh. Breathes, and Will feels each rise and fall of his chest.

"This isn't over, okay?" Mike says, his voice determined but remaining in that tender register. "It's just a.. a setback."

It's supposed to be reassuring, but Will just feels heavy all over again.

"A pretty big setback," he says solemnly.

"And we'll get back up," Mike lifts his head, chin resting against Will's sternum. "We will."

"Mike," Will sighs, his hold loosens.

"Will."

"You.."

"What?"

"Nothing," Will dismisses and pulls away from the hug.

The bliss is gone, replaced by that rotten anxiety. His stomach twists, tears come up again. By this point Will feels straight up frustrated at himself. He needs to leave. Lock himself away somewhere else.

Will crosses the bathroom, all his attention locked on the door handle. Blood is rushing in his ears, body moves on its own as he grips the doorknob. Then, another palm slots on top of his. Paler, dotted with freckles, enveloping his completely.

"Will," Mike chokes out. "Will, come on."

Will freezes. All he can focus on is Mike's hand on his. Grip desperate yet so tender. The metal of the doorknob bites at his palm, and Mike's skin warms him right back up.

"Don't go," Mike mutters, barely louder than a breath. "Please."

His thumb brushes Will's knuckles, fingers squeeze just a little tighter. Trying to convince through touch alone, and it works. Will's chest stutters, and he cries again.

Little pained sobs fill the air, tears roll down his sore face in hot paths. He's not sure how he even has any more left. His skin stings, pulls from all the salt and pain.

Then, Mike's hand is on him again. Much more confident this time. His entire palm envelops the side of Will's face, thumb wiping away the bitter tears with the tenderness Mike never shows.

Will can't stop himself from nuzzling into the touch. He turns until his nose brushes against Mike's thumb, moves to the webbing between it and the index finger.

If this is just a cruel vision, after all, Will wants to let himself enjoy it for just this fleeting moment. He's exhausted, drained completely inside and out. He needs this.

Mike's hand stills, then moves again. He drags his thumb down the slope of Will's nose, back up to his brow bone, along the lash line. Dips back down to his chin, stops at his Cupid's bow. Lingers there.

Will's eyes are shut, lashes fluttering. He can hear and feel shaky breaths ghost over his skin. His insides melt and turn to putty with every gentle swipe across his face.

Mike's hand is warm, fingertips just a bit colder. A little rough in some places, scratched and calloused. Will tells himself it's too detailed to be a vision, but that heaviness still sits deep in his gut.

"We'll get everyone back," Mike whispers into the air between them. Will feels it on his face. His heart does a clumsy flip at the possible proximity, but eyes stay closed. "We'll kill that asshole and save the world, okay?"

"You don't.."

Will falters, the more cynical part of him takes over.

"What?" Mike asks.

"You don't know that," Will rasps. His throat contorts around the words, trying to hold them in.

"Will," Mike's other hand leaves the doorknob and cups the untouched side of Will's face.

"You don't," Will spits out, jerks away from the gentle touch. He leaves Mike's embrace and paces back towards the sink, grips the edge of it. His eyes find the mirror, framed by red and salt, so exhausted. "You talk like you do, but you don't."

The words come out harsh, poison seeping through his tone. He bites his tongue, stares down at the rusted drain, listens to the frantic vibration of his own heart.

"What if we fail," Will continues, his voice wrecked. "What if we already did."

Mike stays quiet, standing by the door. Will waits for him to leave, to hear the click of the lock so he can breathe again. Stubbornly, Mike's feet stay planted in place. He doesn't turn, doesn't walk, doesn't leave.

"You're right," he says eventually. Sounds defeated.

Soft, careful steps echo between the tiled walls. Mike's sneakers scrape against the floor as he walks up to Will. He keeps some distance, hands tucked deep into his pockets.

"You're right," Mike repeats. "I don't. I don't know what's gonna happen, and I.. I'm fucking terrified."

He takes a deep, shaky breath. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand and puts it on Will's shoulder.

"But.."

"Mike," Will breathes, grips the sink so hard his knuckles whiten. He can practically hear the porcelain straining under his grip.

"Will," Mike whispers and nudges. Pushes Will gently until they're face to face.

Will's eyes fall to the floor, snag on the scuffed toe of Mike's sneaker. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, before sliding down to his elbow. That sends tingles up his arm. He can feel every brush of Mike's fingers through his thin sleeve.

"Look," Mike starts, quiet. He licks his lips, opens and closes his mouth repeatedly like he's looking for words. "You are.. You're my best friend."

"Yeah," Will rasps, tries to ignore the taste of ash in the back of his throat as he says it. "And.. And you're mine."

The wording hits him just a moment later, but it's already out, hanging in the air. Out of the corner of his eye Will can physically see Mike's chest hitch.

"Y- Yeah," Mike stutters. "Um.. Fuck."

With a huff, he hugs Will again. Sudden and firm, enough for the collision to make a sound. His one hand lands on the back of Will's neck, solid and warm. The other wraps around his torso, pulling him in as much as physically possible.

"If we die.. Fuck, I wanna at least die trying," Mike says into Will's shoulder, tucks his face into his neck.

Will's hands hang uselessly by his sides, pulled into tight, nervous fists. He feels like a rubber band being stretched to its limit, just one more tug away from snapping. He wants to leave. Wants to be alone. But God, Mike is so warm.

"Because.. Because.."

Mike tries to speak. His voice breaks off into a pained sound, grip on Will tightens so much it borders on painful. He tries to breathe, but it's shaky, unstable. Will feels something warm and wet run down his neck.

"Because it's worth it for you," Mike chokes out.

From his wrecked voice it's clear he's crying. Will forgets how to breathe. He doesn't remember the last time he saw Mike cry. He's always so closed off, holding and guarding his emotions.

Will's own vision blurs with tears, and for once, it's from sympathy. Not the torment or physical pain. Just because seeing his best friend cry makes him sad, too.

His arms fly up to wrap around Mike's taller frame and pull him in. The sobs intensify, like he stops holding them back. Mike shakes, gasps, clings to Will's shirt like his life depends on it. Will holds him through it, staring down at the floor until the air settles.

Then, Mike pulls back. His face is blotchy, skin irritated and red from tears. He sniffles, chews on his already bitten lips. His eyes dart all over Will, like he's making sure he's solid. Squeezes his shoulders, rubs his arms.

His gaze settles somewhere below Will's eye line. He stays there as his breathing seems to steady. Still hitching, but calmer.

Will looks up at him through his clumped, wet lashes. His mouth feels weirdly warm, lips tremble. His fingertips stay on Mike's arms, a weak touch he doesn't even register.

Mike's lashes flutter as he keeps staring, then it's like something clicks. In what feels like a second, his hands shoot up to envelop Will's face. He steps forward and dips his head.

Will feels like he's about to pass out.

He makes a small startled sound, stumbles, and then Mike's mouth is on his. Warm and soft, breaths tickling him. He can feel the tears clinging to Mike's face, mixing with his, smearing over their cheeks.

Will was right. This is a vision. He's being toyed with all over again.

His eyes shoot open, palms move on their own as they collide with Mike's chest and push. Mike stumbles backwards from the shove, shock written all over him.

Will jerks back, breathing rapidly. His arms come up almost defensively, body braces itself for danger. He looks out for any tears in reality, listens for that grating voice that's been haunting him for years, sitting at the base of his skull.

Mike blinks at him with those wide eyes. His mouth is hanging open, rapid and panicked breaths rip out of his chest.

"Fuck. Shit," Mike chokes out, sounding like he got punched in the gut. "Will- Jesus Christ, I- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

His voice is frantic, throwing out apology after apology. He rakes his hands through his hair, tangling the curls further, thrashes all over the place like a bundle of restless energy. He looks wrecked and devastated.

Will is confused.

Each panicked apology seems to dim the fire in his gut, settle his anxiety. He takes in their surroundings. Same rusty pipes, same toilet, same sink. Same moldy tiles and the stale smell of dust lingering in the air. Outside the door muffled voices remain, somewhere further away. Lucas, Robin, Erica, his mom.

Maybe this isn't a vision, after all.

"I- I didn't mean- I mean, I did, just- Fuck," Mike stammers, hides his face in his hands. He groans, muffled, folds in on himself.

"Mike," Will breathes.

The panicked rambling ceases. Mike freezes, carefully puts his hands down. He looks mortified, avoiding Will's eyes like a prey animal in front of a predator. Will's heart stings at that.

"You.. You kissed me," Will mutters. Not relieved, or happy, or sad, or angry. Just there. Stating a fact.

"Will," Mike's panic starts up all over again, hands fly around in frantic gestures. "I- I'm so sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Mike."

He freezes again, slumps in shame. His lips look like they're about to bleed from how violently he chews on them, fingers twitch. He stares down at the floor, head hanging low. Doesn't say anything more, simply stands among the washed out tile like he's awaiting his execution.

Will looks around once more. Same bathroom, same dusty air, same Mike in front of him. Warm, solid and real. With all his freckles and unruly curls and long bones. The Mike that kissed him.

With a soft breath, Will steps forward. His legs feel numb, carrying him the few steps towards Mike. He rises on his toes and lets his eyes flutter shut.

Their lips meet again in a brief, almost childlike kiss. A soft, shy press of skin against skin. Neither of them breathes. The second of it feels like eternity, an infinite amount of lifetimes.

Then, Will pulls back. Shivers at the soft pop as their lips separate. He can feel Mike's spit on his lips. His heart beats more fiercely than it ever has.

"You kissed me," Mike whispers, more air than words. His eyes finally move and meet Will's.

"I did," Will mutters. His face feels warm and prickly. "And you.. kissed me."

"I did."

It sounds almost childish. They stare at each other with wide, glossy eyes and red faces. Both frozen in place, unsure what to do. Mike's brows twitch.

"Please tell me this isn't some fucked up vision, or something," he whispers, looking desperate. Will's breath hitches. He was thinking this, too. "You.. You're real, right?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," Will nods. "You?"

"Yeah."

Neither of them moves right away. Their shaky exhales fill the air, synchronized. Mike's eyes lower again, go a little droopy. He licks his lips, and Will watches the movement, this time openly.

They look up at the same time, dark brown meeting emerald green, and move.

Mike's hands find Will's cheeks again, fingers tracing the lines of his face. Slotting into place like they were carved out for it. Will clings to Mike's chest, hands curling against his sweater.

He makes a sound when their lips collide again. Something thin and pained, but so overwhelmingly relieved. He should probably feel embarrassed by it, but he can't. Because all he cares about is the softness of Mike's mouth against his, the tender touches.

They stumble backwards. Will is pressed against the nearest wall, the impact knocking the remaining air out of his chest. Mike cradles the back of his head, shielding, and the protective touch sets Will's entire being ablaze.

Their mouths slide against one another softly, lips trembling. Noses brush, breaths mingle. The sounds echo in Will's skull, damp and so unusual yet he wants to listen to them forever.

Then, Mike makes a sound against him. Something like relief, a heavy weight being lifted off his shoulders. With that, the kiss evolves. Mike opens his mouth, tilts his head to deepen it, and Will feels like he's about to pass out.

A small sense of panic settles over him, and he pulls back, panting. Takes a second to process. He cracks his eyes open, and is immediately met by Mike's. Two bottomless voids, pupils eclipsing over the brown and nearly swelling beyond what's scientifically possible.

It's almost unnerving. Will has never seen Mike look like this. Or perhaps he wasn't paying attention.

They pant against each other, eyes darting back and forth. Mike's thumb traces Will's cheek, Will's hands slowly slide up to Mike's shoulders.

Will is the one to initiate this time. He rises on his tiptoes again, pulls Mike in by his neck. Their mouths slot together like two puzzle pieces, completing the picture.

The kiss tastes sweet, the candies lingering on their tongues. Mike crowds Will against the wall, presses their chests together. Their heartbeats seem to merge, both rapid and frantic. For once, it's from happiness.

They only pull back when their lungs burn for oxygen, yet keep their foreheads pressed together. Will's eyes cross from the proximity, but he can't stop looking. This up close, he can see every tiny detail of Mike's face. Each freckle, tiny scar, the bruise on his temple.

He swipes his thumb over the band-aid, gentle and feather light. Melts when Mike leans into the touch, almost chases it until Will's entire palm is cradling his face. He looks so soft, so much lighter. Like something has been plaguing him for so long and he finally got rid of it.

"Holy shit," Mike laughs breathlessly, his voice squeaking.

"Yeah," Will giggles back, his shoulders jumping from the force of it.

They fold into one another. The air feels lighter, any troubles or dangers step away for just this moment. They hug, faces tucked into necks.

Will feels like he's floating. He slides a hand up into Mike's curls at the nape, hesitating before diving in properly. Mike hums against him, slides his own hands down to Will's waist.

"Will."

"Mike."

They could say a million words, but somehow, this feels like more than enough. Just their names, said with so much relief and care and suddenly everything is okay. Will forgets what he was so worked up about.

"Will, I-"

Mike gets cut off by a knock on the door. Loud, sharp and frantic, slicing through the sweet moment. The two jump apart out of reflex, but the door remains closed.

"Anyone in here?" Robin yells on the other side of the aged wood. "Will? Mike? Anybody?"

Mike visibly slumps, sighs deeply. His softness get replaced by the usual scowl he gives most people. Brows tense, eyes narrowed, mouth curved into a frown.

"B- Be right out! Sorry," Will yells back, does his best to keep his voice stable.

He looks at Mike at the opposite wall, and they nearly burst out laughing. They manage to keep it in, only a few hushed chuckles escape.

"Holy shit," Mike mouths, grinning from ear to ear.

"We gotta go," Will nods towards the door, can't hide his disappointment.

"Right. Yeah," Mike's expression sours.

He glances at Will one more time before peeling himself off the wall. Takes the lead as he crosses the bathroom. Grabs the door handle, and stops. Will is right behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

"Um," Mike drags.

"Yeah?"

Mike turns, looking even more red than he did just a second ago.

"Can I.. have one more?" he asks timidly.

Will melts. Giggles some more, smiling from ear to ear. His insides feel like they're made of cotton candy and gooey syrup.

"Yeah," he nods.

Mike immediately cups his neck and kisses him once more. Quick and gentle, like he needs it to keep going. Will sighs softly into it, drinks in the warmth and the tenderness. Then they pull apart again.

"We're talking about this later, okay?" Mike whispers, thumb dragging along the line of Will's jaw.

Will just nods, too dazed to speak. Mike takes a quick breath and opens the door. They're greeted by Robin, with her head tilted and arms crossed over her chest.

Her eyes loop between the two, each new lap making her expression change. From impatience, to irritation, confusion, then something like realization.

She opens her mouth to say something, but Will just nudges her away. His legs feel like they're made of cotton candy, brain swims. He's forgotten how to speak or think because the boy he's loved for as long as he can remember just kissed him, and Will kissed him back.

He doesn't hear the hushed questions Robin throws at him as they stumble upstairs. His lips still tingle, skin burns everywhere Mike touched. It's so new and real and so much better than any of his daydreams.

The bathroom door clicks shut again. Mike stands there for a second, eyes wide and darting. He looks up, then follows, with a giddy crooked grin decorating his face.