Chapter Text
Mike needs a haircut. His hair is getting just long enough to curl at the nape into soft little ribbons. It’s fluffier, too. Or is the word tousled? Will really likes it this long. It’s easier to run his fingers through it.
Mik-
“Mr. Byers, are you with us?”
Will is yanked back into reality only to find his definitely not favorite art teacher glaring at him, hands crossed. Will swallows.
“Y-yes, absolutely.”
He’s pretty sure he missed a few minutes here and there.
“Then please answer my question.”
Will’s eyes nervously scan his classmates, as if any of them could telepathically tell him just what the teacher asked. No one raises up to the task. The teacher sees it and sighs in a way too exasperated way.
“Who was the main representative of the futuristic movement?”
“In art?”
The teacher now rolls his eyes and okay, that is not nice.
“Yes, in art. This is an art history course, is it not?”
Will quickly looks down on his desk, hoping that the textbook or his notes would tell him. No such luck. He thinks back to high school and his brain conjures up a name.
“Uh…Marinetti?”
“That’s literature.”
Damn. Will never liked futurism. It looks dumb. He sinks down in his seat.
“Umberto Boccioni, Mr. Byers. Write it down.”
Will has no idea how to spell that name and makes a note to find it in the textbook later. He’s starting to hate futurism even more. There’s nothing futuristic about it.
He is still quietly seething about that teacher when he runs straight into someone outside the lecture hall, his textbooks and sketchbooks spilling on the floor.
“Watch it!"
Will doesn’t even bother looking who it was. He just sighs and picks his stuff up. A few months ago, he would have avoided this easily. Now it seems the world just prefers to see him clumsy. Maybe it’s karma.
He manages to reach the cafeteria without further incidents and immediately searches for his favorite mess of black curls.
“Will, here!”
He has already learned to ignore how his heart jumps when he sees Mike, but he notices it regardless. And he looks good today, he realizes as he sits down across from him. Mike has taken to wearing collared shirts lately and Will has been trying very hard not to think about what they do to his shoulders.
“Hey…”
“Hi…” he smiles back at Mike, suddenly wondering if he has any paint on his face this time, too. Like every other time.
If he does, Mike doesn’t say, he just slides a plate towards him.
“I got you the lasagna. It’s not that bad.”
It looks pretty bad to Will, but he’s not going to refuse a meal Mike got for him.
“Thanks…” he picks up his fork and digs into it. It’s not that bad.
“So, how was your class? The teacher still that annoying?”
Will looks up at Mike, who is eating something that looks suspiciously like Mac and Cheese. He still has a palate he had when they were in middle school. It’s cute.
“Oh, totally. He chewed me over futurism today,” he says, brushing his ankle against Mike’s under the table. A piece of macaroni falls from Mike’s fork and his eyes meet Will’s. He just grins. Mike clears his throat.
“Uh, yeah, futurism is pretty outdated nowadays. The manifestos are pretty terrible, too.”
Will nods. Of course Mike would know. He takes another mouthful of the lasagna. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“And we will have to paint something, too. It’s going to suck.”
Mike just laughs, his Mac and Cheese abandoned.
“I’m sure you can do it. You can paint anything.”
See, it’s stuff like this that makes Will’s heart do weird things. Usually, he’s pretty immune to compliments about his work. But Mike? Sometimes he doesn't even need words. Sometimes he just looks at Will’s art and his eyes have this look that makes Will want to kiss him.
Sometimes he does. But in public? In this cafeteria? He can’t. So he just settles for tapping Mike’s ankle.
“Anyway, I spoke to Lucas yesterday.”
Will has his mouth full of lasagna so he just gestures for Mike to continue.
“He already bought the plane tickets. But Max can’t come. Sadly.”
Will is around seventy percent sure Mike doesn’t mind Lucas visiting alone for the upcoming spring break.
“So I was wondering, if he could sleep over at yours and Harry’s? He’s fine with the couch.”
Will shrugs. He can’t imagine Harry having a problem with that. Besides, Harry’s rarely home lately, and he might even have plans for the break anyway.
“I guess. Which reminds me, are we still on for tomorrow evening? Harry wants to make tacos.”
Mike lights up at that and Will almost forgets about his lasagna. Almost.
“Sounds good. Unless he tries to kill me again.”
Will rolls his eyes. Mike brings up the soup incident every opportunity he can.
“He didn’t know you were allergic to shellfish. I mean, you didn’t even know that!”
Mike just shrugs and mutters something about Harry ‘just knowing stuff’. He’s looking at Will when his eyes suddenly drop down to his mouth. Will stills.
That’s a dangerous thing to do in a public setting. But Mike just reaches across the table and swipes his thumb over the corner of Will’s mouth. Will can feel his heart doing a little dance in his chest.
“Sauce,” Mike explains and licks his thumb.
This man is going to cause Will’s death one day. Will is sure of that.
“When exactly is Mike coming?” Harry asks from the kitchen, where he strictly forbid Will to set foot that evening.
Will looks away from the mirror and glances at the watch on his wrist.
“In like thirty minutes? Could be earlier.”
He hopes it will be earlier. Friday evening only comes once a week. He turns back to the mirror and notices a paint smudge on his t-shirt. He doesn’t have nearly enough clothes for this. Not before laundry day.
He looks towards the kitchen. There’s no other choice.
“Can I borrow a shirt?” he asks Harry, praying he won’t comment on it. Harry stops whatever he was doing with a huge knife and Will can see the question forming in his head.
“Why?” he asks slowly. Will sighs. No easy wins for today.
“Mine has paint on it and the striped one doesn’t look good enough and we’re not doing laundry until Sunday…”
Harry puts on this smug smile that tells Will pretty much everything about the upcoming conversation. At least he can prepare.
“Good enough…for Mike?”
Will really hates how easily he blushes when it comes to Mike. He shrugs.
“So can I?”
“Yeah, sure, whichever you like,” Harry says, apparently satisfied, and he turns back to murdering whatever vegetable he’s hiding in the tacos for them to eat.
Will leaves him to it and goes into Harry’s bedroom. He has to step over a stack of books and various folders on the ground and briefly wonders since when Harry has been this messy. But he’s not here to judge his organizational skills. He’s here for a decent piece of clothing.
He digs through Harry’s wardrobe and then his eyes land on a pretty blue t-shirt. Somewhere between baby blue and sky blue. He takes it out and wonders why he had never seen Harry wear it.
He goes back to the kitchen, lifting it up.
“Is this one okay?”
Harry looks up.
“Yeah, I never wear that.”
“Why not? The color is really nice.”
“It’s too tight across the shoulders,” he explains, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “It could fit you well, though.”
And it does. Or at least Will thinks so. Hopefully Mike will think so too, he muses as he tries to style his hair, but he has no idea what he’s doing.
“You should keep that one.”
Will manages to not jump as Harry suddenly appears behind him. He turns around.
“Really?”
Harry nods and grins at him.
“Looks better on you,” he says easily and Will looks back to the mirror. It really does look nice. Mike probably won’t notice. He smiles anyway.
“Thanks.”
He’s about to check his watch for the thirtieth time that afternoon when there’s a knock at the door.
Mike’s early.
Will smooths his hair down one last time and opens the door.
Mike is wearing a polo shirt and the dark blue color does something incredible with his eyes.
“Hi…” he says and his voice cracks. Damn. He thought this phase was over.
Mike doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Will’s not sure he noticed. There’s a second of silence before either of them realize they’re still standing in the doorway. Mike’s the one to tear his eyes away first.
“I brought the drinks…”
Will looks at the paper bag Mike is holding.
“Right. Come in…”
He lets him in and closes the door. Mike doesn’t waste a second and gently grabs his face and pulls him into a soft kiss. And Will follows.
It doesn't last long. Not as long as Will would’ve liked. Mike pulls away first and smiles at him, his hands still caressing Will’s cheeks.
“Hi…”
Will feels like melting.
“Hi…”
Harry clears his throat somewhere behind Mike and Mike lets go.
“The beer?”
“Oh, right…” Mike picks up the bag he discarded on the ground and hands it over to Harry, who looks inside and nods.
“Good. Where did you get it anyway?” he asks as he goes back to the kitchen. Mike shrugs.
“Ian has this friend of a friend or something…” he says vaguely. Will grabs his hand, making Mike turn to him.
“I want to show you something…” he says quietly as he drags Mike to his bedroom, pointedly ignoring Harry’s amused look. Mike just laughs and follows him, his hand warm in Will’s.
“So, what di-“
Will grabs Mike by the collar and kisses him the way he wanted for the past few days whenever they met at school. And Mike kisses him back with matching enthusiasm, his hands sliding up Will’s side.
“I really like your shirt…” Mike tells him between kisses and Will thinks he has to thank Harry more. He lets his hand wander into Mike’s hair and Mike leans into the touch.
Mike pulls him even closer, his hands now warm and heavy on Will’s waist when Harry’s voice booms through the apartment.
“Guys! It’s taco time!”
Will sighs and involuntarily pulls away. Mike looks at him breathless and smiles.
“What did you want to show me?”
Will rolls his eyes and playfully shoves him, but Mike catches his hand and intertwines their fingers together.
“We should go or Harry will come here and force-feed us tacos.”
Will has to laugh at that.
Harry turns out to have a knack for Mexican cuisine, because the tacos are actually pretty good. Mike’s even complimenting Harry, which is a rare event.
Will is not thinking much about tacos. He’s thinking about Mike’s thigh pressing against his under the table. He’s also thinking about the way the polo shirt hugs his biceps.
“…right, Will?”
Oh no. Will internally groans. This is becoming a problem.
“What?”
Harry smirks at him.
“I was just saying that it’s my turn to pick the movie, not Mike’s.”
Will would let Mike pick any time if he wore that shirt more often. But he can’t say that out loud. So he just shrugs.
“You always pick some drama I can barely keep up with.”
Harry rolls his eyes.
“You could keep up if you didn’t spend half the movie making eyes at Mike.”
Mike chokes on his beer. Will can feel the blush creep up to his neck.
“It’s not my fault you pick boring movies.”
“Boring? Oh, you wound me, William…”
“Maybe Will should pick then…” Mike pipes up and Will shoots him a thankful smile. Harry groans.
“Fine, fine, Will picks this time. But I'll pick the next one,” he says, waving his taco around. Will solemnly nods.
“Deal.”
Harry ends up picking the movie anyway. It’s Godfather again. Will groans as he settles on the couch in between Mike and Harry.
Harry loves the Godfather. Will hates the Godfather. But Mike?
Will watches with a slowly creeping horror realization that Mike might actually like the Godfather. Unbelievable.
Will looks at the screen in a futile attempt to understand the appeal of the boring mafia movie and that’s when he sees it.
Oh.
Michael Corleone. Right. Wow. He didn’t expect that.
Did he always look so handsome?
He’s still in the middle of his movie preference crisis over young Al Pacino in a suit when something nudges his hand. He turns and sees Mike.
Michael Wheeler. With his fluffy dark hair and stupidly well fitting shirt. Will grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers. And Mike’s smile makes him forget all about Al Pacino.
Somewhere along the unnecessary runtime of the movie, it starts raining outside. Then pouring, the raindrops heavily drumming on their windows. A thunder.
Will doesn’t pay it too much attention, because Mike is right there, still wearing that damned shirt. Will would love nothing more than run his hand along Mike’s shoulder, but he is acutely aware of Harry sitting next to him. Instead, he just presses himself a bit closer to Mike and doesn’t let go.
And if Mike rubs his knuckles with his thumb, and if they share a few looks that they both understand, then what?
Harry doesn’t comment on it.
Instead, he comments on the weather. Which is seriously nasty at that point.
“Maybe you should stay here, Mike,” he says casually as the end credits start rolling. Mike shrugs.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“You’re good swimming to your dorm?”
Will snickers. He wouldn’t really mind Mike sleeping over. In fact, it sounds like a rather good idea.
“Just stay, okay? You can take the couch.”
Right. Because Mike being so close and still somehow not with him was absolutely fine with Will. He’s not experiencing any weird sensation in his stomach about it.
None at all.
Will has apparently very strong feelings about Mike sleeping one door from him. He realizes that as he’s laying in his own bed, listening to the storm destroying the outside world.
But the apartment is quiet. Well, mostly quiet. Harry is still awake. Will can hear the rhythmic scratching of his pen on paper. Is he studying this late? On a Friday?
Will could never. He can barely study during the day, especially on those days when Mike joins him in the library. Or the coffee shop. Or on the couch…
And Will realizes Mike isn’t sleeping either. He’s shifting on the couch, the occasional creak of the spring followed by a string of whispered curses.
Will turns on his side and closes his eyes. Sleep. He doesn’t know how much time passes before he groans and lays on his back, staring at the streetlight reflections on his ceiling. The storm still raging on.
And he can’t sleep. There’s this tingling in his stomach. He sits up in the bed, turns on his bedside table lamp and listens.
Harry is asleep. Will knowing Harry’s breathing enough to tell that should be disconcerting, but it isn’t. It’s just how it is.
He closes his eyes and tries to tune it out. There. Mike.
Mike is awake. For sure.
Will opens his eyes again and lets them wander around the room, as if it held a resolution he’s looking for. His broken desk has been replaced and he doesn’t quite like the new one yet. It offers no advice, either.
He sighs, running his hands through his hair. If you told him a year ago that he would be agonizing whether to invite his boyfriend to sleep in his room, he would laugh. But here he is, and Mike is in the living room.
Still awake. This fussing about on the couch.
Will glances at the clock.
2 am.
He really should be sleeping.
Instead, he gets up and slowly walks over to the door. His hand stops at the handle, his heartbeat frantic and loud.
Is he really doing this?
Now?
A thunder rumbles outside. He takes a deep breath and walks into the living room.
He walks over to the couch, recognizing Mike’s figure in the dark.
“Mike?” he asks, whispering. Mike presumably turns to him.
“Will? You’re still up?”
Will shrugs before realizing Mike probably can’t see that.
“You’re up too.”
Mike quietly laughs. Will swallows, ignoring the warmth in his chest.
“Do you want to come to my room?” he says before he can make himself stop. Because he doesn’t want to make himself stop.
Mike stays silent for a moment.
Stupid. That’s definitely too much. He shouldn’t have ask-
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
He said yes. Will lets out a soft breath and walks over to the couch, taking Mike’s hand in his own. This suddenly feels too real.
Will almost considers taking it back. But then their eyes meet.
It’s Mike. It’s okay.
He leads him to the bedroom, avoiding all the creaky floorboards.
He closes the door behind them and gets to look at Mike. He’s bathed in the warm light of the table lamp and Will is positive he could never draw this. Mike just smiles at him with that smile that makes it a bit harder to breathe.
“Hi…” he says quietly, still holding Will’s hand. It’s the middle of the night. It should be stupid.
It’s just Mike.
Just him and Mike.
Will just crosses the small distance between them and kisses him.
It’s not a goodnight kiss. They both know that.
Mike lets go of his hand and grabs his waist instead, pulling him closer. And Will kisses him again. And again. His hand finds its way to Mike’s shoulder, and he finally gets to touch him. His other hand slides up Mike’s neck and gently pulls at the soft curls at the nape of his neck.
Mike makes a small sound into the kiss and Will feels the warmth spreading through his fingers. Mike’s hands dig a bit deeper into his waist and Will pulls away just enough to feel Mike’s breath against his lips.
“Do you like that?” he asks quietly, his fingers still knotted in Mike’s hair. Mike just nods and kisses him again, harder this time.
Will doesn’t even notice they are moving until the back of knees press against the mattress. And suddenly his back softly hits the bed. They break apart for a moment, their breathing uneven. Mike’s hands are so warm on his waist.
“You okay?”
Will sees the out that Mike is giving him. He can hear their heartbeats. He can feel the warmth blooming somewhere inside him.
“More than okay,” he replies and pulls him into another kiss. A pleasant tingle is spreading through him wherever Mike’s hands slide along the fabric of his pajamas. He gently pulls on the curls he’s been dreaming about and suddenly Mike is kissing his cheek, the corner of his lips, beneath his jaw, his throat…
Oh. The warmth surges and Will’s breath catches.
Mike stops.
He looks at him and Will suddenly feels the heat rising in his face. But something unspoken passes between them and Mike leans down and kisses that spot again.
And again.
And every time he does, Will’s hand on his shoulder grabs a bit harder, the soft fabric bunching underneath his fingers. Mike makes a soft sound against his neck and leans up to kiss him again.
The room is so warm. Mike is so warm. His hands are so warm.
The lamp dims and flickers back on. The thunder roars outside.
Mike’s fingers ghost over the hem of Will’s clothes.
Will takes a sharp breath.
Mike’s hands stop and his eyes meet Will’s. He’s breathing heavily and his hair is a mess. There’s a silent question between them.
Will’s fingers tug at the black curls as he nods.
“Keep going.”
Something shifts in Mike’s eyes as he gently kisses him again and his hands slide under Will’s clothes.
Will barely swallows a sound against Mike’s lips as every piece of skin Mike touches catches on fire. He grips Mike’s shoulder, his fingers digging in.
The kisses get longer. Harder. Less careful.
Will’s eyes close.
He can feel the warmth spreading to every inch of his body. He can feel Mike’s hair under his fingers, Mike’s weight pressing him into the mattress, Mike’s hands on his skin, Mike’s lips on his neck.
Mike. Mike. Mike.
Mike’s breath ghosts over that spot on his throat. Then he leans in again.
His hands move-
“Mike-“
The sound tears out of him, loud and breathless, more a moan than a word.
Exactly at the same moment –
Pop.
Everything stills.
Will's eyes snap open.
The room is dark.
He can feel his heart hammering loudly in his chest, he can still feel the warmth in the tips of his fingers. He’s still so hot. The room feels too hot.
Oh god.
They really-
He really-
He really made that sound.
He’s very much aware of Mike. Mike’s hands. He’s so close. Will can still feel his hair under his fingers.
What if he thinks that was too much? It was too much, wasn’t it?
“Will…”
He slowly adjusts his sight to the dark. He can barely make out Mike’s face.
Oh.
Mike’s hair is a mess. His breathing is still short and heavy. His eyes are gleaming in the spare light coming from the street.
“Are you okay?” he asks, whispering.
Will could almost laugh.
“I’m okay…” he whispers back and suddenly the whole situation seems a bit ridiculous.
It’s Mike. It’s okay.
Mike sits up, forcing Will to let go of his hair, and tries to turn on the lamp.
Nothing happens. A distant thunder comes in from outside.
“Must have been the storm...” he mutters and settles back down next to Will.
“Probably…”
They look at each other and for a while, Will can only hear the rain and their breaths calming down.
“We should get some sleep,” Mike says quietly and leaves the other thing unspoken. Will nods. It’s okay.
And if Mike’s hand holding his under the covers helps him fall asleep, so what?
Will wakes up to a world that’s too bright. And too early.
He groans as he opens his eyes and is immediately assaulted by sunlight.
But that’s not the only thing assaulting his senses. There’s an arm thrown around his mid section. His eyes drift sideways.
Mike is still asleep. He’s breathing softly, his hair falling into his face. And Will suddenly remembers.
Mike’s lips.
Mike’s hands.
The warmth.
The moan.
Oh god.
He can never look Mike in the face again.
He’s about ready to move to France and live as a street artist when Mike’s arm around him moves, his hand brushing against his hip.
“Good morning..”
It’s quiet and raw and Will suddenly has a new thing to add to his list of things-he-should-not-be-thinking-about-in-public. And after the previous night, that list has gotten significantly longer.
“Good morning…” he replies quietly and turns to face Mike. For a moment, neither says anything. It doesn’t feel like they have to.
Will then reaches and pushes away the hair falling in Mike’s eyes. Just as he’s pulling his hand back, Mike catches it and presses a soft kiss to Will’s wrist.
Will takes a shaky breath and the list just keeps getting longer. Mike doesn’t let go, lacing their fingers together.
“So…last night…” he starts and Will feels the heat rising in his cheeks.
“That was…”
Super embarrassing? Something I will never stop thinking about?
Before he can decide what to say, Mike brings up their hands and kisses his knuckles.
“Really nice.”
Will meets his eyes and feels the pressure loosen up. There’s a slight blush across Mike’s cheeks.
The morning sun catches in Mike's hair, turning a few stubborn curls almost golden.
Maybe it's because Mike isn't embarrassed.
Maybe it's because he's still holding his hand.
Either way, it's nice.
“Yeah, it was…”he says and then finally allows himself to laugh a little, “ I can’t believe I did…that.”
That. That sound. He cringes just thinking about it.
Mike, however, looks very pleased with himself.
“I liked it.”
Oh.
Will feels that warmth in his stomach.
Mike liked it.
He liked it.
“Although you were a bit loud…” he snickers and Will freezes.
“Oh my god! Do you think he heard us?”
“Who?”
Who?!
“Harry, obviously! He was just next door…”
Mike stills for a moment.
“God I hope not. He would never let us live that down.”
“Never.”
And maybe it’s the Harry in the conversation, or the fact that they can talk about this, but Will feels the corners of his mouth turn up and before he can help it he starts laughing.
Mike, too. Just lying there and laughing about nothing like a couple of idiots.
Or just a couple. Will likes that more.
“Next time, we need more privacy…” Mike muses once the laughter naturally dies out. Then his eyes widen as if he only then registered what he just said.
“I-I mean, if you want to do that again-”
“I do.”
Will realizes a beat too late he might have said that too quickly.
“Not today, obviously,” he adds. Mike chuckles.
“Obviously.”
“But someday…yeah,” he admits quietly. Mike squeezes his hand.
“Someday.”
Mike lets go of his hand and puts it on his cheek instead, pulling him in for a soft, gentle kiss.
Will catches himself hoping it would be sooner than later, but before he can begin to think about that, there’s a knock on the door.
“Will? Is Mike with you?”
Will sighs in defeat, his face still mere inches from Mike’s, who seems to find the situation very funny.
“Yeah.”
Nothing in the apartment 4B escapes Harry Osborn.