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They'd started with Trivial Pursuit, the board spread out on the floor between scattered cushions and bodies, but the game had been abandoned half an hour ago. They were sprawled across the living room in various states of relaxation, Dustin on the couch with his arm swinging over the armrest, Max cross-legged on the floor, El curled up in the armchair, Lucas and Will sharing the other end of the couch, and Mike on the floor with his back against the coffee table.
Someone had made a milkshake run earlier and the cups were scattered around, mostly empty now but still getting slurped at periodically when someone wanted the last drops. The remnants of cookie packages, and candy wrappers created a debris field that would need to be cleaned up before Lucas's parents got home.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, they were deep in conversation about nothing in particular. About the new math teacher who wore the same tie every day. About whether they would rather glow in the dark or fart every time they blink. About Max's latest skateboarding injury, a scraped knee that looked gnarly.
"I'm just saying," Lucas was explaining, gesturing with what remained of his milkshake, "if she was real, we'd have met her by now. You've been dating for like a year."
"She lives in Utah," Dustin protested. "That's like an entire day away."
"Cars exist. Planes exist. Pictures?? Why haven't we seen proof of life?"
"She's busy with school and—"
"Excuses!" Lucas declared triumphantly. "Classic catfish behavior."
Mike was half-listening, thinking about homework he hadn't done, about the campaign he needed to plan for next session, about whether his mom would notice if he stayed out past curfew tonight.
He wasn't thinking about Will. Wasn't focused on the way Will sat on the couch, relaxed in a way he rarely was, his legs tucked under him and his milkshake balanced on his knee. Or the way his hair caught the afternoon light coming through the window.
Wasn't thinking about him at all, really.
“Speaking of romantic exploits,” Lucas said casually, wiggling his eyebrows as a grin spread across his face, “did I ever tell you guys about the time I kissed Will?”
The room exploded.
Not literally—though the sudden eruption of noise felt like it. Everyone started talking at once, voices overlapping, questions being shouted over each other in a cacophony that made it impossible to understand individual words.
"WHAT?" That was Dustin, practically falling off the couch in his haste to sit up properly.
"No way." Max.
"When did this happen?" El.
"On the MOUTH?" Dustin again, louder this time.
"Are you serious right now?" Max added.
Will and Lucas were both grinning. Lucas's arm was slung casually across the back of the couch, and Will had that unique expression of pure amusement.
"Where? How? WHY?" Dustin was demanding.
"This is bullshit," Max, grinning now, eyes bright. "You're making this up."
"We're not!" Lucas insisted through his laughter. "It really happened!"
"When?" Dustin asked. "WHERE?"
"Last summer," Lucas said. "Remember that party at the quarry?"
"The one where you disappeared for like an hour? THAT'S where you were?"
"Wow, wait no, it was after the—"
The details were lost in another explosion of noise. Everyone was talking, laughing, shouting questions. Max wasn’t upset at all; she was cackling, leaning across the table and demanding the full story like it was the best thing she’d heard all week. El looked confused, like she was trying to process whether friends kissing was something people did.
And Mike—
Mike sat perfectly still.
His hands were resting on his knees, loose and relaxed to anyone who wasn't paying close attention. But something was happening inside Mike’s body, something visceral. His heart rate had spiked so fast it felt like getting punched. His breathing had gone shallow. His hands wanted to curl into fists but he kept them loose through pure force of will.
The noise around him had become muffled, like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears. Everything had narrowed down to a single point: Will's face. The way he was smiling. The way he'd covered his face like he was embarrassed but pleased. The way he kept glancing at Lucas like they shared some private joke.
Mike's jaw was tight enough to ache. He could feel the muscle jumping beneath the skin, could feel his teeth grinding together. His whole body had gone rigid, every muscle tensed in preparation for fight or flight, adrenaline flooding his system with nowhere to go.
He didn't understand what he was feeling. Couldn't name it. Just knew that something inside his chest had cracked wide open and was leaking poison into his bloodstream. Knew that he wanted to hit something, break something, make the feeling stop.
Knew that he wanted Lucas to stop talking, wanted Will to stop smiling, wanted Max to react. How was she even able to laugh? What was so funny about this? But above everything, he wanted to rewind five minutes and make this conversation never happen.
The laughter continued. Dustin was reenacting something, making exaggerated kissing noises. Max was wiping tears from her eyes. Lucas was explaining the context—something about truth or dare, about it being just a friendly thing, nothing serious.
Nothing serious.
Mike's vision had started to narrow, still on Will's face. To that smile that was starting to fade as Will glanced around the room, maybe sensing something was off. To the way his eyes skated past Mike and then came back, catching on Mike's expression, widening slightly.
"Did you like it?"
The words came out of Mike's mouth before he'd consciously decided to speak. His voice was flat, cutting through the laughter like a knife through silk. The room went quiet immediately, like someone had hit a mute button. Everyone turned to look at Mike, confusion and surprise written across their faces.
Will's smile had vanished completely. "What?"
Mike's eyes hadn't left Will's face. Hadn't blinked. "You sound like you liked it. The kiss. Did you?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and wrong. Will's mouth opened, closed, opened again. His face had gone from amused to confused to something that might have been afraid. He glanced quickly at Lucas, like he was looking for help or clarification or something.
That glance. That quick look at Lucas instead of Mike. That was what turned the simmer into a boil.
Mike ran a hand through his hair, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. Then he stood abruptly, his movements jerky and aggressive. "I have to go."
"What?" Dustin was staring at him. "Dude, we were just—"
"I forgot I'm supposed to watch Holly today. Mom's got errands." The lie came easily, Karen was definitely home and Holly definitely didn't need watching. "Sorry. Gotta go."
"Mike—" That was Will, his voice small and uncertain.
But Mike was already moving, grabbing his jacket from where he'd left it on a chair, heading for the door. He could feel their eyes on him, could sense the confusion and concern radiating from the group. Could feel Will's gaze specifically, boring into his back.
He didn't turn around, just pushed through the front door into the crisp fall afternoon and started walking.
The walk home was a blur.
Mike moved fast, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw still tight, his breathing still too controlled. The anger hadn't dissipated. If anything, it had gotten worse, building with every step, feeding on itself until it felt like something alive inside his chest.
He reached his house in record time. The door slammed behind him with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the entryway. His mom called something from upstairs” Mike? That you?"—but he ignored her, headed straight for his room.
Except he didn't make it to his room. There was a small table in the hallway, one of those decorative things his mom kept covered in mail and car keys and various household debris. Mike's foot connected with one of its legs as he passed, he pretended it was an accident for about five seconds. The table wobbled, tipped, crashed to the floor with a spectacular bang that brought Nancy running from her room.
"Jesus Christ, Mike!" She appeared at the top of the stairs, glaring down at him. "What the hell?"
Mike didn't respond. He was staring at the table, at the scattered mail and keys, at the small dent his kick had left in the wood. Some part of him knew he should feel bad about this. Should apologize, help clean up, do something other than what he was actually doing. Which was looking for something else to kick.
He found an empty cardboard box his mom had left by the stairs, waiting to be taken out to recycling. His foot connected with it hard enough to send it flying across the hallway, where it hit the opposite wall with a hollow thump.
"Mike!" Nancy was coming down the stairs now. "Stop it!"
He kicked the box again. And again. The cardboard crumpled under the repeated impacts, folding in on itself, becoming less satisfying to destroy. So Mike grabbed it, lifted it over his head, and slammed it down on the floor as hard as he could. The box collapsed completely, flattened into something unrecognizable.
"MIKE!" Nancy had reached him now, was grabbing his arm. "What's wrong with you? What’s happening? Talk to me!"
Mike pushed past her, headed upstairs, for his room. Slammed that door too, hard enough that pictures rattled on the wall. Inside his room, he looked around for something else to break, something to do with all this energy burning through his system. He settled for kicking his trash can across the room. It hit his closet door with a satisfying crash, garbage spilling out across the floor.
Outside his door, he could hear Nancy talking to their mom. Heard Karen's concerned voice, heard Nancy's worried explanation. Heard his mom approaching his door, knocking gently.
"Mike? Honey? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm FINE."
He wasn't fine. He was the opposite of fine. He was coming apart at the seams and he didn't even understand why. All he knew was that Lucas had kissed Will, and Will had smiled about it, and something inside Mike had cracked clean through.
School on Monday was a special kind of hell.
Mike trudged through the doors with his backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair messier than usual, hadn't bothered to fix it. The exhaustion from his sleepless night sat heavy in his bones, making everything feel like it required twice the usual effort. His eyes felt gritty, dry. The fluorescent lights in the hallway seemed too bright. He knew he looked rough. Could see it in the mirror this morning, the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, the general air of someone who'd had a very bad night.
Dustin found him at his locker, was already talking before Mike had even acknowledged his presence.
"Dude, what happened yesterday? You just bailed."
"Had to watch Holly."
" Yeah, okay. Try that one on somebody else."
Mike shrugged, started shoving books into his locker with more force than necessary. "Whatever. I had to go."
"Lucas's worried he pissed you off."
"He didn't."
"Will thinks he did something wrong."
At Will's name, something tightened in Mike's chest. But he kept his face neutral, his voice flat. "He didn't. Everything's fine."
"You sure? Because you look like—"
"I'm fine, Dustin."
Dustin studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Okay, buddy. Whatever you say."
The morning crept by in a haze of exhaustion and barely suppressed anger. He saw Lucas in the hallway between second and third period. Lucas waved, started to approach. Mike turned and walked in the opposite direction, pretending he hadn't seen him.
He saw Will between third and fourth, standing at his locker. Mike walked past without acknowledging him, eyes straight ahead. Will's head turned. Mike felt his gaze but didn't respond to it.
By lunch, the entire group was on high alert.
They gathered at their usual table in the cafeteria— the one in the back corner, away from the popular kids and the athletes, where they could be loud without bothering anyone. Mike slid into his seat and immediately focused on his lunch. Pulled out his sandwich, unwrapped it, stared at it like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. He didn't eat it though. Just started pulling it apart, separating the bread from the meat from the cheese, arranging the pieces in a neat line across his paper bag.
"You gonna actually eat that or just dissect it?" Dustin asked.
Mike didn't respond, just kept arranging pieces. Across the table, he could feel Will's eyes on him, could sense the confusion and worry radiating off him, could hear the unspoken questions, What did I do? Why won't you look at me?
Mike ignored all of it. Kept his attention on his deconstructed sandwich, on the way the bread compressed when he pressed his thumb into it.
Lucas cleared his throat. "Okay, man, what's your problem?"
Mike's hands stilled. He looked up slowly, met Lucas's eyes. "No problem here."
"Yeah? You just ignoring us for no reason?"
"I'm not ignoring anyone."
"You haven't said a word since you sat down. You walked past me in the hallway like I wasn't there. You won't even look at Will." Lucas's voice had an edge now, frustration bleeding through. "So yeah, seems like you're ignoring us."
"Maybe I just don't have anything to say."
"Since when do you not have anything to say? You always have something to say. That's like your whole thing."
Mike went back to his sandwich, started ripping the bread into smaller pieces. "Well, today I don't."
"This is because of yesterday," Lucas said. "Because of what I said about—"
"I don't care about yesterday." The lie tasted bitter in Mike's mouth but he kept his voice level. "Whatever you and Will did is your business."
"Then why are you sulking?"
"I'm not sulking."
"You're absolutely sulking." Lucas was leaning forward now, his elbows on the table, his expression caught between amused and annoyed. "You don’t get quiet unless you’re mad. Just admit it."
"I'm not mad."
"You look mad."
"That's just my face."
Dustin was watching this exchange with wide eyes, his attention shifting between Mike and Lucas like he was watching a tennis match. While Will had shrunk down in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. His lunch sat untouched in front of him, his hands clasped together in his lap.
Lucas studied Mike for another long moment. Then, deliberately, he turned his full attention to Will.
"Hey, Will. How was class?"
Will blinked, surprised at being addressed. "It was... fine?"
"Just fine?" Lucas's arm came up, draped casually across Will's shoulders in a gesture that was meant to look friendly but Mike saw it for what it was. Saw the challenge in it. Saw Lucas proving a point. "Come on, give me more than that. What did you guys learn about?"
Will's eyes darted to Mike before returning to Lucas. "Um. Photosynthesis? I think?"
Mike's eyes hwere locked on Lucas's arm across Will's shoulders, on the casual way Lucas was touching him, on how close they were sitting. His jaw had gone tight again, that muscle jumping beneath the skin.
The dark circles under Mike's eyes somehow made his eyes look impossibly black, charged and focused with an intensity that would have been scary if you didn't know him. And even knowing him, it was a little scary.
Lucas was still talking to Will, asking inane questions about class and teachers and homework, keeping his arm firmly across Will's shoulders. But Mike could see the awareness in Lucas's posture. Will was trying to respond, trying to engage with Lucas's questions, but his attention kept sliding away. Kept returning to Mike's face, to those impossibly dark eyes fixed on them. He'd start to answer something and then trail off mid-sentence, distracted by the weight of that stare.
"And then the teacher said—" Will paused, glanced at Mike again, lost his train of thought. "Um. Sorry, what was I saying?"
"Something about your teacher," Lucas prompted.
"Right. Yeah." Will tried to focus, but his whole body had gone tense.
Mike still hadn't looked away. He'd shifted his posture slightly, leaned back in his chair, his legs spreading wider, taking up more space. One arm was draped across his lap, the other resting on the table near his destroyed sandwich. His presence had somehow gotten bigger, impossible to ignore.
And Will was drowning in the attention.
Part of him hated it. Hated seeing Mike angry, hated being the apparent target of that anger. It hurt, seeing his best friend look at him like that, with that flat darkness in his eyes that suggested something had broken between them.
But another part—
felt vindicated. Alive. Special in a way he'd never felt before. Because what could possibly explain this anger besides jealousy? Mike had been fine until Lucas mentioned the kiss. He was jealous, there were no other explanations.
Will's thoughts scattered as Lucas leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that was still loud enough for the table to hear. "You know what's funny about that chemistry experiment? The way Mr. Peterson—"
But Mike never found out what was funny about the chemistry experiment.
Because something in him snapped.
He shoved the table. Hard. The whole thing shifted several inches, catching everyone off guard. Milk cartons tipped, one of them—spilling directly onto Will's shirt, the white liquid spreading across the faded blue fabric in a cold, wet stain.
There was a collective gasp from the table. Multiple voices exclaiming at once "Dude!" and "What the hell?" and "Mike, seriously?"but Mike was already moving. Was already on his feet, was already around the table, was already grabbing Will's arm and hauling him up.
"Come on," Mike said.
"Mike, what are you—"
"You're soaked. Come on."
Will went. Just stood and followed as Mike pulled him away from the table, away from their friends,from the cafeteria entirely. Behind them, Mike could hear Dustin calling after them, could hear Lucas say something, but he just kept moving with Will in tow, his fingers tight around Will's bicep.
They moved through hallways that were mostly empty, everyone else still at lunch. Mike's footsteps echoed off the linoleum, purposeful and quick. Will stumbled slightly, trying to keep up, the milk already soaking through his shirt to the skin beneath, cold and uncomfortable.
"Where are we going?" Will asked. His voice smal.
Mike didn't answer. Just kept walking until they reached the locker rooms, pushed through the door into the boys' side, headed straight for the bathroom in the back. He pulled Will inside.
The bathroom was institutional and slightly damp, tiles yellowed with age, the faucets dripping their endless rhythm. It smelled like chlorine and cleaning products and something vaguely musty that all locker room bathrooms seemed to smell like.
Will stood awkwardly inside the door, his arms wrapped around himself. The milk had spread across his stomach, was starting to drip down toward his waistband, darkening his jeans. His face was flushed, his eyes wide, his whole posture screaming distress.
Mike finally released his arm, took a step back. Tried to organize his thoughts, tried to figure out what he was going to say. The anger was still there, simmering just under his skin, but it had been joined by something else. Something that felt like concern, like care, like the automatic protective instinct he'd always had toward Will.
Because angry or not, Will was soaked and uncomfortable and embarrassed, and Mike's heart could only break so much.
"You know he's dating Max, right?"
Will just stared at him, his brow furrowing. "What?"
"Lucas. He's dating Max. Or did you forget that?"
"I—" Will's mouth opened, closed. "Yeah, we all know that. They've been together for like years."
"So why are you all over each other?"
"We're not—Mike, what are you even mad about? I don't understand what I did wrong."
Instead of answering, Mike moved to the sinks. Turned on one of the faucets, let the water run until it was warm. Then he looked back at Will, dripping milk onto the tile floor.
"C'mere."
Will hesitated. "Mike—"
"Your shirt's disgusting. Get over here so I can fix it."
It was Mike's desperate need to fix something, anything, even if it was just a milk stain. Will seemed to recognize it for what it was, because after another moment of hesitation, he crossed the bathroom to where Mike stood by the sinks.
Mike grabbed the front of Will's shirt without preamble, bunching the wet fabric in his hand and pulling Will closer to the running water. Will stumbled forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink to keep his balance.
"Just—lean in," Mike said. His voice had gone quieter. "Get it under the water."
Will obeyed, bending forward over the sink. The position put them close, closer than they'd been since whatever had broken between them on saturday. Will could smell Mike’s deodorant mixed with sweat, could feel the heat radiating off him even in the cool bathroom. His hands braced against the cold porcelain of the sink, trying to steady himself as Mike manhandled his shirt.
Mike started scrubbing at the milk stain, his movements aggressive, putting way too much force into it. The fabric bunched and twisted under his hands. Water splashed up, soaking his own sleeves. His knuckles kept brushing against Will's stomach through the wet fabric. He could feel the warmth of Will's skin, could feel the slight intake of breath each time his hand made contact. Could feel the way Will was trembling slightly, though whether from cold or something else, Mike couldn't tell.
He scrubbed harder. Pulled the shirt more taut. His breathing had gone rough again, each exhale audible in the quiet bathroom. Every motion was controlled violence, anger directed at a piece of fabric that had done nothing wrong.
"I can't reach that part," Mike said after a moment, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Lean more."
"It's okay." Will's voice came out strained. "Don't worry about it, I'll just—I can clean it later when I get home, you don't have to—"
But Mike was already moving, his hand leaving the shirt to press against Will's back, right between his shoulder blades. He pushed down, guiding Will lower.
Will went where he was pushed, his chest nearly parallel with the sink now, until his elbows had to bend to accommodate the new angle. The position was awkward, left him vulnerable and exposed in a way that made his face burn even hotter. His jeans pulled tight across his ass and he was suddenly, horrifyingly aware of it, aware of how he must look bent over like this.
He heard Mike move, felt him shift to stand directly behind him, and Will's breath caught in his throat. This was worse. This was so much worse. Because now Mike was bracketing his body, reaching under him to get at the stain, and it meant Mike had to press close, had to—
Oh god.
Mike's chest pressed against Will's back. His hips against Will's ass. His thighs on either side of Will's legs. The full length of Mike's body covering his own, pinning him between Mike and the sink. This was obscene. This position was absolutely obscene. If anyone walked through that door right now—if Dustin or Lucas or anyone saw them like this—there would be no explaining it away. Will bent over a sink with Mike draped across his back, Mike's arms around him, both of them breathing too hard in an empty bathroom.
It would look like exactly what Will's traitorous brain kept trying to imagine it was.
Will went completely still. Every muscle in his body tensed, bracing. He ducked his head down, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face, but he couldn't hide his neck, couldn't hide the flush he knew was spreading down from his hairline, couldn't hide the way his pulse was jumping frantically in his throat.
Mike kept scrubbing but the movements had changed, slower now, more conscious. His hand moved across the fabric of Will's stomach.
A sound escaped him, almost inaudible, but Will knew Mike heard it because Mike was right there, right against him, close enough to hear every breath Will took. Close enough to feel the way Will's whole body shuddered.
Mike's hand stilled on the fabric. The scrubbing stopped. Mike's chest was heaving against his back and Will didn't know what was happening but he knew, knew with terrible certainty, that they'd crossed some line they couldn't uncross.
Mike's hands left the shirt. Moved to grip the edges of the sink on either side of Will's hands. His arms encasing Will's body completely now, caging him in. And then, steadily, Mike leaned down.
The full weight of Mike's body pressed against Will's back. His chest crushed against Will's spine, forcing the air from Will's lungs in a gasp he couldn't control.
And Mike's head dropped to Will's shoulder.
Will stopped breathing.
Mike's forehead pressed against the junction of Will's neck and shoulder, his face turned in toward Will's throat. They stayed like that. Will wasn't sure for how long, couldn't think past the feeling of Mike's body covering his.
Will could feel everything. The way Mike's shirt had ridden up slightly, could feel a strip of Mike's stomach pressed directly against his lower back through his own shirt. Could feel the way Mike's jeans pulled tight, the hardness pressing against him that made Will's vision blur at the edges.
Mike mumbled something against Will’s neck, the words lost in the haze of sensation flooding Will’s system. The brunette shifted slightly and spoke again. This time Will felt every syllable vibrate through Mike’s mouth directly into his skin: "You never answered my question. You didn't tell me if you liked the way he was kissing you."
The question cut through the fog. Will’s throat worked, trying to form words. "It was—it was barely even a kiss. Didn't even last five seconds."
Mike went still. Then, slowly, he propped his chin on Will’s shoulder, adjusting his position so he could see Will’s face properly. Will could feel Mike’s gaze boring into him, intense and searching. When Mike spoke, his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.
"Why?" A pause, deliberate and weighted. "Did you want it to be longer?"
Will’s thoughts scattered. The conversation was genuinely ridiculous, absurd, really, and he couldn't comprehend how Mike was taking it so seriously. This had to be a prank. Some elaborate joke where Lucas would burst through the door any second with a camera. Because there was no way Mike was actually jealous, no way this was real, no way—
His silence stretched too long. Mike’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing, that anger from earlier creeping back into his features.
"No," Will blurted out, the word tumbling from his lips in a rush. "I mean yes. I wanted it to be longer, just—just not from him."
The admission left him breathless. Will felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being bent over a sink.
Mike leaned forward.
Will’s eyes fluttered shut automatically, his breath catching in anticipation. He could feel Mike’s proximity, could sense him right there, close enough that—
Mike pulled back.
Will’s eyes blinked open, confusion flooding through him. His gaze darted from Mike’s lips to his eyes and back again, trying to understand what just happened, trying to read Mike’s expression.
Mike leaned in again, closer this time. So close Will could feel the warmth radiating from Mike’s skin, could count Mike’s eyelashes if he wanted to. Their lips were separated by nothing, by barely a hair's breadth, by—
Mike retreated again.
A sound escaped from the back of Will’s throat, frustrated, desperate, completely involuntary. His eyes flew open once more, disbelief written across his features.
"Mike," he whined, his voice cracking on the single syllable.
Mike moved in for the third time, and Will held perfectly still, not daring to hope. This time Mike didn't pull away completely—but he didn't kiss Will’s mouth either. His lips connected with the corner of Will’s lip instead, barely a brush of contact. It was worse than nothing.
Will turned his head away sharply, dejection crashing over him in waves. He dropped his gaze to the sink, his vision blurring slightly. "Are you making fun of me?"
Mike’s response was immediate, his lips pressed to Will’s jaw, soft and warm and intimate. The kiss sent electricity racing down Will’s spine.
"Who did you want to kiss?" Mike’s voice was low. "If it wasn't Lucas, then who?"
Will stayed silent. He couldn't say it. Couldn't make himself that vulnerable when Mike had just spent the last two minutes torturing him.
Mike's teeth found Will’s shoulder through the fabric of his shirt—clamped just enough to get Will’s attention, to demand a response.
Will’s eyes found Mike’s face again, tracking between his lips and his eyes, unable to settle on either. Then, gathering what little courage he had left, Will leaned forward himself, trying to close the distance Mike kept creating.
Mike leaned backward, maintaining the space between them.
That was it. The last straw. Will felt his eyes begin to sting, felt his vision blur with tears he absolutely refused to let fall but couldn't quite hold back. His lower lip trembled and he bit down on it hard, trying to stop it, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.
The second Mike saw the tears welling in Will’s eyes, everything changed.
Mike surged forward and wrapped Will in his arms completely, crushing their bodies together as his mouth finally—finally—found Will's. The kiss was desperate, all the frustration and tension of the past two days poured into the connection between their lips. Will melted into it, his hands coming up to fist in Mike’s shirt, holding on for dear life.
Mike pulled back after a moment, but only far enough to look at Will’s face, to take in his expression. Will knew he must look wrecked, his face burning crimson, his lips already swollen.
"You're cruel," Will breathed out.
"I needed a little payback," Mike said, his thumb coming up to trace Will's cheekbone. "For that crap you and Lucas pulled in the cafeteria."
Will opened his mouth to argue, to explain that he hadn't pulled anything, that he'd been just as confused as everyone else, but Mike’s lips were on his again before he could get the words out.