(for more chapters, see the studio below) Maybe, just maybe, Will wouldn’t always have to hate this part of himself. Mike’s corpse, however, wasn’t as lucky as Will’s. It didn’t have anyone there to nurture it and give it metaphorical flowers; it was padlocked, chained, fenced in, covered, wrapped in barbed wire, thrown into a dungeon and surrounded by a moat of self-denial. He kept it so far away from everyone else’s eyes that even he could forget it exists sometimes. But lately, it’s been throwing fits, knocking on the inside of its cage, begging to be let out. He was more determined than ever to make sure that it never did. Mike’s mind raced as he biked home alone. There were so many conflicting emotions inside him, all fighting in one big gladiator match for his attention. How would he go about this? Should he confront Will again and demand the truth until he breaks? Should he tell Will to sleep in the basement with Joyce and Jonathan until he comes clean? He hated when he fought with Will, but he’s never kept anything big from him like this before. Mike wished he would just say it, whatever it is, and they could go back to the way things were. He was immeasurably upset with Will, but more than that, he was angry with himself. There was a tiny part of him that felt like he could finally release a breath he’d been holding ever since he started dating El. A tiny part of him that wanted to lean into his possible feelings for Will and just see where it took them. /No./ He needed to stop thinking like that. There was nothing more than friendship that he felt for Will. That tiny flicker inside him was a dirty liar and shouldn’t be trusted. It should be stamped out and buried where nobody would find it, somewhere that would allow even Mike to forget where it is. His knuckles were white around the handlebars of his bike as he approached the house. His mind was so clouded it was hard for him to think about much else. Thoughts seemed to spark in every corner of his brain, gone before he could really process them. Absently, he dropped his bike in the garage and wandered inside, climbing the stairs up to his room and shutting the door with a soft click. Mike dropped onto his bed with his hands over his face, groaning. He wished things could go back to the way they were before. Back to simpler times, when he could love spending time with Will, could hug him and talk to him and just exist around him without having to overthink every aspect of it. There was nothing more going on between the two of them. There couldn’t be. But, there it was again. That corpse, banging on the inside of its closet, its prison, calling for his attention. Rattling its chains, kicking and screaming against its restraints, just reminding him that it existed. No matter how long Mike stared at the ceiling and tried to quiet his mind, it wouldn’t stop. 'I’m here', it said. 'Look at me', it said. 'Feed me', it said. But Mike was determined to let this part of him starve. To deprive it of oxygen until it shriveled and died. To never let it see the light of day again, until he could safely say that it never even existed. To deny the fact that it was ever there at all. But it was. It /was/ there, and Mike couldn’t ignore it, not with it crying out for attention, begging for him to let it out. /There isn’t anything to let out!/ Mike is not gay. This is all just a figment of his imagination, just a.. A stress-induced hallucination, trauma bonding, PTSD-type situation. His “/feelings/” for Will went no further than that. Mike’s mind bounced back and forth between fully denying any allegations and toying with the possibility of “what if…” He hated every second of it. The door to his room suddenly opened, and Mike snapped his head around to see who it was. /Will/. “Hey, I-” He began. Mike cut him off, “I don’t want to talk to you.” Will grimaced. “Your mom told me to come get you. Dinner’s ready.” He said, annoyance clear in his tone. Immediately, Will was filled with guilt. /He/ was the one to blame in all of this, Mike had every right to be angry with him. He wanted to take it back, to apologize. To- “Not hungry.” Mike said, rolling over on his side, away from Will. “Um, okay, then..” He began to leave. “Oh, and, Will?” Will turned in the doorway, and Mike could see a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Maybe, if you’re not going to tell me the truth about why you broke up my first real relationship with your lies and then refused to own up to it, maybe you should sleep elsewhere. I would hate to be the reason your guilty conscience won’t let you get any sleep.” Mike shrugged sarcastically, laying back down on the bed, with his back to Will.
It looked like he did it to be cold to him, but the real reason he turned away was that he didn’t want to see the hurt look in Will’s face, to see that flicker die in his eyes. Mike hated being cold to Will like this, but he had to distance himself from him, to get his bearings and shut up the thoughts running through his head. Will, outwardly, seemed mostly unfazed by this. But there were alarm bells going off in his head. Everything was falling apart. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Will’s lie was supposed to help Mike and El’s relationship flourish, it was supposed to help Mike get over his fear of telling her he loved her, to help them both realize that they were perfect together. It was not supposed to implode before his eyes and destroy his friendship with Mike. Half of him wondered if he should just give Mike what he wants and tell him the real reason he lied. Boy, would Mike feel stupid then. Numbly, Will turned and left, his throat tight. His stomach seemed to be doing somersaults, his skin crawling at the thought of Mike being this upset with him. There had to be something he could do to take his mind off of the painting. Eventually, he would forget about it and they could just go back to being best friends, right? Somehow, he doubted it. It felt like his only two options were either come out to Mike, tell him the full truth, and lose him; or continue to lie, say nothing, and lose him. No matter what he chose, things wouldn’t go back to the way they were. Mike was pulling farther and farther away and there was nothing Will could do to stop it. He was totally and royally screwed. Mrs. Wheeler was downstairs, the smell of warm, homemade tomato sauce filling the air as the radio crackled with some old song that Will didn’t recognize. Absently, he picked at the edges of his nails, giving Mrs. Wheeler a thin, hollow smile as she handed him a bowl of pasta. “Was Mike coming?” She asked as Will took the dish. “Said he wasn’t hungry.” He shrugged slightly, Mrs. Wheeler pursing her lips and shaking her head as Will headed to his spot at the table. El smiled up at him, squeezing his hand as he sat down, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. He loved El so much, but there was a tiny sliver of him that wished he /was/ alone. If he could just leave this life and start over in a new one where he wasn’t in love with his straight best friend of twelve years, where he didn’t mess up the best friendship he’d ever known, where he didn’t feel guilty about every glance or touch or heartbeat near this boy; maybe, just maybe, things would be better. For the both of them. He returned El’s smile, but once she looked away, he was unable to hold onto it. From across the table, Jonathan noticed the falter in his expression immediately. His eyebrows twitched, eyes narrowing towards Will as if he was trying to dig through his soul to find what was bothering him. Will just looked away.
