Chapter Text
They had stayed in Mike’s room the whole day.
Mike had insisted it was important that they do, even though they did absolutely nothing but just… stay in. It was nice, Will thought, to be wanted by Mike like this. He didn’t think it would ever have happened — but even in his daydreams, Mike was not as clingy, as touchy, and as possessive as he actually is.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Mike says, still holding on to Will’s wrists as if he would run away if Mike let go for a second. Will hums in response and adjusts his head on Mike’s shoulder.
“Well, it’s not really a question,” Mike drags and Will starts to get curious. He opens his eyes and is pleasantly surprised by how close Mike actually is. If he leaned forward a little, their noses would brush.
“Wait,” Mike pushes him away lightly. “I can’t think when you’re all up close and looking at me like that,” he removes his arm from under Will’s head and sits up, back to the headboard. Will does the same. “What is it?” Will worries.
“I just…” Mike laces their fingers together, despite what he just said about being all up close. “Why did you…” he takes a breath, “You lied about the painting.”
Will shrinks a little, and he might have squeezed Mike’s hand involuntarily. Mike is right, it is hard to talk about things like this when they’re face to face, so he looks away.
“You know what,” Mike notices his discomfort, “We don’t actually have to talk about. I just remembered it and I thought–”
“Mike, it’s okay,” Will reassures him, but he’s insistent and grabs Will’s chin to face him.
He’s pretty like this. With the light in his face and his hair all over the place, his eyes are soft and worried, like he thinks Will would change his mind just like that.
“I was going to tell you anyway.”
Will swallows. “I didn’t mean to lie,” he says quietly. “Not to you.”
“I know,” Mike says immediately, like there was never any doubt. “I just—” He exhales through his nose, “I want to understand.”
That’s what does it. Not the confrontation, not the painting itself, but the way Mike says understand like it’s something he’s entitled to because they’re together, because they share things now.
Will nods slowly. “It was easier to say it was from El,” he admits, “At the time.”
Mike tilts his head. “Easier than saying what?”
“That it was from me. That all along it was me feeling all those things. It’s hard saying I need you without you thinking it was weird that I felt that away.”
Mike’s fingers tighten around Will’s hand, “Will,” he says, voice low, like he’s afraid of startling something fragile between them.
Will forces himself to keep going. “I didn’t even know how to explain it back then. I just knew that when I was painting, all I could think about was you. About us. About how you look when you’re talking, and just… how much weight was put upon me whenever I looked at you,” he lets out a small, nervous breath. “It felt too big to say out loud, I couldn’t even admit it to myself.”
Mike stares at him, mouth slightly open.
“You have to understand, Mike,” Will continues, “I didn’t even know I was allowed to want that, to want you.”
Mike looks away first this time, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Jesus, Will,” he mutters. “You could’ve told me.”
“I know.” Will’s voice wobbles despite himself. “But I was scared. Not of what you would have done—just of… wanting something so much.”
Mike turns back to him then, unmistakably emotional. “You don’t have to be scared of that anymore,” he says. “You have me. You’ve had me.”
He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Will’s. Their noses brush like Will noticed earlier, and this time Mike doesn’t pull away.
“I was a little jealous, you know,” Mike admits with a weak laugh.
Will blinks. “Of El?”
“El told you were painting something for a girl you liked in Lenora,” Will snorts, but Mike remains serious despite everything, “You were never interested in anyone before, and the thought made me a little… upset, I guess.”
Will’s chest tightens. “I didn’t want to make things weird,” he says. “I didn’t want to be… a problem.”
Mike pulls back just enough to look at him properly, brows knitting together. “Will,” he says, firm but gentle, “you were never a problem. Not once.”
Will lets out a shaky breath. “It felt like I was,” he admits. “Like if I said it out loud, I’d ruin everything. So I told myself it was better to keep it to myself. To just… paint it instead.”
Mike’s thumb brushes over Will’s knuckles, slow and deliberate. “I wish you’d told me,” he says again. Then, softer, “But I get why you didn’t.”
“You do?” Will asks, surprised.
Mike nods. “I was scared too,” he confesses. “I just didn’t know of what yet. Turns out it was the same thing.”
Will huffs a quiet laugh. “We’re kinda shit at this.”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees, smiling faintly. “But we’re learning.”
He leans in again, this time kissing Will—gentle, unhurried, like he’s making up for lost time rather than trying to claim anything. Will melts into it, hands finding Mike’s shirt, grounding himself in the fact that this is real.
When they pull apart, Mike rests his forehead against Will’s once more. “Next time,” he says, “you tell me.”
“There’s nothing more to tell,” Will smiles then, wide and unguarded, and for the first time, the memory of the lie doesn’t sting, and he can let go of the guilt he had held on to for a long time.
✱
“Can I see it now?” Mike asks, again.
Will sighs, “You said you could keep still.” He darkens a part of Mike’s jaw to emphasize his bone structure.
Mike had demanded for Will to draw him. He knew it was a bad idea. Mike had a problem with keeping his hands to himself ever since they’ve confessed, and he’s also very impatient.
“I have kept still,” Mike complains, but doesn’t move anyway, aside from his excessive talking, but that’s okay, Will thinks, he has Mike’s mouth memorized. “Well, I need you to keep still some more.”
“Fine,” Mike huffs, he’s quiet for a total of five seconds. “You’ve barely looked at me in the past two minutes.”
Will rolls his eyes, “And how do you propose I draw while I’m staring at you?” He doesn’t look up from where he’s drawing; instead, he focuses on perfecting Mike's face. “I’m just saying… you’re kinda drawing me from memory by now.”
It’s not a lie, but Will ignores him, and just to prove him wrong, he looks up at Mike, who now has a smirk on his face.
Will abruptly closes his notebook, hiding his drawing from Mike. Never to be seen. “Can’t do it,” Will says, “The subject is too noisy and keeps complaining.”
“Hey!” Mike reaches for the notebook, but Will is faster in moving it away from his grasp. “I was waiting for that!”
“You were not,” Will scoffs, twisting his body away as Mike lunges again. “You just wanted an excuse to grab it.”
Mike grins, unabashed. “Both things can be true.”
He makes another grab for the notebook, and Will laughs—actually laughs—as he scrambles backward on the bed, clutching it to his chest. Mike follows, crawling after him until Will’s back hits the headboard.
“Will,” Mike says, suddenly very close, voice dropping. “Come on. I promise I won’t say anything.”
“That’s worse,” Will replies, breathless. Being this close to Mike never gets old. “You always say something.”
Mike pauses, then softens. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll be still. And I won’t talk. Scout’s honor.” He raises a hand to emphasize his promise.
Will eyes him suspiciously. “You were never a scout.”
“Party’s honor, then.”
Will hesitates, then sighs and carefully opens the notebook again, angling it just enough so Mike can’t see. “Don’t move,” he warns.
“I won’t,” Mike whispers.
For a full ten seconds, he actually doesn’t.
Will draws in silence, pencil gliding easily now, because the lines are already there in his head. The curve of Mike’s nose, the little crease between his brows, the way his hair never quite does what he wants it to. Will looks up again, just for reference.
Mike’s staring back at him—not smirking this time. Just staring back, like he’s studying Will’s face too.
“What?” Will murmurs.
“Nothing,” Mike says. “You just get this look when you draw.”
“What look?”
“Like you’re seeing something no one else gets to see.”
Will feels heat rush to his face. “You’re supposed to be still.”
Mike smiles, “I am.”
After another moment, Will adds the final lines, then closes the notebook gently, fingers lingering on the cover. He takes a breath.
“Okay, done,” he says, “You can see it.”
Mike’s eyes light up. “Really?”
Will nods, heart pounding, and turns the notebook around.
Mike goes quiet instantly.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Will.”
Will braces himself. “You don’t have to—”
Mike is tracing the lines with his fingers, the graphite is probably staining him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“—say anything,” Will finishes weakly, because Mike hasn’t looked up yet, hasn’t teased or said anything to make the knot in Will’s chest loosen.
Mike’s fingers move slowly, reverently, like he’s afraid the drawing might disappear if he touches it wrong. “You even got this,” he murmurs, tapping the corner of the page where Will shaded the slight dip beneath his cheekbone. “I hate that thing.”
Will blinks. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, still staring. “But you made it look… good. Like it’s supposed to be there.”
He finally looks up then, eyes glassy in a way that makes Will’s breath hitch.
“You look at me like this?” Mike asks quietly.
Will swallows. “Like what?”
Mike doesn’t answer, “You’ve gotten really good at this.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Will says immediately, too fast. “I mean, I’ve drawn a lot of things, faces, you know…”
Mike closes the notebook carefully and sets it aside, then reaches for Will’s hands, smudging graphite onto his own fingers in the process. He doesn’t let go.
“Hey,” he says, thumb brushing over Will’s knuckles. “I’m keeping this.”
Will laughs, despite his heart beating out of his chest. “No, you’re not.” He grabs the notebook and keeps it away from Mike.
“Fine,” Mike says, sitting beside him. “Just show me what else you’ve drawn.”
“Demanding,” Will accuses, “And no.”
“What? Why?” Mike looks at him.
Will hesitates, fingers tightening around the notebook. “Because,” he says, staring very hard at the cover, “not everything is meant to be… reviewed.”
Mike tilts his head. “Is it bad?”
“No,” Will says quickly. “It’s just… personal.”
That makes Mike’s expression soften immediately. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”
The easy acceptance almost makes Will laugh again. Almost. Instead, he exhales and nudges Mike’s knee with his own, “You don’t have to look at everything I make.”
“I know,” Mike says. “I just like knowing it exists.” Will glances at him. “That’s weird.” Mike grins, “I like knowing things about you that no one else does.”
Will hums noncommittally, then adds, quieter, “Some of them are… you.”
Mike freezes. “Plural?”
Will winces. “I told you, I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Mike’s smile fades into something softer, something careful. “From before?” he asks. Will nods. “Yeah.”
Mike doesn’t reach for the notebook this time. He just takes Will’s hand again, threading their fingers together. “You know,” he says gently, “you didn’t have to wait.”
“I know,” Will says. “But I wanted to.”
Mike squeezes his hand. “I think I’d like to see them someday.”
Will looks at him, “Someday,” he agrees. Mike leans in, bumping his shoulder against Will’s. “I like being your favorite subject.”
Will snorts. “I didn’t say anything about you being my favorite subject.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, smiling. “But you still draw me.”
Will feels his face warm again, but this time he doesn’t try to hide it. “It’s just… easy,” he says. “You make expressions without realizing it.”
Mike’s smile turns fond. “You notice everything.”
“I kind of have to,” Will murmurs. “It’s how I draw.”
“Is that all?” Mike asks, tone light but eyes searching. Will shrugs. “Maybe not.”
They sit there for a moment, shoulders touching, the notebook resting forgotten between them. Mike’s thumb traces slow circles on the back of Will’s hand, grounding and familiar.
“I wish I’d known,” Mike says eventually, “Back then.”
Will swallows, he doesn’t know if he agrees. “I don’t think it would’ve changed anything.”
Mike hums, “Maybe not. But I would’ve sat for you anyway.”
That makes Will laugh, soft and surprised. “No, you would not.”
“I would,” Mike insists. “I’d complain, sure. But I’d sit.” Will tilts his head, considering him. “You’re doing a decent job now.”
“High praise,” Mike says. Will leans into him, resting his head against Mike’s shoulder. “You don’t have to see the old ones,” he says quietly. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“I do. I want to,” Mike replies without hesitation. “Just… when you’re ready.” Will nods, eyes drifting closed. “Okay.”
Mike presses a kiss to the top of his head, gentle and unhurried. “Until then, you can keep drawing me.” Will hums in response, a sound that vibrates softly against Mike’s shoulder. They sit like that for a moment, comfortable, the quiet stretching without feeling heavy.
“So,” Mike says suddenly, breaking it, “What are you actually going to do with all those sketches?” Will opens one eye, “Hide them from you, apparently.”
Mike snorts, “Rude.”
“I mean it,” Will adds, lifting his head to look at him. “I don’t know yet. Maybe turn some of them into real paintings. Or maybe they just… stay as they are.”
Mike nods, thoughtful. “I like the idea of you keeping things as they are, because they don’t have to be anything, if you don’t want to.”
Will studies him for a second, “You’ve been saying stuff like that a lot lately.”
“Stuff like what?”
“Smart stuff,” Will says seriously. Mike laughs, surprised, and hits Will’s arm, “Shut up.”
Will smiles, then glances toward the window where the light’s starting to fade, “We’ve been in here all day.”
“And?” Mike says. “You mad about it?”
“No,” Will says quickly. “Just… noticing.” Mike considers this, then shrugs. “We could eat. Or we could not move and starve dramatically.” Will raises an eyebrow, “You’re already dramatic enough.”
“Wow,” Mike says, clutching his chest dramatically. “I sit still for you, and this is how you repay me?”
Will laughs again, brighter this time. “Fine. Food.”
Mike grins. “See? Compromise.” Will is about to stand, but Mike stops him from getting to the edge of the bed. “Wait. I might have a better idea.”
“What?” Will asks, then he’s being kissed by Mike Wheeler, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get used to that.
Mike pulls away just as they're out of breath, “I can do that now,” he boasts, all while his lips are red and his cheeks are flushed. Will blinks at him, still a little dazed. “You’re… very proud of yourself,” he says, catching his breath and shaking his head like he’s trying to reset his brain. Mike grins wider. “I’ve been practicing.”
“That is not reassuring, Mike.”
“It should be,” Mike insists. “Means I’m committed.”
Will laughs and finally manages to scoot away far enough to stand up properly. “Okay. You used your better idea,” Will quotes, “Now we’re still hungry.”
Mike groans and flops back onto the bed, arms spread out dramatically.
Will grabs his hoodie from the chair and tosses it at Mike’s face. “Get up. If you don’t eat soon, you’re going to start narrating your suffering.”
“I already am,” Mike says, muffled.
Will pauses at the door, watching him for a second—hair a mess, hoodie half on, still smiling like he’s won something important. “You know,” he says, “you’re really bad at doing nothing.” Mike peeks out from under the hoodie. “And yet, you spent all day with me.” Will smiles, soft and fond. “Yeah. I did.”
Mike sits up then, suddenly energized. “Okay, food. But I’m choosing.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
They stare at each other for a beat, then both start talking at once as they head out of the room, pushing each other so they can get to the kitchen faster.
This, Will thinks, is exactly how things are supposed to be.