Chapter Text
1991
There is something strangely poetic about winter — the way it can be beautiful and deadly at the same time. One could spend hours watching the snow fall, silent, covering everything with a false delicacy. But being out there, exposed, without proper protection, is another story. It’s feeling your limbs stiffen, your hands lose all sensation, your fingers fail, your lips crack and bleed. The face burns, red and wounded, scorched by the cold. It’s curious how ice can hurt as much as fire. And yet, so many people remain unaware of this.
Most people never discover it — never feel hunger clench around their stomach like a fist, never let the cold invade their body until it tears apart the sanity of their identity, until they no longer know who they are or why they keep moving forward. Until they cannot tell whether what lies ahead is real or just a hallucination, when reality dissolves and illusion begins to feel more solid. Most believe hell is hot, but for some, hell is cold: silent, relentless, sharp as a blade.
Howls echoed through the forest — not from wolves, but from humans. Humans hunting for their own survival. They ran like what the world would call wild animals, but here, the wild were them. They did not fear the forest; the forest feared them.
The figure dressed in white — a lamb. A lamb of God. Pale, he ran between the trees, naked of any protection against the cold. His feet, open and wounded, left bloody footprints in the snow; branches tore at his skin, marking arms and legs, but the Lamb did not stop. He ran, even as numbness claimed his body, even as the cold began to erase the pain.
The Lamb knows there is no escape. Still, he begs for time — not for salvation, only for a few more moments of existence. Time is all that remains. He has already accepted his fate: he will be the sacrifice. His flesh is sacred so that others may live; his body will be consumed. And yet, fear remains. Knowing one’s own death is a burden too heavy to bear. Tears run down a face he barely recognizes, distorted by terror and resignation. The Lamb did not want to die. He did not want to be chosen. He never desired the altar.
But life leads down strange and inevitable paths. And when the moment comes, the Lamb knows — as he always knew — which path to follow.
The Lamb hears the howls closing in around him. Fast footsteps tear through the snow behind him, growing closer and closer. He tries to scream — a desperate reflex — but no sound comes. His vocal cords fail, as if the body itself has already given up.
Then he stumbles into a figure covered in the pelts of dead animals — bodies torn to heat and feed others. The impact makes him fall. The Lamb recoils, crawls, tries to move away. The figure only watches. No hurry. Only a slow, knowing, cruel smile.
The worst part is realizing they enjoy it. They find it entertaining. The hunt amuses them. They like seeing the little Lamb run, stumble, bleed, silently begging for his life. Fear is not merely natural — it is part of the ritual.
The Lamb rises with effort, staggering, and changes direction, running between the trees. Every step is painful, every breath seems to drag the body closer to its limits. He knows there is no escape. Every movement only delays the inevitable.
But he will not beg. Never. As a final act of rebellion, he will have this: his silence. His dignity. Even if the world tries to take it from him.
Then, the fragile, small Lamb feels the ground ripped from beneath his feet. He falls. The impact is sharp, the snow mixing with the cold that already consumes him.
Wooden stakes rise like daggers of fate, piercing his thin, pale, malnourished body. Hands, legs, arms, stomach, head — each point impaled, each wound opened. The white clothing begins to stain red. The snow beneath him turns crimson, as if the very ground mourned his pain.
The air grows heavy. Silence falls over the forest.
Wolves gather around the pit, eyes gleaming, watching the little Lamb. Admiring. The fear, the resistance, the fragility — everything that still pulses even in the face of death.
And there, in the absolute cold, the Lamb remains. He does not beg. He does not bow.
He is the silence.
He is the dignity.
He is the sacrifice.
He is the salvation of all.
1989
Mike was painfully aware of his own body.
It was a cruel, excessive lucidity — the kind that doesn’t illuminate, but exposes truths to oneself that one would rather not face. He hated the feeling of inhabiting a skin that seemed wrong, borrowed, as if he had woken up in someone else’s body and no one had told him. Every touch felt like an electric shock; every breath, a tightening knot in his stomach. His entire body sent silent, insistent alarms, warning him that something was off.
He couldn’t say when it all started to go wrong. He only knew that he had been avoiding this moment for far too long, pushing it off — like sweeping dirt under a rug. You can push it as many times as you want; it doesn’t disappear. The surface may appear clean, correct. Beneath it, however, everything remains dirty. Wrong.
In an instant, he left Will’s room — where he had slept that night — as he had for thirteen years of his life. Sleeping at his best friend’s house. Watching a movie. Simple things, repeated, safe. But now there was Jane. His girlfriend. Will’s stepsister. Living there for two months, occupying spaces that had never been hers before.
He walked down the hall with the almost childish intention of using the bathroom. Nothing more.
On the way back, he bumped into Jane.
And then the world tilted.
Hands against the wall.
Lips on his.
A kiss he hadn’t wanted.
Jane pulled him toward her room, and Mike felt his body obey even as his mind screamed to run. The body always lagged behind the mind’s decisions — like a weak, distorted echo.
She pushed him onto the bed.
Mike didn’t react. Not out of desire, but inertia. He tried to force a smile — stiff, rehearsed, almost polite — as she settled in his lap and kissed him again.
He brought his hands to her face in an automatic, mechanical gesture, like following a learned script. He kissed her back. He was trying. Truly. He wanted it to be good for her, even if every cell in his body screamed otherwise.
When her tongue invaded his mouth, he tried to follow, mimic the expected rhythm, but he was too aware of everything: the weight of her body on his, the persistent movement of her hips against his pelvis, the intertwined tongues, the cold, excessive, strange saliva.
This was not comfort.
It was not desire.
It was not arousal.
It was invasion.
Mike swallowed hard, stomach twisting, overcome by an absurd, nauseating feeling — as if a slug were moving inside his mouth. Slow. Wet. Wrong.
Then Jane dragged the hand pulling his hair down her torso to his groin, squeezing his flaccid member through his pants.
Mike’s eyes widened. The kiss died there.
“Sorry… you’re not…” Jane said, frustration barely hidden in her gaze.
“I-I… I think I’d better go back. School starts soon,” he replied, voice trembling, making a half-hearted move to get off the bed, almost pushing her in the process.
She got off his lap just as quickly.
She looked away, embarrassed.
Her brown, disappointed eyes made guilt seep into Mike’s bones — slow, deep. It was that uncomfortable sensation, the little awareness buried at the back of his mind that never stayed quiet.
She knew.
Or she would, sooner or later.
He knew.
He knew he was deceiving her.
He knew he was deceiving himself.
And Mike lingered for a second too long, feeling his own body as a mistake he didn’t know how to fix.
He averted his gaze and left the room quickly, crossing the hall almost without feeling his feet touch the floor, until he entered Will’s room.
He closed the door carefully, and only then turned around. His breath caught, too short for what he saw.
Will was half-awake, half-lost in sleep, sitting on the bed, rubbing his eyes as he yawned. There was something vulnerable about him in that state — the body still soft, the mind distant. His hair, completely tousled, framed his face in an almost unfair way. Mike felt an almost painful urge to reach out and fix it, as if it were a natural, permitted gesture. As if it had always been.
A slow heat spread through Mike’s chest, dense, uncomfortable. His heart began to race, betraying him, as if it recognized something his mind still refused to admit.
Will was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Cute in a way that hurt — like an open wound he pretended not to feel.
“Hey, good morning,” Will said, voice soft, gentle, still heavy with sleep.
Mike felt like dying right then and there.
“Good morning,” he replied weakly, completely melting, hating himself for it.
He was pathetic.
“Are you nervous for the internationals?” Will asked, with a teasing smile — too sweet for someone who had no idea of the chaos he caused.
“Me? Never. I’ll win every debate,” Mike said, too firmly, as if trying to convince himself.
“Yeah, right,” Will replied, rolling his eyes but smiling.
“If Emmaline doesn’t mess everything up, we’ll do fine. She’s awful. Annoying.”
“Mike!”
“What? It’s true.”
“Don’t be mean! You and Max don’t even try to hide your hatred for her.”
“Well, Max and I agree on that. She’s a bitch.”
“Oh my God. It’s funny that she asked her dad to hire a private plane to take us there.”
Mike snorted.
“She’s so arrogant. She calls herself a godly person and looks at me like I’m shit. And there was that time Max called her Emma and she corrected him, saying it’s Emmaline, but she lets you call her Emma.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not.” Mike’s voice hardened. “You’re only defending her because she likes you.”
“What?”
“Come on, Will, don’t you notice?” Mike leaned slightly forward, jaw tense. “The way she hovers around you. Always asking for help, bumping into you on purpose, trying to touch you. It’s irritating.”
There was something ugly in that feeling — possessive, acidic — and Mike hated how real it was.
“Oh…” Will blinked, genuinely confused. “I didn’t notice. I thought she was just being friendly.”
Mike softened his expression. Will was too sweet for this world, too innocent to notice when people approached with ulterior motives. Maybe that was why Mike was always by his side. He felt the need to protect him since they were five years old — and that impulse had never weakened. On the contrary: it had taken root, grown with them, becoming impossible to remove.
“You… you know…” Mike averted his gaze, focusing on pulling at the sheet between his fingers, as if it could anchor him to reality. “Are you interested in her?”
His heart raced, violent, as if ready to explode in his chest.
Please, say no.
Please, say no.
“Ugh, no.”
Relief flooded Mike’s chest all at once. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and allowed a small, almost embarrassed smile to slip.
“Great… good. I mean, there are better girls out there. She’s not great. You deserve someone better.”
“I’m not interested in dating right now.”
Will looked away — and Mike recognized it immediately. It was the look of someone pretending to be okay, wearing normalcy like fragile armor, even when everything inside was falling apart.
“Will…”
The name escaped before Mike could stop himself.
He had never seen him show interest in anyone — and selfishly, he silently thanked him for it every day. Still, whenever the topic came up, Will would close himself off. Build invisible walls, solid enough that even Mike couldn’t break through.
Mike wanted Will to open up to him. To be the person Will trusted with truths that had no name, fears buried too deep, desires he pretended not to feel. He wanted to be the safe place where Will didn’t need to hide.
But over the years — since adolescence hit like an earthquake — Will had distanced himself. Not obviously. They still laughed, still walked together, still shared afternoons and friendly nights. And yet, there was a chasm.
Maybe it was Mike’s fault.
No — it definitely was.
Mike had made Will believe he could no longer open up to him fully. And that certainty cut through his chest every day, like a slow, precise blade.
Still, Mike never mentioned the elephant in the room. Never touched the open wound: the fight that rainy summer day in ’85 — the exact moment something between them broke, never to be the same again.
“Boys, breakfast time! Don’t be late for school.”
Mrs. Byers’ voice came through the closed door, gentle, mundane, too normal for the weight that hung in the room. She knocked twice, but didn’t enter.
“We’re coming, Mom,” Will replied.
“Okay, don’t forget to take your medicine,” she said.
Mike heard her footsteps move away from the door.
The mere mention of the medicine made Mike’s stomach twist. Something was wrong there — something always at the edge, never dared to be spoken aloud. He remembered the white hallways, the antiseptic smell, the consultation rooms that had marked Will’s childhood like invisible scars.
Will had disappeared at twelve, one ordinary night, returning from Mike’s house. Seven days dragged on with search parties combing the forest. Mike had never been afraid like that before — not the fear that eats you from inside, tears your chest, paralyzes your fingers, and accelerates your breath all at once. He dragged his friends to the search every day, night after night, because he knew, felt deep down, that Will was still out there, lost, waiting.
On the seventh day, the world seemed to break: Will was found wandering in the darkness of the forest, covered in blood that wasn’t his, guided by the sheriff. Seven days in a shed. Seven days of pure horror, something indescribable that the world could not understand.
Even Mike couldn’t comprehend it.
Will survived.
He did what was necessary to live.
Since then, the medicine had become routine. Mike never asked what it was for, and Will never explained — he only said, once, that he didn’t remember the seven days, that he didn’t know why the blood was on his body. But the nightmares returned, always. Mike noticed whenever he slept in the same room as Will. He felt fragments of memory escape through Will’s closed eyes, the trembling of his hands, the silent screams that cut through the night.
He never pressed. When the nightmares came, Mike simply held him. Silent, firm, present. Waiting until Will calmed down, until he breathed again, until the world returned, if only for a few hours.
And so the pills became routine. Swallowed with the same naturalness with which Mike swallowed secrets — heavy, silent, necessary.
“All right, let’s go.” Will said, pushing the blankets off his legs
_____________
“She’s going to screw us over. I’m telling you.”
“Max is right,” Mike said, shrugging while chewing on a French fry.
“See? Even Wheeler agrees! Erica should be competing. Just because she’s a freshman… she’s the one who should go to the internationals. This is bullshit. She shouldn’t even be a reserve.”
“Look, at least her rich dad got us a private jet,” Dustin said. “So it’s not the end of the world. And she’s not terrible… just not good.”
“Shut up.” Max turned to him, then went back to the group. “We should lock her in a room or something on the day of her round. Then Erica can take her place.”
She smiled, mischievously.
“I’m in,” Mike said, laughing — until he got a smack on the arm.
“Ouch!” He turned and ran right into Will, who didn’t look impressed at all.
“Stop being an idiot,” Will said. “We’re going to win.”
“Will’s right,” Jane jumped in. “And Dustin too. She’s not that bad. You’re just freaking out because you don’t like her.”
“I’m not freaking out!”
Mike and Max spoke at the same time. They stared at each other for a second. Max huffed. Mike rolled his eyes and grabbed another fry.
“Okay, that’s not the only thing,” Max continued. “She really isn’t good. And she’s a stuck-up bitch, which just makes everything worse. I hate her. Hate that religious crap. She makes us pray even before practice. Like… what the hell?”
“It’s annoying, I know,” Lucas said, throwing an arm around Max’s shoulders. “But there’s not much we can do. We just need to do our best.”
“That’s loser talk.”
Max shrugged off his arm. “My idea is still better. I could knock her out and lock her in the closet.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a crime,” Dustin said. “You’d go to jail, and I’m not being an accomplice.”
“Worth it. And if you’re not an accomplice, I’ll have to knock you out too.” She grinned mischievously.
“Haha. As if you could win without me.”
“Oh, you can bet—“
Mike followed the conversation with a small smile on his face when he noticed Will fidgeting beside him. He turned to him, concerned, and saw the involuntary tremor in his hands. Without thinking twice, he slid his own hand into Will’s, intertwining their fingers in a quiet, hidden grip under the table.
The trembling stopped almost immediately. Will looked up at Mike and gave a shy smile — small, but enough. Mike returned it, feeling his heart skip a beat, as if he’d forgotten for a moment how to make it beat.
Mike and Will had used to hold hands when they were little; fingers always intertwined, as if the world were safer that way. Over time, it had stopped — not by choice, but because of Will’s dad, who yelled, fought, and called him things no child should hear. One day, they simply stopped.
Now, Mike wanted to be better with Will. He wanted to be a better friend, unlike the kid he had been last year, when Will moved to California and he simply disappeared. Not for lack of desire. For fear.
Fear of how much he missed Will. Fear of realizing how much his life had fallen apart without him, like a huge hole had opened in his chest and never closed. Mike was terrified — and that’s why he had been a terrible friend.
Will came back. He was upset. Hurt. And yet, he forgave him.
Now, Mike had a second chance. And he intended to hold it with both hands, like he held Will’s as kids, determined not to let go again.
No matter how much his confused feelings overflowed, Mike would keep pushing them down, burying everything where it couldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t let it ruin their friendship, because Will deserved stability, deserved safety. Will deserved someone whole — and it wasn’t Mike’s fault if he was freaking out inside.
He would swallow it all. Endure it all.
He would never hurt Will again.
His thoughts were brutally interrupted by the piercing sound of the school bell.
“All right, we’ve got the simulation now. You guys are going to the party tonight, right? It’ll be good to have fun before the internationals,” Jane said, too cheerful to notice anything else.
Everyone agreed, getting up from their seats, and the hands that had been together slipped apart.
Jane tugged on Mike, looping her arm through his, and he smiled at her as they walked. But halfway, he looked back.
Will was looking at him.
And the moment he realized he’d been caught, he looked away too quickly.
Mike’s stomach twisted.
He was completely screwed.
_____________
“Ugh, this song is awful, Will!” he complained as The Clash blasted from the tape deck.
“It’s not! You have terrible taste in music,” Will shot back, huffing in the passenger seat.
“You’re lucky you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t let anyone else play this awful stuff in my car,” he said, with a teasing smile.
“You’re basic.”
“Retract that.”
“No.”
“I like punk music, okay?”
“You listen to Madonna.”
“And what’s wrong with Madonna?” Mike asked, indignant, turning toward Will.
Will just laughed, throwing his head back.
The sound of his laughter made something in Mike’s chest soften. He felt himself melt, warm and stupid, just like always when Will laughed that way.
“There’s nothing wrong with Madonna,” Will reassured him, still smiling, his voice calmer now.
“Are you coming over tonight?” Mike asked.
“Tomorrow we’re leaving early, Mike.”
“I know, but we always review on movie nights. And I already rented a movie — The Goonies. We haven’t watched it yet. We can sleep on the plane. I know that party’s going to suck and we’ll leave early… I hate parties.”
“Okay… fine, we’ll watch it,” Will gave in, sighing. “I probably won’t sleep anyway. I always get anxious on planes… and I hate parties too, you know that. I didn’t even want to go, but Jane got excited and convinced me.”
“Relax, it’ll be fine. We’ve traveled before, right? Nothing to worry about.”
Mike felt the familiar urge to intertwine their hands again, but restrained himself, letting his fingers rest in his lap.
“You’re right. It’ll be fine.” Will softened his gaze as he looked at him, a small smile forming on his lips.
They stayed silent for a moment too long for it to be casual, caught up in each other, until Mike cleared his throat, breaking the spell.
“They’re taking forever. How long have they been getting ready?”
“I think… about two hours.”
“What?!”
Will laughed, a short, easy laugh that always slipped out when Mike got worked up. “I know! But they seem to enjoy changing outfits multiple times.”
“Oh my god, girls…” — Mike muttered, running a hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.
“Don’t be like that. Look, they’re coming.”
Mike looked at Will, leaning against the car window frame, arms crossed, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Outside, Max and Jane appeared on the sidewalk, laughing loudly, arms entwined as if the whole world could wait. Their steps echoed softly on the asphalt, and the wind tousled their hair.
The car, parked under the yellow streetlight, felt like a safe island in the middle of the empty street.
Max opened the door, letting Jane get in first, and stepped in right after her.
“What’s up, losers?”
“You took forever.”
“Shut up, Wheeler! We’re ladies, we need time to get ready.”
Jane laughed, blushing, and looked at him.
Mike rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and placed his hands on the wheel. He felt the weight of the silence for a moment, glancing at Will from the corner of his eye, who quickly looked away, slightly uncomfortable.
He turned the key. The car purred softly under the streetlight, and Mike took another deep breath, trying to find a natural rhythm. He pressed the gas slowly, feeling the car glide along the quiet street, the wheels creaking lightly on the uneven asphalt.
“So, nothing to say, Wheeler?” Max asked, raising her eyebrows while watching Mike from the corner of her eye.
Mike swallowed hard. Say what? He looked at Will, who stared at him, confused.
“I… dunno…?” he mumbled awkwardly, glancing at the rearview mirror.
The car turned the corner, and for a moment, silence filled only by the sound of the engine and wind through the open window. Mike felt tension spread through his chest, mixed with a hint of nervousness as he noticed how attentive Will seemed to every move he made.
Max huffed, leaning back in her seat, arms crossed.
“I told you, Jane… he’s dumb.”
Mike blinked, confused.
Had he missed something?
Then Will seemed to light up. He turned to them:
“You both look beautiful, girls.”
Oh.
Shit.
“Thanks, Will,” Jane said, smiling softly.
“Well, at least we have a knight among us! Thanks, Will!”
“I think you look beautiful too!” Mike blurted out.
“Too late, Wheeler. You had your chance,” Max snapped, kicking his seat.
“Hey! Stop that!” Mike protested, looking away.
“Shut up and drive,” Max replied, arms crossed, with the expression of someone who knew she was right.
Mike swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“I… really think you look very beautiful, Jane,” he said, trying to sound confident.
“Thanks, Mike,” Jane replied, blushing and smiling shyly.
Mike heard Max huff again beside her and roll her eyes.
“Pathetic,” she muttered, kicking the seat again.
“Stop it, before we get into an accident!”
The car glided along the silent street, and Mike breathed deeply. He glanced at Will, who smiled sideways, clearly amused by the whole scene. Mike could almost feel his own nervousness blending with the hum of the engine as he tried to keep his composure and not stumble over his next words.
The car was filled with the girls’ animated chatter in the back seat, but he barely paid attention — just muffled noise as he tried not to turn the ride into a disaster. Occasionally, his eyes drifted to Will, who rested his head on the window, lost in his own world.
They drove to the entrance of the forest, where the bonfire would light the night, and parked next to the other cars. The fresh forest air flowed into the car, bringing a momentary calm to the tension he felt.
He turned off the car, took the keys, and slid out, feeling the damp grass under his feet. The others followed closely.
Max ran to Jane, linking arms and laughing loudly, completely oblivious to the boys. Mike rolled his eyes — probably for the tenth time since sharing the same air as Max — and walked alongside Will, who seemed restless. He approached slowly, brushing lightly against the boy. Will looked up, a timid smile forming on his lips, quick to disappear if anyone else noticed.
“Relax,” Mike said, voice low, almost a whispered tease.
“It’s kind of hypocritical for you to say relax… since you didn’t want to be here as much as I did,” Will murmured, looking away and biting his lip lightly.
“Well… at least I’m not visibly tense like you.” Mike teased, leaning slightly toward Will, as if expecting a reaction.
“Shut up.” Will shot back, arms crossed, but the blush rising on his face betrayed the tension he was trying to hide.
As they moved further in, the light from the bonfire flickered across the faces of the teens scattered around, the cheap red beer cups reflecting the fire in tiny flashes. Mike paused for a moment, taking it all in — every laugh, every gesture, every hand movement. He searched for Dustin and Lucas with his eyes, almost holding his breath, until he finally found them in a corner, talking with who seemed to be Mallory and Peter.
Mallory stood out. Sharp tongue, strong presence, each word chosen carefully in the debates Mike admired so much. He respected her — the way she articulated her ideas was almost hypnotic. Peter, however, gave off a subtle discomfort. There was something about him Mike couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t hatred; maybe just instinctive distrust. He wasn’t bad at debating — maybe even better than Emma, his partner for the internationals — and Mike wondered if, somehow, Peter could be the one to save them from losing.
He hoped so. Because if they had to debate Emma, they were completely screwed. Dustin and Jane weren’t lying: Emma wasn’t bad, but she also wasn’t good enough. Everyone needed to be exceptional, because being just “good” would never be enough.
He wanted to be great or nothing.
Mike had never felt so connected to a literary character as he did in that moment.
If he wanted to go to Yale, he would have to be perfect for it.
Suddenly, the girls appeared, running, shouting, hugging Mallory tightly. The sound spread across the space, mixing with the crackle of the bonfire, creating a trail of laughter and warmth. Mallory returned the hug; her body was tense, but her eyes — and that faint smile — said everything words couldn’t. Despite rarely showing affection, she was genuinely happy, and Mike noticed every nuance, every spark of emotion that Max and Jane brought in that gesture.
He and Will approached, steps silent amidst the energy of the fire.
“Hey.” Both spoke at the same time.
“Finally, you’re here! Why the delay?” Lucas asked, glancing between them.
“Well, ask your girlfriend,” Mike shot a side-eye at Max, who just smiled.
Little brat.
“Girls need time to get ready. Problem with that, Lucas?” Max raised an eyebrow, that smile only increasing Mike’s irritation.
“N-no… of course not.”
Mike huffed. Lucas looked like a dog on a leash, tense and insecure.
“I need to sit,” Will murmured, eyes searching for something to lean on, tired before even settling down.
“You just got here and you’re already tired? Relax, we’ll get you a drink.” Peter said before Mike could respond.
“He doesn’t drink,” Mike replied firmly, almost like a shield. Will didn’t drink. His father had been an alcoholic who, drunk, hit him and his mother. Mike hated when someone offered alcohol to Will. It wasn’t their fault, of course, but the anger stayed, hot and constant. He never drank around Will because he knew how uncomfortable the boy felt with the smell of alcohol, with the memory of fear. All Mike wanted was to protect Will — to ensure he never had to relive his father through someone else.
“Oh… okay, I didn’t know, sorry.” Peter looked away, visibly uncomfortable. Great. Exactly what Mike hoped for.
“No problem, really. It’s no big deal.” Will tried to ease the tension, but it still lingered.
“Well, Dustin and I will get more beer. Come on, Peter,” Lucas said, patting his friend’s shoulder with a distracted smile.
Mike watched the girls, entertained by their chatter, quietly laughing at each other. He sighed and approached Will.
“Let’s sit near the fire. It’s cold.” He said, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders and guiding him carefully.
They settled on a log in front of the flames, warmth flickering over their faces. Mike sat close enough that their knees touched under the layers of clothes, and for a moment, the touch sent a shiver through him.
“Excited to see London?” Mike asked, his voice nearly lost in the crackling wood.
“Yes… I’ve never left the country before.” His eyes reflected the firelight, and Mike noticed the mix of excitement and nervousness in his friend.
Mike took a deep breath, feeling the heat from the fire against the cold night. “I’m glad your first time is with me… I mean, with all of your friends. You get what I mean?” His voice trembled nervously, and he glanced away slightly.
Will let out a short, light laugh that seemed to blend with the popping wood.
“I get it, Mike.”
He exhaled, relieved, and smiled. “Great. We can visit all the sights you want… have tea, or whatever it is Brits do.”
“Jonathan gave me a camera to bring. We can take pictures… it’ll be fun.” Will said, running his hand over the log, feeling its rough surface.
“We can take a photo with those Queen’s guards who don’t move,” Mike said, laughing, and the laugh got lost in the crackling flames.
“Yeah, I was thinking that too.” Will smiled at him, and suddenly Mike felt his chest warm. Will’s cheeks were lightly pink, and those big green eyes reflected the firelight, shining in a way that took his breath away. Then he realized: they were close… really close.
The heat of the flames brushed their faces, and shadows danced and stretched on the ground as if trying to envelop them. The smell of burning wood, the crackle of the branches, the slight tremor of the log beneath them — everything seemed to amplify every small gesture, every look.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He couldn’t take his eyes off Will. Time seemed to slow — until screams cut through the night.
Both jumped, startled, turning toward the noise. A redhead, shirt soaked, charged forward with obvious fury, hair sticking to her face.
“You bitch! You did that on purpose!” Max yelled, pointing at Emmaline.
“You ran into me, you crazy girl!” Emmaline shot back, breathing hard.
Mike let out a short, surprised laugh, but not entirely. Will blinked, confused, but soon the two of them got up together, running toward the chaos, the log beneath the fire creaking under their feet.
“I’m gonna smash your face in, you bitch!” Max screamed, throwing her beer at Emmaline’s face. The cold liquid splashed across her skin, and she screamed loudly, shocked.
Max lunged to attack, but Lucas threw himself in front, holding her back firmly.
“Let me go, damn it!” Max shouted, struggling, while Emmaline stepped back, drenched, hair plastered to her face.
“You’re wild!” Emmaline gasped, eyes wide.
“You’ll see wild when I leave your face swollen!” Max shouted, pushing Lucas and trying to break free.
Everyone stopped to watch the fight. Jane and Mallory were wide-eyed, mouths agape, while Lucas tried to restrain Max in his arms.
“What the hell?” Mike said, stepping towards them, Will one step behind him.
“That bitch! She threw the drink on me!”
“You ran into me!”
“You lying bitch, I’m gonna—”
“Okay. Enough.”
Mike’s voice wasn’t loud.
It came out firm — the kind of firmness that didn’t allow for argument.
Max stopped struggling immediately.
Mike stepped forward, body rigid, shoulders tense, eyes piercing Emmaline.
“You.”
“What?”
“Apologize. Now.”
“I won’t—”
“You knocked over the drink first,” Mike said slowly, each word precise. “After that, Max apologizes too.” He knew Max wouldn’t — and counted on it.
“I won’t—” Max tried to protest.
“Max.”
The name was short, sharp. A clear warning.
Max shut her mouth.
“But this is that bitch’s fault!” Emmaline snapped, voice trembling with rage.
Mike’s jaw clenched. A muscle pulsed at the side of his face before he took another step forward, positioning himself between the two almost automatically.
“Don’t talk to her like that.”
“You don’t tell me what to do—”
“I do. And I’ll make that very clear.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous.
Mike took a deep breath.
When he spoke again, each word came controlled.
“Emmaline, you knocked over the drink first, didn’t you? If you don’t apologize now, I’ll make sure you sit on the damn bench — and Erica takes your place.”
Her face went pale.
“You can’t—”
“I can. And I will.” He held her gaze, unblinking, firm as stone. “I’m the president of this club, and I have the vice president right next to me as a witness.” He gestured slightly toward Will, who watched in silence.
Mike leaned slightly toward her, invading her personal space without touching.
“Any behavior that puts a team member at risk — especially outside a debate — is cause for immediate intervention. And when I take this to the judge and the administration, they’ll believe me.”
Silence.
The distant crackle of the fire sounded loud.
“So decide,” he concluded, cold. “Apologize now or go to the bench.” Mike shoved his hands into his pockets, feigning indifference. “And believe me: they’ll trust my words far more than yours.”
Emmaline stared at him, shocked, eyes shining with rage and humiliation. Her beer-soaked hair clung to her neck.
“I…” She huffed, looked away, pride warring with the threat. “Sorry,” she muttered, almost inaudibly.
“What?” Mike pretended not to hear.
She took a deep breath, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“Sorry, Max, for spilling the drink on you.” The words were harsh, forced. “Now it’s your turn!”
“Nah, I think not.” Max replied with a half-smile, shoving Lucas aside and stepping back, pulling Jane’s hand. They laughed, fingers entwined as they walked away.
Mike had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
“You’re just going to let her go like that?!” Emmaline exploded, voice full of indignation. “She didn’t apologize, and I’ve got beer in my hair!”
“I’m not dragging her back here just to satisfy your ego,” Mike said, low, hard. “The matter’s over. Go home, take a shower — you stink of alcohol — and tomorrow we have a trip. If you want to stay on this team, start focusing on debating better. You need it.”
Then he turned to Will, ending any possibility of discussion.
“Let’s go.”
“Careful, Lucas.” The voice came dripping with venom. “I’d be surprised if he’s not screwing your girlfriend with all that favoritism.”
Mike froze. Disgust flashed across his face before he even realized it; his jaw locked, shoulders stiff. He turned slowly to Lucas, who exchanged a quick glance with Dustin — still quiet until then — and that was enough for the two of them to burst out laughing.
“Holy shit, that was too good. My God… Max and Mike…” Dustin managed between loud laughs, almost doubling over while holding onto Lucas.
“Too good? No, it was perfect,” Lucas added, laughing without shame. “They’re closer to stabbing each other than kissing. Literally.”
The laughter only grew louder, uncontrollable, drawing attention from those nearby. Dustin even wiped his eyes, unable to compose himself; Lucas pounded his hand on his own thigh, trying to catch his breath.
Will watched the scene with a wide smile, clearly amused by the disaster.
“Ew. I’m seriously going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mike said, the disgust on his face too deep to hide.
That only made the boys laugh even harder. Dustin let out a “my God” between giggles, and Lucas had to lean forward, almost losing his balance.
Mike rolled his eyes.
“Ugh, you guys are freaks,” Emmaline snapped, voice rising, half-strident, half-desperate. She turned abruptly, almost tripping over herself, and stormed off — hair still plastered.
The laughter continued behind her, too loud to ignore, echoing almost cruelly. It was clear her attempt to cause drama had failed — and embarrassingly so.
Peter, who had been observing everything from a corner, began following her. His sharp gaze landed on Mike for a moment, but he just shrugged, indifferent.
“My God, let’s just go already,” Mike muttered, gently nudging Will by the shoulders. Will was still chuckling softly, unable to take the situation seriously.
“Could one of you give me a ride?” Mallory asked, looking around.
“You can come with me and Dustin. I’ll see if Max wants to come too,” Lucas replied, running his hand over his face to wipe away the tears still escaping from laughing.
“Thanks.”
When they got to the car, Max and Jane were leaning against the hood, too close together, whispering to each other with sly smiles — faces so close it seemed they were about to cross an invisible line.
The group approached.
“So… you coming with me or back with Mike?” Lucas asked, casually.
“You guys lost,” Dustin announced, grinning widely before laughing loudly. “Emmaline said Mike and Max were fucking.”
Silence.
Max blinked, like her brain had frozen. Then her face contorted into pure horror — nose scrunched, lips pulled, entire body reacting as if she’d just heard something illegal.
“What?!” She took a step back. “No. Ew. My God, no. That is… wrong on levels I didn’t even know existed.”
Mike felt his stomach churn. The grimace came automatically, accompanied by a visible shiver.
“Never say that again,” he said, voice tense, full of disgust. “Never. In any alternate reality. Not even if the world is ending.”
The laughter was instantaneous — loud, uncontrolled, spreading through the group like wildfire.
For everyone — except Max and Mike.
They stared at each other like two people newly traumatized by information they never asked to hear.
Max was the first to recover. She let out a heavy sigh, ran her hand over her face, and then turned to Lucas.
“I’ll go with you.”
She took a few steps, then returned just enough to give Mike two firm pats on the shoulder.
“And, Wheeler… considering everything, you weren’t a complete useless idiot tonight.”
The smile she threw was brief, crooked, almost a provocation.
Mike blinked, confused, trying to process.
“Thanks?” The word came out more like a question than genuine gratitude.
Definitely the weirdest thank-you he’d ever received in his life.
“ALRIGHT, GUYS!” Dustin suddenly shouted, raising his arms and almost tripping over his own feet. “SEE YOU TOMORROW! LONDON, DAMN IT!”
He started jumping, laughing alone, while Lucas spun with him, holding his shoulders to keep him from falling.
Mallory and Max followed right behind, exchanging tired glances and rolling their eyes in perfect unison.
Mike shifted his gaze from the group to Jane and Will. The two were blushing and smiling, sharing that kind of easy expression only siblings usually have. Even though they weren’t blood-related, living together had made them almost that — so similar in gestures and reactions that anyone who didn’t know them could easily mistake them for opposite-sex twins.
“Alright, let’s get going,” Mike said, practical, pulling the keys from his pocket as he moved to the driver’s side.
He watched as Jane and Will bumped into each other trying to open the front passenger door at the same time. The collision was quick and awkward, making them both chuckle softly.
“Sorry… I’ll go back,” Will said, smiling sheepishly, moving to open the back door instead.
Jane shook her head, still smiling, before opening the front door and sitting down. She threw a quick glance back, as if sharing a silent joke.
Mike got into the car right after. Through the rearview mirror, he saw Will settle into the back seat, taking a little longer than necessary to buckle the seatbelt, as if needing an extra second to compose himself. Jane was already in the front, adjusting her seat and pulling the belt automatically.
Mike started the car and moved off slowly, the engine filling the initial silence. Gradually, the tense atmosphere dissolved into something lighter — not exactly comfortable, but bearable.
He rolled down the window, letting the cold night air in. The wind tousled his hair and carried the scent of earth and distant smoke.
“That was nice, what you did for Max,” Jane said, breaking the silence with a tone too casual to be completely casual.
Mike shrugged, eyes on the road. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Jane let out a short laugh. “Sure you don’t. You guys are terrible at admitting anything out loud,” she continued. “But thanks anyway,” she said, now more sincere. “I know you two always bicker, but you’re my boyfriend and she’s my best friend. It’s… nice to know, deep down, you care about each other.”
Mike let out a short nasal sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “You talk like we’re incapable of basic feelings.”
“You kind of are,” Jane replied, smiling.
Will let out a low, almost involuntary laugh. When he realized, he covered it with his hand.
Mike noticed. Through the rearview, he saw the movement and felt his chest tighten in a strange, familiar way. For a second, he forgot what he was going to say.
“Ew,” he said quickly. “Stop. It’s getting cheesy.”
Jane laughed, satisfied.
The following silence was comfortable, almost cozy.
Mike caught Will’s reflection in the mirror again. This time, he didn’t immediately look away. There was a full minute before he returned his gaze to the road, his heart beating in a rhythm he pretended not to notice.
The drive continued without words, just the low hum of the engine and the wind entering the open window. The streetlights blurred past, and time seemed to stretch too slowly.
When they finally pulled up in front of the Byers’ house, Mike cut the engine, and the sharp click of the key sounded loud inside the car.
“See you in a few hours,” Jane said, with a light smile. She leaned over the console, naturally, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“Later. Sweet dreams,” Mike replied, voice steady, low.
Jane smiled, satisfied, and opened the door, jumping out with her usual energy.
Will followed soon after, but hesitated. Instead of going with her to the sidewalk, he closed the door behind him, walked around the car, and opened the passenger door again. The seat squeaked softly as he settled in, pulling the belt with a motion too automatic for someone not nervous.
Jane frowned, confused, noticing he wasn’t following her.
“You’re not coming, Will?” she asked, leaning on the car window.
Will blinked once, as if caught off guard, then gave a small smile.
“Oh… sorry. I forgot to mention I’m sleeping at Mike’s tonight. Movie night.”
Jane raised an eyebrow.
“Movie night wasn’t yesterday?”
Before Will could answer, Mike spoke, in a tone casual enough to sound slightly insincere:
“Actually, we have two movie nights this week.”
Jane studied the two for longer than necessary. Her gaze shifted from Will to Mike, lingering.
“Oh… right. Enjoy the movie,” she said finally. There was something in her expression Mike couldn’t read — not anger, not exactly surprise. Just… attention.
Jane stepped back, moving away from the car, and then turned, walking toward the house before either of them could respond. The door closed behind her with a dry, almost final sound.
Silence settled in the car.
The turned-off engine made everything more distinct: the distant chirping of crickets, the rustling of the trees, their own breathing.
Will was the first to move. He adjusted himself in the seat, fingers interlacing in his lap, eyes momentarily lost on the dark windshield.
“She seemed… weird,” he said, low, worried.
Mike let out a short humorless laugh, still staring at the front of the house.
“Did she?”
Will turned to him, hesitating before continuing.
“Yes. If you want to go after her…” He left the sentence open, as if offering a way out — or a chance.
Mike finally looked away from the house, running a hand over the back of his neck, taking a deep breath.
“No…” he started, then stopped. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that. She’s fine.”
Will nodded slowly, though something in his expression showed he wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Okay, then.”
The silence stretched again between them, different from before.
Less comfortable.
More aware.
Mike forced a short, almost automatic smile, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, breaking the suspended mood. He put the car in motion.
_____________
“I hope this movie is actually good,” Will said, settling more comfortably on the couch and pulling the blanket over himself.
They were in Mike’s basement, where the cold always seemed to seep through the walls. The space was too small for the two of them; the couch inevitably kept them close—shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh—the shared warmth under the same blanket. Neither of them moved away. On the contrary, it was as if that closeness were necessary.
“Want another blanket? I know you don’t like the cold.”
“No, I’m fine… but thanks,” Will replied, with a soft smile.
“Okay.” Mike’s heart raced, too fast for something so simple.
Will then shifted, resting his head on Mike’s shoulder. Mike’s body tensed, and he held his breath, as if any movement could break the moment. He glanced at Will out of the corner of his eye, but the boy already seemed completely absorbed in the screen in front of them.
On impulse, Mike slid his arm behind Will, pulling him a little closer. He felt Will stiffen for a second—an almost imperceptible instant—before relaxing and letting his body settle against his.
Mike tried to focus on the movie, but his eyes kept drifting back to Will. To the light weight pressed against his chest, to the calm way he breathed. He couldn’t stop thinking about how soft Will looked, how beautiful he was, in a way that always disarmed him.
Mike didn’t know what kind of spell Will had cast on him, but he was sure it worked. Since the day they met, as children in that kindergarten playground, something had changed in him. A silent, protective instinct, one he hadn’t known existed, began to develop when he met Will.
Inside his chest, there was something warm and firm telling him he needed to protect Will, to take care of him—as if it were his most important task. Of course, Will had his mother and siblings, but it was different. Deep down, Mike felt no one took care of Will the way he did.
They weren’t there when the other kids laughed at Will in the playground. So Mike always stood in front, like a shield. Once, Troy, a boy from their class, mocked Will, calling him a freak for not speaking for a year, and Mike didn’t understand—because Will had always spoken to him. Anger came quickly. Mike pushed Troy; Troy pushed back, and soon the two were rolling in the sand.
Mike hurt his ear, but he didn’t care. It had been worth it. What really hurt was seeing Will cry afterward. Mike never wanted Will to cry. Will, in turn, felt guilty for the injury, as if it were his fault.
Mike tried to say it was okay, that it didn’t hurt that much, but the words got lost when Will sniffled softly and leaned in to lightly kiss the hurt. Mike’s heart stumbled in its rhythm, as if it had forgotten, for a moment, how to beat properly.
Will explained, still with a trembling voice, that his mother always kissed bruises to make them better—so he needed to do the same for Mike. That was how it worked.
Mike smiled, feeling warmth spread through his chest. Fighting had been worth it. It always would be.
Will was too sweet, too gentle for this world, which only knew how to break him into pieces.
Older, Mike learned that Will really hadn’t spoken during that time they met, and that his mother had almost cried tears of joy when he finally did. Mike didn’t remember that, because Will had always communicated well with him; he always understood him.
He concluded that he simply didn’t need Will to speak to understand him.
Mike’s thoughts dissipated like mist when Will turned his head and looked at him, catching him in the act of staring. Mike’s heart raced too fast, but he didn’t look away. His eyes slowly descended to Will’s mouth—the pink lips, dangerously soft.
He realized how close Will was now, the tiny distance between their faces. If he leaned in, crossed that minimal space, he would break a line from which there was no return.
Then Will looked away, focusing on a point below, and Mike felt his breath falter, too short in his chest.
“Mike,” Will murmured, his name escaping in a breathless whisper.
Hearing him like that was the limit. Something inside Mike gave way—his heart racing, hands slightly trembling—and he closed the remaining space between them. His lips touched Will’s carefully, almost like a question. Will let out a low sound, surprised, his body stiffening for a second that seemed far too long. In that instant, Mike thought he had gone too far.
But then Will responded.
Will’s fingers closed in Mike’s hair, pulling him closer, and Mike felt the air vanish completely. The touch made his body relax and ignite at the same time. He wrapped his arm around Will, his hand pressing gently on his back, as if anchoring him there.
The kiss was different from anything Mike had ever imagined. Warm, slow, full of care. Will’s lips were incredibly soft, and every movement seemed loaded with intention, as if they were both learning something new about each other. Mike felt Will’s body adjust to his, tension giving way to silent trust.
When Mike hesitated, asking permission with his tongue, he felt Will silently agree, deepening the kiss. A shiver ran down his spine. It felt good—too good. His heart raced wildly, out of rhythm, as if it didn’t know how to cope.
Mike realized, in that moment, that he had never understood what a kiss could be. Not just a gesture, but a whole sensation overtaking the body.
But Mike had always been greedy; he didn’t want just a little, he wanted everything. He deepened the kiss, guiding Will backward on the couch until he was lying down, with Mike between his legs. The movement was firm, deliberate, and Will’s body responded immediately, arching slightly under his weight.
Mike broke the kiss only to trail slow kisses along Will’s jawline to his neck. He felt Will shiver, heard anxious, needy sounds escape his throat. In response, Will grabbed his hair, an impatient gesture that made Mike lose his breath for a second, his entire body reacting, hot and alert.
“Mike.” Will moaned softly, eyes closed, neck slightly arched, offering himself in a way that left Mike breathless.
“Shhh, I got you…” Mike murmured, leaving a warm kiss on Will’s neck. Every touch, every movement made Will’s body tremble against his. “I got you.” He slid the kiss back to Will’s mouth; the contact was intense, almost electric, hip against hip, their bodies responding instinctively.
Mike pressed his hip against Will’s without thinking, and the simple touch sent a shiver through both of them, low moans escaping involuntarily. Breathing quickened, hearts beating in sync.
Mike felt Will wrap his legs around his hip, as if encouraging him to continue. Every small movement provoked a visible reaction in Will, and Mike couldn’t look away. He brought his forehead to Will’s, feeling the warmth of his face so close to his. Eyes closed, face flushed like never before, breath shallow, lips letting out low sounds—everything made Mike’s chest tighten uncontrollably.
“Hey, look at me,” Mike murmured softly, pressing his lips to Will’s for a moment.
Will opened his eyes slowly. The intense, almost dark green of his pupils stared at him as if trying to memorize every detail. The air between them felt heavy, charged with heat and tension, as if every gesture and every breath amplified the closeness that could no longer be ignored.
“Am I hallucinating?” Will asked in a sigh, and Mike felt a sudden urge to laugh.
“Am I hallucinating?” Instead, he returned the question, smiling with his eyes.
“No.”
“Well… neither are you.” Mike didn’t let Will answer and kissed him again, sweet and firm. Will’s taste was intense, sweet, and every touch seemed to awaken something new inside him.
Mike continued moving their hips together in a steady, firm rhythm, feeling Will’s body respond beneath his. Every shiver, every sigh, every involuntary movement increased the tension, making the heat between them almost tangible.
Will started moving more, arching and pressing against him, low anxious moans escaping uncontrollably. Every gesture seemed instinctive, a direct response to Mike’s touch, and Mike felt his own body react, muscles tense and alert, pulsing with their rhythm.
“Mike, if you keep going like this, I’m going to…” Will tried to speak, but Mike interrupted with a firmer push, pulling them closer. Will’s eyes nearly rolled back, his body trembling slightly, making Mike almost lose his breath. Their breathing grew faster, every sigh intensifying the tension in the air.
“You can, I’m going too,” Mike murmured, maintaining the kiss and the rhythm, his hand gripping Will’s thigh, pulling him closer and increasing the pressure. Every adjustment made their hips meet in an almost instinctive rhythm, as if every movement had been rehearsed before.
Then Mike felt Will’s hips falter against his, eyes rolling, body trembling involuntarily. Mike’s vision blurred for a moment; his heart raced, almost suffocating, and he reacted with two more thrusts, burying his head lightly in Will’s neck. Mike’s body trembled with him, vision going white for a few seconds as he collapsed against Will, who held him with a rapid heartbeat.
They stayed like that, chests rising and falling, each breath still heavy after the intense moment. When Mike recovered slightly, concern crossed his mind—he might be crushing Will. Carefully, he rolled to the side on the couch and looked at the boy, who was still flushed, eyes shining, body trembling slightly.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked, smiling softly, wrapping his arms around Will’s waist carefully.
“Yes, I am.” Will murmured, still breathing fast, a shy smile forming on his face. He turned slightly toward Mike, keeping his gaze fixed, as if he wanted to absorb every detail of him, as if Mike were the best thing he had ever seen. Mike didn’t even realize he was looking back differently.
The silence that followed was heavy, comfortable for a few seconds, until Will’s expression abruptly changed, as if he’d woken from a dream and fallen into reality.
“Jane.” He said, sitting up, his voice low but tense.
“What… oh… shit, shit.” Mike murmured, startled at himself, remembering suddenly. How do you forget you have a girlfriend?
Will recoiled, panic written on his face, and Mike felt the sudden loss like a punch to his stomach.
“This isn’t right. This was a mistake.” Will said nervously, shifting from side to side, hands restless, and Mike felt his chest tighten.
“Will, calm down… I can talk to her, okay? I can break up…”
“Break up? She’s going to hate me, Mike! She’s going to hate both of us! What are you going to say? That you were… fucking her brother in your damn basement? Oh my God… I think I’m going to puke.” Will ran his hands through his hair, tears forming in his eyes. Mike got up from the couch, approaching Will, but as soon as he reached out, Will recoiled, unable to touch.
“No! Don’t do that… My God, you’ve been with her for five years, Mike! You love her, you’ve said it in front of me! This isn’t fair. You know how long I had to put my feelings aside, to endure and pretend they didn’t exist. How much it hurt to watch you with her for years! I felt sick, I felt disgusted with myself every day for wanting more than to just be your friend. If you wanted to be with me, you should have done it earlier, but you didn’t. I can’t go through this. You even said that damn summer: ‘it’s not my fault if you don’t like girls.’ You rubbed it in my face, and now… you can’t do this to me and expect everything to go back to normal after, and you go back with her as if I were nothing, ignoring me like all the other times, pretending I don’t exist, as if my feelings didn’t matter, as if her feelings didn’t matter. Oh my God, she doesn’t deserve this. I’m a horrible person.”
Will trembled slightly, fists clenched white, shoulders rising and falling rapidly with short, uneven breaths. Tears glistened in his green eyes, and he bit his lower lip, trying to hold back sobs. Every word cut Mike like a blade, and he felt a strange pressure in his chest, as if something heavy were crushing his lungs.
“No, Will, hey… you’re not… let me explain, please.” His voice came out low and trembling, failing several times. Mike wanted to move closer, touch Will, hold him, but every step felt useless; his body felt heavy, as if every movement cost effort. His hands trembled slightly, fingers parted, almost searching for something to hold, anything that made him feel he could still fix this.
Will took a deep breath, pulling away, shoulders tense, fingers still trembling. “No, I want to be alone, please.”
“Will…” Mike sobbed, chest tightening further, every breath burning his lungs. Uncomfortable warmth rose through his neck and face, knees weak as if the floor had disappeared beneath him.
“Please.” Will sniffled, looking away.
Mike remained frozen, his body heavy, as if every muscle had forgotten how to move. His racing heart pounded against his ribs, each beat echoing like a drum of guilt inside him. Will’s words still spun in his mind, sharp and insistent, crawling over his skin, burning in his throat. He realized that, at that moment, there was nothing he could do to ease the pain he had caused.
He wanted to move, to hug Will, press his face to his, smell him, beg for forgiveness. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him, how sorry he was for every silence, every hesitation, never having done anything sooner. He wanted Will to know how much he longed for it to be him there, in his arms, in every kiss, every gesture, every night clinging to Will during nightmares—not just out of concern, but because he liked being near him, because Will was the person he always wanted close.
His fingers trembled; he wanted to touch Will, but he didn’t. His shoulders were tense, stomach knotted tight in an impossible knot. His eyes burned from holding back tears.
“Okay… I’ll go to my room.” His voice came out trembling, almost a whisper, throat tight as if he had swallowed stones. Mike looked away, unable to face Will any longer, feeling guilt and desire entwined in every fiber of his body. Each step felt like a monumental effort, chest heavy, stomach knotted.
He ran up the stairs quickly, almost tripping on the steps. The basement door slammed behind him with a dull thud, the sound making his heart tighten even more. Arriving at his room, still breathing hard, he tried to hold back tears as he opened the closet, grabbing a soft, comfortable pair of sweatpants. His fingers trembled slightly, and the pants felt heavier than they should, as if carrying all the weight of his guilt.
Coming back down to the basement, each step echoed in his mind, reminding him of Will’s wounded gaze, of the words he couldn’t erase. When he opened the door, he saw Will curled up on the mattress on the floor, shoulders tense, eyes down, avoiding any contact.
When Will noticed his presence, he stood abruptly, startled, staring at him, face flushed, eyes watery.
“What are you…”
“I just came to bring you pants, since yours are… you know.” Mike faltered, voice nearly lost. His throat burned, eyes stinging, and he felt tears streaming down before he could stop them. Every gesture seemed insufficient, too small against the distance now between them.
“Okay.” Will murmured, refusing to look at him, body still tense, fingers intertwined over his knees.
With a heavy sigh, Mike turned slowly, feeling the weight of helplessness crush his chest. Tears continued to stream silently as he left the basement.