The desert is arid and dry, almost begging for a drink of water. Everything looks the same. The jagged beige mountains, the rough sand, the occasional patch of grayish-green cacti. Will hates the word change, but he’s aching for difference in scenery, just one oasis in this neverending beige hell. His sister is in danger. His best friend is worried. He’s been talking and Will hasn’t been listening as intently as he should be, so he turns all his attention to Mike now.  

   “You’re scared of losing her.” Will mutters, keeping his eyes on Mike, who nods. Yeah. “Can I… show you something?” Now was as good a time as any. This could end badly, he knew that. He knew that this was almost as reckless as suicide. 

   He pulls the painting from his backpack, fingers slipping across the cool, smooth paper, handing it to Mike, who unfurls it slowly. Much too slowly, Will thinks, but the look on his face is worth it. 

  Mike’s expression splits into a smile. Will loves that smile. It’s refreshing. “This is amazing- did you paint this?” 

    He likes it. “Yeah- yeah. I mean- El commissioned it basically, she told me what to draw.” Will looks down, biting his tongue. He feels shame flicker in his stomach. “Anyway, my point is, see how you're leading us here?” He points to the knight, and his hand brushes Mike’s, just the slightest bit. He can hear Mike’s swift intake of air at the touch. 

  “You're guiding the whole party, inspiring us. That… That's what you do.” I need you, Mike.
“And see your coat of arms here? It's a heart.” I wonder why, Will thinks, a sarcastic edge to the voice in the back of his head. “And I know it's sort of on the nose, but that's what holds this party together. Heart. Because, I mean, without heart, we'd all fall apart. Even El. Especially El.” Even me, Especially me. 

  Will takes a deep breath, feeling mildly foggy. The car is totally and completely hotboxed- Argyle refuses to roll down the windows because of the ‘air pressure.’ 

  “These past few months, she's been so lost without you. It's just, she's so…” Will trails off.  “Different from other people, and…” He halts. “…when you're… when you're different, sometimes…” Will swallows thickly, staring out the window. “…you feel like a mistake.”

  He shook his head quickly. “But you make her feel like she's not a mistake at all! Like she's better for being different. And that gives her the courage to fight on.” He feels emotion crawling up his throat, like some dirty, shameful monster that wants to cry out and scream all the secrets that make up Will Byers, the queer, Zombie Boy, and will for the rest of his useless life. 

  But Mike is staring at him in awe. Will can’t tell if it’s awe for El or him, but he doesn’t care, because having Mike’s eyes on him is scalding. Boiling. Mike is beautiful, Will thinks. “If she was mean to you or she seemed like she was pushing you away, it's probably because she's scared of losing you, just like you're scared of losing her.” 

  Tears were threatening Will’s eyes now. “And if she was going to lose you, I… I think she'd rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.” A bandage that was just barely holding on, just barely covering that still-open wound. 

   I love you. Will thinks. I love you so bad. 

  “So, yeah, El needs you, Mike. And she always will.” 

    …

  “You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling.” 

   …

   Will’s entire body is shaking as he gives Mike one last longing look and turns towards the window, towards the un-changing desert skies. The sobs are crawling up his throat now, and he stifles them, bringing his hand to his mouth, biting down hard his callused painter's palm. Mike can’t hear him crying like this. He can’t. 

  I’m so tired. I’m so, so done. Fuck you. 

   God, I love you. 

  Will feels hot shame trickling down his stomach, curling there like some festering creature. He wants to banish it from his body because why can’t he just live in peace? His whole body aches. Everything aches. 

       But then's Mike's reaching out for his arm. “Will?” He whispers in that voice, that goddamn voice. The one that’s just Will’s, and Will breaks down. And then Mike’s holding him, wrapping lanky but strong arms around Will’s torso, burying a hand in his hair, and this is what Will needed. Just this simple touch is saying so much, Will can barely keep up. 

…

“But he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body.”

…

  Mike says one word, and the other boy gets it. “Will.” he breathes, soft and slow and oh. Oh. Will knows. He knows from the way Mike’s fingers twist in his shirt, the way he is completely and totally relaxed against Will, holding, keeping him upright, strong. He knows from the way Mike’s lips press to his forehead in an almost-kiss. And Will knows.  

  Mike won’t say it, but Will knows. 

…

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt.”

…

And Will feels exhilarated, even through the shame and anxiety curling in his stomach. This is wrong, he guesses- the two of them like this. But it feels so right. How could something so wrong feel so right? 

…

“You feel like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

…

 And Mike loves him. 

____________

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

-Insert from Richard Siken’s “Crush.”