MIKE WHEELER X BESTFRIEND!READER
thank you guys so much for the support i’ve been receiving on this!! it really means a lot to me :(
i also apologize for the ending bc i SUCK at fluff, but i did try<3
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the bike wobbles when he first pushes off.
mike barely notices. his hands are tight around the handlebars, knuckles pale, legs moving on instinct more than intention. the chain rattles beneath him, the sound sharp in the quiet street, like it’s reminding him that he’s still here. still moving. still not allowed to stop.
the cold air burns his lungs. he breathes too fast anyway.
this is stupid. it’s fine. it’s over.
the street blurs past in uneven blocks of light and shadow. every time he passes under a lamp, his chest tightens, like he’s bracing for something to hit him. nothing does. that almost makes it worse.
he shouldn’t have stayed as long as he did.
he shouldn’t have come at all.
he keeps seeing it, whether he wants to or not. you standing there, laughing at something someone else said. the way people leaned toward you like you were a magnet. like you belonged there in a way he never has.
he tells himself it wasn’t about that guy. it wasn’t about jealousy. jealousy is loud, obvious. this feels quieter. heavier. like something settling in his ribs and refusing to leave.
he slows without realizing it, feet pedaling in uneven circles. his thoughts start to trip over themselves.
he thinks back, further than the party, further than high school. you sitting on his bedroom floor, legs crossed, listening to him talk about things no one else cared about. you waiting for him after school. you knowing when to be quiet and when to argue back.
he had called that friendship because that’s what made sense. because no one ever told him there were other kinds of wanting that didn’t look dramatic or urgent. that sometimes it just felt like needing someone to stay.
his chest tightens again, sharper this time.
he squeezes the brakes, coasting to a stop at the corner without really deciding to. his foot hits the pavement, shaky. he stays there, straddling the bike, head down, breathing hard.
he doesn’t like this feeling. it’s too big and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
he thinks about what it would be like to go back. to walk in there and say something. anything. but the idea makes his throat close up. words feel dangerous now. like once they’re out, they won’t listen when he tells them to stop.
his hands start to shake.
he presses his lips together, counts his breaths the way he does when things start to spin. in through his nose. out through his mouth. slow. slower.
don’t be stupid, he tells himself. this is just change. people grow up. people move on. that’s normal.
except the thought of you moving on feels wrong in a way he can’t explain without sounding ridiculous.
maybe he already missed his chance. maybe there was never a moment where this could have been anything else. maybe he just didn’t notice until it hurt.
the idea settles heavy in his stomach.
his bike light flickers, pulling him back. he pushes off again, pedaling harder this time, like speed might outrun the thoughts piling up behind him.
he doesn’t hear footsteps at first. just his own breathing, the soft whirr of the tires against pavement.
then your voice says his name.
he stops so fast the bike jerks beneath him. he barely keeps his balance. his heart slams against his ribs, loud enough he’s sure you can hear it.
he doesn’t turn around right away.
if he does, this becomes real.
“you left,” you say, closer now. “i didn’t know where you went.”
he swallows, fingers tightening on the handlebars. “yeah.”
there’s a pause. he hates pauses.
he nods automatically, even though you can’t see it yet. then he realizes and forces out a “yeah.”
he finally turns, one hand still gripping the bike like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. you’re standing there, a little out of breath, hair slightly messed from the night air. the sight of you makes something in his chest ache.
“i’m sorry,” you say. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to leave.”
that lands harder than anything else tonight.
mike shakes his head quickly. “you didn’t. this isn’t on you.”
but he hears the crack in his voice. hates it.
you step closer, not crowding him, just enough that you’re really there. present. the way you always were.
“then what happened?” you ask.
his thoughts scatter. he hadn’t planned for this part. he’d planned for silence. for space. for pretending.
he looks down at the bike, at the scrape on the handlebar from when he crashed it years ago and you laughed before helping him up.
“i just didn’t know where i fit,” he says, quietly. the words surprise him with how true they feel.
that’s what breaks him open.
“i thought i did,” he continues, faster now, like if he slows down he won’t finish. “i thought i knew how things were between us. and tonight it just felt like… like everyone else figured something out that i didn’t.”
his stomach twists. his hands are shaking again.
“when i saw you with him,” he says, voice barely above a breath, “it wasn’t about him. it was about realizing that if i don’t say something now, i never will.”
he finally looks at you fully.
“i always called you my best friend because i didn’t know there was anything else to call it,” he says. “but that doesn’t feel like enough anymore. and i didn’t notice until it started hurting.”
he swallows hard, chest tight, eyes burning.
“i’m not asking you to feel the same,” he adds quickly. “i just needed you to know. because pretending it’s nothing feels worse than whatever happens next.”
the words hang between you, fragile and exposed.
mike grips the bike tighter, bracing himself.
the silence stretches. it feels physical, pressing against his ears, his chest. mike thinks, distantly, that this must be what it feels like right before you fall, the weightless second where your stomach drops and your brain can’t catch up.
he wonders if this is the moment people talk about. the one you replay later. the one you wish you could pull yourself out of.
his heart pounds, not fast, just heavy. each beat deliberate, reminding him of everything he just put on the line.
he hates how exposed he feels.
he hates how much he wants you to say something, anything, even if it’s bad. not knowing is worse. not knowing feels like standing outside in the cold without a coat, pretending you’re fine while your hands go numb.
he thinks of all the times he almost said something before, moments that slipped past, every time he convinced himself it was safer to stay quiet, useful, fitting in.
he’d always believed loving someone meant not asking too much. now he’s terrified he’s asked for too much just by being honest.
his throat tightens. he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to stay steady. not wanting to cry not because it’s weak, but because once he starts he might not stop. and he can’t stand the idea of you seeing him like that.
he feels small. thirteen again, awkward, unsure, painfully aware how easy it would be for someone to decide he isn’t enough.
a thought creeps in, quiet and cruel. maybe that’s why he never noticed before. maybe some part of him knew that once he did, it would hurt.
his fingers dig into the rubber grips of the bike. cold metal, faint wobble, the texture grounding him. real things. solid things. things he can control.
he tells himself that even if you walk away, at least you know now. at least he didn’t keep it locked inside until it turned bitter. at least he tried.
but the truth is, he’s scared in a way he doesn’t have words for. scared this changes everything. scared it changes nothing. scared he misread every look, every late night conversation, every moment that felt like it mattered.
he exhales slowly, shakily.
whatever happens next, he knows one thing with painful clarity. he can’t go back to pretending this didn’t matter.
“there’s something i didn’t say.”
mike’s stomach flips. he nods, giving you space.
“i think i always assumed you didn’t see me like that,” you admit.
his eyebrows knit together before he can stop himself. “what?”
you give a small, nervous smile. “you were always so certain about everything. best friend. party. dnd. i didn’t want to mess up your order. i didn’t want to ask for more.”
mike shakes his head slowly, disbelief softening into something tender.
“i liked you,” you say quietly. “for a long time. longer than i’ll admit without wanting to crawl into a hole.”
“but you never looked at me like you were unsure,” you continue. “i thought if you weren’t questioning it, then i shouldn’t either. so i stayed there. not wanting more.”
you glance down, voice soft but steady. “it messed with my confidence. feeling close but never close enough to be chosen.”
that hits him harder than anything tonight.
“i never meant to make you feel like that,” he says immediately.
“i know,” you reply quickly. “i’m not blaming you. i just didn’t think you saw me.”
your eyes search his face. “so when you said what you said just now,” you admit, “it felt like the ground shifted a little.”
mike lets out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. his hands loosen on the bike. “i saw you,” he says quietly, certain now. “i just didn’t know what i was looking at.”
you smile, real this time.
“i’m glad you said something,” you tell him. “even if it scared you.”
“it did,” he admits. “a lot.”
you step closer. his shoulder brushes yours, light, accidental, and it sends warmth through him anyway.
“we’re kind of bad at timing,” you say softly.
“yeah,” mike says. “but we’re good at this.”
his hands find yours, tentative at first, and when your fingers lace with his it feels like the world slows down around them. he leans closer, heart hammering, and you don’t pull away.
he tilts his head, brushing his lips against yours, softly, testing, and when you meet him halfway it’s like everything he’s felt all these years pours into that one kiss. small, careful, but full of all the words neither of you said before.
when you pull back just a little, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling. mike grins, nervous but happy. “walk with me the rest of the way?” he whispers.
you squeeze his hand. “yeah,” you say. “and.. maybe we can keep being good at this.”
and mike knows, in that quiet, messy, beautiful moment, that nothing about this is simple, but it’s exactly where he wants to be.
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dededos
gummygunk
jacobvanloon
titsay
germansingergirl
