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"What are you doing?"
The hissed words startle Will, and his body jerks as he turns towards them, a trace of fear creeping up his neck. He’s both relieved and afraid to see that it’s only Mike, his coat thrown haphazardly over his borrowed pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He’d lost track of time out here on Steve’s roof, too busy staring at the hazy red sky and trying to forget his latest nightmares. It’s been years since the skies turned red and their lives were torn apart at the seams. Will has tried to imagine the day all of this ends – blue skies and a world where there’s not a timer on their lives.
The red skies follow him even in sleep, shifting from a nightmarish vision into blood-stained horrors. Will glances down at his hands, certain they’ll be stained red even now. All his dreams are the same. He finds himself standing around a sea of bodies, hands dripping with the blood of the innocent people he’s killed. People he couldn’t save. And then he looks down to find a fresh body at his feet. Sometimes it’s his mom, and sometimes it’s Jonathan, but lately it’s been Mike. He’s watched him die a dozen times. Usually, he’s already gone, but tonight’s dream was different. Hours ago, Will’s hands tore into Mike’s chest, a fist pushing through his splintered rib cage and the pooling blood to grab hold of his heart, squeezing the last vestiges of life right out of him.
He’d woken up instantly after that, shivering despite the rivulets of sweat dripping down his neck. The rooftop had seemed like a welcome reprieve for his body, at least, but his mind was still racing. His connection to Vecna gets stronger every day, and Will is starting to lose his grip on reality, between what he can control and what Vecna forces upon him. He knows he should tell everyone, but he can’t bring himself to say the words out loud. He’s been stronger this time around. He doesn’t want them to know that he’s failing. He doesn’t want them to blame themselves for something he should have been able to control, a fate that only he could have kept at bay. And Will knows that if he tells them that the end is coming, that their time is running out, they’re only going to do something stupid and rash. He can’t stomach the thought of losing one more person to Vecna.
Will is so, so tired of losing.
“Will?” Mike calls softly, swinging his legs over the windowsill and walking gingerly towards the edge of the roof where Will sits cross-legged, overlooking the outskirts of town. “It’s not safe out here,” Mike tells him, and though the words are scolding, his tone is gentle. Despite his own warning, Mike drops next to Will, brushing against his knee as he adjusts to let his legs dangle over the edge, almost careless. Part of Will wants to reach out and push Mike backwards, out of harm’s way. Or maybe just out of his way, far from the darkness seeping into him. Will can still hear the echoes of Mike’s final breaths, the gurgle of the blood as he squeezed the life out of him. He fights the urge to place a palm against Mike’s chest to make sure his heart is still beating even though he can see him there, safe and sound. But Will knows by now not to trust everything he sees.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, his own voice still thick. “I saw you weren’t in the room, so I guess I just wanted…”
He doesn't finish the sentence. Mike is doing that a lot lately, sharing these half-formed thoughts that vanish between them like vapor. There was a time where Will could have picked up where he left off, finishing his sentences or knowing wordlessly what he was trying to say. But these days their conversations are like a fallen bridge, a gap they can’t quite figure out how to mend. Will doesn’t know how Mike sees it, but he feels like every word exchanged between them is a breath withheld, as if they’re waiting to see which one of them is going to shatter the illusion around them first.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
Will hums but keeps his eyes on the horizon, trying to focus on the crimson skies and forget the rust-colored stains he’d seen under his fingernails while asleep. "Nothing new," he replies, and it's not even a lie. He’s never told them what kind of dreams he has even though everyone’s assumed they’re not good. He thinks El might know, though. She’s been like that since her powers returned, all-knowing and too aware of what’s happening. He’s taken great pains to avoid her these past few weeks even though he knows that they should talk. Except that talking is a waste of the time they don’t have, time that’s better spent training and preparing to end Vecna once and for all.
Defeating Vecna is all that matters now. It has to be.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Mike prods, pulling Will out of his own head.
Defeating Vecna should be all that matters, and yet there’s still a part of Will that turns bashful under Mike’s attention, desperate to have as much of it as he’s allowed. He turns his head towards him only to be confronted with the earnestness of Mike’s expression, the slight downward furrow of his brow even as he smiles, trying to be encouraging. It’s an expression that’s both alien and familiar, a level of care that only Will ever gets to see. He loves Mike for being the only person who’s ever cared for him like this, in the ways he is increasingly sure he’s never deserved. Mike, who is the same boy that looks on the rest of the world with a scowl and a chip on his shoulder but always treats Will with consideration, gentle since that very first day they met. Will can’t help but love him, despite everything that’s happened – he’s his best friend, estranged or not, and the one person he’ll always know best in this world. He couldn’t shake Mike out of him even if he tried.
He forces that thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself get soft now; he can’t let himself care. Mike is a vulnerability he can’t afford. If Vecna knew how much he mattered, he could lose. There’s no more room for distraction when he’s mere steps away from the battlefield, toeing the line of danger with every passing second.
“There’s not much to say,” Will answers eventually. He drops his gaze to the surface of the roof, latching on to where Mike’s hand splays against the shingles to keep his balance. “It’s always the same. Blood. Doom. The end of the world as we know it.”
“In other words, just a normal day in Hawkins.” Mike’s dry commentary nearly pulls a rare laugh from Will, but he doesn’t have the energy to offer him anything but a smile. Even that much energy is exhausting. “Come on, Will. Talk to me. Why are you really out here?”
Will snaps his head up at Mike's words. "What?"
Mike frowns, eyes searching. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where I can tell you're hiding something."
"I'm not… I'm not hiding anything, " Will argues. It’s a lie, of course; he’s hiding everything. There’s so many little white lies that he’s starting to drown beneath them all. He’s afraid – afraid they’re going to lose, afraid of what his nightmares promise, afraid of the connection that he’s struggling to suppress. He’s terrified of what he feels around Mike, these fledgling feelings he’s failed to forget for years now. Sometimes, it feels like Will is nothing more than one giant secret, stitched together by nothing but his own determination not to fall apart.
“You are,” he protests, pushing back against Will’s words. “You can tell me, okay? You don’t have to keep it a secret.”
He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “I don’t? Thanks for your permission.”
Mike lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not what… I didn’t mean it like that, Will. Stop trying to pick a fight.”
“Me? You’re the one that… the moment you got off the plane, Mike!” He can’t help but fall back on unsettled feelings in his effort to deflect the conversation away from what he doesn’t want Mike to see.
“That’s not… that was different, ” Mike stresses. His expression is pleading, and there’s a fire in Mike’s eyes that Will hasn’t seen in a while. Determination, maybe, or certainty. “It wasn’t… I wasn’t fighting with you. Okay?”
“Could have fooled me,” Will mumbles. But he lets it go and allows silence to fall between them. It’s far from a peaceful quiet; there’s no such thing as peace anymore. There’s always tension simmering between every word, conversations buried between the weight that any moment could be their last. They can’t predict when the end will come, only that it’s going to arrive, but Will has his suspicions. He can feel Vecna growing stronger, and the sky’s red haze grows darker each day, dimmed by the falling spores. Their time is running out.
“You’re doing it again,” Mike murmurs, speaking so softly that Will isn’t sure if the words are meant for him at first. He turns his head anyway, curious, only to catch Mike studying him. “You keep disappearing into your head,” Mike clarifies. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” Will answers, another lie falling from his lips. It gets a little easier each day he gets closer to the inevitable moment where he leaves them behind and faces his destiny.
There’s no other choice. He’s been thinking about it for a while, up late when he can’t quite make himself go to sleep and face the horrors that await him there. He’s been watching them all for a while now, studying their behavior so he can find a small pocket where he’d be able to sneak out and go to Vecna on his own. Will knows that this is how it has to end. The only way to keep them all safe – from him, from Vecna, from death – is to give Vecna what he wants. And what he wants is Will.
He knows he won’t make it back. But he can’t bear another round of goodbyes, just like he knows that he can’t waste the time they have left by trying to convince everyone only for them to agree that maybe he could be bait or, even worse, locking him somewhere out of the way and getting themselves all killed trying to save him. He has to go without a fuss, and maybe it’s not just because it’s the only way this will work. If he goes out on his own, without goodbyes, he won’t have to see everyone’s faces when they realized they should have just let him die in 1983. If Will had died when he was supposed to, if they’d stopped trying to cheat fate, then so many lives could have been saved.
Mike surveys Will with a steady gaze, and he feels flayed open beneath the weight of it. Mike is the only flaw in his plan. He’s the only person who Will feels compelled to tell the truth – save for that confession in the van, beneath a demanding desert sun, and even that had been truth wrapped in the words he knew Mike needed to hear.
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
“I am,” Will answers weakly, averting his gaze.
“You’re not!” Mike blurts, frustration evident. “You don’t talk to me anymore. Not about things that matter, not about what you…” He drops his gaze to his hands, clasped together like a knot in his lap. “It’s not just me, you know. You won’t talk to any of us. And everyone’s started to get worried.”
“I’m not a group project,” Will mutters, meaner than he intends.
“Fine. Then just hear me out, okay? You won’t talk to me, and I’m… I’m scared, Will. The longer this goes on, the further away you seem. And I can’t lose you.”
“You’re not–”
“No, I am,” he insists. “I’m losing you again. You’re right here, but it’s like you’re a million miles away.” Mike’s hand twitches in Will’s direction – like he wants to reach out but he’s afraid that Will will vanish into thin air if he takes hold.
Will freezes, his breath lodged at the base of his throat. “I’m not gone,” he tells him, sounding rehearsed. He doesn’t know which one of them he’s trying to convince.
Mike just shakes his head. “That’s not true. You’ve been distant for weeks. And the dreams are getting worse. I know they are,” he argues, cutting Will off before he can deny it. “Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”
Will turns away, cheeks burning, and crosses his arms against his chest. “No. I didn’t. But so what if I do?”
Mike hesitates, and the split-second pause is enough to tie Will’s stomach into knots. “Sometimes, you call out names in your sleep. Your mom, Jonathan, El. Sometimes Max.” Another pause. “Sometimes you call out for me. You always sound terrified.”
“Of course I do,” he admits, his honesty taking them both by surprise. “I am terrified. All the time.”
“You don’t have to be. We’re not… I’m not going anywhere,” Mike amends, seeming to realize he can’t make promises on behalf of everyone he might not be able to keep. “I’m here, Will. Right here.”
He reaches out and wraps a hand around Will’s bicep. The pressure causes Will’s stomach to lurch, heart skipping in his chest, but clenches his fists and tries to appear unaffected. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine. Listen, we should go back inside.”
Mike’s grip tightens around his arm, holding Will in place. “Will, come on. Stop avoiding me. Look, I know that something’s wrong with you, okay? You don’t have to talk about it, but… can you please just stay here? Just for a second?”
“I can’t stay!” Will explodes. He turns his head sharply towards Mike, eyes pleading. “I can’t stay here, Mike. Vecna is out there, and he’s getting strong every second. I can… I can feel it. Did you know that I see him now, too?”
“In your dreams?” Mike asks. Will doesn’t reply, but he drops his eyes and that’s enough of an answer. “You’re seeing him when you’re awake? Will, what the fuck! You have to tell us this stuff.”
“Why should I? If I tell you the truth, you’re all just going to try and save me. There’s no point. You can’t save me. Not this time.”
Mike’s mouth falls open in shock. “What are you talking about? Of course we’re going to try to save you! Don’t be stupid, Will.”
“Stupid? It’s not stupid for not wanting all of you to die, Mike!”
Mike’s face goes pale. “You don’t mean that.”
“You don’t know what I mean.”
“Yeah, because you won’t talk to me, Will, not because–”
“I am talking!” Will exclaims. “I’m telling you the truth, okay, Mike? You can’t save me. I know what I’ve seen, and I know what Vecna wants, and it’s either me or all of you. I can’t take that chance.”
“Whatever he’s showing you isn’t true. You remember what Lucas and Dustin said, right? Vecna lies. He shows you things that aren’t real. You can’t take him for his word! Max saw the visions too, but she fought–”
“Okay, then where is Max right now?” Will shoots back, his throat tight as he speaks. “I can stop this. I have a chance to end things, and you can’t blame me for wanting to try to save her and all of you. No one else will die. Not if I have any say.”
“You’re crazy. You can’t… you can’t do this on your own. He’ll kill you, Will. He’ll take you and then he’ll kill all of us anyway. That’s what he wants!”
Will shakes his head, eyes slipping shut. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see the visions in an endless loop. There’s no escaping it. He knows that he’s going to breach the gate and find Vecna, knows that he’ll sacrifice himself for the greater good, but not before Vecna lets Max go back home. He thinks he can put a stop to everything, though – in those last moments before Vecna takes him, right before he can seize control of Will and turn him into a puppet. He’s going to fight back. He’ll probably die in the process, but at least then he’ll know that balance has been restored. It’s worth the risk. He’s stronger than he was four years ago; he can end things. He can finally be the hero instead of the victim.
“No. No way,” Mike protests, voice rising. “You can’t do this. I’m not letting you, Will!”
Will’s eyes fly open. “There’s nothing you can do,” he explains, a sense of calm washing over him. The decision is made; he’s not going to turn back. “Look, this is what he wants. But I’m different now. I’m stronger. And I can end things. You just have to trust me.”
“The only thing I trust is that you’re going to end up dead! ” Mike shouts, his voice cracking on the last word. “If you die, then all of this has been pointless. It started with you, Will. That means that you can’t… things don’t end that way.”
“I think they do,” he confesses. “It has to. You know I’m not ungrateful that you all saved me. But saving me disrupted the order of how things should be. I mean, I died, Mike. There were a few minutes before Hopper brought me back. And sometimes I can’t help but wonder how different everything would be if I’d stayed that way. If you all had never gotten involved… you all would have moved on. You could’ve been happy.”
“I wouldn’t have been,” Mike insists. “Your mom wouldn’t have been, and Jonathan wouldn’t have been, and neither would anyone else! You’re the one who brought us all together. You don’t get to decide that you can leave us now just because you think we saved you for nothing.”
“Why can’t I decide that? Isn’t it my life?” He wants to cry, or scream, or pound the roof with his fists, but none of that will change what he already knows. “If I had a choice, I would have asked you all to let me die. I was ready for it when I told you all how to close the gate.”
Mike falls silent, expression stricken. “You don’t mean that.”
“I knew what I meant then,” Will says gently, “and I know how I feel now. If I die, then I die for a good reason at least.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Mike splutters. “You’re just – what, now you want me to believe that we wasted years of our lives by saving your life? That’s bullshit! You’re not replaceable. There wouldn’t have been any getting over your death then, or now, or ever. I can’t believe we’re even talking like this can happen. You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you run off and sacrifice yourself for nothing!"
Will scoffs. "Mike, come on."
“What?”
“You’d get over it. You would,” he insists, watching disbelief pass across Mike’s face. “We don’t have to pretend, okay? I know that I’m not… that we’re not… it’s fine.” Will stumbles over his words, voice breaking as he tries to explain all the things he hasn’t yet, how he knows that their friendship is an illusion these days, too, and that Mike is only there out of a sense of duty. “You tried,” Will continues, “and you have no idea how much that means to me, but we aren’t–”
Whatever else he wanted to say dies when something warm presses against his mouth. Will pauses to process what’s happening to him, awareness creeping in with bits and pieces of sensation. Inches away is Mike’s face, tilted slightly, eyes squeezed shut. Will could count his eyelashes if he wanted, the soft span of them sweeping across the tops of his cheeks. Will lets his own eyes travel down, across the swooping bridge of his nose and the smattering of freckles there, lower still until he realizes that it’s Mike’s mouth attached to his, his lips firm and unmoving but so, so warm.
But then Mike’s lips part and an explosion goes off in Will’s mind, overcome by a sudden clarity that Mike is kissing him. He could sit here and question it, trying to seek answers, or he could seize the moment and allow him this one thing – just one – before he faces the end of the world. So Will tilts his head and pushes into the kiss, and every place their skin touches burns just like that time they pressed a hot poker against his skin. Will doesn’t care. The world could end here, narrowed down to the push and pull of their mouths, for all he cared. For one moment, he lets himself be selfish. His fists unclench and spring forward of their own volition, one hand finding purchase on the side of Mike’s neck and the other clawing into his t-shirt, crumpling the fabric as he drags him closer, desperately wishing he never had to let go.
Will used to let himself daydream about his first kiss back in California, during the quiet and lonely months where he wasn’t speaking to Mike but he was learning that he liked boys, that maybe he wouldn’t be miserable for his entire life because of it. He’d imagined his first kiss to be something shy, almost like it was out of a movie, somewhere secret. He’d imagined uncertainty, testing the waters with nothing more than a peck to make sure that they both wanted this kiss.
Kissing Mike isn’t like that at all. Their kiss – Will’s first kiss, and maybe even his last – is electric. Will isn’t cautious or careful, too eager to imprint their kisses into his brain in the moments he has left. Mike is the one who is careful, gently brushing across Will’s skin like he’s not sure he can touch. His hand reaches for Will’s cheek and hesitates, fingertips resting just above the surface. Will hums plaintively and leans to the side, pushing his skin into Mike’s palm in a silent plea. Only then does Mike allow himself to take hold, reaching past his face to cup his neck and reel him in. Kissing Mike is running headfirst into danger. There’s tornado sirens blaring in a distant corner of Will’s mind but he drowns them all out in favor of getting closer, sparks flying and their mouths insistent, desperate, longing. Maybe Will still knows him best – each kiss between them is an entire conversation. Stay, don’t go, I can’t lose you. I will, I’m here, you won’t.
Will wishes that he didn’t have to lie.
Eventually, they have to breathe, and so they separate long enough to suck in oxygen, their chests heaving like twin flames. Briefly, Will is struck with fear that this is some terrible Vecna trick and Mike will warp before his eyes. But he stays there as is: cheeks flushed and his lips bruised by Will, turning a dark, berry pink.
“You kissed me,” Will murmurs.
“You kissed me back,” Mike utters softly, looking dazed.
“Why did you do that?”
He blinks twice, the daze receding and shifting to nervousness. Mike examines him closely, looking for signs of… of what, Will isn’t sure. Disgust, maybe. Anger. Fear. If the tables were reversed, that’s what Will might be feeling right now. “Will,” he breathes, and it’s the sweetest sound Will has ever heard. “Please don’t go.”
He can’t help but jerk back, stung by the reminder of what they’d been talking about before. “Did you… were you trying to manipulate me?”
“What? No, of course not. No, I wouldn’t… never.” Mike sounds panicked at the thought, so Will dismisses the possibility, forcing himself to appear calm. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t hurt you. On purpose,” he explains haltingly. “But I… Will. You have to know.”
“Know what?”
“How much that I… I care for you,” he tells him, stumbling over the words. “If you weren’t here… if we hadn’t saved you… there wouldn’t be any getting over it. Not for me.”
Will can’t help but laugh. “You don’t mean that.”
Mike’s expression, teetering on the verge of hope, drops completely. “I mean it. Will, come on. Are you kidding? Do you really think that I wouldn’t–”
“You haven’t exactly shown me otherwise.” But even as he’s saying it, he knows that his words aren’t fair. Ever since they got back to Hawkins, Mike hasn’t left his side. It would be suffocating how much he hovered if it were anyone else. Will can feel his eyes on him anytime they’re in the same room, and Mike had been the one to insist they bunked together in one of Steve’s many spare bedrooms. He often wonders if Mike is afraid that Will might vanish if he takes his eyes off him for a second, and it only occurs to him now that maybe Mike was right to worry.
“I know that I’m not good with… with this,” he says helplessly. Mike gestures between them as if that will illustrate his point, as if a simple sweep of his hand can define the way Will can still feel the ghost of his touch. “But I know how I feel. It’s not… it’s been here, this whole time, and I think that I might…” He sighs, and Will watches his hands curl into fists at his side. “I know how I feel. I know that losing you would kill me, Will.”
“Mike–”
“No, please, listen to me,” he begs. “It’s so easy for you to say that things would be better if you were dead. But if I really lost you… I mean, god, the one day I thought you were dead was a nightmare. And then after…” He twists his lips and opens his eyes, turning so that he can meet Will’s eyes. “I’ve lost you slowly and all at once, and I can’t… I can’t do it again. I won’t sit here and listen to you say that no one would miss you, or that things would have been better if you were gone. People would miss you. Of course they would. But it would be different for me, I think.”
It’s as close to a confession as Will could dare to dream. It’s everything, and yet somehow it’s not enough. It won’t change anything, and they both know it. Even so, Will watches Mike purse his lips, eyes blazing with determination and sorrow so deep that he can feel it in his own chest, a crack forming beneath the surface. “I don’t know if I’m… I don’t know if that’s enough for you. I don’t expect it to be,” he mutters quietly. “But I’m asking you to hear me out, Will. I’m asking you not to go.”
Will’s already shaking his head. “I have to–”
Mike reaches out and takes hold of Will’s hand, effectively silencing him. “Don’t go,” he pleads, even softer than before. Will can feel the ache of his hurt, the weight of his insecurity, and he longs to reach out and fix it. He wishes things weren’t so complicated, that they could just be two teenagers on the cusp of something that might be love. He wishes he had time.
Even so, he takes Mike’s hand in his. He doesn’t know what it all means. He can’t trust that Mike’s words are anything more than a desperate plea, but Will doesn’t care. He’s desperate these days, too, and he’ll take whatever Mike has to offer. “I’ve seen what happens if I don’t go,” Will admits. “I can’t be sure that he’s not telling the truth. I can’t risk hurting you.”
Will can’t bear to confess anything further. He doesn’t want to tell Mike about how Vecna has shown him that resisting is futile. Resisting means he’ll take Will’s body by force and make him watch, prisoner in his own mind, as Vecna kills everyone he’s ever loved. There’s no choice; he won’t have their blood on his hands. He has to at least try to save them and stop one possible future from becoming reality.
“Whatever you think you’re walking into isn’t real,” Mike warns. “He’ll be expecting you. He’ll twist things until they’re in his favor, and then you’ll die.”
“I won’t,” Will tells him. The promise is a hollow one, but he gives himself a moment to believe it, as if his willpower alone could make it come true. Helplessly, he leans closer to Mike and presses his hands to the sides of his face, holding him there. “I won’t die,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”
Mike’s eyes shimmer in the dim light. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” he says before falling silent. They both know there’s nothing else to say. Mike is the storyteller between them; he knows what happens to heroes who veer off the beaten path. Will’s days are numbered. Nothing Mike can say now will stop him from following through on his plans, not even their feelings, not even a kiss. “Let me come with you,” he murmurs eventually. They’re close enough that his breath blows against Will’s lips as he speaks, sending a shiver down Will’s spine. “I’m going to come with you.”
“Okay,” Will agrees, not meaning it for a second. “Come with me.”
Mike frowns. “You don’t believe me. I don’t know how to make you see…”
“See what?” he asks, letting his eyes slip shut. Rather than answer with words, Mike seals his lips against Will’s again. Whether it’s a promise, prayer, or plea, Will doesn’t know, but either way it falls on deaf ears.
Will parts his lips and accepts it all the same. He lets himself imagine a future where this ends well. They’d finish kissing and find their own happily ever after, holding hands while they crawled back through Steve’s attic window. They’d fight to keep their giggles down as they tip-toed back to their bedroom, falling asleep with their fingers still brushing. Morning would come and they would wake up together, be together, fight together, united until the very end. They would steal their future back from Vecna. They’d get to live.
But they don’t live in a fairytale. This isn’t one of Mike’s campaigns. Instead, the kiss burns, a sharp sting of loss that Will is going to feel at his last moment. He can only hope that he gets another one past tonight, that Vecna won’t take his life, but he doesn’t dare to dream. He can taste salt on his lips and all he wants is to press his fingers into Mike’s skin as if that will let him imprint a part of his soul into Mike. He’s had it all this time, after all, so maybe he’s already there somewhere in Mike’s heart. Somewhere that even Vecna can’t touch. He commits this moment to memory – a kiss that holds promise in the face of the end, a split second where they’re almost something more than friends.
The illusion shatters when they pull apart. Mike looks defeated, and Will realizes the salt on his lips had been his tears. He lingers, brushing away his tears, reaching up to comb his hand through his hair, just this one, like he’d always wanted. It’s softer than he dreamed, and Mike’s face is beautiful even in its sadness, his expression of longing something Will never knew he could have.
And then it hits him all over again that he can’t have it. Loving Mike is a hesitation that he can’t afford. The dream fades and reality sinks in. Will is the one to pull away first, offering nothing but a sad smile as he lets Mike go. There aren’t words to explain how much it hurts to leave him there on the roof. He doesn’t have the right to tell Mike how he feels at this point, but he thinks that Mike must know. He can see it in his wavering lips and mournful eyes. He can feel it in the way he clings to Will’s hand until the very last second, as if touch alone could save him from a worse fate.
Instead of leaving together, Will climbs through the window alone. He tip-toes down the stairs, silent, and right out the backdoor, careful not to wake his mom from the living room nearby. He starts his trek through the woods, towards town and the gate at the library. He only looks back once. But when he glances back, he can still see Mike’s silhouette there, legs dangling over the edge, watching him go. His first friend, his best friend, and the only boy he’s ever loved. Love is enough, he decides, turning back to face the dark and empty road ahead of him. It’s love that put him on this path, and it’s love that solidifies his resolve. It’s love that guides him to the center of town, into the face of danger as he returns to where it all began.