Chapter Text
Confidence came to Will slowly. It was a combined effort of everyone, really.
Lucas was quick to whisk him off to the gym before everyone moved in their own directions, Will having drawn the short straw between the rest of the party's adamant refusal and Lucas' unshakable demands. It was awkward at first—Will being so thoroughly behind in the world of fitness and intimidated by every single stationary death-trap. Lucas compromised by scheduling their sessions late to avoid heavy traffic, but it barely helped.
Even with Lucas' coaching and reassurance, the first month was nothing but shame, pain, and failure. His body rejected everything from treadmills to bench-presses and Will was thoroughly humiliated on how badly his knees wobbled during simple squats.
Then, month two came. Suddenly, after one incidental morning brushing his teeth shirtless, he noticed shadows. The budding definition on his shoulders, the flex of his pecs when he moved his arms—a more shaped curve of his ass.
Instantly, morning routines became exciting and a measuring tape took permanent residence on the bathroom counter. Will became the one to add days to their routine because now each drop of sweat in his eye felt like a reward.
The high didn't last long. Lucas tried explaining it once, but Will still didn't fully grasp 'resting metabolism' and 'bulking' and all that. He'd begun eating more, for truly the first time in his life, because with Hopper's additional income to the family and his increased hunger, he simply could.
There was so much support and reassurance—from all of the party—but Will hit another wall quickly.
He was putting on pounds fast. At first, he chalked it up to muscle growth. It made sense, he could visibly see that.
The first appearance of stretch marks was jarring and terrifying. During one cursory side-profile inspection, noting how adding hip thrusts toned his ass and legs, he saw the developing pink stripes carved into his waist.
He spent the week in a haze of panic and confusion, trying to ask pointed questions without drawing too much suspicion. When the party cornered him in Mike's basement during an alcohol-soothed movie marathon, Will spilled everything.
His deep insecurity of getting fat, of being a man with stretch marks, of only being nineteen and dealing with all this—of feeling so incredibly unattractive.
He was met instantly with love and acceptance and it quickly turned into a show-and-tell of sorts with the party revealing their own insecurities. It helped him settle, but the claws had sunk deep.
It was also the night that his relationship with Mike changed permanently.
The party had stayed over, camping out in the basement, but Mike had pulled Will up to his bedroom. The house was asleep, the only noise coming from the wind outside Mike's window.
Will was, at once, both bone-deep exhausted from the emotional turmoil, but also thrumming with anxiety by being alone with Mike after that. He'd barely spoken a word during Will's tear-soaked rambling nor afterwards, and the uncertainty of what Mike wanted right now was actually killing him.
When the door clicked shut behind him, Will collapsed onto the edge of the bed, resigned to his fate. He'd made it nineteen years; that had to mean something.
Just as instantly, having been hyper-aware of his body ever since Monday morning, Will felt his stomach bunch into small rolls when he sat, the edge of his jeans digging painfully into his hip bones from the angle. Nauseating shame crawled up his throat and he quickly plucked his shirt away from his body, trying to hide the evidence of his failure and shoving down the humiliating need to unbutton his fucking pants for relief.
"Are you okay?"
Mike still stood by the door, fidgeting in a way that mirrored Will's own internal chaos. Will wrung his hands together, confusion overtaking. What did Mike have to be nervous about? He wasn't the one who had to face the reality of why his jeans are getting tight.
Will looked away. "I'm… I'll be fine. Survived worse, remember?"
Fine for future Will involved cutting every single second-helping, drill sergeant levels of calorie counting, and very likely never being able to touch a slice of pizza again. It was a painful future to think about, but Will would manage. Being gay limited his chances of finding love already, being unattractive on top of that would crush his stupid little needy heart entirely.
Mike keeps shifting from one foot to the other and Will has to look away before he freaks the fuck out in return. He rubs his hands over his thighs, feeling the give under the taut fabric.
"I, um… Coul- Don't think—Fuck!" The sudden yell snaps Will out of his thoughts instantly and he stares at Mike. His face is buried in his hands, glasses pushed carelessly askew, and Will is shocked to find him… Embarrassed? Anxious? He can't be disgusted, otherwise Mike wouldn't have brought him up here.
"Mike?" Will asks, gently, wringing his hands together.
Mike pushes the glasses into his hair and scrubs his face with his palms. Eventually, the hands drop and Will sees how his face is twisted into a frown. But.. not quite—not with his eyebrows raised in a way that could be pleading.
"Please don't… Fuck, this is so fucking weird and I feel so goddamm stupid right now, so I need you to really not judge me here even though you totally should. I don't fucking know why—" Mike begins gesturing wildly, losing himself in the runaway train of thought. His arms throw wide, fidgeting to readjust his glasses, but Will is far too focused on his darting eyes. "I just, ever since you.. I…"
The sentence cuts off in his throat and he doesn't bother to throw more words out. Instead, his eyes finally meet Will's and they hold. It's dim in the room, but he notices the moment Mike's eyes flick down. A kneejerk desire to hide electrocutes his limbs, but the feeling doesn't stay. Not with the way Mike's face falls soft.
A deep sigh tumbles from Mike's lungs and he shrinks, moving to drop himself onto the bed right next to Will. Their thighs touch and every atom of contact sets his skin ablaze. A long moment of silence stretches out as Mike stares at his bouncing knee.
"I, uhm. I need to tell you something," Mike mutters, clearing his throat. He glances at Will. Mike sucks his lip between his teeth and Will feels about ready to jump out of his skin.
"What's going on, Mike?"
The leg settles. Mike turns to him fully and Will is pulled into his eyes with the intensity of a whirlpool.
"I know you liked me."
Will's breath catches in his throat. If not for Mike's soft expression, the walls would have closed in on him.
"And it's okay! It's okay. I, uh, figured out when I asked El about the painting and stuff, and... Fuck, I know where I want to go with this, but I'm so fucking…" Mike's fingers dig into his knees like they're about to be plucked from his body.
Will can feel tears brimming in his eyes and his heart jackhammers in his chest. He can't. Mike chose now of all times to have this conversation? He's going to throw up and he's going to aim directly at Mike.
"I… I was.. I was hoping you-that you kinda still did," Mike says. He looks up at Will with his framed doe eyes and bitten lips.
With that one hopeful sentence, Mike Wheeler became an entirely different man in Will's eyes. It wasn't in the way he expected, either. Will had always assumed something was different, given the maybe-sorta-ifyousquint flirting, baffling romantic incompatibility with Jane, and unexplained emotional shut-downs, but…
He's dreaming. He has to be. There's no dimension or alternate reality where his stupid fucking crush would ever be entertained, let alone reciprocated.
Was it reciprocated?
Mike curls in on himself, gaze stuck to the floor. Will can't be bothered to alleviate the tension while feeling like something impossibly life-changing is taking place. He hasn't felt this terrified in what both feels like forever and far too soon.
"I never let myself ask these questions before. The, uhm, what do I really want versus what everyone expects I should be happy with. But with… Everything over and El and I on much better terms now that we're just friends, I just—I had time to think.
"And I think," Mike continues, finding courage in the carpet, "that I'm not… Straight. I don't—I'm not sure yet, but, I just—"
Will's heart stops in his chest, then stutters and kickstarts.
Mike..?
"You..."
Mike glances at him and his face pinches. Will barely finds it in himself to snap his jaw shut.
The knee begins jumping again, but Will can't focus past the traitorous parasite of hope slithering about his guts.
Mike picks at his jeans restlessly, but it takes a moment, and a very dramatic gulp, for him to continue.
"I haven't told anyone, yet. I've been sitting with it, y'know? Making sure, feeling things out and, uh… Reflecting."
Mike's voice grows soft, anxiety be damned. He pinches his lips together, shining eyes darting between Will's.
His world tilts on an axis, lungs collapsing and heart beating into his ears.
Because Mike Wheeler is looking at him with a gaze that couldn't be rationalized anymore.
His mouth mimes the movement two times before his voice works. "Mike?"
"Please tell me you still like me, Will. That I didn't mess up for good, that I'm not too late."
Will's stomach twists into nauseating knots and tears instantly blur his vision, but he can't move. Mike is a live-wire connected to him by the thigh and very suddenly, Will's body focuses on that point of contact with precision.
It's too fast. It's too much.
The second tears slip down his cheeks, he kicks into motion, turning away and standing on legs that feel like rubber. His thigh burns with the chill that replaces the heat Mike had given him.
"Will? Are you okay? I'm sorry if I ruined things, fuck, I was just so—fuck, I'm sorry. I just, I didn't want to hide anything from you—not you—and you get it, but you don't… It's-it's fine if you really did move on! It's okay, it's okay, I don't want things to be weird between us anymore, I can—I can get over it, I—"
Will presses his clasped fists into his mouth, curling in on himself. "Please tell me this isn't a joke."
It can't be real.
His body tears between the two possibilities; that Mike could really-actually-for-real like him back or that this is all some elaborate pity party or something much, much more realistic in comparison.
His breath catches in his throat by a wet hiccup and Mike is at his side immediately. Out of his peripheral, Will sees Mike's arm stutter in the air before it lands on his shoulder—a flash of acute hesitation. Mike's hand covers his entire shoulder blade and the touch feels so intense.
For a very split second, Will wishes things could return to ten minutes ago when things were much more nicely contained in his little manageable bubble.
"It's… It's not a joke, Will. I wouldn't do that to you, I… Not… Not anymore."
"What?"
Mike shrinks under Will's watery gaze, but he doesn't pull back or look away.
The something that Will had been locking away for years began to stretch its wings.
"The… The fight we had in the rain; the roller rink. I never apologized for what I said then. I didn't know—it's not an excuse!—I just didn't know why I said those things, but I always knew it was wrong. But, I-I get it now. And uh, I'm sorry. I never wanted to-to hurt you. Never. I never want to hurt you again."
It's…
It's so much.
Will wipes his dripping face on his sleeve and sniffs. But inside, he simmers. His limbs feel tingly and a current of electric ice radiates from his chest. It's not unpleasant, reminding him of Christmas mornings and unexpected school cancellations. The overwhelming hope of something so pleasant to be given the opportunity to indulge in.
A raw feeling so foreign and so needy surfaces and Will doesn't even fight it. Mike opened the door and he's peering through.
"This," Will starts, feeling so small, yet so exposed, "is your last chance to say it's a joke."
Mike's mouth opens. His glasses catch the faint glow of moonlight and it tugs Will like a siren song. Will steps closer until he blocks out the glare and the stippling of freckles across Mike's nose comes into sharp relief.
"And if I don't?"
Mike's hand slips down his bicep and squeezes.
"If it's not a joke?"
It's a kneejerk reaction to flex.
To Will's horror and selfish excitement, Mike's eyes dart down immediately.
Will does it again.
Mike's fingers dig in, hand just barely spanning half the circumference.
"If it's not a joke," Will says, getting a dizzying dose of intoxicating power by the way Mike's eyes snap right back up, "then I want to.. I…"
It's right there. The door is open. The music is so fucking sweet on the other side and all Will needs to do is walk through, but it's so terrifying.
They can never recover from this—can never go back to how things were if this line is crossed. If Mike decides he's actually not into it or things just don't work, Will can't see himself coming out the other side unscathed. He vividly pictures a future-him so miserable and lifeless, he might as well be a shade of the underworld.
The image doesn't last. Not when the thought of never even trying sends a bolt of sick panic down his spine.
Not when Mike's gaze flicks to his lips, just like they have so many times before; and now they both know why.
Will doesn't allow himself to stop, bypassing all his "polite and casual" touch protocols and grabs Mike by the waist. Mike catches on so quickly and Will only sneaks a glance of his cherry-pink lips before he leans in.
Mike's lips are so soft. Acutely, he knows that's wrong. Mike's lips are chapped and his mouth is pulled taut, but it's still better than every single fantasy Will ever dared himself to give in to.
Their noses brush and warm breath puffs over his mouth, turning Will's brain into soup.
It's his first kiss.
With the boy he's been in love with since he first learned what that word meant.
It's over so quickly, just a smush of dry lips, but the gentle, audible pop of their lips separating makes Will's hands tremble.
He curls his fingers through Mike's belt loops and dares to open his eyes.
They're still close enough to breathe in each other's warm air, and the shock of Mike's eyes being so close and so wide sends Will's heart stuttering in his chest.
He did that.
He's holding Mike by the goddamn belt loops.
The denim bites into his fingers, but he can't focus.
He can't..
The way Mike's eyes roam his face without regret. The way his head twitches forward like he's stopping himself from chasing another kiss.
It's the kind of permission and confirmation that Will had thought restrained to his deepest desires.
Will licks his lips and his stomach sets alight when Mike copies him.
A hand presses into his hip.
Long fingers sink into the flesh.
Will's arms jerk with an aborted attempt to reel Mike back in, the consuming desire washing out instantly.
Bile floods his mouth like a broken dam and he flinches at the whiplash cold plunge that seeps into every fiber of his body.
He pushes Mike away by the hips so hard that his arms fly wide to stabilize and Will can only bring a sliver of himself to feel guilty. The phantom of that hand burns into his skin.
"W-Will?"
He needs to leave. He needs to spend the next hour kneeling in front of his toilet and the next lifetime pretending like he didn't ruin every goddamn good thing in his life.
He can't fucking believe he pushed away Mike. From kissing him.
His hands tremble and the overwhelming urge to bawl nearly sends him to his knees.
"Will! What's goi-"
"I need to go." Will says it with a cutting finality, but he doesn't move. He can't, because Mike stands between him and the door and if he turns around, he knows he's going to make his earlier breakdown in the basement look like a child's fit.
He tucks his fists under his arms, curling in on himself at the soft, slow approach from behind.
"Will, I'm sorry if I-"
"That you what?" Will blinks up at the ceiling, pleading with his body to keep the tears at bay. It works to stop the flood, but strays carve lines down his cheeks regardless. "That you-that you waited until the worst possible time to do this?"
Will turns now, possessed.
"Did you think I was lying down there? Acting? That I don't feel completely fucking miserable and disgusting right now? Why did you choose fucking now?"
Mike steps back from the verbal slap and Will sucks in a wet breath, the instinctual urge to apologize—I never want you to think you can't tell me things, especially these kinds of things—but he keeps his jaw locked tight.
Mike's mouth moves in a pathetic attempt at vocalizing and Will feels the flash of hypocrisy that follows the thought.
"I'm going home." Will puts all his energy into keeping his legs steady in his attempt to sidestep Mike.
And it never works.
No matter how hard he fucking tries, nothing ever seems to go right.
Mike's hand shoots out, grabbing his shoulder—the same shoulder. "You're not."
Will's shoulders hunch, "Don't-"
"You're not disgusting. Everything you said down there, you're not. You're not ugly or fat or anything like that." Mike's words are firm, but they ghost over Will's ear like a promise. It twists his guts into knots because he wants to believe it. He deeply, truly does.
Mike's voice softens and Will finds his eyes closing and latching onto every word like a lifeline. Mike steps right in front of him, ducking his head to catch Will's eyes. "You… You look-you look amazing, Will. You got big, W—not in that way!—I mean-fuck, I mean, muscles! You, you fi… You're hot, Will. Currently."
Will can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He fixes Mike with the most intense, doubtful frown he can muster, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. Mike's hands trail down his arms until Will's hands are held. The traitorous blossom of warmth in his chest sends his breath to stutters.
Mike, because he has the self-preservation of a doormat, sees that as a sign to continue.
"You're soft. And I mean that in a good way! I'm serious! You've… You've filled out, like you're settling into your skin. You look, well, you looked happier and more confident and… I…"
Will can't. He can't believe…
As Mike continues, as the confession runs deeper, a flush begins to tint his ears, spreading to his neck and face like wildfire.
"Listen," Mike rubs soothing circles into Will's trembling palms. "I know we have a lot to talk about and I really wish I had done this differently, but I couldn't… I couldn't ask for what I wanted without getting that out first. And tonight, with how you were talking about yourself, I just… I couldn't wait. I really did want to do this better, I swear, but it just… I couldn't stand you thinking that stuff about yourself. And I-I really want to tell you every single thing I love about you and your body as it is, right now, but I don't.. I don't want to push things too far, not yet. I… I want to-to do this right. I don't want to overwhelm you or anything."
Mike ducks his head, bangs falling loose to cover his face.
Will, for the umpteenth time in the last however many minutes, feels his world reshape. Even more startlingly, he feels the knot in his stomach actually loosen.
His mind spins, pulling him into many trains of thought, which derail into another crash-course.
"W-want… Want to.." The words stick in his mouth, hope fighting desperately through the fog of shame. In giant, impossibly probable, neon letters shine the word "boyfriend". "Want to do what right?"
"Like.. Like I said, we really need to talk about this, but given just, um, like five minutes ago, I think you, uh, would want it, too? I.. I want to-us to be more. I want to try." Mike finishes with a firm, lasting squeeze on his fingers.
Suddenly, so world-tiltingly suddenly, Will wrenches from the hold and grabs Mike's jaw with one hand. The shock of the movement hits Will, absorbing Mike's jerk of a flinch, but the ugly thing that had been growing in his chest rears up before he can stamp it safely down.
Every true thing his father ever told him plays like an explosion behind his eyes. That his life will be so hard, that he's choosing the difficult path, that he'll never get what he wants.
True.
Except..
Now?
"Mike."
His eyes are so wide, hands left frozen midair. Will squeezes his jaw, feeling the muscle twitch, then drifts his thumb up to the ruby-red of Mike's lips. There's no way Mike doesn't feel his hand tremble.
He feels like a different person. It brings a flash of terror, but he feels so far from cold. He's boiling, warring between dear god what am I doing and do you know I'm not the same anymore?
"Do you know what you're asking for?"
He has to. He has to know of the never-ending path of closed doors that lay ahead. Of sleepless November nights, comments and insults, the dread that nestles under the skin.
It's everything he wants. Mike is offering everything he's ever daydreamed about, wrapped up in a bow and handed to him without strings.
Mike's breath hitches and it reels Will back into the moment—what the fuck are you doing—and he pulls away like it burns. And it does.
He's made peace living with his heart in a world full of knives, but…
Will twists his fingers, fidgeting. Slowly, he settles back into his skin.
"You know it's… It's not gonna be easy. Not for people like.. like us. And I'm not… I'm not the same. I still have episodes an—"
"I'll be there for every one."
Will's head jerks up from its shameful hang. Mike's eyebrows are drawn in a firm pinch, hands fisted at his sides. With his unnaturally styled curls, painfully bland polo, and that stupid, dogged attitude, a single title blinks into his mind.
Michael the Brave
"I know, Will. Well, I haven't been on the receiving end of all the horrible stuff you've had, but I know. I'll keep a spare hoodie in the car if you get cold, I'll sneak you into fancy art auctions, I'll tell every single person about us if you'd want me to. We can move somewhere where we can do that. New York, Chicago, Milwaukee, fucking California, I don't care.
"I've spent so long so fucking scared of wanting and I'm so sick of it, the suffocation never gets easier." With quick fingers, Mike's glasses are tossed onto the bed and he roughly tousles his hair. When he looks back up with a wild mane, Will finds himself looking at someone he hasn't recognized in years. "I'm so sick of it. I'm done squeezing myself in a box and saying I'm happy."
It's so similar to the vow Will swore to himself.
I'd rather live a short life free than a long one chained.
The final piece clicks into place and Will breathes through new lungs; how the air tastes so much sweeter.
Will reaches out for a handful of Mike's shirt, the immediate returning surge forward sends his heart into the sky. His arms wrap around Mike's middle and the gesture is returned with a tight squeeze around his shoulders, a cheek pressing into the side of his head. Will melts into the touch, falling into the rhythm of Mike's chest.
A heartbeat pulses staccato in his ears and Will can't pick out who's is who's. He feels so warm, so held, so seen.
God, it's everything.
He traces the architecture of Mike's ribs, trailing fingers through every dip of his back. In return, Mike traces a thumb in patterns on the back of his neck while the other plays with his hair. A full-body tremble whipcracks through Will, leaving him feeling weightless and malleable.
Will allows himself to breathe and settle in Mike's arms, feeling everything wash away and his mind clear. "I want that, too. God, I've wanted that for so long."
A deep exhale rustles his hair, "Sorry for making you wait so long."
"It's okay," Will says. It's not, but it is, because now he gets to hold Mike like this. For as long as he's allowed.
They'll talk more tomorrow, when Will's brain checks back in.
Everything Mike said earlier replays in his mind, carving into his bones.
But something he'd said catches like a thorn.
"You… You said you wanted to ask for something." Will pulls back, hands wrapped around Mike's knobby wrists, and studies his angular features for what truly feels like the first time.
Mike's face flames and he ducks his head. It's endearing, seeing this side of Mike, directed at him. His heart swells in his chest, filling in the gaps that had been sitting cold for years.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Will. And I'm going to be so honest, I feel like if I ask right now, I might actually have a stroke."
A laugh bubbles out of Will and his smile spreads wider by the way it catches Mike's attention with intense focus. He dips his head, daring and teasing, and catches Mike's eyes. "I think you've made me wait long enough."
Mike's fingers instantly dig into his forearms, but his gaze doesn't waver. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and for a second Will forgets what they were talking about.
"Please, please tell me if this is too much, like, right now. I know you're kinda sensitive about it right now, but, uhm…" Mike steadies himself with a deep inhale. "Can I—can I see them?"
Will frowns. Mike's eyes dart between his own, fighting to keep the courage alive.
"Your stretch marks."
Will's ribs cinch, but the crushing nausea doesn't follow behind. It's startling more than anything, for Mike—thin as a twig—to want to see something like that. He'd be led to assume it's just pure curiosity, but Mike's deadly-earnest comments ring loud in his ears.
Will lets himself sit with his roiling feelings—the shame, the trust. Just an hour ago, that request would have disemboweled him.
But Mike holds him like he's special and Will can't remember the last time he's looked so vulnerable. It mirrors; Will feeling laid out with every single ugly piece of him displayed.
The silence stretches. Will spots the moment Mike begins to catastrophize, fingers tapping and squeezing his arms, eyes darting around the room.
Will steps back, breaking their hold. "Alright."
Mike's jaw clicks shut from the bubbling tirade that had threatened to spill over, like the words had been sucked from his lungs. Will spares a moment to breathe through the wave of pins and needles. It's the first time someone else will see them and he trusts Mike, but doing this makes it more real, harder to hide.
His heart slams into his already-bruised ribs. Before he can back out, lock the night behind him and put himself back into his manageable, safe bubble, Will turns on the lamp on Mike's nightstand.
Please. Please make me believe you.
The bed gives a pitiful creak when Mike sits down, narrowly missing crushing his glasses—to which the recollection of their existence has Mike frantically fixing them back on his nose. Will takes in his dorky, awed expression and feels chunks of tension slough off him.
Will's hands freeze at the hem of his shirt, despite everything. Every prior shirtless morning routine and private gym session's confidence feels ancient, like those feelings belonged to someone else. Like his current predicament is punishment for thinking things could go right for him.
"It's okay. You really don't have to, Will."
Mike looks up at him, hands clasped over a bouncing knee. Like asking for something like this is as vomit-inducing for him as it is for Will to be the one doing it.
Instead of replying, Will takes a step closer to stand between Mike's legs. The angle nearly brings him to his knees, a surge of something so fierce knocking the breath from his lungs. Mike's head tilts back to meet his gaze, doe eyes glowing from the warmth of the lamp.
Will needs to cup his cheeks, push him back into the bed, and kiss every single freckle on his face until the constellation is memorized.
Instead—
"I trust you."
And, fuck, the way Mike's face softens, mouth shifting into a tender smile.
Will pulls, clenching his teeth from the cold air that pierces his skin. He deliberately doesn't meet Mike's gaze, instead downturning his head to stare at the shirt crumpled in his fist. In his peripheral, he can see the rise and fall of his stomach, squishing out over the tight cinch of his waistband. He trusts Mike, he does, but he can't look anymore. He squeezes his eyes shut before tears can well and prays Mike gets his eyeful over soon.
He hears Mike shift on the bed and the faintest ghost of a breath over his stomach. It sends his hair on end and he's powerless to conceal the shiver that ripples through him.
"Will," Mike breathes. The tone has him stuttering on a breath and warmth blossoms in his chest. How can he sound like that? "Will."
He can't respond. He tips his head back, keeping himself safely tucked away behind the security of his eyelids, and scrounges for every single drop of strength he has. To not bawl, to not crawl out of his own skin, to not—
His thoughts don't travel deeper. They don't reach the places Will has convinced himself don't exist.
He doesn't have to contend with the broken edges of his psyche.
"They look like clouds."
Will's thoughts stop completely.
He blinks. Looks down.
Mike's eyes are bright and enthralled in their slow roam over Will's waist. His hand suspends in the air, twitching a few inches from his skin like Mike intends to trace them, then continuously loses the thought.
Will can't help it when he looks because there is no way Mike is seeing what he does.
Along his curved waist, a cluster of thick slashes shine white under the lamp. The tallest is only a few inches, framed by smaller ones, but they stick out like a red stripe on a white canvas. The texture change, the dip of his split-apart skin—it's humiliating. To not have noticed something so obvious before it got so bad. Why he was stupid enough to excuse his tighter clothes for—
"Can I touch them?"
Mike's voice is so quiet. So gentle. So fascinated.
Will can only stare. It's a type of fascinated Will could see Mike reserving only for the complete run of Secret Wars or being handed the keys to a Kawasaki Vulcan, not to…
Something that looked like…
"Clouds?"
Mike blinks, then looks up. Not to his eyes, though it's obvious that was their original goal, but his gaze snags. Only then, does it register to the both of them just how close they are. Will is sure Mike can hear his heart, if not for the way he seems to stare right through his chest at it.
Because that's where his eyes linger, traversing over his skin, just a breath away. His eyes dance from one side to the other, pausing unbelievingly long on his nipples. The gaze zig-zags in its ascent and finally, horrifyingly, Will looks into Mike's blown-out eyes.
He's red. More flushed than Will has ever seen him—more than anatomy lessons in health class or when he'd come back to the basement after a lecture from his mother, Will having heard "magazines" more than once through the door.
Will doesn't move. If he moves, then he'll no longer have Mike's upturned, needy eyes so close.
"Clouds?" Will says again, dropping his shirt. It's a fortitude that Will has never had the most experience with, but something about Mike has always made him feel worth the trouble.
Mike's hands clench on his lap and Will stamps down the kneejerk urge to cup his jaw—again. They've already crossed too many lines tonight.
"L-like…" Mike gulps, his head bobbing with the persistent glance down at Will's waist. "Like the ones that-that streak across the sky. C-ci.. cirr…"
The word gets lost in his throat.
Forget polite.
Will grabs Mike's jaw with both trembling hands, climbs upon his lap, and pushes him back into the sheets with the momentum of his kiss.