the concept of mike avoiding grabbing will, holding him, gripping his arm or shoulder or hand, trying not to let his feelings become obvious, knowing he's already seen as a bit weird because of his rambling about sorcerers and innate magic and three, to be exact. but still standing close to will any chance he can get, bumping shoulders, knocking elbows, falling into step again and again, things that seem normal at a glance but make him buzz with a need to be closer. technically innocuous, moreso than it would be to heed his instincts and grab will as protective and frantic as joyce, but still needy, still clingy, if you already suspected. nobody really does. stealing glimpses, stealing an indirect kiss and staring shamelessly as will closes his eyes and drinks, severing his gaze, shameful once more, when will passes the bottle back. not wanting will to get the wrong right idea either, knowing he can’t confuse him or hurt him, let him think mike’s taking advantage or assuming that because he’s gay he’s interested. mike shouldn’t allow any of it, really, it’s guilty, the stupid hope gnawing at him despite logic, and this need is motivated by feelings he shouldn’t entertain, not now, but he’s well past denial, has been for years, and it’s the end of the world goddamnit — he’s not that strong. he needs this comfort. so he lets himself stand close as possible, lets himself lean against will and feels him lean back (the same human need for contact, the weighty reassurance that someone’s there?), lets himself stare when nobody’s looking. when this is all over, if they survive, he’ll act normally, touch him normally, look at him normally, let will go for good, but he needs something now. he doesn’t wanna die still pulling away from what he wants every time. this, the plausible deniability, is his compromise.
