they give me cavities, fr. tysm for this!! this is a little less actual angst which i'm sorry (?) for. also again, not proof read since it's just a lil thing
send me a things you said prompt
9. things you said when i was crying
In his life, Will has cried a lot. At least that’s what it feels like.
It’s something he feels bad about, every once in a while. It takes up so much space in other people's lives, it's like he’s pulling attention to himself and that’s not what he likes. But he's come to accept it for the most part. None of his friends or family – or most importantly Mike – ever mention it with anything but concern.
And with the years, he's been far too grateful for the times when he can cry and the release came, when he can look forward to the exhaustion that follows, a clear head and an adjusted perspective.
There’s just one type of cry that Will still can’t stand at all: When it’s something small and stupid. Like now. He stands in the doorframe, separating hallway from kitchen shoulders slumped.
“Will?” Mike asks, peeking out of the bedroom. His eyebrows lift and his face takes on that expression that makes Will feel like he's at the very center of the universe. “What's wrong?”
Will wipes under his eyes even though he knows it’s futile. “Nothing,” he says. That’s futile, too. Three years he's been living with Mike and that’s never worked before.
As expected, he doesn’t let up. “Did you have a flashback?”
“No.” Will wilts a little. “I can’t find my keys.”
Mike doesn’t laugh or huff or anything like that. If there’s relief, Will is too busy looking back into the kitchen to catch it. What he does hear is the shuffling footsteps coming after him. “Okay.” When Will turns around Mike is right there, looking focused and intent. As if he <i>were</i> having a flashback. As if it's all the same to him when Will feels bad.
For a moment, it all pauses in will, pacing stress forgotten because he’s stopped by it. The unquestioning, unrelenting truth of that. That Mike is by his side, at his back. Looking like any problem, no matter how minor, Will is facing, he's taking on, too.
The ticking clock comes crashing back through, but somehow it’s less daunting than before.
“Should I look in the bedroom?” he asks, wiping away the rest of Will's tears on his cheeks.
Will lifts a hand and lets his fingers ghost over Mike's knuckles. Then he nods.
He's out of the door two minutes later, keys in hand, and smiling.
