Archive of Our Own

Mike is falling for long enough to imagine his funeral.

He could picture it well. His mother comforting his younger sister, while his older sister stands by stoically, as the palace’s priest reads out passages from a hefty tomb. His headstone is clean, newly carved, and reads Here lies Sir Mike the Brave, who died as he lived: falling head over ass and looking like an idiot.

He used to imagine his epitaph, a morbid habit that helped pass the time on long journeys. He had hoped it would read something more heroic, memorializing a noble death on the battlefield fighting for a just cause. That’s what he had been prepared for. 

But instead of going out in a blaze of glory, Mike will die when he hits the ground with an unceremonious splat, and his remains will have to be scraped off the forest floor by his companions if they’re able to locate his body before the creatures of the forest feast on his flesh. 

If only Max had been at the helm when Mike tripped and fell off the airship. She might’ve been able to pull some trick out of her pocket to save him. But she wasn’t at the helm like she normally is, because Mike, the great friend he is, offered to take a shift manning it so that Max and Lucas could get some much-needed time alone. There’s not a lot of privacy when you’re living on an airship with shared sleeping arrangements. 

One would assume that Max, as Captain, and Lucas, as a Prince, would be staying in the Captain’s quarters, but their last battle had left the airship in a sorry state. The ship’s weaponry had been destroyed, and the kind and noble Lucas had volunteered their room as a temporary solution. So, really, it’s the fault of Lord Vecna’s army for causing this situation in the first place. 

Had their weaponry been intact, Mike never would have had to volunteer to take the helm to give his friends privacy. Mike never would have wandered to the side of the ship to gaze at the stars. Mike never would have tripped on the rigging, never stumbled into the rail, never flipped over the edge. 

Mike has fought dragons, slain orcs, and led armies to victory. Yet, as he falls through the sky, his vision blurring between the approaching ground and the night sky as he twists and tumbles, he doesn’t think about any of those victories. 

In his final moments, all he can think is that he hopes his death will be quick. 

Which should be any second now.

...

Which should be any second now, Mike thinks to himself again, closing his eyes as he braces for impact. 

A pause. 

A breath. 

A moment.

Nothing is happening, and Mike realizes he no longer feels the wind whipping across his face. Hesitantly, he cracks one eye open and realizes he must’ve already died, because all he sees is an angel. 

The angel is the picture of beauty, and Mike suddenly understands what bards have been singing about all this time. The angel is adorned in purple robes and seems to glow with divine light. He doesn’t have a halo or wings like Mike would expect, but his hair looks softer than anything Mike’s felt before, and he wonders for a moment if it would be rude to reach down and touch it. His eyes are wide and filled with stars, and Mike thinks he would like to drown in them. 

Suddenly, the angel blinks, and it’s like Mike’s mind has finally caught up to him, after trailing behind in the fall. He begins to notice things that don’t quite make sense, like the sound of a fly buzzing close to his ear, and an ache in his muscles. He wonders if it’s supposed to be this hard to breathe when you’re dead. 

“Are you alright?” The angel asks. Mike has the startling epiphany that he isn’t dead, after all, but suspended in the air a mere ten feet from the ground.

“Here, let me help you down. I still haven’t mastered the art of dispelling with intention.”

The angel’s voice is, well, angelic. Mike would be able to come up with a better descriptor under normal circumstances, but he’s a bit scrambled at the moment.

“What?” He says, intelligently.

In response, the angel, or not-an-angel, since Mike appears to still be alive, lifts his arms and holds his hands out towards Mike. Mike reaches out and winces at the sudden burst of pain in his shoulder, but he does his best to ignore it as he grabs onto the not-angel’s hands.

“Okay, I’m going to release the spell as gently as I can. It might feel like you’re falling again, but I have you, and I can heal you once you’re down. Are you ready?”

Mike looks to the not-angel–he thinks perhaps a sorcerer, based on the little he knows about types of mages–and feels himself heat up under the sorcerer’s careful gaze. 

“Yes,” he manages to get out, and as soon as he does, he drops. He falls more slowly this time and is able to maintain a sense of stability thanks to the sorcerer's impressively strong grip. He lands on the ground unceremoniously, but he lands on his feet, which is something.

“Thank you,” Mike gets out once he catches his breath. 

“You’re welcome,” the sorcerer answers, and they both seem to realize that their hands are still clasped at the same time. Mike lets go, albeit reluctantly, and takes a moment to compose himself. He may have just fallen from the sky, but he’s still a knight, and he can’t let himself be distracted by gorgeous sorcerers, even if their hands feel so right clasped in his own.

“I forget myself,” Mike utters, “I am Sir Mike, and I am indebted to you, kind mage.” Mike attempts a common bow, but the movement is too much, and he can’t stop the grunt of pain that slips out. 

“Oh my, please, rest. Do not injure yourself further on my account. Let me…” he trails off while he reaches into a small sack. His eyebrows scrunch in concentration, and Mike is too distracted by this to see the sorcerer’s arm reach down to his elbow and rummage around. His features relax, and his eyes light up, and he pulls out a small vial. “I knew I had some left! Here, this should ease the pain for now.”

Mike should probably be less trusting, but he nearly just died, and the sorcerer is looking at him expectantly, so he takes the vial and downs it in one swift motion.

The effect is instantaneous. The ache in his muscles and the pounding in his head subside, and Mike feels refreshed and alert, like he’s just been submerged in cold water.

“Oh, wow, that’s incredible,” Mike says without thinking. The sorcerer smiles, shy all of a sudden, before responding.

“It’s nothing, really. A simple tincture for pain. It unfortunately will fade, but it should last long enough to get us back to my cabin without much discomfort.”

“Your cabin?” Mike feels his face heat up, and hopes the sorcerer will dismiss it as a side effect of his fall. 

“Oh, uh, yes.” The sorcerer stutters, “Only if you want to, of course! I mean, I’m a healer, and my supplies and components are all there. I can tend to any injuries you may have, and I can send a message to someone for you.”

“Oh right, of course. If it isn’t too much trouble–”

“It’s no trouble at all, I assure you.”

“Alright, lead the way…” Mike pauses, inviting the sorcerer to introduce himself. 

“William. But you may call me Will. Everyone does.” 

“Lead the way, Will,” Mike repeats with a bow, this time without pain.

⋆☾⋆·.˳.·✶•.˳.•✩•.˳.•✶·.˳.·⋆☾⋆

The journey to Will’s cabin passes swiftly. Mike learns that Will, known in the area as Will the Wise, is a cleric, and a talented one at that, by how he speaks. Will dismisses any praise and does not boast, but Mike can tell that it’s humility rather than inexperience. And while Mike has never worshipped the gods before, he thinks he may start. It was nothing short of a miracle that Will was even in the area when Mike fell, he learns. Will tells him that he wasn’t even supposed to be out at this time, but a series of odd circumstances delayed his departure. Then, when he was out gathering herbs, a light drew his attention away from the mossroot he was collecting, and he followed that light to the clearing that nearly became Mike’s grave. Mike is astonished, and he silently wonders if his initial assumptions of an angel weren’t too far off after all.

It’s not all one-sided conversation, as Will is eager to learn how Mike ended up falling through the sky. Mike tells him the truth, though he refuses to look at Will while recounting how he tripped. Even so, Mike can see Will suppressing a laugh out of the corner of his eye. A part of him wishes he hadn’t suppressed it, and Mike makes it his goal for the rest of the journey to hear Will’s laugh. He begins telling him tales, stories of his adventures, and unlike he usually would, Mike doesn’t skip over the embarrassing parts. He shares about his friends, and gripes about being a perpetual third wheel to Max and Lucas. It’s something Will admits he relates to, with his sister Jane and friend Dustin. Mike is eventually rewarded for his candour when Will lets out a melodic laugh at one of Mike’s accounts, the sound so sweet Mike does not care that it is at his expense. It’s the sound of Will’s laughter that bolsters Mike through the end of their journey, as the effects of the potion begin to wear off as they near their destination. 

By the time they reach their destination, dawn is threatening to break through the sky, and the navy of the night sky is painted with warmth. Will leads them through a winding path, stopping briefly at the edge of a clearing to whisper an incantation. Light shimmers through the air and the cabin fades into view, no longer obscured by wards, and Mike finds himself transfixed.

The cabin itself appears simple, old, with ivy creeping up the sides. The land surrounding it, however, is what takes Mike’s breath away. Fireflies flicker and flit around a garden of carefully curated chaos. Beanstalks reach up past the height of the cabin, surrounded by clover and moss. A breeze blows through, and the scent of wildflowers overtakes his senses. To his left is what looks to be a section for growing fruits, vegetables, and herbs all in varying states of growth. To his right, slightly obscured behind a dainty fence, is a collection of plants that Mike has never seen before, not in all of his travels. He takes a step towards it to get a better look, but is stopped by a hand on his chest.

“Best not to get too close to those. They aren’t very fond of strangers.” Will warns. 

Mike opens his mouth to question this, but he gets the answer before he even gets the chance to ask, when a small bird flies by the garden, and a massive vine reaches out of the ground to snatch it, and the bird disappears into the brush. 

“Oh.”

“Like I said, not very friendly,” Will repeats, and with a wave of his hand, the plants seem to settle, and Mike watches as the bird emerges from the leaves and flies away quickly. “They’re not strong enough to actually kill a person, though.”

Somehow, Mike is not reassured. Will quickly re-directs the conversation and leads Mike up a path (that avoids the violent greenery), occasionally stopping to clip a stem and gather. When Mike asks him what he’s doing, Will explains that he’s collecting the components he needs to heal Mike. 

“If you have all of this, why were you out foraging earlier?” Mike wonders.

“I’ve cultivated a pretty extensive collection, that’s true, but not everything will grow here. I was out searching for blueshine, also known as moonflower, when I saw you falling. It only grows in moonlight, and only grows naturally. If I tried to grow it myself, it wouldn’t have any of its magical properties.” 

Will’s face lights up when he speaks, and Mike is once again mesmerized by the young man in front of him.

“Well, I’m sorry I interrupted your search. I hope your need wasn’t urgent.”

Will smiles and shakes his head before responding. “Oh, not at all. Moonflower is used as an ingredient to undo polymorphic curses, and I’ve been researching if they’d be able to be used for other transformational magics. So far, I’ve been able to determine–” Will cuts himself off. “Sorry, I’m rambling. You’re here to be healed, not listen to me talk about plant properties.”

“No, please, I find it interesting. I get carried away talking, myself, quite often. Max has threatened to learn magic just so she can silence me. But I really don’t mind listening to you speak.” Mike confesses, which causes Will to flush a pretty shade of pink.

“Thank you,” Will mumbles. “Here, come inside and get comfortable.” 

The inside of the cabin is entirely what Mike expects. Much like the outside, there are plants growing, with many cuttings sitting delicately in glass jars. Herbs are drying out by the window, and bookcases line the walls. While there is an impressive collection of books, the shelves are also peppered with vials of strange liquids, meticulously labelled. It’s all one room, and to the left a desk holds a large cauldron, clearly a sort of workstation. Further into the cabin, there’s a small table for eating, accompanied by a single chair. A humble bed is tucked into the far corner, unmade with more books scattered among the blankets.

It’s a far cry from his shared group sleeping quarters on the ship, or his bleakly impersonal room back at the barracks. Instead, it’s cluttered and lived-in and so clearly Will. Mike loves it right away. 

“Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company.” Will apologizes as he leads Mike in the direction of the bed. “Here, you should lie down and rest while I get everything together.”

Mike wants to protest, to insist that he can stand by and help Will, but his body aches and his head pounds, so he capitulates. He sits down on the edge of the bed as gently as he can, which is not very gentle in his current state.

He has a brief vision of himself, healed and eager, running around fetching things for Will as the cleric brews up some arcane wonder Mike could only hope to understand. Mike shakes his head in an attempt to dispel the image, but he only succeeds in worsening his headache, letting out a pained whine.

“Are you okay?” Will asks, eyes wide and questioning. 

“Yes,” Mike lies, “I think I just need to get this armour off; I feel like a coin rattling around in a tin.” Mike’s vision is growing a bit blurry, but he almost thinks he catches Will blush.

“Do you need help with…” Will trails off.

“Yes,” Mike responds quickly. Too quickly. He tries to cover it up, explaining, “I just mean, it’s a two-person job, under the best of circumstances, and I don’t exactly have my usual range of motion.”

He mentally kicks himself at that. My usual range of motion? Who says that? 

Thankfully, Will just nods and looks at Mike expectantly. Mike takes too long to realize that he’s waiting for direction. 

“Right,” Mike inhales, looking away as he begins to instruct Will on how to remove his armour. 

He pretends to be focusing on the task at hand, which he could do blindfolded at this point in his life, practiced as he is. Most of the time, he removes his own armour, laborious as it is. He hates feeling like he’s relying on someone else, and only usually allows the help of a squire when he knows he’s going into battle and needs to prepare quickly. But for some reason, probably exhaustion, Mike doesn’t feel that same shame that comes with asking for help now. 

It’s because Will offered, Mike tells himself, and because of the injuries. 

He knows that’s not it. 

Will’s movements are slow, and his touch is gentle, like Mike is something delicate. Not delicate like he’s a broken thing, but delicate like he’s precious. Something to be cherished, treated with kindness for the sake of kindness. 

Mike guides Will’s hands with his words, asking him to lift this, or unbuckle that, as piece by piece, Mike’s armour comes off. He feels oddly powerful at this moment, and can’t stop his mind from wandering. It doesn’t help when Will moves down to help him remove his greaves. Mike finds himself focusing all his energy on just staying calm and remembering to breathe. 

Eventually, somehow, miraculously, Mike survives, only risking opening his eyes again (though he’s not sure when he closed them) when he feels Will remove his last boot. 

“Thank you,” Mike whispers.

“Of course.”

Mike experimentally tries lifting his left arm, something that he had struggled to do in his armour, and curses as he is met with a sharp pain in his shoulder and side. Mike reaches over with his right arm to lift the hem of his shirt, and the sight that greets him makes him wince.

An inky purple spreads across his left side, and a light touch to it confirms to Mike that it’s not just skin-deep. He’s not sure exactly where the bruise came from, whether it was from hitting the railing on the ship as he flipped over the edge, or from being tossed around in his armour through the sky. Either way, it looks bad, as confirmed by the hiss Will lets out as he watches Mike.

“Oh, that looks like it hurts. Here, let me take a closer look.” 

Will leans back in with a questioning look, to which Mike responds with a nod. He’s not sure what he’s agreeing to, exactly, but despite the short time, he already trusts Will unwaveringly. Which is how Mike ends up being undressed, almost fully, by the cleric who saved him. Will is less hesitant, but no less gentle, as he lifts Mike’s shirt and helps him into a lying position. 

As soon as Mike’s head hits the pillow, he feels the world start to melt away. He tries to stay awake and alert, focusing on what Will is saying. The cleric appears to be talking to himself, more than Mike, muttering about wounds and spells and broken bones and tonics. It makes Mike smile without thinking. Something about the man before him feels so familiar. Like he’s known him all his life without ever having met. It’s a strange thought, but one that comes to him unbidden, and it stays there as his eyelids grow heavy, the day catching up to him. 

He wants to fight the wave of exhaustion that washes over him, but this is one battle he cannot win. So he lets his eyes close, and lets the wave take him, as visions of him and Will in strange lands with monsters and dice and a castle in a forest.

⋆☾⋆·.˳.·✶•.˳.•✩•.˳.•✶·.˳.·⋆☾⋆

The first thing Mike notices when he wakes is a light tingling sensation on his ribs. He feels pressure, like something is being pressed against him, and expects it to hurt. It doesn’t. 

For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is. The spike of fear is brief, however, as remnants of his day come back to him. He’s still not sure how much was his dream, and how much was reality. He remembers falling, being saved by a vision in violet, and a garden. He remembers a home, a pain in his left arm, and eyes like the forest. He gets flashes of moments: a bird being spared from a vine, a strange snow falling from the sky, the beat of his heart as Will’s hand brushes his.

Will. 

Mike recalls falling asleep as Will worked on something to heal him. He realizes that that must be what the pressure he’s feeling is, a balm being applied to his injuries in soothing strokes. He does his best to pretend to still be asleep, not wanting to interrupt the moment and risk Will pulling his hand away.

“Mike? Are you awake?” Will whispers, and Mike knows he’s been caught. He’s never been great at pretending.

Mike opens his eyes in response, and takes the moment to drink in the sight of the man before him. Will’s eyes seem to glow as he assesses Mike, and his hair is pushed back, like he’s been running his hands through it. Will is no longer wearing his robes, but a lilac tunic with the sleeves rolled up. Mike supposes the robes would get in the way when working, which is why he changed. He’s grateful for the new clothes, anyhow, and he lets his gaze trace Will’s forearms before returning to his face. 

“Good morning, Mike. Or good night, rather.” Will smiles at him.

It’s only then that Mike realizes that the room is lit by candlelight, and the view out the window is dark. 

“How long was I asleep?” 

“You slept the entire day,” Will responds. Mike opens his mouth to apologize, and Will must’ve been able to tell because he interrupts before Mike gets the chance. “Please don’t say sorry; you needed the rest. Plus, it gave me more time to treat your injuries.”

Will gestures to Mike’s side, and he’s shocked when he looks down. What used to be a violent bruise spanning the length of his torso and matching Will’s robes in hue is now a faded canvas of yellows, greens, and browns. Mike hesitantly touches it and is surprised that it no longer hurts to touch.

“I–How did..?” Mike asks, astonishment clear in his voice. “How did you do this?”

When he looks back up to Will, he sees the other man duck his head and lift his hand to the back of his neck, as though he were nervous. Mike just stares in wonder until he answers.

“Like I told you, I’m a healer. It really wasn’t much; your ribs were bruised, are still bruised, but that’s simple enough if you know anything about healing magic. Your shoulder was dislocated; that was a bit trickier, but it should be alright now. Still, you should be careful with it for the next few days. It could easily go back. Magic can only do so much; your body will have to do the rest. Well, any body would. Not just yours.”

Mike smiles brightly at Will, equal parts thrilled to see this new, shy and nervous side of him, and determined to ease his worries.

“It’s incredible, truly. I’ve been injured in battle more times than I can count, but I’ve never healed this quickly, even with magic. You’re very talented, Will.”

“Well, thank you, even though you should be taking some of the credit. You were a great patient.”

“That’s good to hear; I was worried I had been snoring.” Mike jokes. His heart beats faster when he succeeds in getting a chuckle from Will. 

“Hardly,” Will turns to grab something from the table behind him, “You were sound asleep the entire time. Although you did speak a few times, which certainly startled me.”

“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry,” Mike groans, “that is so… undignified. I’ve never done that before, at least, I’ve never been told that I talk in my sleep. I simply will never sleep around anyone else ever again.” 

Mike props himself up where he lies on the bed, shaking his head in his own melodramatic embarrassment. This causes Will to let out a snort with laughter, and when Mike raises his head to look, he sees Will trying to cover his smile. Mike wants to reach out and force his hand away, bask in the joy he caused. 

“Do you often find yourself sleeping near another?” Will’s tone is light, teasing, but there’s something deeper that Mike can’t seem to grasp.

“Oftentimes it’s near many others, actually. The sleeping quarters on the ship fit the entire crew, so I’d be mortified to find I’ve been monologuing for an audience while I sleep.”

“You don’t have to worry there, then. You only said a few words every so often.” Will admits, “I’ve been known to talk in my sleep on occasion as well. Vivid dreams.”

Will leans back towards Mike while holding a cloth in his hand. He wordlessly asks permission to tend to his wound. Mike gives it, moving his arm out of the way so Will has access to his injured side. The salve Will applies is cold, but not unpleasantly so. Mike suspects that has more to do with the warmth from the man applying it. He does his best not to react to the sensation.

“I was dreaming, I think,” Mike chimes, feeling compelled to share. The more he offers of himself, the more he seems to get back, and he feels greedy for more of Will. “It’s a bit of a blur, now, but I can recall I felt like myself, but also not. I was younger, I think, and there were drawings on the wall, and some kind of crest with the symbol of a phantom.” 

As much as Mike tries to remember, the memory of the dream slips away like water through his fingers. He’s left with just a few drops in his palm, like he always is when he tries to recall his dreams. It always feels like there’s something he’s missing, some piece that’s been lost. But here with Will, Mike feels as though that piece is within his grasp. He just needs to reach for it.

“Are you sure you were not dreaming of birds?”

Will’s question startles him out of his introspection. 

“Birds?”

“Yes, birds. You were speaking of a hawk earlier. Or, at least, that’s what it sounded like. I myself have dreamed of birds often, though I dream of a robin.”

“I cannot tell you if I was dreaming of a hawk or not. But a robin makes sense for you.”

“Oh?” Will tilts his head, “And what does that mean?”

“Well,” Mike breathes, keeping his focus on Will’s face and not where his hand has now stilled on his torso, “Robins can have many meanings. Hope, joy, divinity. That sounds like you.”

Mike is thrilled to see Will’s face grow red. He’s even more thrilled that Will does not look away.

“I thought you said you were not taught in magic. You seem to know a lot about dreams.”

“You would consider dreams magic?” Mike does not say it, but the idea sparks a youthful hope in his chest. 

As a child, he was fascinated with all things magic, and used to imagine that he himself would one day learn. He never was able to, instead carrying the responsibility of his family and his kingdom in each hand. There was a time that he had thought maybe he could do both; he had read stories of knights whose devotion to their kingdom was so strong it granted them power, but they were all just stories in the end. Even still, his fascination with the arcane never fully went away, and basking in the presence of Will has only re-ignited his curiosity. 

“They could be. Dreams can allow us to reach places we cannot. And receive what our waking minds would reject. There are schools of study dedicated to decoding the magic of dreams. Some believe that dreams are what tether our souls to the spirit realm.” Will grins, “Or it could just mean you’re going mad.”

Mike barks out a laugh at the sudden shift. “Well, even if I am going mad, at least I won’t be alone in my madness.”

“You certainly won’t be.”

The air is settled in between them, and Will’s hand has still not moved from Mike’s side. Mike laments the barrier of the cloth on their skin. He wonders if Will can feel his heart beating. He thinks he must. He hopes he does. 

Mike is entranced, and he could not guess which one of them would be the first to break the silence. He thinks for a second that Will is going to speak, but his mouth parts and closes noiselessly. Mike stares. 

He begins to think that he may be the one to scale this mountain in between them, when the chime of the bell on the other side of the room shatters the moment entirely. Will pulls back his hand, dropping the cloth, and breaks away his gaze, turning to the sound. He stands and walks over to his desk, and with a wave of his hand, the bell is silenced. Will’s focus directs itself to his brew, and Mike is able to deduce that the noise was some kind of magical alarm Will set for this potion. 

His assumption is confirmed when Will reappears in front of him a few minutes later with a container in his hand. Will explains that this will somehow help them get a message to Mike’s friends, and Mike is oddly disappointed. He knows he should be rushing to get word to them that he is, well, alive, but part of him is already mourning this sense of peace. 

Will brings him a fresh set of clothes and then steps outside to allow Mike the privacy to change. Mike pushes away the temptation to ask Will to stay and help. His mobility is no longer restricted, thanks to Will’s magical healing, and he would not want to pretend to still be injured and risk worrying the cleric. 

The pants are slightly too short on him, and the shirt fits tighter than his usual garments. He would not find this colour, a pale yellow, in any of his own clothes, but this only makes Mike more obsessed. The clothes are comfortable and well-worn, re-stitched in the seams and patched on one knee. They feel lived-in, and Mike’s stomach flips with the thought that he’s now the one wearing these clothes. 

Realizing he has taken enough time, Mike shakes himself out of his fantasies and meets Will at the door. There is a moment where neither of them speaks, and Will drinks him in. Mike gets a fleeting suspicion that Will is enjoying the sight of Mike in his clothes almost as much as Mike is enjoying wearing them. 

“This way,” Will says without preamble.

He leads Mike away from the cabin by the hand, and Mike tries not to think too much into it. A small voice in the back of his mind attempts to reason with him, telling him to slow himself, but Mike’s heart drowns it out in an instant. He is already falling, and all he can do is hope that Will is there to catch him again.

Will guides him to a path behind the cabin, and it’s a short walk to a small clearing. Perfectly round stones are situated in a circle around an intricate carved basin. If Mike didn’t know any better, he would assume this was a birdbath or decorative fountain, but Will explains that this is how they can get a message to Mike’s friends. Will pours the clear liquid into the bowl, and it gleams with a soft light.

The two of them step into the circle and stand on either side of the basin. Will holds out his hands for Mike to take, and he takes them without hesitation. Will lowers their entwined hands into the basin, submerging them, though Mike can’t feel the difference. His hands still feel dry, though he can clearly see they are not. He stands and stares at Will and their hands until Will breaks the silence.

"Now, follow my instructions,” he starts. 

Mike resists the temptation to assure him he would do that no matter what. It’s far too much, far too soon, he knows, but he can’t help the feeling that he knows Will. 

“Close your eyes,” Will continues, and Mike listens, closing his eyes. “Picture your friend in your mind’s eye. The spell requires a single target, so try and focus on just one of them.”

Mike tries to decide who would be best to reach out to, but he’s finding it difficult to think with the feeling of Will’s hands clasped in his and the sound of Will’s voice in his chest. He thinks about Max with her quick action and sharp words, and then Lucas with his grounded determination and fierce loyalty. And then he thinks of Will with his fearless vulnerability and his bright laugh and his unwavering generosity to Mike. 

“Mike?” Will prompts, and Mike opens his eyes to see Will staring at him intently.

“Yes?”

“Are you having trouble focusing?”

“Yes,” Mike confesses, hoping at the very least Will couldn’t tell what exactly was causing that trouble. “It’s just hard to only think of Lucas or Max; they’re kind of one being in my mind, if that makes sense? It’s been them, together, for so long that they’re just tied to each other in my head. Is that bad? I know that they’re their own person, but it just takes more to think of them separately. I don’t know if that makes sense, or if it makes me a bad friend, but I’ll try again.”

“It does make sense,” Will reassures him with a squeeze of his hands, “And I don’t think it makes you a bad friend. I think it’s lovely that they’re so close, and it’s sweet that you see that in both of them. A love like that is rare, and should be celebrated to its fullest.”

Mike’s breath catches in his throat as Will looks at him. It feels like he’s staring into Mike’s very soul, and Mike honestly does not mind. He would open his chest and present it to Will if he asked. And maybe it is too much, too soon, but Mike suddenly gets the feeling that it might not be. That it might be more. It might be returned. 

“Truly? You mean that?” Mike whispers, hope seeping into his voice. He’s not talking about Max and Lucas anymore, and he thinks Will isn’t either. 

“I do. Truly.” Will insists. Mike’s chest tightens with that feeling again, and he lets himself feel it. 

“Well, how do I focus on just one right now?” Mike asks, reluctantly steering the conversation back to the task at hand. 

Will nods at him, like he’s acknowledging the shift, before replying. “Maybe try and think of who you knew first? Memories from before they met.” 

“Alright, I’ll try Lucas. It’s hard to think about before they met, but I’ll try.” Mike’s back to talking in code, it seems, and Will just chuckles lightly and shakes his head. 

“Okay, seriously now, close your eyes.” 

Mike acquiesces and follows Will’s advice.

“Think of the person you want to reach. Picture them in your mind’s eye. Think of how you met, how you felt, what they said.”

“I can do that. Just think about Lucas.” Mike says, more to himself than to Will.

Mike calls upon the memory in the deep recesses of his mind, of running into a small boy on the palace grounds, literally. Mike had been playing some kind of game- what it was he doesn’t know, but he knows that when he rounded the corner he collided with a kid around his age, and sent them both tumbling. Mike remembers his mother being upset for reasons he didn’t yet understand, as he laughed and introduced himself to the boy. The boy responded in kind, and before Mike knew it, he was best friends with Lucas, the young prince. They would play in the gardens, and Mike was thrilled to have someone to play with. He didn’t care that Lucas was royalty, didn’t fully understand what it meant, and Lucas seemed to like that. Whenever the pair of them got in trouble, Lucas would always take the fall, sending Mike a look if he ever tried to take responsibility. 

As they grew up, and Lucas had to spend more time locked away in some room in the palace to learn about other kingdoms or family history, or any of the stuff he complained about, Mike turned to the knighthood. It was a way to protect his friends and make his family proud. Lucas was there when Mike was knighted by the king, his friend standing proudly and beaming at his father’s side. Mike thinks of their adventures, of the times he’s saved Lucas and the times Lucas has saved him, even though he wasn’t supposed to put himself at risk. Mike smiles at the memories of the late-night trips to the kitchen after training, where Lucas would lament his vast responsibilities, and Mike would make stupid jokes. 

All of a sudden, even though his eyes are still closed, Mike is looking up at the sky. He hears Will’s voice, though it sounds muffled and far away. 

“Do you see anything?”

“Just the sky,” Mike answers. 

“Try and look around, tell me if you see anything.”

Mike listens, and he does. He sees the deck of their airship, and he sees chaos. He watches as the crew rushes to the sails, and he can hear Max shouting orders in the distance. Following the sound, Mike turns and sees Max standing at the helm, and Lucas behind her with the navigation equipment. 

“Can you see him?” Will’s voice cuts through the noise.

Mike nods, and it seems to be enough, because Will continues.

“Focus on Lucas; picture yourself getting closer to him.”

Mike follows the instructions, and it’s almost as though he’s floating through the air, across the ship and towards his friends. Max’s commands are growing louder, but Lucas remains silent, leaning over a map of a region and studying it intently. 

“Any luck?” Max says, and at first Mike thinks it’s to him, but Lucas responds.

“I’ve narrowed it down to this area,” he draws a circle with his finger on the map. “Based on our trajectory, this is where he would be.”

“That’s too wide a range, Lucas,” Max snipes. 

“Well, it’s what I have so far. Maybe if we could fly lower I could narrow it further; I can’t account for wind up here,” Lucas responds curtly. 

“Don’t you think that’s what I’m trying to do? We’d lose all our visibility, and we aren’t exactly in great shape as it is!”

Mike is surprised to see them like this, their usual playfulness absent from their harsh tones. 

“Can they hear me?” Mike asks Will, but he doesn’t need him to answer as both Max and Lucas’s heads whip up at the sound of Mike’s voice.

Distantly, he can hear Will confirm this, but the shocked faces of his friends are confirmation enough. 

“Mike?” Lucas asks, and looks to be staring directly at him.

“The one and only,” Mike tries for a grin, but it falls flat as his friends don’t move.

“Are you a ghost?” Max whispers in disbelief.

“No, I’m not a ghost. Very much alive, actually.”

“But how?” she responds, raising a hand to wave it below Mike’s line of vision. He can guess that he has some sort of spectral appearance and that Max’s hand went right through it, based on their confused and horrified expressions.

“Magic, I suppose,” Mike answers.

“You suppose?” Lucas asks.

“No, I don’t suppose. It is magic. I fell, a very skilled cleric caught me, healed me, and now he’s casting this so I can talk to you.”

His friends continue to stare at him in amazement, but Max’s brow furrows and she looks at him skeptically. 

“Prove it.” She demands.

“Prove what?”

“Prove that you’re Mike and this isn’t some trick.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Say something only Mike would know.”

Mike sighs, but figures with all their recent enemies, it is a fair enough ask. He racks his brain and pulls out a memory.

“When we first met, it was because I caught you sneaking into the grounds to practice swordcraft on the knight’s field. I offered to show you proper form, and you threatened to cast a spell on me because you thought I was flirting with you. You only admitted that you didn’t know magic when I convinced you I wasn’t interested.”

Lucas watches Max to see how she reacts, and when he expression softens, so does his. 

“Mike! You’re alive!” he exclaims once he sees the look on Max’s face. 

Mike confirms again that he is, in fact, alive, and gives his friends his coordinates. Lucas does some calculations and tells Mike that the earliest they can be there is tomorrow morning, if they fly through the night. 

“No need to fly through the night, I’m safe where I am,” Mike assures them, glances over at the chaos still unfolding on the deck. “Please, rest, and let the crew rest, and fly when it’s safe.”

Lucas looks weary at the thought. “Are you sure? This isn’t the time to downplay anything, Mike.”

“I promise, I’m safe and will continue to be safe where I am. Friends don’t lie, right?”

Max cocks her head at him, and he can feel her stare on his skin, even though he isn’t really there. “So you’re safe with this cleric, then, are you?”

“Uh–Yes. I am. Safe.” Mike answers, and he feels his face heat up. Somehow, Max is able to catch this through his spectral image, and he sees her open her mouth to say something else. “Actually, I have to go now,” he cuts her off. “I will see you both soon, sorry for worrying you, good night!” 

Mike opens his eyes, and the spell ends abruptly. He’s back to the clearing, standing across from Will, hands linked together in the basin.

“It worked, then?” Will speaks first with a glint in his eye. He pulls his hands away, and Mike tries not to deflate. 

“Yes, it worked. Could you hear us?”

“No, only you. But I could piece together the rest. I take it Lucas was surprised?”

Will steps back and begins to leave the clearing, heading back towards the cabin. He looks back to make sure Mike is following, but Mike doesn’t need any convincing, feet moving before he could even think about it.

“Quite. Though Max needed some convincing, it wasn’t some great trick. Not that I blame her, with some of our recent adventures.”

“Max?” Will looks over quizzically.

“Yeah, she was with Lucas at the helm. They were trying to figure out where I was when I saw them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that frantic before, though. I’m almost touched.” Mike jokes. He glances over to Will to see the cleric lost in thought. His voice softens when he asks, “Is everything alright?”

Will doesn’t react to the question at first, and Mike is about to repeat himself, thinking he hadn’t heard him, when Will speaks again.

“That’s fascinating… You spoke to both of them, right? Not just Max?”

“Right, we were all talking.” Mike is confused, but rather than prod Will further, he waits patiently for him to explain. He can tell Will is deep in thought, and allows a comfortable silence to fall between them as they approach the cabin again. 

Will breaks the silence as they step into the gardens, stopping and turning to Mike to speak. 

“That spell is only supposed to show you to the target. That’s why you had to focus on one person, because it shouldn’t work with more.” Will starts, as Mike leans in to listen, ducking his head. “It makes sense that you struggled to separate them in your mind, though. The magic was trying to target one person, one soul. If they could both see and hear you, that would mean they are tied together, cosmically.” 

“That almost sounds like you’re describing soulmates.”

As a child, Mike used to be taken by the idea. Soulmates were always a thing of fiction and great fantasy, told in tales about ancient kings and queens in faraway places. Mike had loved reading stories about it when he was allowed to peruse the royal library, but the way Will is speaking now is as if they were real. 

“I sort of am.” Will shrugs. “It’s not quite how it is in myths, but there are these… tethers that connect us. It’s like when you get a feeling in your gut that something is wrong, before anything bad even happens. Or when a dream feels too real. You learn about it if you study magic long enough. They connect everything around us; it’s how I’m able to do something like this.”

As he speaks, Will lifts a hand and holds his palm open. With a quick motion, he turns his wrist, and Mike swears he can almost see what Will is talking about. A flower that looks as though it’s spun of gold rises out from the garden and floats towards them, resting in Will’s palm. It shimmers in the dim light of the night sky, and Will surprises Mike by holding it out to him, offering it. 

Mike accepts it, slowly, wordlessly, as though any sudden movement or loud noise would shatter the moment. 

“People are connected to each other by these tethers, too, but we don’t usually notice. And sometimes that connection is stronger, and it can seem as if two are one. Though a tether like that is rare, instances are so few there haven’t been many opportunities for study. It seems like your friends are one of those rare times. Scholars have debated whether that should be defined as soulmates. Some dismiss the idea altogether.”

Mike is rapt. “What do you think?”

“What?” Will’s face scrunches at the question, and Mike can’t help the smile that plasters his face at the sight. 

“What do you think about those connections?” Mike inhales, only hesitating for a moment before continuing. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

A warm breeze waves through the garden, and the scent of wildflowers fills the air. Fireflies flicker around them, but Mike is more concerned with the way their glow reflects off of Will’s face. They’re standing close, close enough for Mike to see the rise and fall of Will’s chest, though neither of them is sure when it happened. 

“I do,” Will whispers, as though it’s a secret. Mike privately promises to keep it as one.

If he were standing further away, he’s not sure he would've been able to hear Will’s voice over the ambient sounds of the garden; the wind rustling the grass as the insects sing. His chest feels heavy like his heart is doing its best to root him to the spot. Not that he would ever want to leave. 

It’s a delicate dance, a brush of the arm, a palm cradling a cheek, eyelids falling shut. They sway in sync with each other, each note drawing them closer and closer, until Mike can feel Will’s breath on his lips. Neither is willing to move too fast, both of them giving the other time to pull away. 

Gravity pulls them closer. 

When their lips touch, careful and reverent, Mike feels weightless. He feels whole. He reaches out and snatches that missing piece out of the air, and slots it into his heart. 

Will kisses like Mike is something precious to be treasured, and Mike has never felt so cherished. Mike can’t help but think of the stories he read as a child of great loves and grand romances, and how every single one of them got it wrong. Love is not a wildfire overtaking his senses, violent and unpredictable. Love is a whispered prayer over a candle, tender and forgiving. Mike kisses Will with devotion and all the promises he hadn’t even realized he’d made. 

When they part, Mike opens his eyes slowly, to see Will already staring back at him. Not for the first time, Mike wishes he could freeze time to memorize every fleck of gold in Will’s irises. 

“Will,” he whispers.

“Mike.”

“Please, tell me I’m not alone. Before I fall any further, tell me I’m not alone.”

“You are not alone.” Will places his hand on Mike's chest, over his heart. “I’m here, and I will catch you.”

He has never felt so seen as he does under Will’s gaze. Mike feels as though he’s cracked open his chest and exposed his very soul, but he does not feel afraid. He feels strong, like he could run into battle as he is right now, no armour or sword, and come out victorious and unscathed. 

“And I you. I swear it.” Mike bows his head. “I am yours, for as long as you will have me, for as long as my heart beats. I am yours; this is my oath.”

Neither of the young men notices it at first, but the garden has gone quiet, as if it were holding its breath. An impossible light surrounds the pair, bathing them in the sun despite the late hour. It is only when gravity falls away that either of them dares look away from each other. 

Will gasps, but Mike is silent in awe. He feels as though something dormant within him has been released, and when he turns his eyes back to Will, the cleric is already looking at him. More specifically, Will is staring at his chest, where his hand still rests. The light, Mike realizes, is coming from him, from where Will is touching him. 

“Oh,” is all Mike says, too wrapped up in the moment to conjure words. 

“Oh,” Will repeats, his tone making it sound like an answer to a question Mike didn't dare ask. 

When Will pulls him in for another kiss, Mike falls willingly. 

It’s less cautious than the last, a confirmation of what Mike knows to be true. Mike is struck by how much he wants, and silently wonders if he will ever feel sated. He hopes not, and draws Will in closer. 

When they finally part, seconds or hours later, Mike opens his eyes and is met with a sight that would kill a lesser man. Will looks thoroughly kissed, lips red, hair mussed, and face flushed, and he stares back at Mike with an intensity that could bring the gods to their knees. And Mike is only a man.

“I love you,” Mike confesses, “is that mad?”

“Perhaps,” Will answers. “But if it is, at least we’ll go mad together.”

The light in Mike’s chest has diminished, but he knows it is still there. He can feel its presence, warm and comforting and complete. 

“I love you,” Mike repeats, peppering Will’s face in kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

Mike breaks out in a wide grin that lights up his entire face. Will mirrors his expression, and Mike can’t help but laugh, too full of bliss to do anything else. Will joins in a moment later, and Mike realizes that this is all he will ever need. There may still be adventures to come and dragons to face, but so long as he gets to hold this hand, to worship this man, none of that matters.