Chapter Text
Fall break from the university of NYU was an exhilarating time for many students; it was a promise of unlimited time for festive activities or finally being able to take trips to see their loved ones. For Mike, it was a promise of being able to sleep peacefully without the incriminating sound of his alarm clock blaring in his ears at the crack of dawn.
That and being able to spend his free time with his roommate, Will.
Roommate is to put it extremely lightly.
Will was his childhood best friend, his best friend who he’s been attached at the hip to for years like an unbearable conjoined twin. Mike orbited around Will like he was the center of the universe and to Mike, he practically was.
Most would find this incredibly annoying but Will found it endearing in the kindhearted way he is.
Which is why the past few months of them living together in their two bedroom apartment has been an absolute dream for Mike. It was a constant, never ending sleepover with his most prized person filled with loud laughter and mindless conversation every night.
It was perfect.
Until the incident happened.
It was a chilly Saturday morning, the cool breeze of autumn slipping through the cracks of the windowsill containing Mike in a deep slumber. The type of sleep that you’ll wake up under a pile of drool on your pillow and deep marks embedded on the skin on your face. The only noise echoing through the apartment was Will’s soft humming to Nirvana’s performance of Smells Like Teen Spirit on MTV as he swept up the gathered dust on the floor with a broom.
Mike was in captured into a dream of fire-breathing dragons and mysterious elves until a bloodcurdling scream awoke him. He shot straight up with his heart pounding violently in his chest at the sudden explosion of sound. In a frantic rush, he threw the twisted sheets off the ground and lunged to his feet, falling clumsily onto the wooden floor during the attempt. He groaned in pain before shoving himself back into a standing position with shaky arms.
“Will?” Mike’s voice called out, fear laced in his words.
He dashed through the apartment to find Will sitting on the floor, his right arm cradled against his chest, his face was twisted in a painful expression. The sight made Mike’s stomach drop.
“Will!” Mike immediately flew down to his side.
Upon a closer examination it was evident Will’s arm was broken. It was turning a blistering dark violet shade, the bone lodged in the complete opposite direction. Bile began to rise in Mike’s throat at the horrific sight but he swallowed it down, trying to remain as a calm anchor for Will. Mike wanted to question how the hell he was able to disfigure his arm so brutally while cleaning but pushed it to the side for later, the feeling of fear and adrenaline overtaking him.
Mike’s arms scooped Will up into a bridal carrying position in one swift motion, one palm centered on his lower back as the other was wrapped underneath the back of his thighs. Will let out a painful gasp at the sudden movement, biting his lip to stop the cry he wanted to scream out.
Mike tried to be incredulously cautious with his movements in hopes to not inflict more pain onto Will as he quickly zipped around the apartment, collecting his keys and shoving on the nearest pair of shoes by the doormat. Within a few minutes he was out the door and down the stairs to his car in the parking lot, gently placing Will’s wounded body into the passenger seat.
It was a surprise that Mike didn’t receive a ticket with how fast he sped to the nearest hospital.
The medical assistants at the front desk looked at Mike like he was a madman when he came flying through the doors with Will clutched to his chest, demanding help immediately like Will had been shot. It may have been a dramatic approach but he couldn’t have cared less in the moment, the thought of Will being in pain was enough to make him step out of his comfort zone. Even if it meant looking like someone who should be institutionalized immediately in front of multiple strangers.
He would stand on the front desk and holler out like a caveman if it meant gaining enough attention for Will to get the help he needs.
After a short amount of time, though not short enough for Mike’s liking, Will was taken back for X-Rays.
Sure enough, the bone in his right radius was partially split down the middle.
“How did you manage to do this?” The doctor asked Will with an upturned eyebrow as he clicked through the images of his X-Ray on the computer.
Will looked down to his swinging feet as a slight pink hue of embarrassment tints his cheeks, “I uhm, I was dancing to music while cleaning and slipped.”
Mike leans forward and rubs his hands against his face in an attempt to muffle the low laughter that escapes his lips. The image of Will dancing around their living room like it’s a center stage to perform on, using the broom as a microphone making him burst into a fit of giggles. Will shoots him a glare despite the sheepish smile that plays on his own lips.
The doctor flickers between the two with a strange look in his eyes before shaking his head and sighing deeply, “You’ll have to stay in this cast,” He taps the cap of his pen against the bright yellow shell of Will’s cast. “For about six weeks.”
“Six weeks?” Will groans irritably.
“Six weeks,” The doctor walks towards the door and places his hand on the knob. “Do not get it wet in the shower, don’t put weight on it and do not scratch inside no matter how itchy it may feel.”
Before Will can open his mouth to say anything else, the door clicks shut behind him.
Will lets out a loud exasperated sigh in defeat before sliding off the examination chair. Mike joins him in standing and collects their small belongings that were scattered in the unoccupied chair next to him.
“I won’t be able to do anything,” Will whines, a deepened frown on his face.
“At least you got a yellow cast,” Mike hums while bumping his hip against Will’s in an attempt to cheer him up. He rolls his eyes dramatically before returning the playful gesture.
“Let’s get you out of here before they start charging us for breathing,” Mike urges, which gains a small laugh from Will. Mike’s lip twitches up at the warm sound filling his ears. Mike’s hand twists the silver doorknob, opening the door for the two of them to make their exit. The bright light of the porcelain hallways makes his head feel dizzy as it is revealed, the smell of alcohol and old people wafts against his face making him grimace.
Mike really, really hates hospitals.
“Or before I break something else,” Will tuts while skipping ahead of Mike, passing a group of nurses who are submerged into their own hushed conversation. Like an overprotective mother, Mike starts to pace behind Will while begging him to be careful.
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It had been a few days since their hospital visit and it started to become increasingly apparent that Will was very limited to everyday activities.
Will has always been a disgustingly positive person, the one who always looks at the bright side of things even when it felt like there was none. But the lack of independence with the restriction of use of his dominant hand was beginning to make him spiral.
Although Mike hated to see him in pain and irritable, he internally loved the fact that Will had to lean on him as much as he does. It made him feel needed even if it is practically forced.
“God damn it,” Will huffs in annoyance. He is standing on his tiptoes in front of the glass cabinet in the kitchen. Fingers fishing for his usual morning coffee mug– a small ceramic cup that is covered in pale yellow stars that he made as a young child in art class. But with each attempt he makes to grab the dish, it only pushes it farther inside and away from his grasp.
Mike pokes his head outside the interior of the fridge beside him and notices his struggle. The milk carton in his hand is placed on the counter before he turns towards Will.
“Let me help you,” He softly offers. Mike comes up from behind Will to reach above him into the wooden cabinet, the front of his chest brushing against Will’s back in the movement. Mike flinches away immediately when the front of his hips accidentally press into Will. The proximity of their skin fills a heat through him that he tries to shake away. In a swift manner, Mike grabs the beloved mug and places it next to Will.
“There,” Mike clears his throat. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Will mumbles shyly as he picks up the coffee pot to fill the star covered mug. Mike wipes down the wrinkled fabric of his shirt before continuing his process of making breakfast. Unfortunately for the both of them with Will’s injury, they are cursed with Mike’s cooking until further notice.
The aroma of roasted coffee and warm maple pancakes fills the air as Mike dances around the kitchen in a clumsy fashion. The grease from the sizzling bacon on the stovetop becomes a war zone that he tries to combat but loses terribly. He curses when the hot liquid pops out, stinging the skin on his arm.
Will sits on the worn cushions of their couch, a couch that has definitely seen better days considering they found it on the side of the road, while he sips at his coffee and watches the television that hums lowly on their wooden media center. His comforting morning ritual of Seinfeld bringing him at peace.
Mike carefully organizes the breakfast onto the patterned plates in hopes to make it look more appealing than it is. He submerges Will’s pancakes in maple syrup, just the way he likes, and hopes it is enough to cover up the burnt corners. It certainly isn’t getting worse the more he cooks but it is in no way getting better.
Mike balances the plates in his arms clumsily as he walks over to the couch, placing Will’s on the small coffee table. Will shoots him an appreciative smile as Mike dips into the cushions beside him.
“Maybe we should start having cereal instead,” Mike offers when the ashy taste hits his tongue. His face twists into a disgusted expression. He really needs to watch a cooking show or call his mother. If the broken arm doesn’t kill Will then he’s sure his cooking will at this point.
“It’s not that bad,” Will gently replies but the small twitch in his lips as the fork enters his mouth gives it away. Mike rolls his eyes.
“Okay it might be.” Will counters with a chuckle, going for the safer options of scrambled eggs on his plate instead.
“Cereal tomorrow it is.” Mike states as he sets his outstretched legs onto the coffee table. Will pushes them off with his leg as soon as they hit the surface, shooting a glare towards Mike for his lack of manners.
They sit there in a comfortable silence as they eat their breakfast, the only noise leaving them is a small laugh here and there towards a particularly funny scene in the show. It’s the way they typically spend their mornings when the crazy life of college doesn’t counteract it, lazy and domestic.
It’s a simplicity that Mike misses despite admitting it out loud.
University is great; he truly likes his classes. He’s humble enough to be grateful for the opportunity and to be able to live with his best friend on top of it all. But the days where he doesn’t see Will until dinner time because of late night courses or sometimes not at all when he stays late at the studio working on an art project places a small sadness in him, a strange sense of longing.
“Max called earlier.” Will suddenly breaks the silence, pushing his finished plate onto the table in dismissal. He turns towards Mike on the couch.
“Yeah?” Mike questions as he grabs the remote to lower the volume of the television and mirrors Will’s position. “What did she want?”
“Everyone was discussing going to a haunted house tonight,” Mike raises an eyebrow. “Wanted to know if we wanted to go.”
“Do you want to?” It’s not that Will has never been a huge fan of horror or anything, he enjoys a classic slasher but any film with a jump-scare is practically a death sentence to him and bystanders around. His scream is more horrific than whatever happens on the screen that causes it.
Will shrugs, “I think it could be fun. Might be nice to get out.”
Mike nods without arguing, it would be a good thing for Will to go out. Sitting on their couch depressed about his broken arm while watching Labyrinth over and over again was fine at first but now it’s turning into a weird copying mechanism that’s starting to creep Mike out.
And the fact that Will clings onto Mike like a terrified puppy when he’s scared may have some influence on his decision as well, not that Mike would ever voice the matter.
“Cool.” Will smiles, the excitement in his eyes shining brightly at Mike before returning his attention back to Seinfeld.
Mike leans back into the couch, trying to pay attention to the characters on the screen but his gaze continues to falter back to the boy next to him.
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Nightfall welcomes itself with the soft rays of moonlight spilling through the slightly ajar windows of their apartment. The brisk autumn breeze drifting throughout the air sends a chill down Mike’s bare spine as he stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom. A pile of clothes that he has repeatedly thrown on and off sitting on the layer of twisted sheets of his bed.
He uncomfortably pulls down on the hem of a black sweatshirt before groaning in annoyance and ripping it off, dissolving it into the growing pile.
Somehow every piece of clothing in his closet is looking horrid today.
Mike is unsure of why he’s so concerned with how he is presented in the first place, it’s only the party after all and it’s literally pitch black outside.
He picks up a promising dark blue long sleeve but before he tries it on, a loud bang erupts in the distance. Mike’s eyes flicker to his door in concern, dropping the shirt onto the ground without thought.
“Will?” Mike pops his head out from the cracked door. There is no answer.
“Shit!” Will lets out a muffled curse.
Mike creaks open his door and slithers through it, walking across the hallway to the door of Will’s bedroom. The patter of his footsteps softly echoing through the air of the silent apartment. He raises his closed fist to the oak wood in hesitation before knocking.
“Will?” Mike tries again but this time when no reply is given, Mike pushes his door open.
Will is sitting on the edge of his bed, stuck in a yellow sweater. The cast of his arm is tangled in the sleeves with his head barely through the hole, his face twisted in pure irritation.
Mike bites his lip to stop himself from laughing at the poor boy.
“Don’t.” Will warns with a glare when he sees the way Mike’s lip trembles.
Mike walks towards him, “You know you can just ask for help right?” His tone is amused despite the daggers Will is giving him.
“You help with everything,” Will sighs. “I just wanted to do it myself.”
“I know,” Mike reassures gently. “But there’s nothing wrong with asking.”
Mike’s hand pushes the top of Will’s sweater down, helping his head through the hole. His fingers brush against his hair down to his neck in the movement, the warmth of Will’s skin radiating onto him. Will quietly stares at Mike as his hands maneuver around the twisted sweater. When his fingertips skim against the bare skin of Will’s side it sends a shiver through him. Mike becomes very still at the feeling of Will’s raised goosebumps grazing his fingers.
The sweater is fixed yet Mike doesn’t remove his hands for a moment, his mind is dizzy with the sensation of Will’s skin against him. The softness of his stomach causes Mike’s throat to tighten. Will stares at Mike with an up tilted chin as he towers over him, doe eyes soft and searching. Mike’s gaze drops to the plushness of his lips that are tinted pink, a thought of what they feel like passing his mind. If they are as soft as the splay of his stomach.
Will’s tongue slides against his bottom lip, wetting them. His saliva glistens in the warm light of his bedroom. Mike quickly adverts his gaze in an attempt to stop the heat coiling in his lower stomach.
“I like helping.” Mike breathes. He slowly removes his hand, letting the bottom of the sweater fall on Will’s hips.
Will’s eyes flicker to the bareness of Mike’s chest as he backs away from him. Mike had completely forgotten that he was in the midst of changing when he rushed in. An embarrassed blush creeps on his cheeks. A feeling of suddenly being too exposed.
“I, uhm,” Mike makes an awkward gesture to the door. “I’m going to finish getting ready.”
Will nods silently, his eyes dropping down to the floor.
Mike turns towards the door to make his exit, trying to not absolutely sprint out of the room to disguise the amount of embarrassment that is plastered on his face. When he makes it into the safety of his room, he shuts the door behind him immediately. His chest rapidly falls as he leans against it. He rubs his palms harshly against his face, trying to steady the shaky breaths that ripple from him.
That was…
Weird.
Mike shakes his head as if it could remove the tumbling thoughts in his mind before returning to the disastrous state of his bedroom.
Clothes.
Haunted house.
He reminds himself of what he needs to do while searching through the pile of clothes on his mattress. Mike tries not to acknowledge the tingling sensation in his fingers while doing so, the feeling of Will’s skin still lingering on him in a way he can’t quite place.