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It was a Wednesday. Mike had had a long week, but the last couple of days had been especially pressing. Every lecture felt heavier than the last, every assignment more demanding, and every step across campus seemed to echo the emptiness he felt inside. He had been in college for more than six months now, and yet he had made no real friends.
He tried. Of course he tried. Joining small groups in class, attending a few study sessions, even saying “hi” to people in the cafeteria. But the effort always felt hollow, because he really was not interested in parties, getting wasted, or weaving himself into the whirlwind social lives of his peers.
Dating was another story. Not that any girls had shown interest in him anyway, but even if they had, he did not know if he would have cared. The thought of small talk, flirting, and pretending to be someone he was not made his chest tighten.
He missed his friends from back home. He called them sometimes, but it was not the same. The warmth of familiarity, the shared jokes, the effortless understanding. They were gone now. The conversations felt flat no matter how hard he tried to make them lively.
Mostly, he talked to Will.
Will was the one person who still felt close, who made the distance bearable. Dustin and Lucas spoke excitedly about how much they loved college, about the clubs they had joined and the parties they had attended. Mike could not relate to any of it. He did not lie to them about his feelings, but he also could not quite admit that he was struggling, that he felt isolated and out of place.
The other day, his dad had called. The disappointment in his voice had been like a weight pressing down on Mike’s chest.
“You didn’t choose a good program,” his father had said. “You’re never going to find a job.”
Mike had tried to explain, tried to say he was doing his best, but it had felt pointless. He hung up feeling smaller, like he had somehow failed before he had even begun.
And today had been the last straw.
His professor had asked to speak to him privately. Mike had walked into the small office hoping, foolishly, that maybe he had done something right.
He had not.
The professor’s words had cut sharper than he expected. His assignment, which he had poured hours into, had apparently fallen short. He had genuinely thought it was remarkable, that he had captured every detail, every nuance. But her expression held gentle disappointment.
“You can do better,” she had said, handing the paper back with notes scrawled in neat red ink.
Mike had nodded silently, trying not to let the sting show. He sighed as he left the classroom, grateful it was his last class of the day. Now he could go home, collapse onto his bed, and let the sadness settle over him like cold water.
As he walked out, lost in thought, a sudden jolt sent his papers flying into the air. Someone had bumped into him, scattering the carefully stacked sheets across the wet pavement.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” a voice called, but the person did not pause to help. They laughed with their friend, the sound sharp and careless as it carried across the hallway.
Mike felt irritation flare, quickly swallowed by the familiar hum of hopelessness that had followed him all week.
He crouched down, picking up the papers one by one. The rain had started to fall, cold drops landing on his hand and dampening the edges of his notes. He did not bother putting his hood up. It would not make the cold any less intrusive.
Around him, the campus moved on. Students with umbrellas hurried past, chatting and laughing. Their voices blurred into something distant and muffled. The umbrellas, bright and patterned, cut through the gray drizzle in flashes of color.
He gathered the last of the scattered sheets and shoved them into his bag. For a brief moment, he just stood there, letting the cold sink in, feeling the weight of the week pressing down on him.
As he started to walk, the drizzle turned into a downpour.
Of course.
It was not a light rain. It was relentless, pounding against the pavement, soaking through his hair in seconds. And of course, he did not have an umbrella.
He must have done something horrible in his past life to deserve this.
He paused, considering waiting it out, going back to the building, maybe the library.
But No. He just wanted to go home.
A little rain would not kill him.
The first big cold drop hit the back of his neck. Then another. Then a sheet of icy water that ran down his face. Mike tilted his head up slightly, letting it soak him. Maybe it would wash away some of the pressure, some of the frustration.
And then something in the sea of gray caught his eye.
A bright yellow umbrella. It bobbed through the dark mass of black and navy like a beacon.
He blinked once. Twice. He wanted to convince himself it was a trick of the light, a strange reflection on the wet pavement. The umbrella was bright, cheerful, impossibly sunny against the dull, rainy campus.
And beneath it… he saw him
Will.
Will in a soft looking beige sweater and his green jacket, which made his eyes pop even from a distance. His messy hair, slightly damp. The way he was scanning the crowd, attentive.
He was looking for him.
Mike’s heart stuttered. How was Will here? Will who was living in NYC. Will who was supposed to be miles away on a random Wednesday.
A rush of worry crossed his mind, but Will looked fine. Relaxed.
Then their eyes met and chaos inside Mike’s head ceased to exist.
Time seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, the noise of the rain and the crowd fading into a soft background noise. And then Will started running toward him, the yellow umbrella bobbing, a grin bright against the wet backdrop.
“Mike! It’s freezing! Where’s your umbrella?” Will’s voice cut through the storm, warm and familiar, pulling him back to the present.
“I… I forgot it,” Mike stammered.
“At least put your hood on, you moron.” Will stepped closer, tugging Mike’s jacket hood over his damp hair. He angled the umbrella to cover both of them and brushed raindrops off Mike’s shoulder.The gesture was small but it felt monumental.
“What are you doing here?” Mike asked, still staring.
“To see you, of course.”
“Why?”
“Because I missed my best friend. Is that a problem?”
God. He had missed him so much.
“No…” Mike swallowed.
It was the opposite, actually. Will seemed to always be the cure for everything. Even at that moment, he didn’t remember why he was upset.
“It’s just… how?”
Will’s lips twitched.
“I called Nancy, and she told me about your class schedule.”
Mike blinked. “You what?”
“Well, I had to make a dramatic entrance somehow,” Will said lightly.
Mike shook his head, but his chest felt warmer than it had all week.
He knows me too well.
“Now,” Will continued, adjusting the umbrella, “are we going, or are you planning to stand here and drown?”
Mike hesitated for half a second, watching raindrops slide off the yellow fabric.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
They started walking. The world blurred around them, gray shapes passing by. But under the yellow umbrella, it felt smaller. Quieter.
“Tell me the truth, do you even own an umbrella?” Will asked, voice teasing, but soft.
“No...” Mike’s reply was almost a whisper, and he felt his cheeks heat under Will’s gaze.
Will chuckled. “You’re hopeless sometimes, you know that?”
“I know.” Mike muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the way his heart raced at the sound of Will’s laugh.
Their hands brushed briefly as they walked, both pretending not to notice.
“You’ve got a long walk back, huh?” Will said, breaking the comfortable silence.
Mike nodded. “Yeah… but not too bad.” He hesitated, then added, “I… didn’t expect… you to come all this way.”
“Well… it’s not every day I get to see my best friend soaked and miserable,” Will said, smiling. “I figured I’d save you from the apocalypse. ”
Mike laughed quietly, a sound he hadn’t realized he needed. “You… you really didn’t have to.”
“Well, how else were you planning to walk all the way to your dormitory without the water washing you away?” He says teasingly
“Shut up, I am not made of paper. I won’t melt”
Will raised an eyebrow. “No. But your books are.”
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Will was right.
–
They stepped into the dormitory, shaking off the rain as they crossed the threshold. The sound of water dripping from their jackets echoed softly in the small space. The room felt smaller now, with Will standing so close beside him.
Mike took Will’s jacket and hung it by the door.
“My roommate is going out to a party tonight,” Mike said, kicking off his wet shoes. “So we have the room to ourselves.”
His roommate usually did not come back after these parties. He would hook up with his girlfriend, stay out late, and return in the morning in a whirlwind of noise and chaos. Tonight, thankfully, the room would be quiet. Mike did not want to share any of Will’s time with anyone else.
“So… it’s okay if I crash here tonight? I didn’t really think about where to sleep, to be honest.”
Will’s voice was casual, but Mike caught the faint tension underneath. The slight dip in his shoulders. The way his fingers twisted the fabric of his sweater nervously.
“I mean… the bed is a bit small for both of us,” Mike said, feeling heat rise to his ears at the thought. His chest tightened, a mix of nerves and something softer, something he had not fully named yet. “But… we can manage.”
He grinned, because there was no way he was letting Will sleep anywhere else.
“How long are you staying?” Mike asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“However long you need.”
Mike paused, caught off guard by the simplicity of the answer. He ran a hand through his damp hair, unsure what to do with that kind of answer.
Will must have noticed his silence.
“The other day… on the phone,” Will continued quietly. “You seemed off. Like something bad happened. But you’re stubborn. You don’t want to talk to me.”
Mike snapped his eyes up to meet Will’s hazel ones.
Will had noticed it simply by talking to him on the phone.
“I should probably go back tomorrow because of school,” Will added quickly. “But it’s not necessary. I can make up some excuse if I need to stay longer.”
He fell silent after that, letting the words settle between them. A faint pink flush spread across his cheeks as he waited.
“How did you even get here?” Mike asked, breaking the tension a little too quickly.
“With the train.”
Mike blinked. “Will… that’s like a ten hour ride.”
“More like fourteen,” Will corrected.
“Fourteen? Will. What?”
“Yeah.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Mike’s chest clenched at the thought of Will sitting on a train for fourteen hours just to see him.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
“Because I felt like you needed your best friend.”
The words landed somewhere deep and steady inside him. His chest felt warm despite the lingering chill from the rain.
Did he already say that he had missed him so much? Because he freaking did.
Will glanced around the room. His cheeks were still pink, either from the cold or something else, Mike wasn’t sure, but his gaze lingered on Mike for a second longer than necessary.
Mike grabbed a towel and began drying his hair, but his eyes kept drifting back to Will.
Will was sitting on the edge of the bed now, staring at the painting above the desk. The one he had made for him when they were fifteen.
“That’s the most precious thing I own,” Mike said before he could stop himself.
“What?” Will asked, tilting his head slightly.
“The painting.”
Will’s eyes widened a little.
“Why?”
“Because it was made with love,” Mike added, softer now.
Will’s cheeks deepened into a bright red. He looked away, then back at Mike with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.
Mike knew how much time that painting had taken. Months, probably. The idea that someone had poured so much care into something just for him still amazed him. And the fact that it was Will made it meant even more.
It made him feel seen.
He looked at the painting again, then back at Will. The red in his cheeks made him look almost unreal in the dim light, like something impossibly soft.
Has Will always been this beautiful?
The thought slipped into his mind before he could stop it.
And then his brain began pulling up memories. Will laughing in the basement. Will concentrating over a DnD sheet. Will covered in paint. Will crying. Will smiling.
All of them the same.
Beautiful.
Mike did not even know when that thought had started living in his head. It had become so ordinary, so natural, that he had never stopped to question it. Not until now.
He had never looked at Lucas that way. Or Dustin. They were his friends. He loved them. But they had never made his stomach twist softly. Never made his chest feel too tight and too full at the same time.
It had always been Will.
And suddenly, standing there in the quiet dorm room with rain still tapping faintly against the window, that realization felt impossible to ignore.
Mike swallowed hard, tracing the edge of the towel, watching the damp fibers darken with water. He tried to push away those dangerous thoughts as he sat next to him on the bed.
“So… what’s wrong?” Will asked softly, almost a whisper. His voice was steady, but there was a subtle tilt of curiosity in his head, a quiet concern that made Mike feel… exposed in the best way.
Mike hesitated, looking down. He really didn’t want to bother Will with all his problems. And of course, Will caught what was going on in his mind.
“You can tell me anything, you know. Anger, sadness, frustration… I want the messy parts.”
Mike took a big breath “It’s… everything. I feel like I’m failing. Classes, friends… I can’t connect with anyone. I thought college would be exciting… but it’s just… lonely.” He glanced up, caught Will’s eyes, and quickly looked away, ashamed that he sounded so small.
Will shifted closer, elbows brushing his knees, gaze never leaving Mike. He leaned forward slightly, letting his presence fill the small space. “Lonely… yeah, I get that. But tell me-what’s hardest? School or… life outside of it?”
Mike pressed his lips together, tugging the towel tighter around his damp shoulders. “Both. My dad… he called the other day. Said I picked the wrong program, that I’d never get a decent job. And then today… my professor said my assignment wasn’t good enough. I thought it was fine. I worked so hard… and now I have to redo it. Nothing I do feels like enough.” His fingers twitched slightly.
Will’s eyebrows drew together“Mike. You never cared about what your dad says. Why now?”
Mike looked down at his lap, tugging at the towel and letting a strand of damp hair fall across his forehead. “I… I just thought he’d be proud. And when he’s disappointed… it hits harder than anything else right now. Everything’s piling up, and I feel… small.” He exhaled slowly, the words trembling slightly, as if speaking them aloud could make them disappear, or worse, confirm them.
“ Adapting to a new environment is hard. Don't be too hard on yourself” He leaned back slightly, but his eyes never left Mike’s, tracing the tension in his shoulders, the small movements of his hands.
Mike let out a shaky laugh, brushing wet hair from his forehead and letting it stick in a damp fringe. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got life figured out in NYC…” He trailed off, the words catching somewhere in his throat, a small knot of jealousy and admiration mixing in the same breath.
“Life is messy everywhere, even mine” Will interrupted gently, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He shifted slightly on the bed, brushing closer to Mike without touching. “But I get to see you now. Maybe you’ll feel less homesick. That happened to me too.” There was a warmth in his tone that made Mike’s chest loosen.
Mike exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension melt. He wanted to say more, to spill every fear and frustration, but just being seen, just being held in the attentive weight of Will’s presence, was enough for now. His fingers loosened around the towel, letting it fall to his lap, dampness clinging to his skin and leaving goosebumps behind.
“Thank you for listening to my nonsense.”
Will’s lips curved into a small, teasing smile. “I am glad I could be useful” He leaned back, letting a small pause stretch between them, the silence cozy and intimate.
Mike’s chest warmed at the words. He let out a soft laugh. “You’re the best, you know that?”
Will shrugged, smirking in that casual way that hid something more serious underneath. “That’s why I’m the best friend.” His eyes flickered toward Mike for just a moment, and Mike felt a flutter in his stomach.
They sat like that for a while, words paused, breaths mingling, the rain outside a distant memory. Not because the problems were gone, but because someone had crossed the distance to meet him where he was.
It became obvious in that moment how much he needed Will in his life. Not for occasional meet-ups twice a year, but for weekly kind of meet-ups, where they could hang out together.
“How is NYC?” Mike asked then, because he was really curious about Will’s new life.
“It’s nice,” Will said, leaning back against the wall, hands resting lightly on his knees. He tilted his head. “Well… first, Jonathan is there, and we live together, so life is much easier.”
Mike nodded slowly, fidgeting with his hands. “I… I guess that makes sense.” He shifted slightly under Will’s steady gaze. “Did… did you find someone?”
“Mh?” Will raised his brows, confused.
“Like… a boyfriend?” Mike asked, hesitation threading through his words as he avoided Will’s eyes, embarrassed to ask something so personal. The truth was, Mike had never asked Will about his love life, even after Will came out years ago. Something about asking him had always scared him.
Not a boyfriend, no,” Will said, shifting on the bed. His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before returning to Mike. A faint flush crossed his cheeks.
“Something else then?” Mike prompted quietly.
“Are you asking me if I’m… hooking up with people?” he asked in an incredulous whisper, like he was hiding some huge secret.
Mike’s stomach flipped. “Well… yeah, I guess,” he admitted. “I mean, I don’t… I’ve never… I don’t know how it works. How do you even know if another guy is… gay?” he said, clearing his throat.
Damn it, Mike, don’t make it awkward.
Will’s laugh was low and surprised, almost breathless. He ran a hand through his messy hair, glancing at Mike sideways. “You’re actually asking?”
“Sorry. It’s not my business. You don’t need to tell me,” Mike said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to know more about you…” he admitted shyly, because he knew plenty about Will. He probably knew him better than his own mother sometimes, yet he was so oblivious to Will’s love life.
Will’s cheeks deepened in color. He leaned back, trying to look casual, but the flush in his ears betrayed him. “I… okay. Yeah, I’ve been to some gay bars.”
Mike blinked, surprised that Will was actually sharing. “And…?” His voice came out hesitant, awkward, both nervous and curious.
Will’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “At first I got a bit freaked out. People are… free to do whatever they want there. It’s a lot to take in.”
Mike frowned slightly. “And… what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Will said quickly. “I’m just not used to it, okay? It’s… different. But now… now it’s better.” He hesitated, then glanced at Mike. “I guess it just took some getting used to.”
Mike’s chest tightened. “So… you did hook up with someone?” His voice was quiet, cautious, almost afraid of the answer, but also craving it.
Will’s fingers drummed nervously against his knees. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I had my experiences.” He looked down at his hands, then back at Mike, gauging his reaction.
The thought of Will hooking up with someone made Mike’s stomach twist, though he quickly masked it. He tried to swallow the small, the subtle burn of possessiveness rising up, telling himself it was absurd. Will was living his life. Mike had no right to feel jealous. But he couldn’t help it.
“But no boyfriend.”
Mike’s stomach twisted again, a strange mix of jealousy and relief. “Really?”
Will’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yeah… really.”
Their loss, because Will would be an amazing boyfriend.
“What about you, Mike? Anyone?” Will asked nonchalantly, but his eyes were attentive, studying him carefully.
Mike shook his head quickly. “Nope. No one’s interested in me.” He tried to sound casual, but there was a tightness in his throat.
Will gave him a look that was hard to decipher. His eyes lingered on Mike’s face, flicking from his eyes to his lips and back. Mike felt heat rise to his cheeks, suddenly aware of every detail. The damp curl of hair stuck to his forehead. The faint scent of rain still clinging to him.
“Maybe I’m just not that attractive,” Mike muttered, quieter than he meant to.
“Oh, no. That’s not true,” Will blurted out quickly, then cleared his throat. “I mean… in my personal opinion. As someone who is attracted to guys.” He scratched his neck nervously.
That made Mike smile softly. Will was cute, trying to comfort him, trying to build his confidence.
Mike felt the tension in his shoulders loosen slightly. He looked at Will, really looked this time, and saw the sincerity there. The warmth. The quiet reassurance. It wasn’t just words.
Will meant it.
If Will found him attractive, then everyone else’s opinion was irrelevant.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The rain against the window, the faint hum of the city, and the sound of their breathing filled the space. Mike’s thoughts still swirled, but they felt lighter now. Less suffocating.
Finally, Mike’s lips curved into a small, tired smile.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
–
That night, the bed was impossibly small. Mike barely slid under the blanket before realizing how close they were. Will’s side pressed against his, softer than he expected, warmth seeping through him, into him, and his chest tightened, heart hammering, stomach knotting.
Will stretched one arm over his head. His fingers brushed Mike’s shoulder lightly. Mike froze, held his breath, felt every inch of contact, imagined leaning just a fraction closer, then didn’t.
But his mind wouldn’t stop.
He caught a faint whiff of Will’s shampoo mingled with the rain clinging to his damp hair, and it was intoxicating.
How was it possible that someone could smell like home and autumn and safety all at once?
He fidgeted with the blanket, fingers curling, trying not to breathe too heavily. Every tiny movement Will made was a jolt, electric and impossible to ignore.
Will yawned softly, turning his head just enough to glance at him. “You… okay?” His voice was low, sleepy, intimate, and Mike’s brain short-circuited.
“I’m fine,” he whispered, tighter than he wanted, heat burning his cheeks, fingers trembling.
He tried to shift for space, but the bed refused. Their legs brushed, warmth spilling, pressing, too close, and he closed his eyes. Why does this feel like everything? Why can’t I just relax?
Every detail felt amplified: the rise and fall of Will’s chest, the faint hum he made as he adjusted, the curve of his back brushing against him, the subtle heat radiating through the blanket. Every small sound, every tiny movement pulled him in and made his muscles tense. And yet it was soothing. The closeness grounded him even as it frayed him, made him hyper-aware, made him ache.
Will shifted again, closer. Mike’s stomach flipped. He wanted to pull away and sink in at the same time, confusion knotting tighter in his chest. The warmth, the softness, the steady rhythm of him, it was too much, and not enough, all at once.
“Good night, Mike,” Will murmured, voice low, and his heart lurched.
“Good night,” Mike whispered back, barely audible, mind spinning, chest tight, limbs heavy with awareness.
As Will’s breathing deepened, slow and steady, Mike felt himself drift along the edge of sleep. Unconsciously, his fingers curled and found the back of Will’s shirt, gripping gently, just enough to calm himself. And even as his eyes closed, even as the world softened around him, Mike’s grip lingered.
__
Mike pushed open the door to the small coffee shop, the bell above jingling softly. Warm air hit them immediately, rich with the scent of roasted beans, faint cinnamon, and the tang of fresh pastries. He wanted to treat Will to a good breakfast, the least he could do since Will had come to visit. Not to impress him, exactly, just… because he could.
Will followed close behind, hood still damp from the drizzle. His hair clung faintly to his forehead, cheeks pink from the cold, soft and alive in the morning light. Mike’s knees went weak.
Pull it together.
When the server arrived, Mike ordered a latte with extra foam. Will stuck to black coffee, strong and simple. Steam curled between them as they took their mugs, hands wrapped around the warmth. Mike inhaled, letting it seep into him, letting himself sink into Will’s presence.
“How did you pay for the train?” he asked, voice low.
“I borrowed from Jonathan,” Will replied casually. “I’m working double shifts to pay him back.”
Mike blinked. Heat rose in his stomach. He really had done all this… traveled hours, spent money he probably didn’t have, skipped classes,all for him. His chest ached in a way that was sweet and overwhelming.
“You have your next train soon, right? I can’t believe you’re doing thirty hours of travel just to see me for less than a day,” Mike murmured, his voice low, half-lost in disbelief.
“Well… you’re worth it,” Will said softly, eyes warm and unguarded.
Mike froze, heart thudding, words failing him completely.
Why did Will have to say things that left him breathless every time?
He just stared, the sound of the Cafe fading around him, caught entirely in the quiet gravity of Will’s words.
Mike didn’t mean to start studying him after that. It just happened.
At first it was subtle. The way Will leaned in when he spoke. The way his eyes brightened, attentive and intent, as if Mike were saying something far more important than he actually was. Will nodded along to every sentence, smiling like he couldn’t quite help it. When Mike made an offhand joke, barely worth the effort, Will laughed anyway, warm and immediate, and shot him a look that lingered just a little too long.
There was something in that look.
Mike felt it settle low in his chest.
He wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into his palms. It did nothing for the sudden flutter beneath his ribs. He told himself he was imagining things. That Will had always been expressive. Always generous with his attention.
But the more he watched, the more the details began to stand out.
The slight tilt of Will’s head when he listened. The way his body angled closer without seeming aware of it. The playful edge to his teasing. The quick glances at Mike’s mouth before flicking back up to his eyes. Even the way his smile softened whenever Mike said his name.
It didn’t feel accidental.
It felt deliberate.
Or maybe it had been there all along.
“I… I just…” Mike hesitated, suddenly aware of how warm his face felt. “I can’t believe you came. For me.”
Will’s grin widened, easy and bright. “Well… that’s what friends do, right?” he said lightly, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
Friends
Do they really?
Mike searched his expression, looking for something to contradict it, but Will’s face remained open, fond, almost shy beneath the casual tone. His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it softened.
Mike’s chest tightened.
He realized then that he was no longer listening to whatever Will was saying. He was watching him. Watching the way his lips curved around words. Watching the way his eyes flickered with quiet emotion he couldn’t quite name.
And beneath the warmth of the coffee and the hum of the café, something shifted inside him.
This wasn’t new.
That was the part that unsettled him most.
The attentiveness. The softness. The way Will seemed to center himself around him.
Had it always been like this?
Mike swallowed, heart beginning to race for reasons he wasn’t ready to examine.
Across the table, Will smiled again, smaller this time, but deeper somehow. Like he was letting himself be seen.
And for the first time, Mike wondered if he was only just learning how to look.
—
Rain glazed the platform in reflective sheets, pooling along the concrete as the yellow umbrella swayed in Mike’s grip. The lights shimmered against the wet ground, soft and muted around him. He walked slowly, as if dragging his steps could somehow delay Will’s departure.
He did not want him to go.
Will walked beside him, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the edges of his jacket darkened by rain. His lips curved in that impossible smile, the one that brushed off everything, that disguised quiet concern as casual levity, but today it felt different.
Personal. Focused entirely on Mike.
Every time Will tilted his head, even slightly, Mike’s chest tightened. His stomach fluttered. His hands trembled around the umbrella handle.
“Call me when you pass that stupid class,” Will said, light, teasing, yet threaded with a faint warmth that made Mike’s heart stutter.
Mike laughed, weakly, suddenly feeling absurd standing in the middle of the crowded, dripping platform, chest practically vibrating. “I will,” he said, though his voice caught halfway.
His eyes kept darting to Will, the slight flare of his nostrils, the curve of his jaw under the dim platform lights.
Will stepped back, tilting the umbrella just enough for a few raindrops to splash the hem of Mike’s coat. Mike froze. The umbrella had become a private world, a fragile yellow bubble in a gray, raining station, and every motion Will made seemed magnified within it.
“Okay. I should-” Will paused, eyes flicking briefly toward the approaching train, then back to Mike.
Mike’s breath caught. The world narrowed. The trains, the hissing brakes, the umbrellas of strangers, they all fell away. Only Will remained, impossibly present, impossibly close.
Please don’t go, he wanted to scream, to beg, to stop time.
Then Will’s voice cut softly through the storm.
“Mike?”
His name hit like a flash of clarity. Mike’s heart stuttered, throat dry, every nerve alive.
“Will,” he whispered, almost instinctively.
“Mm?”
That tiny syllable, the tilt of Will’s head, the soft breath between words, the hesitation, made Mike’s chest lurch.
Will was looking at him like he was waiting for something important. Hopeful.
Mike swallowed hard, his eyes drinking in the intensity of Will’s gaze, flicking from one pupil to the other, tracing the quiet weight behind it.
What if I’m reading this wrong?
Mike wondered. Maybe Will just loved him. Of course. Like a best friend. Like family. Definitely not like-
And then Mike saw it.
Will’s gaze shifted slowly, deliberately, resting first on Mike’s eyes. His heart nearly stopped. His stomach flipped. A low hum of certainty began to rise in his chest. And then his eyes dropped, just for a fraction, to Mike’s lips.
They lingered there for a heartbeat before drifting back up, meeting Mike’s gaze again. In that micro-movement, Mike understood.
Will was patiently making a silent request.
The umbrella rocked again, nudging them closer. Mike’s pulse thundered. His fingers curled tighter around the handle, white-knuckled, as if holding the umbrella could keep him from exploding into panic and exhilaration at once.
When he leaned in, Will’s hopeful eyes almost hurt his soul. He wanted this, wanted it so badly, and Mike could see it now, clear as day.
In his mind, he counted the countless times Will had looked at him like this. Shockingly, there had been so many moments, and he had been too stupid to understand what they meant. Too afraid to admit his own desire, too afraid to see what he truly wanted.
But he had waited too long. Will started to shift back slightly.
“Okay. I’ll go now,” he said, his tone just barely tinged with disappointment. Imperceptible to anyone else, but Mike knew him too well.
He didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to hear that quiet sadness behind Will’s words.
He tilted the umbrella, angling it to shield them both from view. As rain soaked his back, his hand quickly found Will’s waist, pulling him closer.
When Will was close enough, he tilted his head closing the distance.
Will’s breath hitched and he leaned into Mike, lips parting, responding immediately, urgent and willing.
The rain blurred around them. The station noises faded into white noise. All that existed was the beautiful, delicious reality of Will’s lips, the warmth of his breath.
Mike tilted his head again, deepening the kiss, and Will responded in kind, tentative at first, then bold, like he had been waiting for this forever.
He could feel Will’s lips soften and part beneath his, the small tremor in his jaw, the subtle shiver that ran through him when Mike pressed even closer. Their bodies molded together instinctively, warm and urgent, and Mike let himself sink into it. It was messy, and it was perfect.
Mike pulled back just a little, enough to meet Will’s eyes. He exhaled, letting the adrenaline slowly dissipate. None of his worries mattered anymore. Not when Will’s hand brushed his shoulder again, light, reassuring, familiar. Not when that small smile lingered, shy and bright. Not when the intensity in Will’s eyes radiated a quiet, profound affection Mike could feel deep in his bones.
His chest felt full in a way it never had before.
With Will, he finally knew. This was where he belonged, where he was loved, where he was home.
Will looked up at Mike, eyes soft and steady. His hands came up, framing Mike’s face, and pulled him in for another kiss. It was slow, gentle, a rhythm all its own, letting them both linger in the quiet warmth between them.
When Will finally pulled back, he left only a soft, lingering peck. Mike stayed still for a heartbeat, savoring, the simple perfection of it.
His knees felt weak, almost trembling under him. His heart thumped so hard it felt like it might leap from his ribcage.
Two kisses weren’t enough to make up for all the ones Will had been holding back over the years.
He made a mental note: he would have to make it up to him, for being so stupid for so long
Will’s lips were still parted slightly. He blinked up at Mike, flushed, stunned, hopeful, afraid to assume anything. The yellow umbrella shielding them but barely containing the intensity of what had just happened.
The PA announced the last call for his train, breaking the fragile cocoon around them. Will stepped back slightly.
“Your umbrella,” Mike said.
Will shook his head. “You keep it,” he murmured, letting the rain begin to wet his face as he got on the train.
Will stood near the window, opening it, watching him. The doors began to close. Mike adjusted his footing and started walking alongside the train, keeping pace with Will. His hand still gripped the umbrella tightly.
“Mike!” Will’s voice called out over the roar of wheels and wind.
Mike’s heart jumped.
He slowed his stride, matching the train’s rhythm, eyes locked on Will. Will opened his mouth but paused, hesitating. Before Will could say anything else Mike spoke first.
“Are you free this weekend?” he asked.
Will squinted, confusion passing over his features. “What?”
Mike lifted his chin, meeting his gaze. “I’m coming to see you.”
Relief spread across Will’s face, shifting from confusion to a gentle, radiant smile. He leaned slightly toward Mike through the open window. The train picked up speed, rumbling beneath Mike’s feet. Wind whipped his jacket and hair.
“You better,” Will said, soft but firm, teasing, threaded with hope.
Mike kept pace as the train surged forward, matching the rhythm of the wheels, feeling the rain spray against the platform. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to hold onto this moment as long as he could.
Will leaned out slightly, the wind tugging at his hair and jacket, but never broke eye contact until the very last moment.
He stopped at the edge of the platform, watching the train carry Will away. His chest still burned with disbelief that he had kissed his best friend, and it had been everything.
He needed more.
As the train vanished from view, his mind raced,tickets, schedules, the fastest way to New York. He just needed to see Will again, and soon