There was a time when Will wouldn't have bothered even trying to say he was
fine when he wasn't. The fact that he does so now feels like a punch to
Mike's gut. As much as he hates being faced with it, things have changed
and Will is no longer the open book he used to be. When Mike tries to turn
to the well read and dog-eared pages of their childhood he finds that he
can't find those familiar catches in place. They've been smoothed out and
the pages he used to know by heart are blank to him now. Mike swallows and
tries to hide the hurt in his expression at the lie that's thrown out so
casually, like Mike is anyone else.
The car stalls and Mike swears he can feel Will's agitation grow with each
attempt to start it up. It feels like he's on the edge of something, even
if Mike isn't sure what. He wants to reach out and put an arm on his
shoulder, tell him to breathe that whatever happens, it's going to
be okay, but he knows Will won't appreciate those kinds of platitudes.
They both know that the world rarely works that way.
"Oh," Mike says in response to Will's explanation, sinking down slightly in
his seat. It stings more than he thought it would to hear Will call
himself someone's boyfriend. Mike knows he screwed up when they'd talked
about the kiss. He'd felt Will pull away from him over the next year and
then physically put nearly 400 miles between them when they'd graduated,
but the holidays had given him hope that maybe they could get back part of
what they'd lost. Maybe the book wasn't closed to him permanently. Mike
stares out the window, the windshield wipers moving to keep up with the fat
drops of rain that have begun falling against the glass. He glances back
over to Will, taking a breath before voicing the question crawling up his
throat. . "What do you mean, he took it out on you? What did he say?"
no subject
There was a time when Will wouldn't have bothered even trying to say he was fine when he wasn't. The fact that he does so now feels like a punch to Mike's gut. As much as he hates being faced with it, things have changed and Will is no longer the open book he used to be. When Mike tries to turn to the well read and dog-eared pages of their childhood he finds that he can't find those familiar catches in place. They've been smoothed out and the pages he used to know by heart are blank to him now. Mike swallows and tries to hide the hurt in his expression at the lie that's thrown out so casually, like Mike is anyone else.
The car stalls and Mike swears he can feel Will's agitation grow with each attempt to start it up. It feels like he's on the edge of something, even if Mike isn't sure what. He wants to reach out and put an arm on his shoulder, tell him to breathe that whatever happens, it's going to be okay, but he knows Will won't appreciate those kinds of platitudes. They both know that the world rarely works that way.
"Oh," Mike says in response to Will's explanation, sinking down slightly in his seat. It stings more than he thought it would to hear Will call himself someone's boyfriend. Mike knows he screwed up when they'd talked about the kiss. He'd felt Will pull away from him over the next year and then physically put nearly 400 miles between them when they'd graduated, but the holidays had given him hope that maybe they could get back part of what they'd lost. Maybe the book wasn't closed to him permanently. Mike stares out the window, the windshield wipers moving to keep up with the fat drops of rain that have begun falling against the glass. He glances back over to Will, taking a breath before voicing the question crawling up his throat. . "What do you mean, he took it out on you? What did he say?"