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Mike was well and truly aware that Will was trying to be better about his fear of hands.
Obviously, he had noticed as soon as Will had allowed him to touch him, even if he had sort of assumed half the reasoning was a greater desire to not die a cold and painful death. But he had pushed past even that. He let Mike hover near him all night as he recovered, and he didn’t panic in the morning when he woke up to Mike’s hand huddling close, trying to project as much warmth as he possibly could.
Mike hated leaving so soon. Will was still coughing, shivering, with a runny nose. He had clearly caught some kind of cold, not that Mike was surprised given his absolutely stupid stunts. Seriously. He couldn’t have waited until morning to sneak into Mike’s room? He had to go outside and through the window? He couldn’t bear to linger on the thoughts of what might have happened. If Will had been any slower, he might not have made it up to the window. If Mike had been asleep, he could’ve—
He couldn’t even bear to think about it. If he had woken up in the morning to find Will on his windowsill, too late—
He shivered violently at the thought, which made Max shoot him a weird look. Because he was at school.
He couldn’t afford to leave Will alone, but more than that, he couldn’t afford to have his mom worrying about what was up with him and trying to stick her face in his business. Will needed time to rest. To heal. If he had to worry about hiding from Karen (again), he wouldn’t be able to.
Several years ago, his parents had been in a car accident, and his mom had gotten awful whiplash. The doctors recommended treating the pain with heating pads, so she had sewn up a little pillow and filled it with dry rice, and she would heat it in the microwave to rest under her neck whenever the pain flared up. Mike was pretty sure it hadn’t been touched in the years since, but it was quick work to heat it up and bring it upstairs to Will.
It couldn’t possibly be as comfortable as the bed, but Will relaxed into the heat of it easily, sighing in relief as he tucked his little knitted blanket over himself and fell right back asleep. Mike wanted to squeal like a child at the sight. How could he be so cute?
He left the door locked and an Eggo on the nightstand in case he woke up and was hungry, though it would definitely be cold by the time Will woke up, but he was still antsy all through the day.
“You’re in a much more chipper mood today,” Lucas commented, and Mike pressed his lips together. Shit. They were all going to have questions now. Jane, at least, only looked relieved. Like she was happy for him. Of course, she had her own suspicions on the whole situation. He could appreciate her, if not the rest of his friends.
“You and your girlfriend make up?” Dustin asked, popping the p on the final word.
Mike rolled his eyes. “I already told you, there’s no girl.”
“Fine then, explain this entire weekend,” Max said, pointing at him with her fork. Mike wanted to dump her stupid salad on her head. He should’ve eaten in the library. It wasn’t allowed, but it would get him away from these assholes.
“It’s none of your business,” he said simply.
“Oh god, here he goes again,” Dustin grumbled. “Lucas, am I seeing things or has Mike gone crazy?”
“He’s definitely gone crazy,” Lucas said, turning his head to Dustin so that the both of them were ignoring Mike completely. Mike’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to determine who to focus his glare onto. “Or maybe he just hates us now.”
Dustin gasped, turning to Mike and sniffling as though he was on the verge of tears. (He wasn’t.) “Is that true, Michael?”
“Yep, I hate you all,” Mike deadpanned. “Now can I eat my sandwich without an interrogation?”
Mike was quick to head to his room the second he got home, fingers trembling as he tried to hurriedly unlock the door. Had Will slept okay? What if he needed more food? Or if he had gotten sicker?
Mike stared at the empty pillow on his empty bed, then down at the ground to make sure Will was nowhere in sight.
“Will?” he asked, suddenly a bit terrified he had dreamt the whole thing. No way. He could never have imagined so accurately the feeling of Will in his hands, leaned against him, holding him close. He never would have dared to imagine Will asking if they could be real friends, offering Mike a chance.
“Your rice is cold now,” Will said, from the desk, and Mike softened at the sight of him in his familiar placement.
“Yeah, that tends to happen,” he said, stepping over and sliding into his desk chair. Will was still in the doll clothes, to his surprise, sitting cross-legged with his bag laying beside him. He must have found it then. “Do you want me to heat it up again?”
Will paused, before shaking his head. “Not now.” He paused, seeming hesitant to ask, and Mike tried to look as friendly and open as he could. Whatever Will’s request was, the chances of him denying it were low. Honestly, as it stood, Will could probably say, “Hey Mike, could you put on a mask and go on a killing spree? Just for me?” and Mike would do it. Anything to keep him close.
“Would you be able to wash my clothes again?” he asked, and Mike relaxed easily. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, absolutely. Yeesh, can’t imagine the dirty snow did them much good.”
Will frowned. “The dirt in the walls was the problem. The snow was pretty. When it wasn’t killing me, at least.”
Mike wrinkled his nose. “It’s pretty on the surface, but I’m pretty sure it’s like, full of bacteria.”
Will made the same face. “Mike, don’t ruin snow,” he said.
Mike couldn’t help his laugh. “The almost dying part didn’t ruin it already?” He hoped he wasn’t crossing a line. As easy as it was to banter with Will, a part of him felt like he was overstepping in everything he said and did.
Will snorted easily. “That was the cold’s fault, not the snow.”
They smiled at each other, until it was probably on the verge of being weird but, god, Mike didn’t even care. He was just so happy. Will was here. He was okay. Alive. Not only that, he didn’t hate Mike. He wanted to be his friend.
Mike had gone from the worst day of his life to the best in such a quick turnaround he thought he himself might have whiplash. Eh. It was worth it.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
Will made a face. “I’m not hungry.”
Mike frowned, glancing to his nightstand at the untouched Eggo. “You still sound congested. I can get you some more soup. It’ll be easier on your stomach. And way healthier than an Eggo.”
“Fine,” Will said.
“I can take your clothes too,” Mike offered, to try and persuade him. Even if he wasn’t hungry, he needed nutrients to fight off the sickness he had come down with. Will hummed in appreciation, pointing to where they sat a few inches away from him, and Mike reached to grab them carelessly.
Will flinched, jumping backwards, and Mike froze, retracting his hand immediately. God, how could he be so stupid? He had just assumed that Will would be okay with it. That he could go and do whatever the hell he wanted now, since they were friends. He was such an idiot. One night wasn’t enough to cure years of trauma, no matter how much Mike wanted it to.
“Sorry,” Will croaked, scooting backwards, away from the clothes. “You can—go ahead.”
Mike swallowed thickly. “Sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” Will denied. “I shouldn’t—I know you won’t hurt me. I—I trust that you won’t. I just… I don’t know.”
“It’s a knee-jerk reaction?” Mike tried. “I’m not, like, offended, if that’s what you’re worried about. I understand the concern.”
“It’s just frustrating,” Will complained, sniffing softly. His nose must still be bothering him. Mike wanted to grab him a tissue. “I’m trying to be better about it, but I just… I’m not used to it.”
“That takes time,” Mike told him, slowly reaching up and letting Will’s eyes follow him to the tissue box, where he pulled a single tissue out and offered it to the other boy.
“Thanks,” Will said, wiping his face. “But it’s still dumb. I wish there was a way I could… I don’t know, speed up the process.”
“Like… exposure therapy?” Mike tried, leaning on his hand.
Will tilted his head. “What’s that?”
Oh. “It’s like… a way to help your brain get better?”
“I know what therapy is, Mike,” Will rolled his eyes, and he didn’t need to say it for Mike to hear the undertones of “dumbass” in his voice. Then again, the knowledge Will had on human concepts was… spotty, to say the least. “I meant exposure therapy.”
“Right,” Mike said, clearing his throat. “It’s basically… it’s a way to get rid of fears, kind of. You expose yourself to something in smaller doses until you’re not afraid of it anymore. Like, someone who’s afraid of spiders, for example.”
“Still stupid for a human to be afraid of spiders,” Will mused.
“Least we’re not eating them,” Mike retorted. “Most of us, anyway.”
Will’s face dropped. “What do you mean most of you? Humans do eat spiders?”
He looked so offended that Mike couldn’t help his quiet giggles. “I don’t,” he tried. “Not here, they usually don’t. But other countries and stuff, a lot of them eat like bugs and snails and stuff.”
“Snails?” Will spluttered. “Ew!”
“I know, right!” Mike said. “Imagine eating bugs.”
“Bugs and snails are two completely different things! Bugs are… normal. Snails are all… slimy and gross.”
Mike was glad he had shut his door behind himself, as he would surely be drawing attention from how loudly he was laughing.
“It’s a delicacy!” he explained. “They eat them in France.”
“I don’t know what a France is but they’re disgusting.”
“We’re getting off track!” Mike said, shaking his head. “Anyway. It’s like… if you had someone who’s afraid of spiders, you would bring them closer and closer to spiders so they could see that nothing bad happens, until eventually they’re not so scared of them.”
“Oh,” Will said, eyes locked on the surface of the desk like he was deep in thought. “That… makes sense.”
“I mean, we don’t have to,” Mike stuttered. “If you’re not… comfortable with it, you can just… go at your own pace. But if you wanted to, I would be… I would be willing.”
Will glanced up at him. As soon as they made eye contact, a soft smile spread on his face, as though he was happy to see him.
“Go get us some food,” he said. “And wash my clothes. Then maybe we can try it.”
“I’m going to have to ask my mom to make soup again tomorrow,” Mike joked, as he handed Will back his now clean clothes. He’d gotten distracted by his family while bringing their dishes downstairs, but it gave the clothes time to dry. Not that they needed much, small as they were. True to his word, Will hadn’t eaten much, but it was better than before, and he was at least staying hydrated. Mike wasn’t sure what beyond that he could offer, since he was not about to try and guess a serving size of cold medicine for his friend. (His friend. Wow. How cool was that?)
“I like soup,” Will said. “Especially when it’s cold outside like it is now. It warms you up.”
Yeah. Even if he had to cook it himself, they were having soup tomorrow.
“So,” Mike said, as Will hid behind a stack of books in order to change back into his regular clothes. It was almost a shame. He looked so cute in the oversized doll clothes, with the sweater hanging over his hands. Not that he wasn’t cute in his regular clothes. He was Will. It was sort of a given. “Did you… want to try it?”
“Hmm?” Will called. “Try what?”
Mike blushed, grateful that Will was hidden and couldn’t see it. Jesus, maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up. He probably should have let Will bring it up on his own terms, if he was interested in it.
“The, uh, exposure therapy,” he stuttered.
“Oh!” Will said, stumbling back out. That had been quick. Oh fuck. He hadn’t taken off the doll sweater at all, or at least he hadn’t left it off. He had put it right back on over his normal clothes, a way of keeping himself warm. God, Mike was going to explode. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “How… how does it work?”
Mike’s mouth went dry, hesitant even though it had been his idea. “I don’t think there’s really any precedent for this,” he stammered. “Just… whatever you want. I’ll do it.”
Will blinked up at him at the—frankly, far too honest—-words. He didn’t seem disgusted by them, which was the bare fucking minimum, but Mike would take it.
“Put your hand there,” he demanded, pointing at the desk. Alright then. This was happening.
Mike moved slowly, setting his hand flat, palm down, on the surface of his desk, a good six inches away from Will. Will stared at it, stock-still, until Mike was no longer moving. Even when he spoke, he didn’t take his eyes off of it.
“You promise not to move?” he asked.
Mike nodded. “I promise.”
Will exhaled, nodding shakily. “Okay then,” he said, hiding a cough in his elbow. Shit. Hopefully he would feel better in the morning after more rest. Mike could heat back up the rice pillow, and maybe add some sort of blanket layer between it so that Will could sleep better. Anything to keep him warm through the night. Mike was not letting him get any more sick than he already was.
Will approached his hand cautiously, like it was an animal he was afraid to spook. His steps were so soft, Mike couldn’t even hear them on the wood of the desk.
“You bite your nails,” he said. Mike opened his mouth, staring at him.
“Uh, yes?”
“Wasn’t a question,” Will snorted, standing just beside the nail of Mike’s index finger. “It’s kind of obvious.”
Mike shot him an annoyed look without any heat. “Are you making fun of me?”
Will hummed. “Only a little bit.” Mike didn’t respond, letting Will go back to his… whatever he was doing. Walking around Mike’s hand, like it was a bomb to be defused. At least he didn’t seem quite so tense. Mike focused on the important task of not fucking moving. He used his hand under the desk to let out all the anxious tension collecting, flexing his fingers into an open and closed palm over and over again. He was not about to twitch or something stupid and scare Will. No way in hell.
“Can you… flip your hand over?” Will asked, stepping back to give Mike the space to do so.
Huh. Mike had thought that palm down was the safer option. Not that he was planning on doing anything awful to Will (he would sooner cut off his own hand than use it against him, really) but because he thought it would make Will feel better. It would be harder to snatch him in a fist if his fingers were pressed flat.
“Okay,” he said, obliging the request.
Will inhaled, the sound soft even in the quiet of the room. His own miniscule hands trembled, but he simply clenched them tight and stepped forward towards Mike’s open palm.
“Your fingerprints are huge,” he said.
Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or to be embarrassed. Will didn’t give him the chance, as he reached out and touched Mike’s fingertip, and suddenly any and all focused was geared towards not fucking moving.
Mike was holding his breath, at this point. Will didn’t seem to be in any rush, running his fingers over the ridges in Mike’s skin, a light, delicate touch that itched like hell.
“Will,” he choked, fighting the urge to pull back. “That tickles.”
“Oh,” Will said, pulling his hand away. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Mike assured him. “I just didn’t want to flinch away from you or something.”
“That wouldn’t be very good exposure therapy,” Will agreed.
Mike thought that would be that. They would call it a day, and tomorrow, maybe Will would try again. Will seemed to feel differently. He turned and sat on the side of Mike’s pointer finger.
Mike couldn’t help the smallest twitch at the sudden weight, but Will didn’t seem to notice, too busy making himself comfortable. Not that he looked comfortable. He was twisting his hands under the weight of the sweater, his breath coming faster than usual.
“Is this ticklish?” he asked.
“Nope,” Mike squeaked. “All good.”
Jesus. When Will had said he didn’t want to wait, he hadn’t been kidding at all. He seemed prepared to push himself through every second of discomfort in order to rid himself of any fear of hands he had remaining.
“Are you sure you want to keep going?” he asked, as Will squeezed his eyes shut to take a deep breath.
“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t convincing at all, but there wasn’t much Mike could do to stop him when Will was sitting on his hand.
Will rested his hand on Mike’s, then lifted it like it had been burned, eyes shooting back open to stare at his thumb.
“This is so weird,” he breathed.
“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “I mean—It’s not weird, it’s just… different.”
“I guess that’s true,” Will said. He looked away, back at Mike’s face, and tilted his head. “Can you do something terrible?”
Mike blinked. “Uh… what?”
“I don’t think this is working,” Will said. “It just… it feels like I’m sitting on a corpse. No offense.”
“You… want me to move?” Mike clarified.
“No,” Will said. “No, I absolutely don’t. But if the whole point is to expose yourself to something you don’t want to, then you probably should.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not making me uncomfortable. Or, it is, but only for a little bit. A short discomfort now so that I can be comfortable later.”
“I don’t know if your logic on that is sound,” Mike admitted.
“If you really wanted to exposure therapy me, you should hold me down.”
“Will,” Mike squawked, at the boy who really didn’t seem to see anything wrong with what he had just said.
“What? That’s what I’m afraid of. So that’s what we should expose, right?”
“No,” Mike said. “No, the point is to expose you to the good stuff so that you don’t associate it with the bad. Besides, I’m not doing that. No matter how nicely you ask.”
Will narrowed his eyes. Oh shit. That was not a good look.
“Really? Even if I asked really nicely?”
Mike gave him a dry look. He was trying way too hard. The saddest part was, if this were anything else, it would have worked. Mike would give in in a heartbeat. But he would sooner throw himself into a snowstorm than put himself on the level of Will’s kidnappers.
“I’m not holding you hostage, Will. You don’t want that.”
“Then this is pointless,” Will scoffed. “It’s not getting me used to—eek.”
He jumped off Mike’s hand as Mike’s finger twitched, a bit more than he’d meant it to, and Will stared at it in shock for a moment, before he seemed to remember who controlled its actions and his head whipped around towards Mike. “Very funny, asshole,” he droned.
“What?” Mike said innocently. “You said you weren’t scared of anything except being held down. So that’s fine, right?”
“Ugh,” Will groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“You just don’t like being wrong.”
Will glared at him, but Mike didn’t falter in his grin. He knew he was right, especially when Will started fighting back a smile of his own. “Whatever,” he grumbled. “Sit still.”
He didn’t try to sit on Mike’s finger this time. No. He stepped right over his thumb and onto the palm of his hand, where he sat cross-legged.
A startled laugh came from him, looking down at Mike’s palm beneath him.
“What?” Mike asked, worried. Had he done something? He was being so careful!
“I can feel your pulse,” Will explained, settling his hand over the heel of his wrist. “That’s so odd.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I can’t feel yours.”
That was enough to draw another laugh out of Will. Good. Distractions were good.
“Did I break your bag?” he asked, as he gently twitched his fingers, careful not to move them too much. Just a subtle reminder that they were there. Exposure therapy. Will startled, but didn’t move off his hand, so he would count it as a success.
“Uh, no, it’s fine,” he assured him. “My sketchbooks too. Why? Did you touch it?”
“Yeah,” Mike admitted. “In my defense, I thought you were dead.”
“So your first move was to ransack my stuff?”
“I—that is not what I was doing,” Mike said, hoping that Will couldn’t feel his heartrate pick up. Who was he kidding? Will would’ve known even if he wasn’t sitting on his pulse. He had his spidey senses giving him a leg up. He definitely knew, especially with the shit-eating grin he wore. “I just… I don’t know. I was afraid I crushed all of your pencils.”
“Oh, no I ran out of those,” Will said, reaching out his hand towards Mike’s bent finger. He curled it closer, until Will could reach out and tap it lightly, which he did. Success. “I forgot about that until this morning, when I realized I couldn’t draw anymore. It was so boring.”
“You should’ve been sleeping. But it’s fine, I guess. I can get you some more,” Mike promised. “As long as you keep drawing my characters.”
“You’re pretty greedy, aren’t you?” Will snorted, shifting in place. He seemed uncomfortable, but not obscenely so. Mike hoped that meant it was working. Even if he had his own selfish reasons of wanting to be allowed to touch, it was still more important to him that Will felt safe.
“I probably should’ve warned you about that,” Mike joked, carefully balancing his hand on the desk as he slid out of his chair and rested his chin on the desk so he was closer to eye level with Will. He was close enough now that he could see the movement of Will’s throat as he swallowed.
“Still freaky?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Will blinked back to awareness from wherever he had gone.
“Only a little,” he admitted, which caused Mike’s heart (barely back at its resting rate) to pick right back up. “It’s kind of cool.”
“Cool?” Mike asked. How in the world was that cool? Mike thought he might be asking too much by simply wanting Will not to be scared shitless of him. But thinking he was cool?
“You’re ginormous,” Will reminded him, which—rude. “And I should be terrified, but I’m not, which is also sort of terrifying, but also cool. I don’t know. Maybe that’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Mike said, shaking his head gently. “You’re not stupid.”
Will crossed his arms. “I never said I was stupid. Are you insinuating something?”
Mike tried to contain his laughter. “Not at all.”
“Good,” Will said sharply, shooting Mike a faux-stern look. “I would’ve had to retaliate.”
“How would you retaliate?” Mike asked, immensely curious.
Will hesitated, thinking it over. “I don’t know, probably jump back out the window. That seems to be the most efficient way to upset you.”
“Will,” Mike spluttered, careful to keep his volume down as Will cackled at the reaction he’d garnered. “That is not appropriate. At least give it a few days before you start joking about it.”
“You started it!” Will squawked, leaning forward on his hands. It was such a soft, gentle touch on Mike’s palm, even though he could feel the press of sharp nails. It wasn’t enough to dig in this time. “You were just joking about me almost dying!”
“Only because you joked about the snow first,” Mike reminded him. “And that was much less drastic.”
“Mine was funnier,” Will told him, before shifting nervously. “It’s nice to know you care. Even if you’re a big crybaby about it.”
Mike pressed his lips together as his cheeks flushed. He shouldn’t have been biting back a smile. He should have been offended, or irritated, or bitching about the comment. If it were any of his other friends talking, he probably would have been. But he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at Will.
“You were crying too,” he reminded him.
“No I wasn’t,” Will said casually. Mike gave him a deadpan stare that hopefully conveyed just how poor of a job he had done of convincing him of that. “Your eyes are bad, you wouldn’t even have been able to see it.”
“My eyes aren’t that bad,” Mike huffed, revelling in the way it made Will’s hair fluff up. “Don’t turn into a liar on me now. Friends don’t lie to each other.”
“Is that a rule?” Will asked, joking tone entirely gone.
“Is what a rule?”
“Friends don’t lie,” he clarified. “Is that a rule?”
Oh right. Will had never had a friend before. The only people he had ever known were his parents, his brother, and his deceased step-dad. Mike was his first friend. He was well aware the only reason that was true was because Mike was the first person his age he’d ever met. After all, any sane borrower would surely want to be his friend. How could anyone not? Will Byers was, hands down, the coolest guy Mike had ever met. It was baffling to him that Will could think Mike was cool in return. Mike was a loser who played D&D and was bullied all throughout middle school. Will was a badass who climbed up cliffsides and fought off rats and did the most incredible art Mike had ever seen.
“Not technically,” Mike said. “There’s not usually rules. But I still think it’s a good one.”
“If it’s our friendship then we can make our own rules, right?” Will pointed out.
“That’s a good point,” Mike said. “Friendship rule number one: Friends don’t lie.”
Will nodded, silent. “How long is exposure therapy supposed to take?” he asked, frowning.
Mike shrugged, and Will yelped as his perch was jostled slightly. “Sorry, sorry,” he begged, as Will glared at him and hopped off his hand. It was nice to pull it away. He was so stressed about messing up he was sure his hand had to be getting sweaty. “And, uh, I’m not sure? It depends on the person, I guess. Could take a few days, could take a few years.”
“Years?” Will scoffed. “I’m not waiting years for that. Put your hand back. Let’s go again.”
“Will,” Mike groaned. “I don’t wanna.”
“Boo,” Will said. “I’m trying to exposure therapy myself and you’re not going to help?”
Mike pulled his head back so his chin wasn’t resting on the desk and sat on the floor, at an angle where he couldn’t even see Will. His back hurt.
“It’s not gonna help if you just torture yourself for hours,” Mike said, laying down so he was flat on his back. It felt nice. He had slept alright the night before, but he hadn’t gone to bed until well after midnight, not to mention his days of terrible, freezing sleep before that.
“Well, who else is going to if you so kindly refuse?” Will said, and Mike glanced over to see him latch his hook into the desk and slide down the leg of the desk until he was on the floor, catching his hook easily. So fucking cool.
“I’m not torturing you,” Mike said. “I shouldn’t even need to say that. Christ, Will.”
“So annoying,” Will sighed, as he walked past the length of Mike’s body until he was standing near his head. Mike turned his head to the side to face him. Here, only a few inches away, with his head on the ground, he looked so… normal. He didn’t seem that small at all, and Mike could almost make out the color of his eyes. Lighter, maybe a green or a light brown. Definitely not blue.
“What color are your eyes?” he asked.
Will blinked, then tilted his head in amusement. “What?”
“Your eyes,” Mike said. “I… I can’t tell.” He must have sounded as sheepish as he felt, but Will didn’t make fun of him. He stepped closer, until he was less than an inch away, and wow, his face was right about eye level for Mike, if he closed his left eye, which was half pressed against the ground anyway.
“They’re hazel,” he said, and Mike held his breath as Will put a hand on his nose to steady himself. Oh.
“I can see that now,” he whispered, well aware of how loud he must be to Will, standing so close.
Will smiled, almost flustered, and stepped back. Mike blinked, reorienting himself to the new perspective.
“You’re so long,” he griped, gesturing to Mike’s feet in the distance.
“Tall, is the right word for that,” Mike corrected.
“Not when you’re on the floor,” Will said. “You’re not that tall at all like this.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m still taller than you,” Mike said, as Will approached the junction of his shoulder and oh.
“I’m not a jungle gym,” he complained, even though he actually felt no irritation towards Will whatsoever. Holy shit. Only a day ago, Will had been gone, he had thought him dead, and now he was not only alive but he was his friend and he was touching him.
… That sounded inappropriate.
Mike just… he wanted Will to feel comfortable with him. If that meant being climbed on top of like a playground, he could live with it.
“I don’t know what that is, but it seems to be more useful than you are.”
Mike laughed, and Will stumbled on his chest, falling to his knees. “You move way too much.”
“It’s not like you warned me about your plans. What, is this your retaliation for my refusal to torture you?”
“It’s taking matters into my own hands,” Will informed him, clambering back to his feet. “Yours are clearly useless.”
“Rude,” Mike said. “My hands are great.” He lifted them up, hovering them around Will but not quite touching, and Will gave him a flat look.
“See? Useless.”
“Wh—we determined the rules were your terms. I’m not just gonna start poking you willy-nilly. That’s rude.”
“Willy-nilly?” Will said in disbelief. “Is that supposed to be some sort of nickname?”
“Please get off of me so I can laugh at you.”