#did u guys know that minimum wage in the us 1991 was $4.25. which adjusted for inflation is like. less than ten dollars.

[parkitaco]

Umm 51. Kissing each finger + byler???? (If you want 👀)

hi toy tysm!!! i decided to make this one into a lil extra/missing scene set in the gaps and the silence universe - the original fic is not required reading but like. u should read it. bc i wrote it and it's cool. anyway~ fic below the cut <33

Will wakes up feeling, in a word, optimistic.

He usually feels that way, these days - optimistic for his future, his relationships, basically every aspect of his life. He hadn’t really realized how much he’d missed the feeling, these past few years, or how drastically it would affect everything. It’s happiness plus something, happiness that isn’t tainted by the worry of everything being snatched away from him. Happiness that promises to last.

He rolls over onto his back, opening his eyes and releasing a contented breath as he stares up at the ceiling, smiling to himself. It’s Tuesday today. He used to hate Tuesdays. Now, though, it’s sort of hard to hate anything for any extended amount of time.

The primary reason for his optimism is still sleeping, chest rising and falling gently on the other side of the bed, and Will chances a glance at him, the smile on his face growing tenfold. Mike’s hair spills out over the pillows, one arm thrown over his stomach and the other brushing Will’s. He’s a pretty sight, even in the weak sort of sunlight that January offers through the half-closed curtains. But then again, Will’s a little biased.

Everything is so good, lately. Even this morning, a Tuesday, where he’s doomed to spend the unfortunate majority of his day helping ungrateful customers at the convenience store where he works and then come home to a darkened apartment and be forced to throw something together for dinner- it’s good. It can’t be anything other than good, when he gets to wake up next to his boyfriend.

Said boyfriend stirs, rolling over onto his side and shoving his face into Will’s neck, tossing an arm over Will. “Hi,” he mumbles, lips pressed against Will’s skin, and Will grins.

“Hi,” he whispers back, quiet in the delicacy of the morning, and presses a kiss to the top of Mike’s head. “Sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” Mike hums, still half-asleep as he wriggles closer to Will, chasing his warmth. “Your bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the motel.”

Will huffs a soft laugh, reaching up with one hand to trail his fingertips through Mike’s hair. “I would certainly hope so.” Not that Mike even sleeps at the motel that often anymore, only occasionally going back to get clothes or prove to the staff that he does, in fact, still need the room, but still. Will likes to think he has a little more to offer than a dingy motel room.

Mike hums, and Will can feel the vibration of it from where Mike is pressed up against him, warm and sleepy, and for a second Will is tempted to quit his job just so that he can stay here with Mike for the rest of time rather than standing behind a checkout counter all day trying to stay awake. He’d go broke, probably, and stop being able to afford this apartment, and then he wouldn't even have a place to hide away from his responsibilities anyway, but- it might just be worth it, for a couple extra hours curled up beside Mike. 

He glances at the clock, one hand resting gently against Mike’s bare shoulder blades as he shifts, and winces when he sees the time. “Shit, I have to start getting ready.”

“Nuh-uh,” Mike says immediately, tightening his hold on Will’s waist and pressing his nose firmly into Will’s shoulder. “Stay.”

Will smiles, settling into Mike’s grip if just for a moment and pressing another kiss to the crown of his skull. “Tempting,” he murmurs, as Mike trails a gentle hand over his ribcage, “But I can’t. Sorry.”

Mike whines in protest, flopping back over to his side of the bed and throwing a dramatic arm over his eyes. “Fine. Go, see if I care.”

Will smirks, leaning over and gently nudging at the arm blocking Mike’s eyes. “You can stay here if you want,” he offers, as if it’s not obvious, as if Mike has not spent the majority of the month since they reconnected hanging out in his apartment, “I’ll be back by five.”

“That’s forever from now,” Mike huffs, breath fanning across Will’s face as he leans in to press a kiss to the sliver of jaw not obstructed by Mike’s arm. “I’ll die of loneliness.”

Will laughs. “I’ll be sure to write a heartfelt eulogy for your funeral. ‘Mike Wheeler died as he lived; being a dramatic loser.’”

Mike lifts his arm in order to glare at him, lips twisting into an exaggerated pout. “Mean.”

“You love me,” Will replies, kissing his forehead one, two, three times before slipping out of bed and heading in the direction of his dresser. The sentiment still sends a little thrill through his ribcage, a confirmation and a confession at once, slipping more easily off his tongue every time he utters it. It feels true, these days, something he’s gradually learning how to let himself believe. 

“Yeah,” Mike agrees, already back to burying his face in his pillow, arm tugging the covers further over himself, “That’s kinda my point.”

Will grins, pulling a t-shirt out of his drawer and pulling it on. “Bowie will keep you company,” he says, nodding to the cat curled at the foot of his bed, sleeping in a patch of sunlight. 

“I can’t believe you named your cat Bowie,” Mike huffs, as Will zips up his jeans and leans over to grab the cat off the floor. “You are so pretentious.”

Will feigns a scowl, cradling a squirming Bowie in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his furry head. “You love me,” he repeats, and Mike opens one eye as he smirks up at him, “And you love Bowie.”

To prove his point, he dumps Bowie onto the bed, earning a scathing glare from both his boyfriend and the cat. Bowie swishes his tail, giving Mike an appraising sort of look, and Mike frowns. “I don’t think he loves me,” he points out, as Bowie turns his little head firmly in the other direction. “He bites me every time I try to pet him.”

“Yeah, well, he has trust issues,” Will says dismissively, grabbing his bag off the floor and leaning over to kiss Mike’s temple. “He’ll warm up to you eventually. Especially if you feed him.”

Mike doesn’t look convinced, but he sends Will a soft smile anyway, relaxing back into the pillows. “If you say so,” he says warmly, and Will swoops in to kiss his cheek one more time.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmurs, lips still pressed against Mike’s skin, and Mike reaches up to tap a finger against the tip of Will’s nose as he pulls away. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mike murmurs, already fading back into sleep, and Will can feel his ridiculous, ballooning optimism exponentially increase as he ruffles Mike’s hair and slips out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar behind him. 

He grabs an apple off the counter on his way out of the apartment, keys clutched in one hand and jacket thrown over his arm as he takes a bite. In the back of his mind, he can already hear Mike’s lecture later about taking care of himself and getting enough protein, because he takes the being-back-in-Will’s-life more seriously than he’s ever taken anything else in his life. It’s an entirely hypocritical lecture, considering Mike is deficient in maybe every vitamin in existence, but it’s endearing anyway. Mike cares so much, all the time and about everything, but especially Will. He’d forgotten that, in the time they’d been apart. It’s nice to be reminded.

Will does a final scan of the apartment, making sure he has everything he needs, before steeling himself for the bleak world outside his warm, cozy apartment and opening the door. He takes another bite of apple as he fumbles with his keys, part of him still wondering if it’s really too late to call in sick to work, really. His meager salary of seven dollars an hour, times the eight hours he’d be working, so he’d be missing out on- oh, forget it. Will’s never excelled at math, but he knows skipping out on that paycheck would be a missed opportunity.

“I knew Will first, you know,” he hears Mike say to Bowie from the bedroom, in the split second before the front door swings shut, “You’re not special.”

Will grins.

---

Will gets home at five-thirteen p.m., lugging a back of groceries over one arm and swinging his keys in the other. The day had been long, in standard Tuesday fashion - an eight hour shift under fluorescent lighting followed by him scouring the aisles of the grocery store for the cheapest items his meager income can allow, and he’s exhausted, hair limp and floppy against his face and feet heavy.

He kicks the door closed behind him, muttering to himself about stupid minimum wage jobs and college schedules, and glances up to find Mike sitting at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal and reading a book. It’s the last of the cereal, probably, because he’d been down to the end of the box and had forgotten to buy more, but it’s cool, Will would give everything he has to Mike Wheeler and cereal is probably the least of it.

He stops short, grocery bag slipping off of one shoulder as he takes in the sight. “Hi.”

Mike glances up, smiling and setting down his spoon. “Hey. How was work?”

“Um- good,” Will says, even though it wasn't, really, although at least this time he didn’t have to deal with old Mr. Becker and his millions of discount codes and gift cards that he can’t ever manage to use in a timely fashion. “You’re still here,” he says observantly, noting that the oversized t-shirt he’s wearing is, in fact, Will’s, as are the sweatpants he’s wearing, too short in the cuffs. 

Mike smiles a little confusedly, sliding off the stool he’d been sitting on and walking over to Will, gently taking the bag of groceries out of his hands. “Yeah,” he says slowly, setting the bag down on the table and taking Will’s keys as well, “Was I not supposed to be?”

“No, it’s- good,” Will says, feeling a little dazed. His brain is overtired from the day, and he’s having some trouble processing information. “I’m glad you’re here, I was just surprised.”

Mike huffs a wry little laugh. “You told me to stay, remember?” he asks, and now that he mentions it, Will does vaguely remember telling him he could hang out at the apartment for the day. He just hadn’t expected Mike to, you know. Actually do it.

“Yeah,” he says, still reeling a little, and that strange optimism strikes up in his chest again. It shouldn't be a big deal. It’s not a big deal, because Mike comes over all the time, and spends four to six nights a week sleeping beside Will in his bed, but something about Mike staying here, sitting at the counter eating food from the fridge and reading one of Will’s books off his shelf, waiting for him to come home after a long day - there’s intimacy there. That’s seven-year-old Mike, sharing half his sandwich with Will during lunch without even thinking twice about it. That’s twelve-year-old Mike, wrapping an arm around Will on Halloween night and telling him he was taking him home, only to end up in the Wheeler’s basement instead of Will’s own house like it meant the same thing, which to Will it truly did. It’s twenty-year-old Mike, traveling halfway across the country on the off chance of seeing Will and twenty-year-old Mike standing in front of him now, here in Will’s apartment with a bemused little smile on his face like it didn’t occur to him to be anywhere else.

Will’s brain kicks back into gear, and pulls Mike into a kiss.

Mike makes a pleased, surprised sound against Will’s lips, hand flitting up to press against Will’s arm like an instinct, and Will shivers as he reaches up to cup Mike’s jaw. He can get used to this, he thinks incredulously, just like he has every day for the past month - he can get used to the feeling of Mike’s lips against his own, his arms wrapped around him when he wakes up in the morning, the soft lilt of his voice when he talks to Will. It’s not getting taken away this time, as Mike makes a point to remind him of at every possible opportunity. Mike is Will’s, for as long as he wants him.

Will presses in closer, kissing Mike firm and slow, tongue tracing gently over his lip. Mike holds him close, protective and solid and just as awed as Will feels, and it’s a few long moments before Will pulls back, breathless and dizzy as a wide smile splits across his face. 

Now Mike is the one who looks dazed, eyes hazy as he presses his forehead against Will’s. “What’s that for?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss him again quickly, soft and gentle and lips disconnecting with a soft click when he pulls back. 

Will drags his thumb over Mike’s jawline, eyes tracing over his face. He feels like he’s overflowing, a little, his optimism spilling out over everything he touches, and it should be embarrassing, but Will can’t remember ever being this happy before. He couldn’t begin to figure out how to apologize for it even if he wanted to, and for once in his sorry excuse of a life, he doesn’t want to.

“I think,” he says, fingers trailing over Mike’s flushed cheeks, tracing over his freckles, “You should let the motel have their room back.”

Mike’s eyebrows draw together, lips twisting contemplatively. “What, like, find somewhere else to live? I guess, but that might take a while-”

“Mike,” Will interrupts, laughing, hand pausing where it caresses Mike’s cheek, “I meant- you should live here. With me.” He pauses, flushing, and is a little shyer when he adds, “I mean, if you want.”

Mike’s eyes widen almost comically, and he releases a soft breath against Will’s hand. “Oh,” he breathes, sounding a little awed, a little like how Will feels every time he looks at him. “Oh, I- yes, of course I want, are- are you sure?”

And- it’s only been a few weeks. There’s still so much to work out, so many conversations to be had, so many broken things to be mended. They’re still getting used to this new, wonderful thing between them, and there’s still five years of silence to make up for, and even in terms of normal standards it’s moving pretty fast, and-

And yet. 

He thinks of Mike, stepping into Will’s apartment on the third day after they reconnected, looking around with that reverent look on his face and whispering I feel like I’m home, and all the excuses, all the protests the practical part of his brain tries to make, all the worries that the part of him that still wants to doubt insists on, fade away like melting snow.

“I’m sure,” Will says, giggling a little and kissing Mike’s forehead quickly, “I’m definitely sure.”

“Okay,” Mike agrees breathlessly, sounding as giddy as Will feels, “I- shit, okay, yeah.”

Will loves him. He loves him so much. “Even though you’ll have to deal with Bowie?” he teases, as the cat in question appears from the direction of the hall, swishing his tail and looking expectantly at his empty food dish. 

“Me and Bowie are gonna be best friends,” Mike declares, grinning as he wraps his arms around Will’s waist and hitches him closer, “I fed him today and now he doesn’t try to bite me.”

Something warm and light settles in Will’s chest, and he blinks up at him. “You fed him?”

“You said he’d like me if I did!”

Which, again, Will remembers saying, but again hadn’t expected Mike to pay all that much attention to. He presses his thumb over Mike’s cheek, right at the corner of his mouth, feels the dimple in his cheek when Mike smiles at him. “I love you,” he murmurs, the only way left to describe the way he’s feeling right now, that invincible, warm, giddy feeling. He, for the first time in a long time, feels like everything might turn out okay. Better than okay, even.

He goes back to tracing Mike’s freckles, but Mike catches his wrist, bringing Will’s hand around to his lips and kissing the pad of his thumb before trailing to his other fingers. Will laughs softly, Mike’s thumb brushing over his knuckles as he kisses Will’s index, middle, ring fingers, hooks his own pinky through Will’s and kisses the knuckles there like a promise. “I love you too,” he murmurs, flipping Will’s hand around and pressing a firm kiss right to the center of his palm. “So much.” His lips trail back over Will’s fingertips, feather-light and almost ticklish, and Will feels- rosy, bathed in warmth and light and love even in the dead of winter. “Do you want help with the groceries?” Mike offers, lips still pressed against Will’s hand, and Will had almost forgotten about the bag of food abandoned on the kitchen counter, lost in Mike’s touch. 

It’s all so domestic. Will could fucking cry. “Yeah,” he whispers, as Mike presses a firm and final kiss to his knuckles and pulls away, sending Will a soft, pleased smile as he steps over to the counter and reaches into the bag. I love you, Will thinks again, balling his fingers up against his palm like he can hold the ghosts of Mike’s kisses there forever. 

From his spot on the ground, Bowie twitches his tail in warning, needing attention and probably food. Outside, rain falls softly on the concrete of Will’s - Will and Mike’s - apartment building. Mike hands Will a carton of eggs, smiling as Will brushes past him to put them away. 

All is well.