Chapter Text
The air was almost balmy as Mike escorted Will down to the subway station, but there was still a slight chill that had him clutching his gifted jacket tighter. The night-fallen streets smelled cleaner than usual; the omnipresent tinge of garbage was much lighter, nearly replaced by the scent of autumn leaves and loamy soil.
Mike was holding his book bag in such a strategic way that it concealed their conjoined hands. Every millimeter that Mike’s skin enveloped Will’s branded an elegy of warmth into his chronically cold flesh. With every few feet that they traveled, Will would squeeze Mike’s hand twice to reassure him that he was there, that he was present. And every time he did, Mike would squeeze back three times.
I just like you so much, Will. So much that it hurts.
Mike’s vulnerability cracked his heart into a thousand irreparable shards, each jagged point piercing his lungs and preventing him from taking a proper breath. Mike’s goddamn eyebrows worked full-time to write endless exposés on his true thoughts. Will could almost see the truth hidden beneath his words, hieroglyphics written in the sand.
I like you too. More than you know. More than I should.
And it was so much more. So much that he didn’t care that they were being reckless; he didn’t care that they were all but parading through the streets, hand in hand. He loved the way that Mike felt so familiar, yet so electric at the same time. He loved the way that their shoulders would brush, the top of his grazing the bottom of Mike’s; he loved the height difference, and he loved the way that every time they made eye contact, they would both blush furiously. But most of all, he loved how comfortable the silence was; there was no need to speak.
They descended the grimy steps of the subway, escaping the bustle of the streets for a different kind of commotion. The subway was its own beast, a world unto itself. It was dank, yet the private dimness provided a bright solace; a bubble in which they could seek anonymous refuge.
Will’s train approached with a loud chug, sending their hair flying in every direction as it skidded to a stop. Will let go of Mike’s soothing palm, smiling up at him once before turning to go. But before he could get very far, Mike grasped his wrist and gently turned him around; his eyebrows were pulled together, obsidian eyes flickering between Will’s as he stooped down to Will’s height. His irises were ringed by red, the evidence of his tears palpable; it clenched at Will’s heart with a vice-like grip, life-threatening with its constricting force.
“Mike, this is my train,” Will murmured, voice tender as the whoosh of the doors pressing open resounded through the air.
“Can I kiss you?” Mike asked, lowering his volume and stepping closer to Will. His thumb was rubbing small circles into Will’s wrist, grip unrestrictive.
In public?
Will hesitated, glancing around them to see if there was anyone he knew at the station. But alas, this was New York—no one cared. People were streaming out of the doors, an array of colors heading in all directions; people were wrapped up in their own little worlds, completely unaware that there were two men in love. They were completely oblivious to their destructive affair, the powder keg of their infidelity threatening to implode at any moment.
I’ve been begging Carlton to be affectionate with me in public for two years now. Bravery was something I’d always quietly pleaded for but never got. Mike truly is… well, Mike the Brave.
“It’s okay, we don’t have to—”
Will cut him off midsentence by fisting Mike’s shirt and tugging him down into a raw kiss. Mike gave a squeak of surprise before melting into him, cupping Will’s face and bending down further to wholly match his height. Will’s stomach flipped, a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering around his being and filling him with a light that he could never recreate with paints. He was no longer able to define exactly what Mike tasted like—it was so unique and special that it could only be described as Mike. Completely and irrevocably Michael Wheeler.
After a few seconds, Will pulled back, lowering down from the balls of his feet and sinking below Mike’s threshold yet again. Slowly, he brushed their noses together in a light elephant’s kiss; he was able to count every freckle this close, finding himself mapping out the constellations within Mike’s chocolate irises.
“I’ll see you Thursday, Mike,” Will whispered, brushing one last kiss to his cheek.
Despite the fact that Will never wanted to leave Mike’s side, he turned around and dashed into the closing train, barely hopping on before it took off. The last thing he saw before he was catapulted out of the station was Mike gingerly prodding his cheek in the exact spot that Will had just kissed.
Will was so distracted the entire train ride that he nearly missed his stop. If he had it his way, he would ride the subway until it turned back around, content to just daydream in vivid hues. He didn’t even notice that he’d been standing up the entire time, something that he despised and always tried to avoid. He floated out of the doors, blissfully unaware of the harried New Yorkers bumping past him.
As Will ventured into the LED-lit square of his street, all he could think about was just how brazen he’d been. He’d completely given up on restraint—the second he felt Mike, he knew that it was over. He needed him more than gods needed ambrosia, more than the ocean tides needed the moon, more than guitars needed their strings.
He broke through a particularly thick crowd of chatting, blonde sorority girls to turn into his apartment building, opting to cross the marble floors towards the stairs instead of the elevator. His footsteps echoed around the acoustic stairwell, ringing out like a church bell. He trailed his fingertips along the smooth railings, convinced that it was the only tether between the physical world and the heavens above.
He seemed so devastated. So heartbroken and distraught at the end.
Will didn’t have to think; all he knew was that Mike had been distressed, and the world would stop spinning in its axis if he didn’t cure his sadness. But Will was also the very poison that was causing Mike such an agonizingly slow death. Was it possible to be both the antidote and the fatal toxin?
He finally crested his floor and approached his mahogany door, unknowingly inserting his bronze key and turning the handle to let himself inside. Aromas of roast beef and spices swirled throughout the air, jolting him out of his hypnotizing reverie. He closed the door behind him slowly, waiting for the snick that indicated the lock worked.
“Hey, babe,” Carlton said, rounding the corner while waving about a wooden spoon. “How was it? Did you finalize everything?”
Will’s heart sunk as he looked at Carlton’s wide, arctic blue eyes. His usually flat, mousy hair had one lock out of place, sticking straight up in the back. By Carlton’s standards, he looked absolutely bedraggled.
Yeah, I finalized it. I also obliterated my morals and ended any resolve that I was trying so desperately to cling on to.
“Yeah, it’s completely ready,” Will said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coatrack. “We called up Tobias and reviewed it with him before the big pitch, and he said it sounded great.”
Carlton’s arm spasmed, shooting up to run through his hair. His eyes darted about the room before settling on Will once again. He swallowed and smiled tightly before running back to the stove, leaving Will vaguely confused and guilt-ridden in his wake.
That was fucking weird.
Will followed his retreating boyfriend, drinking in the perfume of whatever dinner he’d prepared on his way. As he approached, he saw a vast spread already resting on the table, colorful and abundant. There were roasted golden carrots, piles of jasmine rice, juicy roast beef, and two wine glasses already filled with a deep red.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Carlton’s been slaving away while I was literally getting my ass eaten. I wonder what exact dish he made while I was fucking around. Was it the rice? The carrots? Was he basting the goddamn beef? No, let me guess—he was shopping for this bottle of cabernet. Forget the fact that I hate red wine—I’m a fucking lowlife, a reprobate of the lowest order.
“Carlton, I…” Will trailed off, his voice weak. “What’s all this for?”
Carlton brushed past Will with a plate of buttered potatoes, placing them next to a glass tureen of gravy. He turned around, dusting his hands on his blue jeans before gesturing for Will to sit. He sat next to Will’s chair, not waiting for Will to catch up before he began to serve himself and eat.
“It’s been a while since we’ve had dinner,” Carlton said through a mouthful of carrot. His fork was already loaded with his next bite, traveling to his gullet at lightning speed before he even attempted to swallow. Will finally pulled out his chair and sat, ladling small servings of everything onto his plate. His appetite was miraculously absent; his stomach was uneasy as he nibbled on dry rice.
“Yeah, but… you didn’t have to do all of this for me,” Will said, gesturing around at the avalanche of food. “I would’ve been fine to just have takeout with you.”
With you. I don’t know how many more “with you’s” I can stomach. I love you, Carlton, but I’m not good enough. But… I’m especially not good enough for Mike. Maybe you’re the only person who can bear with me. Maybe you deserve me, and I deserve you. I don’t know what it is.
“Well, it took me fucking forever,” Carlton said, stretching his legs out and knocking into Will. “Maybe you can thank me for it later.”
Will nearly threw up right then and there. While he couldn’t fathom having sex with Carlton after dinner, he also had no idea if there were any marks or bruises left behind by Mike.
What if there’s a hickey—or a fucking bite mark? And even if there are no handprints, how can I even get it up? The last time with Carlton was nothing short of a disaster, and quite frankly, I just don’t want to. I don’t fucking want to, God. I can’t do it tonight. I don’t know if I can do it for a very, very long time. What if I can’t do it ever? Maybe… maybe Carlton will leave me. Maybe he’ll make this so much easier.
Will just let out a breathy chuckle, forcing himself to eat a heaping forkful of roast beef. It was juicy but lacking in salt; there was so much pepper on it that he nearly started sneezing, which would no doubt turn into a spewed disaster of chewed food.
“Anyway, about next week,” Carlton said, turning to face him.
“Next week?” Will asked slowly, completely unaware of what Carlton could possibly be referring to. His boyfriend quickly swallowed his thick lump of food, resting his elbow on the table as he picked up his fork yet again.
“Yeah, fall break. We’re going down to Hawkins,” Carlton pronounced casually as if he hadn’t just tossed Will into a whirlpool of panic. “I was wondering if I should rent a car, or if you just wanted to take a bus.”
“Uh…”
What? The? Fuck? Yeah, God for sure exists. If only to fuck with me.
“You know what? We’ll just rent one. It’ll make it easier once we get down there, anyway. Are we staying with your mom, or are we going to stay at an inn?”
“I…”
“We’ll stay at an inn. No offense, but I don’t think I want to stay at your mom’s for a whole week.”
To say that Will’s brain was short circuiting would be generous. If there was an MRI taken, he would be regarded as a medical marvel; there’d be nothing except for dust and fireworks, with the occasional tumbleweed rolling around. His tongue felt thick and sluggish in his mouth, filling up his throat and preventing any chance at vocalizing the absence of his thoughts.
Well, this is weird. I never thought I’d be so grateful to choke before.
“It’s settled. I’ll find an inn,” Carlton turned back to his plate, completely oblivious to the lack of response on Will’s end. “God, it’s gonna be weird to go to a small town. Especially Hawkins. I mean, is there even anything to do there?”
“I—yeah,” Will said, the hemispheres of his brain finally snapping together. “Of course, there is. You just have to be creative.”
“I guess,” Carlton rolled his eyes, waving his fork around. “You know what? It’ll actually be good to just zen out in a rural area. After the weekend I had back home, I could use it.”
Back home?
“I thought your family stayed here?” Will said slowly, his fork forgotten midair. A large chunk of carrot dangled precariously from the tines, threatening to fall onto his jeans with a splat.
“What?”
“I thought they stayed in New York—you guys didn’t go back to Maryland, did you?”
“What’re you talking about, Will?” Carlton said, his eyebrows cocked up with confusion. “I never said we went back home.”
“You just said—you said that you had a rough weekend at home… did you not?”
“No, I never said anything about being back home this past weekend,” Carlton dismissed. “I was patching up your outburst, remember?”
What?
“Right…”
Was he going mad? Will could’ve sworn that Carlton had just mentioned spending the weekend back at his home. He was truly confused—maybe he was simply going insane. After the Upside Down, his memory wasn’t always the best. Sometimes, he was convinced that he still had bouts of amnesia that were reminiscent of the ones he experienced when he was thirteen; he couldn’t always rely on his perception of reality to be the overarching truth.
I ought to give Dr. Owens a call. Assuming he’s alive, of course.
They finished dinner, Carlton monologuing the whole time with no intention of stopping. Will’s thoughts oscillated between the feeling of Mike between his thighs, the tears that rimmed his eyes, and his achingly confused heart.
Before Carlton could proposition sex, Will dove into bed and pretended to fall asleep. When he heard Carlton finally drift into a deep slumber of his own, Will snuck out of their bed and made his way down to his art studio. Luckily, the fluffy socks he was wearing masked the sounds of his steps as he snuck into the privacy of his confession box.
Instead of creating yet another painting of Mike, Will adorned his Walkman and listened to the mixtape three times. Every time it restarted, he reread the note Mike had left for him the other day. He read the words “I wish the weekend was infinitely long” ceaselessly before clutching it to his heart; he leaned back as he gazed unseeingly at the New York skyline glinting outside of his window, a twinkling expanse that if he squinted his eyes, he could pretend it was the night sky. Maybe Mike was looking outside his own window right now, pretending to be observing the cosmos. Will wondered if they were both imagining the stars, if they both saw Polaris twinkling at the top of the Chrysler Building.
---
“Will? You there?”
“Mike? Why’re you calling me here?” Will hissed, clutching the cool plastic to his face before he glanced furtively about his apartment. It was completely unnecessary—Carlton was still at school. Will had decided to skip his own classes for the day; he was too nervous to sit through any lectures before they were to pitch their comic.
“Sorry, is that not okay?” Mike sounded just as fidgety and distracted as Will was.
“No, it’s—well, I don’t know. I don’t want to risk anything,” Will whispered. He couldn’t help but remember what happened when Carlton picked up Mike’s call all those weeks ago.
“Right, right. Okay. I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up before the pitch. I know this really cute café, and I think it would be a good idea if we went over it, and I—”
“Mike, slow down,” Will laughed, twirling the curly phone cord around his finger. The sun was shining through his kitchen window, casting square spotlights across his polished floor. “Where’s the café?”
---
Will ventured down the street, searching for the sign that said Molto Espresso. It was barely one in the afternoon, a full four hours before they needed to head to their meeting. The sky was completely clear, a beautiful periwinkle expanse that was painted above the treetops of the skyscrapers. He couldn’t wait to tear off his charcoal suit jacket once he got inside the café, feeling uncomfortably restricted.
At last, he finally approached the café emblazoned with Molto Espresso, completely oblivious to the fact that all the lights inside were shut off. He gripped the polished door handle and tugged, nearly ripping his arm out of its socket when the door refused to relent.
What the hell? I swear he said Molto Espresso on 42nd street.
He quickly squinted down the street to look at the glaring green sign, which inevitably read back 42nd. He stepped back a few paces, reading and rereading the moniker multiple times just to make sure that it read the right thing back. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that Mike must not have realized that it would be closed.
Just when he’d barely turned around, he heard the tinkle of a bell as the door swished open. Before he had time to turn around, he heard a pretty female voice, warm and sweet.
“Will? Is that you?”
Swiveling around, he beheld a short, honey-blonde woman with deep dimples set into her wide smile. He instantly recognized her from the mini golf date—she was one of Mike’s friends. A friend that he’d completely dropped the ball with; Will felt an immense amount of shame building within him when he tried desperately to remember her name to no avail.
“Yeah—hi! Is Mike in there? We were supposed to meet before the pitch, but—”
“Yeah, he’s near the back,” the gorgeous blonde stepped forward and grabbed Will’s hand, tugging him gently inside and locking the door behind them.
Mike was underexaggerating when he’d said that the café was “cute”—it was downright charming. Plush couches and armchairs filled the vast space to the brim, with emerald plants dotting about. Somehow, the lack of lights made the space feel that much cozier. He didn’t realize he was ogling until he was being led by Mike’s friend into the back of the café.
“Will!” Mike called out, beaming as he stood up and ran over to him.
Luckily, Will had some semblance of self-control. Otherwise, he’d be open-mouthed and drooling all over Michael Wheeler, who was the picture of devastation. He was wearing black slacks with nice, patent-leather dress shoes, and a gray button-up that was rolled up to his elbows. His veins and tattoos were peering out at Will, begging to have a one-on-one conversation with him.
Before he knew it, he was being swept up into a crushing hug; all the air was slammed from his lungs as Mike bent down to his height to smother him. He let out a puffed oof as Mike’s strong arms wrapped around his waist. But he was secretly glad to give up the ability to breathe if it meant being held like this.
“Mike, oh, my God,” Will giggled, pulling back to extricate himself. “Calm your tits, I’m not dying.”
“I know, I know. I’m just excited,” Mike gushed, his multidimensional eyes crinkling up as he was overcome with a beautiful grin. Will’s heart stuttered in his chest, missing several beats as he beheld the raven-haired boy before him. He seems so happy.
Will realized that another girl had stood up and was standing behind them with her arm around the blonde. She was tall and willowy, with warm ebony skin and black, curly hair bunched up in a bun on top of her head. She, too, had dimples, ones that were almost as deep set as her girlfriend’s. And as hard as Will tried to remember their names, he knew that if there was a gun to his head, he’d be dead by now with the evidence of the crime splattered all over the walls and witnesses.
“I’m so sorry,” Will pleaded, walking up to the women. “I don’t remember your names, and I feel like such an asshole. I didn’t mean to get that drunk; I really wanted to—”
“It’s okay, hon, we understand,” the blonde said, reaching out to pat his cheek. “I’m Iris, and this lovely lady here is Nairobie—or Robie, for short.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself, Will. We all go through some shit,” Nairobie said, smiling kindly at him.
Will instantly felt safe around these women, the tense posture deflating from his body at their simple forgiveness; he could see why Mike was so drawn to them. The four of them walked to a chocolate, pinstriped sofa in the back; it was loaded with an eclectic mix of pillows and cushions, with one mink blanket thrown across the back. Nairobie and Iris sat on the right side of the couch, patting the space next to them for Mike and Will to squeeze themselves onto.
It was such a tight fit that Mike had no choice but to sling his arm over Will’s shoulders and tug him closer into his side. That’s what Will told himself, anyway. He was constantly trying to create solid rationale for their obvious affection, still not wanting the two girls to know that he was juggling two men at once.
Will, you’ve already fucked up around them before. You might as well accept that you’re a real-life villain.
He glanced up at Mike, who was already gazing at Will with blown pupils and an involuntary smile gracing his features. Even though he was wearing professional clothes, he still opted to wear black eyeliner and his eyebrow jewelry. This spoke so much to Will about Mike’s character evolution—he was so unapologetically himself now. Five years ago, Mike never would’ve dared to experiment with his appearance. The only time he ever had was when Will lived in California; it was like he could only figure out who he was in the absence of Will.
Or maybe it was in the absence of El.
“Hey, you,” Mike whispered, scrunching his nose and winking down at him. Will’s stomach flipped and fluttered; he was immediately flustered and blushing.
You sure are easy, Byers.
“Hey, yourself,” Will murmured back, leaning his head on Mike’s firm arm. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Oh, Will,” Iris hummed, leaning forward and handing him a mug. “Here’s your caramel macchiato—Mike here said, ‘he likes it sickly sweet’, so here you go.”
“It’s not sickly—Mike just enjoys the sad and dreary sludge of plain bean juice,” Will jibed, reaching out to grab the coffee. “He just doesn’t appreciate the beauty of a little cream and sugar.”
“A little?” Mike gasped, immediately grabbing Will’s drink and peering at it in horror. “Will, this is white. Would you like a bit more coffee with your milk?”
“Try it, Mike,” Will grabbed the coffee yet again and held it up to Mike’s lips, which puckered with disgust as he shook his head with unnecessary vehemence.
“Oh, c’mon, Mike!” Iris crowed, a twinkle lighting up her sea foam eyes.
“Yeah, give up your pretentious act and try the milk!” Nairobie cackled.
“Don’t be a pussy.”
“Drink it, drink it, drink it!”
“Alright, alright!” Mike held his hands out, giggling and rolling his eyes. “Jesus Christ! Give it to me.”
Will held the pink ceramic mug to Mike’s lips, not letting go as he sipped. The girls were cheering and cackling, but Will couldn’t focus on anything else as Mike held eye contact with him. He swallowed thickly before lowering the mug, feeling suddenly too hot and confined in his tight suit jacket.
“What—uh, what do you think?” Will stuttered through his question. Mike had a sweet line of foam on his top lip; a tiny bubble dripped onto his full lower lip, tantalizing as it dared Will to reach out and lick it.
“It’s good,” Mike said, a sly smirk pulling the corner of his lips up. “But I’ve had sweeter things.”
It was almost like Will could feel Mike’s tongue on him; wet and warm and firm as he gently tore him apart. He remembered the way his legs shook, trying desperately to hold his trembling body up. Almost like Mike was watching the cinematic montage inside of Will’s head, he trailed his eyes down to his lips and stayed there.
Will reached up and slowly swiped his thumb across Mike’s lips, gathering any errant foam onto the pads of his fingers. Mike’s bottom lip was pliant, moving along like sand beneath the sea.
“You have milk on your face,” Will whispered, not wiping it from his fingers. Mike grabbed a napkin and gently cleaned them for him, taking care to pull the napkin from the bottom to the top; he was more thorough than a palace guard, standing at attention as if Will were a royal.
“Hey, guys—do you wanna show us the presentation?” Nairobie asked, jolting Will out of his strangely erotic lapse. “Or do you just wanna keep grooming each other like kittens? Personally, I’m fine either way, but it might get weird if I start licking.”
Will’s face immediately radiated heat as he turned a bright shade of crimson. He threw himself back against Mike’s arm, covering his face as he groaned from embarrassment. Mike whacked Nairobie’s bicep, rolling his eyes as he started playfully bickering with her.
I need to take this goddamn jacket off right the fuck now.
Will started struggling with his suit coat, fighting against the laws of gravity to pull it from his broadened shoulders. I really ought to get a new suit.
Without looking away from his pseudo argument with Nairobie, Mike reached over and helped to take Will’s jacket off with one hand. Immediately, Will was relieved of the claustrophobia he’d been feeling; instead, he was overwhelmed by the nonchalant attentiveness that Mike was always able to give him.
It’s like he can read my goddamn mind. Anywhere, anytime, any day. Everything, everywhere, every time. Without fail, he’s there. But he’s not just there—he’s… the world. The North Star, the Equator, the force of gravity itself.
They spent approximately ten minutes explaining the comic strip—with very enthusiastic exclamations from the women—before spending the rest of the three hours they had to kill playing card games. A downright war was waged between Mike and Nairobie during a particularly brutal game of Bullshit; they were screaming at each other, spit flying and faces turned an inhuman shade of purple as they were simultaneously accused of cheating.
Will and Iris were in the eye of the others’ hurricane of rage, safe from the aggressive brawl as they sat back against the couch. She slyly sidled up next to him and leaned over to whisper in his ear.
“God, these fucking clowns. They’re lucky we love them.”
“Yeah,” Will said absentmindedly, grinning up at the Great Bullshit War of 1991 before him.
“So, you love him.”
Iris hadn’t posed it as a question. Instead, she’d stated it as if it were a fact as casual and concrete as the chemical composition of water. Two hydrogen molecules attached to one oxygen molecule. You love him. Water can exist in three different forms: gas, liquid, and solid. You love him. Water is essential for sustaining life. You love him. It is ever-present and abundant. You love him, you love him, you love him.
“I…” Will trailed off, all his attention completely evaporated from Mike and Nairobie as his heart dropped. He was almost scared to look at Iris, scared to see the accusations thick in her clear gaze; scared to hear the inevitable disgust within her tone.
“Will, look at me,” she said. Her voice was as tender and serene as a forest nymph’s, inviting him to feel safe within the tranquil bubble she was creating around the two of them. Slowly, he honored her request and looked up. Instead of being met with revulsion, he found understanding within her face.
“I’m going to be honest with you, hon,” she murmured, taking his hand into her own. Her skin was unusually soft as she traced her thumb along his knuckles, as soothing as the velvety lull of sleep. “I’ve never seen two people who were so obviously in love before. I’m not sure what exactly is going on with you two… but open your eyes. The sun can’t shine forever—eventually, it’s going to have to set.”
Before Will could wrangle his barrage of thoughts into an orderly fashion, Nairobie thumped down on the couch and stole away Iris’ attention. But before she completely diverted, Iris patted Will’s cheek with an expression of deep understanding on her lovely face.
Wake up, Will. One day, you’re going to want to smell the roses just to discover they died along with the summer.
“Oh, fuck me!”
Will glanced up to see Mike having a full-on fist fight with a shiny black tie. He kept trying to knot it, but every time he did, it ended up looking like an abnormally shaped testicle. His hair was starting to frizz up into a wiry cloud above his head; Will could practically see the angry steam pouring from his ears as he ripped the tie from his neck yet again.
“Mike,” Will laughed, standing up quickly to move in front of him. “Mike, calm down! You’re going to create a fucking noose and accidentally kill yourself.”
“Well, I can’t fucking figure it out! The last time I tried to do it myself was…” His voice trailed off as he averted his eyes, gazing unseeingly at the strip of silk in his hands. “It was your funeral.”
“But, Mike,” Will took the tie from his hands. “You were, what—twelve? That was almost a decade ago.”
Mike just shrugged, still not looking at Will. His stomach twisted into a thousand knots as he realized that this was about more than just the tie for Mike.
“Hey,” Will murmured, tipping Mike’s chin up until they were looking at each other. “It wasn’t real—I’m here now. I’m here, Mike. Let me show you how to tie this.”
It must’ve been beyond traumatizing to Mike to see my fake body pulled out of the lake. It must’ve been heartbreaking to attend my funeral. I’d heard… that Mike had jumped from the quarry not soon after. Was he trying to join me? Were we always destined to dance around each other in this lifetime, like oil and water, before the gods up above finally took pity on us in death? Was our fate always destined to collide past the veil of mortality?
Or can we choose our own fate?
Mike nodded, bending his knees slightly so that Will had easier access to his neck. It was silly, because Will wasn’t that much shorter than Mike—or maybe he just felt flustered to be at eye level with Mike. The reason why his presence was bearable was because Will didn’t have to look at him directly. It was like staring down the many snakes of Medusa and daring them to not turn him into a monument of awed trepidation—an impossible task.
“Well, first,” Will said, placing the tie behind Mike’s neck; his fingers accidentally brushed his skin, singing with the contact. They were so close that they wouldn’t be able to fake a chaste excuse for the proximity if they tried. “You have to line it up like this, with the fat end longer than the skinny end.”
“Mhm,” Mike hummed, tilting his head as he unabashedly stared at him.
“Then you have to cross this wide end over,” Will softly instructed, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. His fingers were fumbling slightly, little tremors causing them to spasm at random.
“Mmm,” he hummed yet again, his voice as faint as crushed velvet.
“Are you even listening to me?” Will asked, giving up on his narration as he continued to knot the tie into an impeccable triangle. But before he could chastise Mike about his blatant ignorance, Will heard a crisp snap echoing throughout the air.
Swiveling around, he saw that Nairobie had taken a polaroid photo of them. The film was still coming out of the camera; it was a milky white color as she took it out and flapped it around, creating a soft whooshing sound. The colors started to come in, an array of grays, whites, and blacks with the occasional pop of a peridot plant in the background. Will’s hands were still full of Mike’s tie, forgotten as he stared at the photo.
“Oh, my God!” Nairobie chirped, beaming at the slowly appearing image.
“God, you guys are so cute,” Iris simpered, winking up at Will.
Should I be freaking out right now? They’re not acting like he and I are just friends… do they know I have a boyfriend? I mean, they don’t know Carlton. It’s not like… they’d tell him. Fuck! I don’t know how to act.
“Wait, let me see,” Mike said, reaching out for the photo. Nairobie passed it between two fingers, posing on the couch as Iris started to snap pictures of her.
Will shyly looked over Mike’s shoulder at the still-appearing photo. It was mostly actualized, with just the faintest white sheen over it. In it, Will was staring in concentration as he worked on the finishing touches of the tie; his tongue was poking out of the side of his mouth, the shade of peonies. But his heart flipped when he looked at Mike, his guts dancing around as warmth flittered through him.
Mike was looking down at Will like he personally hung the sun and the moon in the sky. His eyes were soft, curls cascading across his face and neck as he tilted his head to the side. The height difference between them was eliminated; Mike’s knees were softly bent, his Roman face level with Will’s distracted one.
What struck him the most was Mike’s hands hovering on either side of Will’s hips, ready to steady him if he should stumble at any moment. It was silly, but it left an utterly saccharine taste on Will’s tongue; Mike was honeyed and enraptured, a spirit guide protecting the peace and world around them.
“You can keep it,” Mike said, handing the film to Will.
“Oh, no—I can’t. You take it,” Will murmured, trying to shove it back into Mike’s hands.
It worked temporarily—Mike took the photograph, gazing at it with a doting twinkle in his eye. Will felt a bittersweet mixture as he let go of the captured moment, aching to have a piece of Mike that wasn’t created from his artistic imagination; he longed to make a shrine of Mike with his actual face. But before he knew it, Mike was reaching into Will’s back pocket and sliding out his brown leather wallet. He wasted no time in enclosing it there before putting the wallet back where it belonged.
A piece of him with me, always. Carlton might live in my bed, but Mike presides over the key to my heart.
“Guys, take another one of us,” Will said suddenly, pulling Mike in gently by the waist.
Mike’s eyebrows shot up into perfect arches, a look of surprise writing across his features as he melted into Will’s side. The sun was at the perfect angle now, perfectly lined up with the faraway windows and turning Mike’s skin into a shimmering kaleidoscope of gold, ivory, and rose. His eyes outshone the blazing sun, casting rays of burnt ochre onto Will’s face; if he wasn’t careful, he was going to get blistered and charred to a crisp.
Will sidled behind Mike, wrapping his arms around his waist and placing his chin on Mike’s shoulder. Right when Mike turned to look at him and smile, Nairobie snapped the camera, cementing the moment in the eternal stone of film.
Before the photo could materialize onto the creamy plastic, Will took it from Nairobie’s outstretched hands and tenderly placed it inside Mike’s shirt pocket. Mike’s skin was warm beneath his hand; he was a fire deity, scarlet as he tended his everlasting flame.
“Now I’ll always be with you, too,” Will whispered, earning a toothy grin from the taller boy. He didn’t want to take his hands away, so he pretended to straighten out Mike’s already impeccable tie and dust nonexistent dirt from his shoulders. He found himself falling off the cliff of morality, and into the arms of clandestine serendipity; the beckoning call of his exploration sang out to him with the same alluring cadence as a siren. Mike fully knew that his appearance was unsullied, but he let Will fret over him anyway.
I’m more obvious than a lunar eclipse in the dead of a blackened sky.
Life was much different now that Will was on the other side. For years, he had fantasized about what it would be like to become his sister, to step into her shoes for just one day. He thought back on his shameful jealousy towards El, the way that he had simultaneously envied and resented her for harboring Mike’s affection. Now he knew that was asinine—he felt an immense amount of pity towards her, wishing that she knew what it truly was like to be treasured in such a worshipful way.
“Uh, guys?” Iris piped up, flipping her watch towards her face while caressing Nairobie’s hair with her other hand. “What time do you have to leave?”
“It’ll take fifteen minutes to get there, and we want to be fifteen minutes early,” Mike said, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from Will’s. It felt like the first breath of life and the last death rattle all at once. “So, we need to leave at four thirty.”
“Yeah, hate to break it to you, Wheeler, but it’s already four thirty-six,” Nairobie said, gazing at them with a wide-eyed grimace.
“Shit! Fuck—Mike, we need to go. Like, right the fuck now.”
“Shit, shit!” Mike scrambled for the suit coat, sliding it onto Will’s outstretched arms before grabbing his leather briefcase.
Iris and Nairobie both stood up, giving the two men tight but brief hugs. Will quickly pecked the girls on the cheeks, already feeling comfortable enough with them to show them the type of affection he would show towards Max. God, Max would love them. I need to call her—I need to talk to her. What was it she said before she left?
Love is… such a special, once in a lifetime thing. Don’t throw it away for your pride.
He’d been baffled when she’d said that to him, completely at a loss as to what she was referring to. But at this moment, as he and Mike ran towards the door and flung themselves out onto the congested streets, he thought he knew exactly what she meant.
---
“Oh—my—God,” Will wheezed out, clutching at a searing cramp in his side as he doubled over. “Was—was it necessary—to run?”
“Cardio, my love,” Mike panted out, a smirk somehow slithering across his face. It filled Will with an abnormal amount of annoyance—how was Mike able to smile, let alone breathe and talk? “Your muscles are fucking insatiable, but you can’t ignore cardio.”
Your muscles are fucking insatiable. God, why does he have to say shit like that? Is he purposely trying to distract me?
“Not right now, Mike,” Will gasped, the blessed relief of oxygen finally returning to his aching lungs. He rolled his eyes at the black-haired boy before glancing in the reflective glass on the side of the building to ensure that he still looked somewhat presentable.
His hair was slightly disheveled from the pointless sprint, errant locks standing up like belligerent children. He growled with frustration, immediately combing his fingers through his strands to try to tame them. Mike was standing behind him, a crooked grin tugging up the left corner of his mouth; his hands were deep in his pockets, fingers fidgeting inside as he waited for Will.
“Will, stop,” Mike murmured, moving forward to place his hands on Will’s fretful arms. After looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, Mike quickly moved them down an alleyway off to the side of the towering, gray building.
The buildings seemed to insulate their tiny bubble of privacy, muffling the harried cacophony of New York. Will leaned against a terracotta brick wall, his body pulled taut as the vicious poison of nervousness coursed throughout his veins.
Deep breaths. You’ve been dreaming of an opportunity like this your entire life. Four seconds in, eight seconds out. Breathe, Will. This is your shot.
He was adopting the method Dr. Owens had taught him back when he used to be overcome by haunting panic attacks. He was nowhere near that level of terror, but there was still the devil of insecurity sitting on his shoulder.
You’ll never be good enough. All this work, all this art, all this fucking around? All in vain, William. You’ve never had the element of fate on your side—what makes you think it will be now? Time is running out. The weeks faded into days, which faded into the measly hours that trickled around you at an alarming rate. You’re now in the final minutes, the final countdown. Will you succeed? Or will you mold into the ugly shape of your father’s expectations, Vecna’s predictions, your bullies’ convictions?
“Will. Will, look at me,” Mike implored, his eyes wide as his hands lightly gripped Will’s shoulders. The pads of his fingers acted as anchors, the last tether to this world before he floated away into the yawning abyss of space. “No one—and I mean no one—deserves this more than you.”
“Mike, I…” Will didn’t know how to articulate himself. His thoughts were screaming at him, but his mind was a barren wasteland. “What if they say no?”
His voice was small, weak, a broken feather amid a pile of grand quills. He didn’t know where this sudden sense of insecurity came from; maybe it was years of torment, or maybe it was his feelings of guilt and worthlessness as of late. Mike said no one deserved it more than him—but that couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, Mike deserved it.
Do this for Mike. Do this for the person who has stuck with you through your worst, the person who has absorbed your tears so that your pillow wouldn’t get wet. Do this for the person who has dreamed of telling fables and epic tales since he was a child. Think of five-year-old Mike, the way he wielded a plastic sword that outweighed himself; the love he already had for breathing life into stories.
“Will, they won’t say no. I can guarantee it,” Mike soothed, bringing Will into his warm embrace.
Will allowed himself a short minute of Mike’s solace. But thoughts of fulfilling Mike’s childhood dreams had immediately placated and motivated him. He briefly closed his eyes, tightening his arms around Mike’s waist as he breathed in his jasmine scent; it immediately overpowered the dirty stench of the city, filling his sinuses with visions of the woods and playing D&D in the Wheeler’s basement.
“Let’s go, Mike,” Will said, finally extricating himself from the embrace. He pulled Mike’s face down, bringing him level until he was able to place the lightest of kisses in the hollow of his cheek; his skin was soft, brushing against Will’s nose in a clandestine oath of devotion.
Five minutes later, they were being sent from the reception desk to the mirrored elevator. It was so different this time. Whereas before, it physically pained Will to even glance at the mere reflection of Mike, now he couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he held his hand out, barely brushing his knuckles across Mike’s; it was the softest of kisses, the gentlest titillation of a hummingbird wing. It was a chaste promise, a wordless affirmation of encouragement.
Much too early, they crested the tenth floor and headed over to Tobias’ eclectic office. Before they knocked on the door, Will turned to Mike, stopping the latter in his tracks. There was boisterous laughter somewhere down the hall, the familiar whirring of a paper shredder at work, but Will heard none of it.
“Good luck, Mike. Your dreams are coming true, and I honestly… I couldn’t be prouder of the person you’ve become. I wish… I wish you’d been in my life these past couple years. But you were always destined to be in my life—whether it was a reluctant project partner,” Will laughed, smiling up at Mike’s crinkling eyes. “My best friend, or… someone special. You were meant to be here. I don’t say it enough—and I’m sorry. You’re exceptional. Your words are… you have no idea what your words do.”
“Thank you, Will,” Mike whispered, sounding a little choked up. “Is my tie alright?”
“Of course, it is—I did it,” Will teased, reaching out anyway to straighten it like it was a Monet hanging in the hallowed halls of the Louvre. His hand brushed against the polaroid photo resting in Mike’s shirt pocket, a smooth rectangle that crinkled through the air as he skated over it. In this moment, all Will could think about was the meeting ahead of them, and the visions of young Mike’s eyes lighting up at the opportunity to write a comic book; he didn’t realize that he hadn’t thought about the whole fall break dilemma the entire time he’d been with Mike.
“Ready, Mike?”
“As long as I’m with you, I’ll always be ready.”