Chapter Text
three
A fluke.
Will deems it a fluke.
See, it’s not that he’s in denial—he is—but it’s just, it makes no sense whatsoever. Why would Mike kiss him just to clean up his lips? Did he forget napkins are a thing? Did he forget how to use his words? Was he just trying to make a joke out of it? Was Will’s mouth even dirty or was that some sort of excuse? Will has too many questions and he’s unfortunately too chicken to confront Mike about it, because…
Well, it’s Mike. And Will isn’t sure he can have this conversation without revealing that he’s been hopelessly in love with his straight best friend forever. No. That’s a level of humiliation that Will just cannot handle. He’d rather just—live his life. Have his best friend in it. Let go of any silly fantasies. It’s better than rejection, it’s better than admitting it out loud.
He ripped off the band-aid, all those years ago, and since then it’s been fine. It’s been under control. He doesn’t want to throw himself off a cliff over it anymore. He’s not in physical pain whenever he as much as glances at Mike anymore. It aches, dull, steady now, and he’s so used to it that Will’s able to forget about it and move on with his life. He has his best friend. It is fine.
So this must be a fluke. Mike got his wires crossed. Got carried away by the movie argument, did a heat-of-the-moment thing—Mike is famous for those. It’s fine. The way he doesn’t address this either, without the excuse of alcohol and a hangover, makes it all the more likely that he’s just… embarrassed, or something like that. He’s acting so natural about it; Will would think he’s forcing it if he didn’t know Mike.
He is so confused.
Barely a couple days after that fluke, though, Will comes down with a cold from hell, to the point where he can barely be on his feet for a few seconds without losing his balance. Mike becomes an overprotective mess over it, obsessively calling every mother they know for possible remedies. Mrs. Henderson suggests lots of snuggling cats, or plushies, as well as tea and soothing music. Karen makes Mike memorize a homemade soup recipe from her mother’s mother, while Will’s mom practically orders him to bury Will under enough blankets that he can’t breathe.
Mrs. Sinclair proves to be the most sensitive and recites a list of drugstore remedies for Mike to buy. It’s a funny ordeal, though Will doesn’t remember much of it because the fever gets him around that time, which sends Mike into even more of a panic because Will can’t form words anymore.
He’s extremely cold. His toes are freezing despite the two layers of socks Mike managed to cover his feet with, and the three blankets. It's seeping up his legs, flourishing in his hands as well, making him feel unsettled. Will just—he doesn’t do well with cold. Hasn’t for years. He hates getting sick, always has, but it got immensely worse after his time in the Upside Down and his possession. Just thinking about it makes him shiver, a whimper escaping his lips as his eyes slip closed.
“Will?” Mike calls, making him stir a little, but he feels frozen. He can’t move. It reminds him of the stiff feeling of his arms wrapped around his knees, as he hid in Castle Byers, and he feels his heartbeat accelerating with the memory, his breath becoming shallow. “Oh, shit—Will? What do you need, can you—can you talk? Will? God, please, talk to me, what—?”
Hands at his face, fingers curling behind his ear, palms on his cheeks. They're warm and big, soft in some places, rougher in others. Will leans into the comforting touch, lips trembling, and a sob finally escapes him from the depths of his chest, mixing in with an awful wet cough.
He didn't have that warmth in the Upside Down. He didn't have this comfort. There was only him, constantly jittery, terrified, cold, shaky. He got sick while in there, too, the air toxic, logging an illness into his throat that didn't go away for more than a few weeks after he was saved. And then there was—the vine.
Just thinking about it makes Will feel like he's choking on it again. The memory is fuzzy; he was halfway gone when it happened. But he remembers the violation of the intrusion. He remembers not breathing, for what felt like forever, whatever was left of his mind slipping away as his rabbiting heartbeat finally slowed down. He remembers dying.
There's shuffling and the attack of cold air on his skin as his blankets are lifted, making him sob even harder—but then arms wrap around his frame, pulling him in, tucking the blankets so tight it feels constricting. Hands grab at him, eliminating any space as Mike makes him tuck his head against his neck. Draw from his heat.
“I'm here, okay?” Mike says the words almost right up against his ear, and Will hiccups, nods. Mike's arms tighten around him. “I'm not going anywhere any time soon. It's okay. Let it out. I'm not leaving you out of my sight, no way in hell.”
The words wash over him like a hot bath would and Will's sobs start up again, this time with relief. His nose is running and it's gross, mixing with his tears and cold sweat, but all Mike does is squeeze him even tighter. It’d be suffocating if it wasn’t the best feeling in the world.
“Can you wrap yourself around me?” Mike asks, his voice so, so, so soft. Mike's voice is always more delicate than usual around Will, just this side of open, but this is impossibly tender and Will can't believe how lucky he is. So he moves his arms and legs, and it's hell, but he manages to hug himself to Mike's body, pressing them fully together from head to toe. “Okay, good, good job, that's perfect. Try to breathe with me, alright? Let's calm down. You can do this.”
They spend forever trying to get Will to breathe properly, instead of hyperventilating. The rise and fall of Mike's chest against his own is the most soothing thing he's ever felt, and he's captivated by the feeling, by the rhythm of it. He can just about feel Mike's heartbeat against his lips, since they're pressed to his neck, and it makes Will feel as if maybe he's found his new favorite song.
He's still crying. There's no stopping that. The tears go on, they run freely with the occasional sob, and eventually Mike pulls back and holds his face with a hand, bringing Will in.
“Sorry, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he mumbles against his lips, over and over, pecking him non-stop, kissing his cheek, his nose, tasting the tears sliding down his cheeks. Will doesn't understand what he's apologizing for. “I'm here, I'm here, you're here, Will, with me. You're okay. You're right here.”
Mike's kisses are soft and hot like a flame. Will remembers a burning, bloody red heart set on a painting several years ago now and somehow finds it in himself to blush about it, with Mike's lips pressed up against his own, against his skin, burning in their wake. Will supposes that maybe his artistic imagination wasn't all that far off.
They spend all of Will's illness like this. Mike's body heat is like a balm and even though he isn't the cure to it—he keeps getting fed medicine after medicine, tea after tea, soup after soup—Will knows that he would've had, emotionally, the worst time without Mike's support, without Mike's reassuring words and affections to keep him from spiraling. It's embarrassing; Will doesn't like being a burden, but the second he tried to imply that he could take care of himself once his fever went down a little, Mike glared at him and threatened to tie him to bed, looking like he'd have no trouble being the reason for Will's demise if he doesn't cooperate.
He didn't have the energy to argue. He suspects that Mike poisoned his meals, and tells him as much. It earns him an overly aggressive forehead kiss.
On the third day, Will recovers a little bit more clarity, and notices the roughness to Mike's voice, the way he's sniffing and wiping his nose. “You're getting sick too.”
“It's fine,” Mike's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. Will instantly feels guilty, but a hand tangles itself in his hair and pulls back, forcing him to look Mike in the eye. He looks exhausted, but pleased with himself. His smile makes Will’s heart flutter. “I can deal with a little cold.”
“I'm bed ridden,” Will shakes his head, just slightly, because he has a migraine. “It's not little.”
“Then you'll just have to nurse me back to health,” Mike shrugs, like it's nothing, and Will sighs, not even trying to hide how flustered that makes him. “I'd be happy to let you coddle me. I've told you before, I'd be a great patient, unlike you, Mr. I don't want more soup.”
Will’s brain to mouth filter vanishes. “I'm starting to think you just wanna see me in a nurse uniform."
Mike turns so red so fast it makes Will's eyes strain, and instead of playing along with the joke, Mike leans in and kisses him.
This one is different. Deeper. Searching. The brush of Mike's tongue feels purposeful, as do the teeth pulling at his lower lip. Will shivers, considers kissing back, but his brain is so sluggish and lost that the thought comes so late, Mike is already pulling back.
“Maybe next Halloween,” Mike suggests, licking his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, full of something husky that he doesn't think comes from his impending cold. Will stares, feeling the electricity in the tiny amount of space between them. He can't even remember what he said. “Come on, take a nap. You've been awake all day.”
Will hums, lowering his chin and snuggling himself closer to Mike. “’kay.”
There's a snort, a charmed chuckle, and then Mike runs a hand up and down his back, fingers briefly scratching at his scalp, making Will fall asleep in seven seconds flat.
four
Will hasn't been able to look Mike in the eye since he got sick.
Mike either hasn't noticed or doesn't mind it, because once again, there's no change in his behavior. Sometimes, Will catches him staring, more often than he ever did before, but he isn't sure if he's just noticing it more, hyper-aware of Mike as he is now, or if Mike is just doing it more often. Or, more obviously than before.
It's not awkward, but it feels like there's a lot going unspoken between them and only Will seems aware of it. Only he seems confused. He nurses Mike back to health when he inevitably comes down with his own cold, but to Will’s chagrin and pettiness, it ends up not being nearly as bad as his own, and then, well… they just keep sleeping in the same bed. They keep platonically cuddling, and sometimes Mike keeps his lips pressed to the back of Will’s neck when they do. Their routines remain the same. Their conversations aren't strained; in fact, they just seem to be growing longer and longer, deeper.
More than once, they’ve had to force themselves to go to bed instead of finishing off whatever topic they’re stuck on. Somehow, their grades aren’t suffering because of it, and Will suspects it’s because their study sessions are almost disgustingly perfect. They just seem to be unable to annoy the other. It reminds Will of their friendship before the Upside Down, when they wanted to spend every waking moment together. It makes his chest warm, nostalgia filling him up to the point of giddiness.
Except it’s not really the same, is it? Because they’re older now. And they’ve gone through a lot, both together and apart. So, sometimes, when they're pressed together at night, holding onto each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Will remembers the clearest memory from his bed ridden time, that one kiss—hot, on the edge of heavy. Wanting. It'll make him shiver and Mike immediately gets on his case about it, only for Will to put on his sleeping socks as an excuse.
They don't address it. Will doesn't know if there's anything to address at all. And he figures, fuck, the end of the year is drawing so near, and he’s so excited for Christmas. He can deal with this after. He promises it to himself, even, as a New Year's resolution. He'll talk to Mike about it, regardless of whether his feelings get involved or not, because they kinda already are and he needs to put a stop to it before it gets worse, no matter how much it’s gonna hurt.
After all, how is he supposed to live in peace when he vividly remembers Mike practically admitting he'd like to see him dressed up as a nurse? Some things have to be unearthed because Will just can't handle that shit. Jesus Christ.
The holiday break finally arrives, and the two of them make the drive back to Hawkins. Mike drops Will off at home before heading to his own, and Will spends the next couple days leading up to Christmas catching up with his mom, Hopper, his siblings—El is absolutely glowing lately, as well-adapted to normal life as Will has ever seen her, happier than ever. She’s taken up a job as an assistant at the library, but Hopper keeps making non-too-subtle hints about her joining him at the station, or training to be a teacher at the school. Whatever she wants, really. It makes Will dizzy with joy to see his sister like this.
Jon arrives from New York on day two with the biggest smile and a million brilliant pictures to show them. He had to drop off Nancy at her house, as well, and Will tries not to think too hard about how similarly intertwined he and his brother are with the Wheelers. Instead, Will basks in his family’s love, trying to guess what presents they might have gotten him. Hopper looks continuously frustrated about Will’s attempts to make them all slip up, which makes him think he’s been right about more than one of his suggestions.
Will decidedly forgets all about Mike’s kisses, even when they call each other at night to exchange whatever gossip they’ve caught wind of. Most of it is related to Mike’s extended family showing up—one of his cousins has a new husband and thus a new car, someone is getting divorced and Mike’s disappointed it’s not his parents, his grandpa keeps confusing him with Nancy because they showed up with virtually the same haircut—but they also make plans, tidying up loose ends in regards to the campaign they planned together, figuring out how they’re gonna fit their presents in the car for the ride back to school.
Christmas dinner is a bit of a mess, as always—Mom overcooks the food, just a little bit, which is better than other years but just as tasty as usual. Hopper almost breaks a wine bottle, and El gets a little too bubbly with eggnog for the first time. She refuses to take off the sweater their mom knitted for her, and keeps asking Will and Jon for piggyback rides. Will’s almost sad it isn’t Thanksgiving, because then he would’ve had an excuse to tell everyone in explicit detail how much he loves them and how thankful he is for them. He tells them anyways.
The day after Christmas, they sleep in really late, and Jon cooks breakfast at around one p.m. As Will walks right past him in the kitchen, Jon reaches out and ruffles his hair, which is a little awkward because Will’s the same height as him now, but just as heartfelt as it’s ever been. “You seem happy. How’s Mike?”
“Aren’t you dating his sister?” Will quips back, because quite frankly, the idea of talking about Mike with Jon of all people still terrifies him. He was in the van. He hugged him at the pizza place. Even after coming out, Will’s managed to avoid the topic for years and he has no desire to revisit it. Jon sends him a look, to which Will squirms. “I mean, he’s—good. He’s fine. We’re good.”
God, that sounds like a lie and it isn’t. Jon hums in consideration, looking him up and down before showing him mercy. “Do you want your eggs scrambled?”
Later that afternoon, Will and El make their way to the Wheeler’s, and Karen practically ties them down to the dining table and feeds them more food than they can stomach. Dustin arrives not soon after to the same treatment, and then Max and Lucas become the next victims. Mike whines about it the whole time, wanting to kidnap them all into the basement, to which his mom pulls his ear and tells him to behave like he’s still seven.
Will laughs harder than he should at it, and Mike grumbles about unfairness to him as he takes a seat beside him, scooting his chair over so they’re pressed together. Mike’s elbow digs into Will’s side, but that’s fine. It’s honestly nothing compared to the affection they’ve shared in their dorm room.
Once they’re done eating, though, the six of them practically rush downstairs and gather around the D&D table, taking their life-long designated seats. They exchange Secret Santa presents and Mike is extremely offended at Max’s idea of a Christmas gift for him being a gift-card to the nearest Gap for all of five seconds, before she pulls out his actual gift, it being a signed copy of his favorite book that Will may or may not have helped her get.
Mike tries to catch his eye when the reveal is made, but Will ignores him in favor of thanking Lucas for the new, fancy sketchbook and drawing pens he got him, and beaming at the way Max gets flustered about the hand-made stickers he drew up for her skateboard. He doesn’t get to see what El got Dustin and what Dustin got Lucas, but he knows Mike got El a set of Jane Austen books, and overall, it’s a good, sweet memory that Will knows he’ll always cherish.
It’s probably the happiest Will’s been in a while. Not that he isn’t happy rooming with Mike—sometimes he can’t believe that their dream plans of going to college together, living together, came true—but there’s something special about the basement, all their friends together, a holiday-themed D&D campaign that Mike and Will half-assed on the way to Hawkins and have been fixing up over the phone.
It makes him feel warm and cozy, a feeling that only increases when Lucas brings out drinks, a new tradition that’s been present since senior year. This time, though, college has seasoned them all in the highs and lows of getting drunk, so he doesn’t bring out a couple six-packs of beer. Instead, this year, there’s a vodka bottle, another of tequila, and lots of orange juice that quickly loosens Will’s tongue.
“Enough about us, though, what about you guys?” Dustin is asking, patting Mike’s leg, since most of the conversation post-campaign has involved their friends’ experiences and anecdotes. Mike’s sitting in the middle of the couch, Will is pressed against Mike’s left side, Dustin leaning against the right armchair. He hands Will a refill of his drink over Mike, though he doesn’t get to grab it because Mike gets there first, taking a sip before letting Will have it. Dustin stares and blinks. “Nothing new to tell? For realsies?”
Mike opens and closes his mouth several times, hesitating, and then exchanges a look with Will that he simply doesn’t understand. Mike keeps looking at him, too, so Will just shrugs, having no idea what he wants, as rare as that is. Mike clears his throat. “Yeah, no, nothing new, man. It’s been pretty quiet.”
“Really?” Max asks, a note of skepticism to her voice that Will can’t help but question himself. She glances between him and Mike and tilts her head, her grin mischievous. Will considers their seating arrangements: they’re pressed as close together as possible, Mike has an arm thrown around his shoulders, Will feels smothered in the best way possible. Nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn’t get what she’s reacting like this for. “Not even like… a hot date? Not a single drop of love in the horizon for either of you?”
Mike tenses up and glares at Max, and Will gets the feeling that they both know something that he doesn’t. “Nope. No one.”
“Actually, I mean,” Will starts, his words slurring a little. Jesus, he’s had way too many drinks. Mike’s neck audibly cracks from how fast he turns his head to look at Will, who just blinks blearily up at him and stares at his freckles as he speaks. “I’ve gotten a few numbers.”
Mike’s mouth falls open with what appears to be shock. Lucas snorts, and goes: “Well, you always get a lot of numbers. It’s kinda unfair, actually, how do you even pull so much—”
“I sure hope this doesn’t lead to you asking for advice, stalker.”
“What? No, no, no!” Lucas denies quickly, but there’s a smile on his lips, an even wider one on Max’s. Will sighs in jealousy; they’re so cute. He can never decide whether he’s so happy for them that it’s gross, or they’re so gross that he makes it all the way to happy. He wants a boyfriend. He wants Mike. Life's unfair. “I mean, just saying—but like, Will, have you called any of those numbers? You never do.”
Mike’s eyes are heavy on his face. He can feel them practically burning a hole through his skin. Will shakes his head and feels the glare die down, just a little, though he doesn’t understand why it’s even present at all.
“I mean, it’s mostly girls,” Will shrugs, and Dustin actually giggles over it, finding it immensely funny as usual that Will is such a chick magnet. “A couple guys too, though. From class.”
El opens her mouth, her eyes curious, but Mike beats her to any words, tone clipped. “You never told me that.”
Will shifts his eyes back to him and frowns. “I didn’t think it was that important, honestly.”
“Are you gonna call any boys?” El asks before Mike can continue, her eyes shining with amusement. Will looks at her and hums, thinking about it, trying to remember which guys even gave him their numbers. It was literally just two, but the alcohol is making it muddy, so he just shrugs. It doesn’t matter. He’s already head over heels for the boy cuddling him right now.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, and feels the way Mike’s hand almost painfully squeezes his shoulder. He side-eyes him and the grip loosens, but it doesn’t make Will feel any less confused. “I’m not really interested.”
“You should lose the numbers,” Mike suggests, his voice surprisingly serious.
“That seems…” Will frowns again, licking his lips, watching how Mike’s eyes glance down to look at the gesture before meeting Will’s gaze again. He considers the suggestion and sighs, because, it’s just—what if his love for Mike makes him miss out on something else? It’d be nice, to go on a date or two. To pretend there’s nothing risky about it, to pretend people wouldn’t hate him for it, to pretend he doesn’t hate himself for it, to pretend he isn’t in love with someone he has no chance with. “I don’t know, is it necessary? Shouldn’t I have… options?”
Silence fills the room. Everyone’s staring at him, at Mike, waiting for his reaction because his expression has suddenly frozen into something that Will doesn’t recognize, which honestly scares him, because he knows Mike better than he knows himself.
“Options? Is it necessary?” Mike repeats, voice tight, his frown mirroring Will’s—but there’s something off about his. He’s not confused like Will, no, Mike looks upset. Suddenly, Will isn’t feeling as relaxed as he was just a few seconds ago. “Is it? Having, having options, how could you even ask—you know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
And just like that, Mike is getting up from the couch, taking away all of Will’s warmth, and making his way up the stairs with angry, hurried steps. Will stares after him in shock, blinking and shaking his head and rubbing his eyes because he has no idea what the fuck just happened, but somehow, he has a feeling it’s his fault.
He looks at everyone’s equally shocked faces, lingering on El, who throws a glance up the stairs and then at Will, rather pointedly. Will lets out a sigh, confused out of his mind, and then silently stands, clutching his drink, to follow Mike up the stairs. He almost trips over a brand-new Christmas themed carpet at the basement door, since the Wheelers are very extra about the holiday. It’s not like his mom is any better, but Karen goes all out every year. Probably overcompensating for something, as Mike says, but Will doesn’t let himself get distracted by the pretty Christmas lights and jolly décor for too long before he’s making his way up the stairs and into Mike’s room.
He knows he’s in his room. Mike doesn’t like to linger around any other space in his house if the basement is already occupied, much less so during holidays where he can accidentally run into some family member he barely knows. So Will doesn’t even bother to knock as he opens the door, feeling a little dizzy. He’s truly had too much to drink.
Mike’s sitting on his bed glaring at the floor, and doesn’t glance at him as Will closes the door behind him. He leans against it, knocks his head against the wood, taking a second to force himself to get his thoughts straight because god, he’s wasted and he just doesn’t understand what is going on with Mike, with him, between them, and hasn’t for a while.
“Mike?” Will asks, his voice smaller than he expected it to come out, unsure and afraid—genuine to what he’s feeling. It instantly gets him Mike’s eyes on him, and the frown on his face softens almost unwillingly the second their eyes meet. “I… what is going on right now? Seriously. I’m really confused.”
“You’re confused? Seriously? I—” Mike starts, chokes up as he looks Will up and down… and seemingly gives up. It instantly makes Will alarmed because even though Mike is a little firecracker sometimes, they rarely argue. And even then, Mike always speaks his mind with Will. It makes him lean off the door to try and approach him, but he stumbles, almost drops his drink—hands on his arms, pulling him up, catching him. Mike’s grip is tight. When did he move? “You’ve had too much. You need to lay down, c’mon.”
Will’s feet move on their own, following Mike’s beckoning as he guides him to his bed. He looks up at him, staring at his downturned lips, the unhappy furrow of his eyebrows. Mike takes his drink from Will, sets it on his nightstand, and with his hands now free, Will reaches out and grabs Mike’s face between his hands, studying the way he freezes and stares down at him, his face carefully pulled into a mask of nonchalance.
“What’s going on?” Will asks again, a desperate edge to his tone. Mike’s jaw clenches, and it makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. Mike isn’t looking him in the eye, isn’t hunching to facilitate it either, and it leaves Will stranded. “Mike? Are you okay? Please, I really don’t understand—”
“You’re drunk,” Mike breaks in, and takes Will’s wrists in his hands to slip his hands away from his face. The gesture hurts. Mike makes him sit down and then unexpectedly kneels down on the floor, taking off Will’s shoes for him with a care that Will’s only ever seen directed at his art. Although, that might be a lie. When he was sick, he thinks he saw some of this. “I’m fine, okay? Don’t worry. Just lay down and get some rest.”
“Mike,” Will calls again. He feels incapable of saying much else, even as Mike stands up and takes Will’s jacket off him, too. He pushes him into the bed, goes as far as to arrange his legs, and part of Will hates this with passion, feels pathetic and dumb and useless. The rest is indescribably concerned by Mike’s distant behavior. “Mike, please—”
“Will, it’s okay,” Mike insists, and goes to turn off the light, leaving just his bedside lamp on. He tucks Will into bed, and then sits at his side, on the edge, eyes shifty. He looks like he wants to bold. “Sleep, I mean it. Do you need anything else?”
Will shakes his head no. Mike stands. “I’m gonna call your mom, and get you some water for when you wake up—”
“Stay,” Will begs, and blindly reaches for Mike’s wrist. He manages to catch it, but only because his voice made Mike freeze. The way he looks down at Will now speaks of disbelief and shock—and then it softens. Will doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Mike gulps, like he’s forcing his feelings down. “Please. Stay.”
“Okay,” Mike agrees, letting the word out in a breath like it’s been torn from him. He nods and grimaces, as if to himself, and then he’s taking off his shoes and stepping out of his jeans. He pauses, staring at Will. “Do you wanna take your pants off?”
Is this a proposition? Will’s drunk brain provides, and he practically shoves the thought down into a little box covered in little spikes in the furthest corner of his mind. None of that. “Yeah.”
Mike takes off his jeans. It’s—humiliating, honestly. And Will tries to help, changing his mind halfway through Mike undoing his belt, but he’s having none of it, shushing his protests and softly slapping his hands away. When that’s done, Mike drops Will’s pants to the floor right next to his own. And then he gets under the sheets with him, tucking them both in.
It’s not close enough. Will turns around to face him and tangles their legs together, but he’s too tired and afraid to do more. The mood is—he doesn’t get it. Mike stares at him, finally making eye contact with him in what feels like forever, half of his face bathed in yellow from the lamp. There must be something in Will’s face that gives away his internal turmoil, because the longer Mike looks at him, the less angry he looks. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to look at him at all.
“Fuck,” Mike mumbles, and then he’s bringing Will into him like he always does. The whiplash of it startles him, and Will barely can make sense of where his limbs are going before Mike’s pressing his lips against his own. It’s a harsh kiss, desperate, and Will gasps with it, letting out a confused whimper—Mike draws back just as fast, and for once, his face is flaming. His eyes are teary, but Will has no words in him, eyes slipping closed. Mike makes him tuck his head under his chin. “Fuck, fuck, shit. Okay. Shit.”
Mike curses out loud like that for a while. Will falls asleep to it.
He just doesn’t get it.