Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Matilda, you talk of the pain like it’s all alright

But I know that you feel like a piece of you’s dead inside

You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days

It’s none of my business, but it’s just been on my mind

…

You don’t have to be sorry for doin’ it on your own…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mike doesn't know what's happening in his life anymore. First Will disappeared, that November.

Then Eleven showed up that night in the woods.

Then the demogorgon. Then Will was back. But not really. The Mindflayer. But this, this has to be the worst of all of it.

Will's moving to California.

Will's moving away.

Mike can't help but blame Bob, even though he knows he shouldn't. But he knows that Bob put the idea in Joyce's head, and he can't stop the bitterness that rises up his throat like bile.

Mike stomps up the stairs after yet another awkward and asphyxiating family dinner, closing his bedroom door gently behind him. He walks across the room, noting the fact that his desk and possessions all have a fine layer of dust. His room looks frozen in time. Mike supposes that it has been a full year since he actually played with most of this stuff. It all feels childish now, like he's too big for his 13 year old body.

He yanks the string for his blinds, letting a sunbeam stab through the room and light up the dust motes dancing in the air. With a sigh, he collapses into his desk chair and pushes crumpled papers and forgotten pens to the side with an arm.

He slips a flask of whiskey, just bigger than his palm, out of his sleeve. He had taken it from the liquor cabinet right before dinner. His mother thought he didn't know that his father drank, but he found the cupboard long ago while searching for clean plates. He sets it gently on his desk, as if with one neglectful movement it could implode and destroy everything.

He blows out a breath, pursing his lips and feeling the air rush through. Almost whistling, but not quite.

Mike supposes that this is a bit drastic. After all, phones exist. And letters. He stares out the window and says watches the clouds drift by as he loses himself in his mind. But Will... Will is so much more to him than Dustin, or Max, or even El, as much as he doesn't want to admit it.

He moves the whiskey to the corner of his desk, pulling a clean sheet of paper towards him. He sets a blue pen against the page, watching the dark ink blot the clean sheet. He picks it back up for a second, contemplating what to write.

Eventually he presses it back down, and like a dam had been broken, words flow as easy as ink from the pen.

*

Dear Will,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for our fight and not being there when you needed me and I'm sorry for what I'm doing now. To everyone. To you. I'm sorry. Tell El that it's not her fault. It's not your fault. Please don't think that.

I miss us. I miss our dnd and our bike rides and everything about us before you were gone. I was so lost without you. I don't want to feel that again.

Theres so much to say to you, but I don't have the words.

I love you.

That's three of them. I love you and I'm sorry l didn't say it before. Before everything. I think I've always known. But I never said anything. I'm sorry if this ruins the memory you'll have of me.

So much to say.

From,

Love,

Mike.

*

Mike hates the letter. He hates the bleeding ink and the strikethroughs and his scratchy handwriting. He hates the tears that make his eyelashes clump together and the rock in his throat that makes his mouth go dry. He hates it.

He doesn't write one for anyone else.

Just Will.

Will is the only one who will blame himself, he thinks. Or at least for longer than the three weeks that it's big news.

Before he can lose his nerve, he stuffs the aforementioned flask of alcohol in his pocket and shoves open the window. The air is crisp, flooding the room with a new sort of life.

He clambers out onto the roof, holding onto the window sill with one hand. He shuffles along the edge, arms out for balance. After a few minutes he manages to make it around to the side above their backyard. Jumping onto grass. Easier to clean up, he thinks. Easier to forget.

As he stands on the edge, his most cherished memories run through his head. DnD. That one Christmas that Nancy helped him make cookies for The Party. Will's smile when he was back from the Upside Down. Their matching watches. The looks that Mike stole in class, quick glances over his shoulder whenever Will was preoccupied with schoolwork, or drawing.

And all of a sudden it's too much to give up. And he can see a bike cresting over the hill, and the figure is too small to be Dustin and Lucas is right next door.

Mike's heart drops into his toes, but still beats so hard he can feel it in his head, and all he can think is oh shit.

He sits down hard on the edge of the roof, legs dangling, and starts to cry, head in his hands.

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I’m still tryin’ everything to get you laughing at me

And I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why

I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try

I’m still on that trapeze

I’m still tryin’ everything to keep you looking at me

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He knows that Will is coming, and he knows that he should pull himself together. Knows that he can't afford to be seen sobbing like a seven year old. Knows that he can't be caught on the edge of the roof, where it's so very obvious what he had been trying to do.

With trembling hands, he slides the forgotten liquor out of his pocket. He unscrews the lid and throws it back, drinking a little less than half the bottle. Mike has to resist the urge to gag as the whiskey burns down his throat, but already he can feel a buzzing in his limbs, his head.

Liquid courage, Max had called it. She had brought it to his basement once, when The Party had been having a movie night; though she put it away after numerous protests from Will and Dustin. 'Too young. "Too risky. That they would get caught. That they'd get in trouble.

Mike downs the rest of the bottle.

For the first time since he saw Will cresting the hill, he looks back up. He's almost to Mike's house now, maybe a couple minutes away. Mike tries to stand up, to get a hold of himself, but the leg he tried to pull back up slips off the edge again, along with a shower of pebbles.

Mike swallows nervously, and resolves to just stay there, regardless of consequence. He'll come up with some excuse. He kicked a ball up here, or was looking at clouds, or something.

He's startled out of his thoughts by the familiar sound of a bike hitting the ground.

"Mike?" Will calls, shielding his eyes with a hand and squinting up at him.

Mike stays quiet. Something in his mind tells him that if he just stays still enough, that Will won't notice. Too bad that's not how it worked out.

"Michael, I can see you up there. What are you doing?"

Mike brings himself to shrug, muttering an 'l dunno, that Will surely can't hear. A few more seconds of silence, and Will sighs and say he's coming up.

A few minutes later, Will is clambering out of Mike's window the same way he had. "Ah, shit."" He mumbles, grabbing onto the sill so hard his knuckles turn white. Mike watches him shuffle himself over, eventually sitting down next to him.

"Hey." Mike mumbles, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"Hi." Will breathes, then repeats his earlier question. "What are you doing up here?"

Mike shrugs.

"Liar."

At this, he feels a twisting in his gut. Will knows. He always does. Maybe he also knows Mike's secret. Hopefully not.

Hopefully the knife in his stomach is just the whiskey.

They fall into a silence, and Mike spends the time trying to sync his breaths with Will. A good bit of time passes before he realizes that Will is waiting for him to speak.

The weight of his letter is heavy in his pocket, and his heart is beating hard in his chest. His tongue feels thick and his head is fuzzy.

"I... Will, I don't think I like Eleven... like that." He finds himself saying, and doesn't even know where the words came from. All he knows is that they're true, and it feels like an oversized weight has been lifted off of his chest.

Will is quiet for a while longer, as if taking the time to let the words digest.

“...okay..?" He finally says, sounding concerned but also a little confused.

"I don't know what to do.. because, because everyone thinks we're this- this- these perfect lovers- or whatever shit-"

"Mike."

"And- I mean, I mean we're not. We're not perfect and I don't- I don't love her. You know that, right? I don't- I love-" But he catches himself. No. Not letting that nuclear missile slip out.

"Mike." Will says again, successfully cutting him off this time. "It's okay. It's okay."

With a sniffle, Mike realizes he's crying again. He wipes at his cheeks angrily.

"Yeah?" He asks nervously.

"Yeah." Will affirms.

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Don’t modify, everyone adores you

At least I do

Everybody has you up on their walls sometimes

Everybody thinks of you when they sleep at night

When I say ‘everybody’ I’m actually referring to me…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No one normal ever accomplished anything meaningful in this world." Will says suddenly.

"What?" Mike asks, caught off guard as the silence had been thick for the past few minutes.

"Something Jonathan told me." Will explains, nudging Mike's shoulder with his own. He kicks his dangling feet. "You shouldn't like something, or someone, just because someone says you should, Mike."

Mike opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. He sneaks a glance at Will, who has now leaned back and is looking up at the sky.

Mike's eyes trace the other boys features. His hands, his arms, his face, his jawline. His lips. Eyes. Apparently he's not being as subtle as he thought, because Will looks over to meet his eyes.

"What?"

Mike shrugs, embarrassed, and he can feel the scarlet creeping up his neck. "Nothing." Internally, he blames it on the alcohol. He's just drunk, he tells himself.

The silence falls again, until Mike blurts out what he's been thinking.

"I didn't mean it, you know."

"What?" Will asks.

"The June campaign. What I said... about you not liking girls." Mike swallows hard, staring at his hands. "I didn't mean it."

"I know, Mike. It's fine-"

"It's not. I wasn't thinking. I was just jealous, and upset, and it wasn't fair to you and-“

"Jealous?" Will repeats quietly, staring out across the yard.

"I- I didn't- I didn't mean to say that," Mike mumbles nervously.

"Mike. Friends don't lie."

Mike chews on his lip, staring at his dangling feet.

"I... I don't think I like girls." He whispers.

Will falls silent, and Mike doesn't want to look up. Doesn't want to see the disgust that he knows is there.

The silence is deafening. Mike swears he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Will sighs, and Mike finds it somewhere within him to look up. What he sees makes him wish he could just shut up for once.

Will's eyes are glistening with tears, and he's half smiling.

"Crazy together, right?" Will asks.

Mike nods, resisting the urge to reach out and wipe the tears from Will's face. "Yeah."

As they sit there looking at one another, Mike remembers why he wants to live. Even if Will is going away. It'll still be worth it to be on the same plane of existence.

Mike tears his gaze away, looking up at the clouds.

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

Mike closes his eyes and lets out a breath. "What if I do love someone? How am I supposed to feel then?" He asks, not expecting an answer.

Silence covers them again, and Mike's about to tell the other boy to forget about it when Will pipes up.

"It's awful and wonderful all at once. When they look at you it's like everything else in the world goes dim and when they aren't there it feels like you can't breathe. When they touch you it feels like a static shock and your heartbeat goes all funny, and you kind of hate them for taking over your life but all the same you wouldn't give them up for anything."

Will is staring at the ground, brow furrowed, and Mike is staring at him, astounded. It feels as if Will reached into his mind and unknotted all the feelings that were shoved down his throat and tangled like a ball of Nancy's knitting yarn.

Like Will is in love too.

With someone.

With someone else.

Mike's throat tightens, and he feels like he can't breathe.

"Oh." He says softly.

"Yeah." Will mumbles, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Mike swallows, figuring that if all goes south at least Will is moving to California in a couple of weeks.

"Will?"

"Yeah?" Will repeats.

"I think I'm in love."

Will's face does something funny, but Mike is too busy trying to piece together his next sentence to read anything into it.

"With- with who?"

Mike pauses a second, staring down at the grass so far below their dangling feet. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe he's accepted the fact that Will could never want him back, but Mike feels oddly at peace, not nervous at all. His heart has settled into a regular rhythm for the first time since before he clambered out his bedroom window. He decides to put it simply.

"You."

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s funny ‘cause you drive me half insane

A universe without you would be thoroughly mundane

There’s no one else I’d rather fall in love with

And that is my best friend in the world

…

You’re my best friend in the world

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Will's heart has never pounded so hard in his chest. Not in DnD, not while hiding in the Upside Down, not while confronting the Mind Flayer.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a stretch.

But still.

He swallows hard, and tries to find his voice.

"W- what?"

He can't help but glance over at his best friend, his curls tumbling over his shoulders and his eyes having that sleepless look they've always held.

Mike swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Will watches it with his eyes.

"You. I-" Mike's voice catches, and he takes a few moments, and Will wishes he could see or hear what's happening in Mike's mind.

"I think... I think I have been, for a while now. At least. I, um." Mike rakes a hand through his hair as he stumbles through his words, cheeks flushed.

Will doesn't believe it. He wishes he would. He wishes that, after years of pining, of yearning, of wanting, that he would take fucking advantage of this moment and do something about it. Kiss the idiot, or yell at him, or something. But he doesn't.

Instead he watches the boy he loves become a flustered mess as he describes the things that Will has been feeling for years.

"And, uh, I was scared, because- because, because.. you're never going to want me back." Michael says, his hand moving from his hair to the back of his neck, rubbing at it nervously.

Sounding so sure of this assumption that Will's heart breaks a little more.

"But then it was like... what the fuck, y'know?" He laughs. "You're moving in like... a month, anyways, so I thought l'd... y'know." He gestures vaguely in the air. "Tell you." He ends, his voice dropping to a mumble.

Mike's head is hanging like a kicked dog, his bangs falling down to hide his face. What Will would do to brush it away, to kiss away the tears he knows are brimming in Mike's eyes. The tears that Mike would rather die than let fall.

Will doesn't know what to do. He could be selfish, giving in and confessing, letting himself have the person he's always longed for. Or he could be realistic and tell Mike that he doesn't know what he's talking about. That he's just lonely, and projecting on Will.

Because of his dilemma, Will had missed the ending of Mike's monologue.

"-Will?"

His head snaps up from his reverie, and he glances at Mike.

"Yeah?"

"Are you-" Mike lets out a shaky breath; Will's prediction had been completely off base - there were tears streaked down Mike's cheeks. The sight makes his heart hurt. "Do you want to leave?" The other boy asks him softly.

"No.. I just- I'm thinking." Will says, leaning back against the slope of the roof. He gazes up at the clouds. He feels like one of them. Doomed to repeat the same hellish water cycle over and over again.

"Okay." Mike murmurs.

"Have you-" Will chews his lip, thinking of how to phrase this. "Have you ever gone somewhere, like on vacation, or something, I dunno. And you want this thing. Could be a toy, a prize or whatever. Ano you want it- you just want it so badly. But it's expensive. Way too expensive to expect your parents to buy it.

"But they do. They buy it for you, and give it to you, and you're just so happy. You're ecstatic. Because you just- you felt like you couldn't live without this. But you can't help but wonder if there's strings attached, right? If you have to give your old toys away for a garage sale or watch your little sibling for the weekend. Leverage.

"That's.... That's how this feels." Mike looks hurt, like a monsoon just hit his parade. Will rushes to placate him, ever the apologetic one. "It's not you, it's just..."

Mike looks away, kicking his feet again. "I get it, Will. I understand."

Will sighs. "I don't think you do, Michael. I think you want to. But I don't think.. I don't think you do." Will knows he's repeating himself, saying the same things over and over, a record on loop, but he doesn't know how else to say the way that this just can't be reality. Reality is Mike is normal and Will is not and nothing could ever change that.

Will isn't normal. And Mike isn't a queer.

"I think you don't want me to." Mike says, catching Will completely off guard. "I think you're scared that I'm going to hurt you- which is completely reasonable!" He adds hurriedly, "But I won't, Will. I'd never hurt you."

On purpose, Will adds in his mind. Because unbeknownst to Michael fucking Wheeler, every time he would kiss Eleven, or say something about her, or the couple times that he did say those cursed three words that Will will never hear in his life, Will felt like succumbing to Vecna and letting the whole fucking world end.

But what he actually whispers is "I know, Mike. I know."

"Because I love you, Will." Mike says desperately, as if begging Will to believe him. The words that he could barely say to El, slipping off his tongue in an instant. Just so Will would say yes.

There's a rock in Will's throat and he feels like he's drowning.

Chapter Text

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

I can't help myself

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mike doesn’t know what to do.  Will doesn’t believe him, or isn’t listening, or just doesn’t understand. There’s a pounding in Mike’s head, and he’s hot and his brain is fuzzy like the TV static on the day that Will went missing, and he really shouldn’t have had that alcohol. Obviously, Will would tell him. He always was the sensible one. Tears are rolling down Mike’s face, and for once, he doesn’t stop them even though he knows that his father would have something to say about it if he ever knew.

Mike pulls his sleeves down over his hands and tries not to think about what he’s hiding. He risks a glance at Will, and his breath catches because the way he just looks so absolutely distraught is killing Mike, and it’s like that November all over again. Mike can feel him slipping away, and he can’t let it happen this time. He can’t let his best friend in the whole world, no matter how childish it sounds, pull away from him again. This is their second chance. This isn’t Lenora, isn’t Eleven anymore. He can do this. He knows how to do this.

Will is staring down at the ground, his feet dangling off the edge of the roof. His usual anxious energy, whether present in the bouncing of his leg or tapping of his fingers or just being fidgety in general, is gone. He’s chewing on his lip, and Mike knows that he’s deep in thought just by looking at him. He also knows that Will is holding back tears, even though they both know that neither of them cares if he should cry. The sun is slowly setting behind him, and it gives him this ethereal glow that Mike’s drunk brain interprets as a sign. They’re meant to be together. He just knows.

When Mike finally works up the courage to say something, the sun has set a little more, and the soft glow that was behind his best friend is now a holy fire. Mike thinks he likes it more. It accentuates Will’s brightness. His confidence and his looks, as much as Mike is ashamed to admit. Mike lets out a breath of air that comes out as a sigh without meaning to, and he knows he probably needs to get them both off the roof before Nancy or his mother comes looking.

“Will?” Mike tries, his voice coming out scratchy and small and not at all the confident-sounding tone that he had intended.

Will responds with a hum, which is when Mike really knows that he’s in deep. Will always makes the time to respond, with words, even if it’s deprecating to his own time or priorities. Always.

“I’m sorry.” The raven-haired boy whispers, not even trying to hide the anxiousness and downright fear in his voice.

“Don’t-“ Will chokes out, his own voice catching. “Don’t apologize for that.”

“Sorry.” Mike apologizes, catching himself with a shaky laugh and pressing his lips closed. He turns his gaze back to the ground, hoping that not looking at Will will help him not to say stupid things. Yet again, Mike blames it on the alcohol. He briefly wonders how long it takes to get out of his system, because his head is still taking too long to process, and there’s still leftover static in his limbs, and his face is still on fire. He hopes Will doesn’t know. Because all of a sudden, he’s thinking of Lonnie. Will coming to school with slumped shoulders and bags under his eyes. Of Johnathan, always, subconsciously or not, standing in front of his brother (and the rest of The Party) whenever there was a man in the room.

It feels like someone has taken a knife to his chest, and Mike feels the sudden urge to tell Will. He knows he should. Knows it’s the right thing. But he also knows Will. Knows that as soon as he admits, Will is going to be questioning the validity of everything that was said on the edge of a rooftop during a sunset with tears and curses and everything in between. And Mike would rather feel guilty for the rest of his life than have Will doubt his love, if even for a moment. Even if it takes Mike forever to get the other boy to believe it. Because he loves Will, and now that he’s finally come to terms with it, nothing is going to keep him away. Not Vecna, not the Mindflayer, not Eleven or some person that Will may or may not have a crush on. Mike’s got a mission, and hell if anything distracts him from it now.

“I think we need to get down from here soon,” Mike finds himself saying, and he watches his hands as he fidgets nervously with his sleeves.

Will nods, and Mike has the pang in his chest that he’s beginning to familiarize with being brushed off. “Okay.” The brunette murmurs, as if sensing Mike’s hurt.

Mike attempts to pull his legs up again and is slightly more successful this time. He succeeds in standing, then tries to be a man and help the other boy up, but as soon as Will grabs hold of his hand, Mike almost loses his balance, and they quickly ditch that effort. Eventually, they’re both up and back to their usual bickering about who goes through the window first, and how, when Nancy walks out onto the driveway to yell up at them.

“Mike? Will! Get down from there, idiots! I am not taking another one of you nerds to the hospital.”

“Have you been hanging out with Erika again?!” Mike screams back, immediately regretting it when Will flinches. Mike acts like he doesn’t notice, because he knows Will doesn’t want anyone to see, but inside his chest, guilt is growing like a thirsty weed and it feels like everything he does waters it a little more.

“We’re coming, Nance!” Will calls down, pushing open the window with his foot. He starts to slide back into Mike’s room, and Mike has to resist the urge to A) help Will, or B) tell Will to find another way down because Mike can’t stop thinking about the absolutely impossible probability that Will will look into his closet and discover all the things that have been hidden there since last December. He can’t risk it.

He says nothing.

He climbs in the window after Will and says nothing because anything he said would be stupid, and he’s still waiting on the alcohol to work itself out of his system, but he thinks it’s finally gone because he can finally breathe right, and it doesn’t take an eternity to process the simplest things anymore.

When his shoes finally touch down on his grungy carpet, he looks up, and Will’s sitting at his desk. Mike holds his breath and prays to whatever deity out there that Will doesn’t acknowledge the crumpled papers or the smudges of ink that shouldn’t be on the desk that Mike prides himself on keeping spotless. He sits down on the bed, then decides he’s too tired to act normal and lies back on the duvet. He stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars that he’s really too old for, but Will liked them, so he never took them down. He hears a sigh, and he knows that it's Will because he hasn’t breathed in what feels like hours, but he doesn’t look up because from the sound of the breath that Will released, it’s going to be a serious conversation, and Mike really hates those. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for the pressure behind his eyes that has just left to come back.

“Do you want to talk about the real reason you were up there?”

It’s quiet, almost a whisper, but it sounded like a gunshot to Mike. His stupid brain jumps to conclusions, and he sits up quickly enough to make himself dizzy, clutching at the letter through the fabric of his shirt.

“What?” Mike, despite his efforts, sounds extremely frazzled. Will’s eyes dart to Mike’s hand, one that instantly recedes.

Will’s expression softens immediately, and now Mike really wants to cry. Because Will looks like he knows. He knows, and he won’t drop it because he always has to play the hero, even when it’s no one’s problem but Mike’s. It’s no one’s problem that he’s this way. No one’s but his own, even though he often needs to remind himself of that fact.

“Mike.” Will whispers now, and his voice is rough, the voice that gives away the fact that he’s trying not to cry.

Mike looks away, and he guesses that’s all the confirmation Will needs because he just starts talking, and Mike doesn’t say anything because he physically can’t, and Will sounds like he’s choking on his words, and Mike wishes he would shut up because he can’t cry again, but he knows he will anyways because it’s Will.

And the lecture isn’t anything Mike expected because it isn’t actually a lecture at all. It’s just a question, a simple one at that, but the answer is something that Mike doesn’t want to give because it would be like him ripping his heart out and just handing it to Will. But he does it anyway, because again, it’s Will.

“Can I read it?” He asks, and Mike knows he’s lost his last chance of getting out of this because he reaches into his pocket and silently hands it to his best friend in all the world. Will takes the paper with a shaky hand and holds it for a second, staring at it as if he had expected Mike to say no. After a few seconds of tense silence, Mike stands awkwardly, and Will startles out of his reverie.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Mike mumbles.

Will nods, and Mike makes his way out of the room to the bathroom just down the hall and across from Nancy’s room. He can hear pop music playing, probably some record she got from Steve, as he steps into the bathroom and closes the door gently behind him. 

He slides down the door, and as he sinks to the floor, he muffles a sob with his sleeve. He buries his face in his sweater, the sweater he shouldn’t even be wearing because it’s almost summer and it’s much too hot for it, but he has to wear it because if anyone knew, they’d probably drag him to Pennhurst because he’s going insane.

He cries for a little longer and considers taking another razor to his skin, but he can’t risk bleeding in front of Will, so he stands up and washes his face until most of the blotchiness is gone and his eyes aren’t as bloodshot. He walks as silently as possible back to his bedroom and pushes the door open so quietly that Will doesn’t even notice he’s back. No, he didn’t, so Mike gets to witness his best friend curled up in his desk chair, knees to his chest, with Mike’s letter in front of his face as he cries silent tears. And all the pain Mike has felt in his heart doesn’t even compare to this. This heart-wrenching, gut-clenching knife to his throat is killing him, but not in a way that’s quick and merciful. No, on this cruel day, the fates decided to make him suffer with a slow, terrible demise. Because he can’t ever have what he wants. Even if what he wants is right in front of him at his desk, reading a suicide note that he shouldn’t ever have written because he should’ve done this properly.

Mike’s breath hitches, and he’s going to cry again, and Will looks up, and Mike’s breath catches again because even in this state, he’s just so beautiful. But Will looks distraught and, oh, there’s that knife again, and Mike regrets ever trying to kill himself even though he knows he’s going to try again. He has to try again.

“Mike,” Will says, and it’s almost a plea, everything unsaid hanging between them. All of a sudden, Mike’s on his knees in front of Will, holding his best friend’s face in his hands and assuring him, lying to him. It was a mistake I won’t do again, I swear. I wasn’t really. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. And Will is crying and clutching at Mike’s arms and saying I know, I know you are. It’s okay. And then it all kind of calms down, and Will’s face is all flushed and there’s tear tracks down his cheeks and Mike is breathing hard and he wants to go lock himself in the bathroom again and finally do something right, but Will is finally here with him and he won’t. He won’t because he promised Will. He promised, and for once in his pathetic life, he will keep his promise.

And Will is looking in his eyes, and it feels like the knife in his gut has finally stopped twisting. And then Will is leaning in, and Mike blinks. There’s a warm feeling in his stomach like all the blood he’s lost is pooling back into his body all at once, and he’s lightheaded again. Still, this time in a good way because Will is kissing him, and it’s gotta be uncomfortable because he’s curled into this little ball, but Mike really couldn’t care less because his hands are going down from Will’s cheek to his neck, and Will’s hands are on his shoulders and grounding him. And for the first time in a long while, maybe since that November, Mike understands why he should stay on this plane of existence.