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Will understood he wasn’t attractive, or at least people had convinced him so.
The cold, unyielding gaze of the mirror, even though it was turned away, felt like an icy breath on his skin. Before the alarm even buzzed, Will was already awake, trapped in that thick silence, sensing the condemnation from a reflection he wouldn't glance at directly. When the alarm finally blared, its sound felt like nails scratching the surface of his already fragile resolve. He blinked away the blurry edges of sleep, his eyes confronting the unwelcome intrusion of faint light seeping through the gap in the curtains. Even the sheets, stiff and uncomfortable, clung to him as reminders of restless nights haunted by shadows.
Years upon years of bullying do something to a person, make them believe that they truly are without worth. Ever since middle school, Will has been the target of relentless harassment, making fun of his looks, his body, his hair, his sexuality, and just him. After all these years, those ideas stuck with him. Now, as a senior in high school, he thinks about it all. In the darkest corners of his mind, a raw thought surfaces. Is it true? Am I really this unlovable? I’m just a disgusting queer. Why would anybody love someone like me? It’s this persistent question that haunts him, dragging down his self-esteem. Yet, sometimes, maybe in rare moments of solitude, he dares to dream of a day when he’d break free from the cruel whispers that trapped him in a cycle of self-loathing. To cope, Will has found small rituals of comfort: the smoothness of a pencil against a sketchpad as he draws, leaving faint graphite traces that form shapes; the worn, soft pages of a favorite book before sleep, their slightly musky scent offering a sense of refuge; or the steady rhythm of biking through the crisp morning air, the cool wind brushing against his skin. These moments, though fleeting, offer him a glimpse of a version of himself that people could accept, one that doesn’t shy away from mirrors.
In seventh grade, the taunting escalated on a Friday afternoon. The hallway was bustling, lockers clanging open and shut, and the air was thick with the chatter of students eager to leave for the weekend. As Will walked toward his locker, he noticed a group of boys, led by an unfamiliar student, snickering nearby. When Will reached out to open his locker, one boy abruptly slammed it shut with a loud clang. Immediately, a voice sneered, “What’s wrong, zombie boy, couldn’t make it in time?” The hallway erupted with laughter that seemed to surround Will. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach twisted into knots as he stood frozen, his face burning with embarrassment while his eyes darted around in search of an escape.
It was a moment that seared into his memory, a testament to the cruel reality he faced every day. Now, those echoes still linger in his mind, but so do the faint whispers of his own resilience, the minor acts of quiet resistance against the tide of torment.
Will wakes up to the persistent beeping of his alarm, its shrill tones slicing through the quiet of the early morning. His hand presses down on the snooze button, and for a brief moment, he feels the cool, smooth surface of the clock. Sighing, he prepares himself for yet another day, just like the others. The cold floorboards under his feet send a shiver up his spine as he swings his legs out of bed. Over the past few weeks, he has begun to pull away from the Party, a group of friends who stood by him through countless hardships, not wanting them to have to deal with being seen with him. Although he never intended to distance himself from his only friends, especially Mike, he feels compelled to do so for their benefit. Despite his doubts, he hears a voice in his head, the sneering mockery of ‘Doubt,’ as he’s come to name it. They’d be better off without you anyway. Doubt hisses. Will rolls his eyes, whispering back, ‘I’m still here,’ a faint reminder of his enduring presence. He’s just a disgusting and ugly addict, having his life held together by a literal plant, which he uses as a small escape from his thoughts. The first thing Will thinks of when he opens his eyes is those words. Words of degradation, words of disgust, words of truth, Doubt insists relentlessly.
“Look, it’s zombie boy!” echoed through the hallway, punctuated by the sharp bang of a locker door slamming shut. The vibration of the metal reverberated through Will, matching the sting of their words.
“It’s like he’s frozen in time,” someone laughed, pointing out Will’s unchanged appearance with a mocking sneer. This new metaphor cut deeper, suggesting a stagnation that seemed to mirror the bullying’s lasting impact on his self-worth.
Will wishes that he could just melt all his features off his body. Melting the fat off his arms, leaving just muscle and bone behind. His legs just added the last bit of height. His face, melt the baby fat off his cheeks, reshape his every feature. And most of all, who he is as a person. To mold himself into the perfect person, change who he loves, and change what he likes. If only he could just change everything about himself. However, the struggle to accept himself highlights a deeper theme: the profound impact of bullying on identity and self-worth. Yet, amidst the haze of self-loathing, a flicker of hope quietly endures. He secretly dreams of a day when he will accept and embrace his true self. This ongoing tension between self-rejection and hope illustrates his desire for authenticity in the face of external and internal judgment. Perhaps one day he will defy the internal and external voices that demand his change and instead inspire others with his authentic self.
Getting up, Will doesn’t even look in the mirror. He turned it around a long time ago, dreading ever having to look at himself for too long, also giving him one less thing to obsess over. He throws on a quick outfit, just a pair of baggy jeans, a long black undershirt, and a random old t-shirt he stole from his brother. He always dresses like this, to hide his body, to hide his scarred arms. Nobody needs another reason to make fun of him, and it’s not like anybody is going to be looking at him positively, so what’s the point of trying? Despite his self-imposed distance, Mike occasionally mentions missing their shared jokes and late-night chats, sensing Will’s withdrawal. Noticing the change in his behavior and attire, his parents often suggest he wear something brighter. Will, unwilling to explain his choices, dismissively nods.
Will avoids the bathroom mirror. He brushes his teeth, quickly fixes his hair, and sighs. It’s a shame that he had run out of weed a few nights ago, missing the earthy burn in his lungs that provided a brief escape from himself and the world around him. Luckily for him, Jonathan buys a lot at once, so it isn’t hard to steal some from his room, taking it for himself. Before heading out, he picks up a sketchpad from his nightstand. Drawing had always been an escape, a silent conversation with himself where the lines on paper seemed kinder than the voices in his head. Will takes a moment to sit by the window, sketching the trees outside until a sense of calm washes over him. His mind settles, and for a short while, he feels the tension ease. Will takes a quick glance in the mirror, immediately regretting it. Why am I like this? he thinks, grabbing his bag and leaving without eating.
Will rode his bike to school, just like he always has. It’s the only sense of normalcy he has left in his life. The morning air was crisp, and the wind against his face was a fleeting moment of freedom, a brief escape from the oppressive weight of his thoughts. He almost allowed himself a small smile, appreciating the quiet solitude before reaching the chaos waiting for him. But as the school comes into view, a tight knot forms in his stomach, and his chest feels heavy,each pedal stroke grows more reluctant. Seeing his classmates, or just anybody in fact, makes his heart drop, and a prickle of anxiety runs through him, leaving his skin tense. Will ends up taking a deep breath, getting off his bike, and making his way into the school. The sharp scent of hallway disinfectant fills his nose as he steps inside, a stark reminder of reality. Immediately, he’s hit with the loud conversations of others over the sound of his own racing heart, the noise blending into a disorienting din that seems to press in from all sides. It’s just another day, Will has to remind himself, trying to steady his trembling hands. His sense of hearing is definitely messing with him, because he swears he can hear whispering and laughs at the mention of him, each imagined murmur cutting sharply through the air and making his face flush with embarrassment.
School is honestly Will’s worst fear, an inescapable part of his life for another year before he could finally be free. Without a word to anyone, he sits in the back corner of the classroom, resting his head on the desk as his mind spirals.
“Will?” He jumps, startled awake by a soft voice. But he knows that voice, he could recognize it from a crowd of people. Mike. Will shoots his eyes over to the direction of the voice, making eye contact with Mike. Heat rushes up toward his face, his eyes widening as he soaks in Mike’s image. Mike’s hand rests casually on his desk, the edge of his notebook just within Will’s reach. Will’s fingers twitched, hesitating for a moment, caught between reaching out and pulling back. It’s a tiny gesture, almost insignificant, yet it betrays a whirlwind of emotion, fear, longing, and the sharp ache of yearning.
“Miss the late-night D&D recaps, man?” Mike teases with a slight grin, using their shared history to bridge the small gap between them. It’s a private reference that only deepens the bond they have. “I—” Will starts, his breath catching before he breaks eye contact, “Um, yeah, what do you need?” he mumbles, quickly moving his gaze around to avoid eye contact, wary of destroying the false persona he built to protect the ones he loves.
The tension between them was palpable, a result of Will's recent decision to distance himself. Mike appeared uncertain, clearly unsure why Will had retreated, but knowing only that he missed him deeply. Mike fidgeted nervously, his hands twisting together as he tried to find the right words. "I was just wondering," he began hesitantly, "if maybe we could hang out sometime? I know things have been different... but I kind of miss us." At that moment, Will's grip on the edge of his desk tightened, his knuckles white with the strain of holding back his emotions. His heart fluttered with a feeling he couldn't quite name, something akin to hope mixed with fear. A brief thought crossed his mind: What if I let him in, and he sees me for who I really am?*
It was a micro-decision laden with the risk of vulnerability, yet offering a glimmer of connection. Mike continued, more softly, "If there's something going on, or if you just need space, that's okay. But if you feel like talking, I'm here for you." His voice was earnest, tinged with a vulnerability that resonated with Will. Despite the butterflies in his stomach threatening to take flight, Will managed to nod, his voice quivering as he spoke. "Yeah, we can hang out," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, his face flushing pink with a mix of relief and nerves.
He takes a deep breath, trying to slow his racing mind. ‘Yeah, of course. My house after school?’ Will’s eyes widened. It’s as if they had just fallen back into their old conversation, their old relationship. Best friends. Mike grins ear to ear and lets out a light chuckle. "Yeah, that would be really nice," he puts his hand on Will’s shoulder and then quickly removes it before sitting down in the seat beside him.
Despite the comfort of rekindling their friendship, a lingering question tugged at Will’s thoughts: would he ever truly be able to free himself from the shadows of his own mind? The thought hung with him, urging him forward.
The rest of the day dragged by agonizingly slowly. Will sat through each class in a fog, his teachers’ voices blending into meaningless background noise as his mind replayed the morning’s conversation on an endless loop. Mike wants to hang out. Mike misses me. The thoughts should have been comforting, but they twisted into something darker, something more familiar. Why does he miss me? What does he want? He’s probably just being nice. He feels sorry for you. Doubt’s voice slithered through his consciousness, poisoning each hopeful thought before it could fully form.
In the third period, Will caught himself staring at the back of Mike’s head three rows ahead, watching the way his dark hair fell across his neck. His chest tightened with a feeling he refused to name, a longing so intense it physically hurt. Stop it, he commanded himself, forcing his eyes back to his blank notebook page. You’re being pathetic. But his gaze drifted back anyway, helpless against the pull.
By lunch, Will’s anxiety had crystallized into full-blown panic. He picked at the edges of his sandwich without eating, his stomach churning too violently to accept food. What could they possibly talk about? What if Mike realized the extent of his odd behavior? What if the distance created by their silence was now too great to overcome? What if he recognizes the real you? You’re fucking disgusting. The cafeteria felt too bright, too loud, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry insects. Will kept his head down, hyperaware of every laugh, every whisper, convinced they were all about him. Nearby, a group of boys took up an entire table, alternately shoving one another and shooting derisive glances his way, their subtle mockery blending into the cacophony of the room. Across the room, a staff member eyed the commotion, but their attention quickly drifted back to their phone, the concern clearly superficial at best, leaving Will feeling more isolated. Even some classmates who occasionally sat next to him had moved their seats, leaving him conspicuously alone, enhancing the sense of exclusion that cloaked him.
The last bell rang at 3:00, its loud tone cutting through the classroom and sending a jolt of adrenaline through Will’s body. While his classmates erupted in relieved chatter and rushed toward the exits, Will moved slowly, methodically packing his bag as his hands trembled. Each pencil placed carefully into his case, each textbook stacked with deliberate precision, stretched the seconds into long, drawn-out moments. Mike stood at the doorframe, a silent sentinel who hesitated just long enough to signify the weight of what was to come. Mike’s presence preceded his appearance, and that familiar warmth offered both comfort and terror. “Ready?” Mike appeared beside his desk, backpack slung over one shoulder, that serene smile on his face that made Will’s heart stutter. At this moment, Will is slightly regretting choosing most of his classes with Mike, now he has to see him constantly, deal with his feelings every hour of the day.
Will nodded, not trusting his voice. They walked through the hallway together, and Will was acutely conscious of the space between them, mere inches that felt like miles. His shoulders slumped forward, as if trying to disappear into himself, each step tentative and small. Everyone was watching. It was apparent to them. They knew. They knew what he truly was. His skin prickled with imagined stares, his shoulders hunching inward as if he could make himself smaller, less visible. When he dared a glance at Mike, his friend was just looking ahead, his stride relaxed and confident, seemingly unfazed by the world around them. Mike’s ease only highlighted the stark contrast to Will’s tense composure. Will’s heart swelled with a confusing mix of emotions. A part of him felt a spark of hope, wondering if Mike’s calmness meant acceptance. Yet, another part was gripped by fear, terrified that any moment, Mike would see through his fragile façade. Something in Will’s chest loosened just slightly, an unexpected warmth that hinted at the possibility of genuine friendship, though the uncertainty still hovered like a storm cloud.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot as they reached the bike racks. The air had warmed since morning, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and exhaust fumes. Will’s bike stood where he’d left it, and for a moment he hesitated, his hand on the handlebars. This was real. This was actually happening. Mike was coming over, just like old times, except nothing felt like old times anymore. Everything felt fragile, precarious, like one wrong word could shatter whatever remained of their friendship. “Race you?” Mike suggested with a playful grin, already mounting his bike.
Despite everything, despite the anxiety clawing at his insides and Doubt’s venomous whispers, Will felt the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. “You’re going to lose,” he said quietly, and pushed off, the familiar motion of pedaling offering a brief, blessed distraction from the chaos in his head, slipping back into their old routine, the taunting voice in the back of Will’s head disappearing for the moment.
It only took about 8 minutes to arrive at Will’s house. The two boys were out of breath, and Will caught himself smiling, quickly forcing his face to remain neutral. "Is your family home?" Mike asks as he walks up to the familiar house. Will shakes his head, now not daring to say a word. What if Mike finds out too much? What if he finds out what you truly think of him? Taking slow steps, Will follows after Mike, following him into the familiar atmosphere of his own house. Out of routine, Mike sprints up the stairs into Will’s bedroom, with Will following close behind him. Mike throws himself onto Will’s bed with a laugh, it's just like they’re kids again.
Will hesitated at the doorway, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and anxiety bubbling up inside him. His room was a constant, a safe space that suddenly felt like a ticking bomb, each piece of it charged with potential revelations. It was only as Mike’s laughter melted into thoughtful silence that Will’s heart began to race with dread.
Will walks into his room, closing the door behind him. He stands awkwardly leaning against the wall behind him, avoiding eye contact with Mike. When Will gets the guts to look at Mike, he finds the boy looking around his room with a smile, then settling on the bedside table, eyes slightly widening. Will thinks, brain spiraling with different thoughts and scenarios. He’s confused about what could be so shocking. He follows Mike’s gaze, landing on his bedside table. Then, Will’s own eyes widen, and his heart rate picks up with panic.
What Mike sees is the very last thing Will wanted anyone to discover: a small bag, slightly open, able to see every single item, contains wrapping paper, a grinder, a few lighters, and a few filters. Will refuses to meet Mike’s gaze, which he can feel being settled on himself. His cheeks and ears flush with embarrassment and panic, you’re so stupid, why would you leave that stuff out? Now Mike hates you, he will never want to talk to you again. fucking idiot* Slowly, Wills brings his eyes to meet Mike’s, and for once in his life, Will cannot read him. He doesn’t have a single clue what he may be thinking. And this scares the living hell out of him.
Will begins to pick at his sleeves, his fingers working the fabric with restless energy, nails digging into the threads as if searching for relief. The motion grows more frantic, his knuckles whitening, and the sleeves twisting under his grip. He winces in pain, the friction from the fabric aggravating raw, healing wounds beneath, but he does not stop. Instead, his shoulders hunch forward, and his breath comes quick, uneven, as if each inhalation is an effort. Mike looks like he is about to say something before not saying anything, taking another look at the bag on Will’s bedside table. Will glances away, his heartbeat hammering in his ears while his foot taps an erratic rhythm against the wooden floor.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of painful silence, Mike finally speaks, worry and concern dripping from his voice. "Will, what's happening to you?" Without context, that question may have sounded like a threat, but it's Mike, his voice filled with so much worry and care. Will hesitates before talking, swallowing hard, his voice shaky. He kneels on the carpet, feeling its rough fibers pressing into his skin, a tactile anchor amid his spiraling thoughts. "I just... I don't know how to say this." His eyes well up with tears, his jaw tightening as he desperately tries to collect himself, his hands trembling visibly. As he continues, not daring to look at Mike, his whole body tense and rigid, he says, "I hate myself, Mike. I hate everything about me. Every single thing." His voice cracks. "I look in the mirror, and I want to claw my own skin off. I want to bury myself and never come back up. I took everything for granted before people made me see how disgusting I really am."
That’s when the floodgates open, and the layers of self-protection Will has built so carefully over the years collapse in an instant. The persona he has constructed to shield himself dissolves under the intensity of emotion rushing through him. As the first tear falls, an overwhelming release follows, years of suppressed pain and insecurity breaking free. “I want to rip the fat off my cheeks so nobody can ever pinch them again and call me baby-faced. I want to peel my skin off and become someone else entirely. Someone who isn’t me.”
His voice rises, desperate and raw. “I’m so pathetic, Mike. I’m a waste of space, and everyone would be better off if I just disappeared. I don’t deserve friends. I don’t deserve you.” He’s sobbing now, the words pouring out like poison he’s been holding in for years. “Every morning I wake up, and I hate that I’m still here. I hate my face, I hate my body, I hate my voice, I hate the way I exist in the world. I’m a freak. A disgusting, worthless freak, and no matter what I do, I can’t change it. I can’t fix what’s wrong with me because everything is wrong with me.”
For the first time, as Will finally looks up and meets Mike’s eyes, he is forced to confront the depth of his self-loathing and the effects of internalized judgment. “I took myself for granted before I realized how much there was to hate,” he whispers brokenly. The magnitude of this admission crashes over Will, making him more vulnerable than he has ever been.
Suddenly, he notices a profound change in Mike. Mike is…crying? No, it is more than that. Mike’s entire body shakes as he tries and fails to hold back tears, visibly moved by Will’s pain. In this moment, Will begins to sense that his struggle does not just isolate him, but also profoundly affects those who support him.
Just seeing Mike like this ignites something he forgot he felt. His legs moving almost on their own, Will runs up to Mike and surrounds him in his arms. Without hesitation, Mike hugs him back just as firmly. It’s weeks upon weeks of pent-up emotions, and Will now realizes how much he needs this. How much he truly needs Mike. And possibly, how much Mike needs him.
They stay like that for a while, neither wanting to be the first to let go. Will’s face is buried in Mike’s shoulder, his tears soaking into the fabric of Mike’s shirt. Mike’s hand moves in slow, comforting circles on Will’s back, a gesture so gentle it makes Will want to cry harder. When they finally pull apart, both their faces are blotchy and wet, eyes red-rimmed.
There’s no embarrassment, though, not between them. Not anymore. The barriers and walls that Will has built up over the years suddenly collapse all at once.
Mike wipes his face with the back of his hand, letting out a shaky breath. He glances again at the bag on the nightstand, then back at Will. His expression is complicated, conflicted, like he’s wrestling with something internal. “I, um...” Mike starts, his voice still thick with emotion. He clears his throat. “I’ve actually been thinking about trying it. The smoking, I mean.” Will blinks, surprised. “What?”
“Yeah,” Mike continues, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and staring at his hands. “Things have been... I don’t know, it's been heavy lately. My parents are fighting more. Nancy’s barely home anymore, and when she is, she’s just angry at everything. Lucas and Dustin keep asking where you’ve been, and I don’t know what to tell them because I don’t even know myself.” He trails off, his gaze distant, fingers weaving together and apart, as if trying to piece together his thoughts. He looks up at Will with something vulnerable in his eyes, a silent plea for understanding. “I just thought maybe... maybe it would help. Help me not think so much, you know?” Will sits down beside him, their shoulders almost touching, the space filled with unspoken words. The confession hangs in the air between them, raw and honest, like a fragile thread yet to be tugged. “It does help,” Will admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as he picks at a loose thread on his jeans. He pauses, the weight of his experiences lingering between them. “For a little while, at least. Everything just... quiets down. Doubt shuts up. The thoughts stop spiraling.” Yet, his voice falters slightly, a pause heavy with unmasked truth. “But then it wears off, and everything comes back. Sometimes worse than before.”
“But for those few minutes,” Mike says, and it’s not quite a question. “Yeah,” Will breathes out. “For those few minutes, it’s like I can breathe again.” They sit in silence for a moment, the weight of shared understanding settling between them. Mike’s knee bounces anxiously, a nervous habit Will has always found endearing. Finally, Mike speaks again, his voice tentative. “Would you... I mean, if I wanted to try it, would you...?” Will’s heart clenches. Part of him wants to say no, to protect Mike from this particular escape route, to keep him from needing the same crutch Will has come to depend on. But another part of him, the lonely, desperate part, wants nothing more than to share this with Mike. Not to be alone in this, too. To have someone understand this piece of him without judgment.
“Are you sure?” Will asks, giving Mike one last chance to back out. Mike nods, then hesitates. “I just... I want to understand. What you’re going through. And maybe...” He trails off, looking almost ashamed. “Maybe I need it too. Just to feel something different for a while, to not feel so stuck in life.”
Will recognizes that feeling all too well. The suffocating sensation of being trapped in your own head, in your own life, desperate for any kind of release. He reaches for the bag on his nightstand, his hands steadier now. “Okay,” he says softly. “But we take it slow. And if you don’t like it, we stop. No pressure.”
“No pressure,” Mike echoes, and despite everything, despite the tears still drying on their faces and the heaviness of their conversation, there’s something almost sacred about this moment. Two broken people trying to find comfort in each other, trying to survive the only ways they know how.
Will begins preparing everything with practiced hands, getting up from his bed, walking over to the corner of his room, and digging around in a box. He pulls out an old bong, which he stole from his brother, and walks back over to the bed, where Mike watches intently, his eyes following every movement. The ritual is familiar to Will now, almost meditative, the familiar actions being a brief distraction from the chaos always threatening to consume him. As he works to fill it up with water and load a bowl. He can feel Mike’s presence beside him, solid and real, and for once, the voice of Doubt is quiet. For once, Will doesn’t feel quite so alone.
“Thank you,” Mike says suddenly, his voice soft. “For letting me in. For telling me the truth.” Will’s throat tightens with emotion again. “Thank you for not running away,” he whispers back. “For still being here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mike promises, and the conviction in his voice makes Will almost believe it. “We’re in this together now. Whatever ‘this’ is.” And as Will lights up and takes that first drag before passing it to Mike, watching his best friend tentatively try something that’s become Will’s lifeline, he thinks maybe, just maybe, things might be a little less unbearable with Mike by his side. Maybe being broken together is better than being broken alone.
Will took a slow, shaky drag, the sharp burn grounding him for just a moment. He passed it to Mike, who obviously had no idea how to use one. A small smile crept up onto Will's face before taking it back into his own hands. “Here, just watch what I do”. Will puts the bong up to his lips, lighting the other end. He takes a long inhale before releasing the smoke from his lungs. A small cough escapes, but manages a weak smile, eyes full of concern, before passing it over to Mike. He takes a longer hit than he definitely should've, exhaling a large amount of smoke before coughing up a storm. A veil of smoke wafted gently through the air, curling around them like a warm embrace. Mike, with a nervous laugh, took his first hit, his eyebrows shooting up as he coughed, the unexpected intensity catching him off guard. “Wow, people in D&D campaigns manage to breathe fire. I just managed to set my lungs on fire,” Mike laughed, wheezing slightly. Will chuckled along, the shared humor a thread weaving them closer together.
“Dude, I think I just inhaled a lungful of fire,” Mike wheezed, eyes watering as he leaned back against the worn wooden beams. Will chuckled, the sound light and freeing. “Welcome to the club,” he teased. “Consider it part of the initiation. You get used to it… eventually.” Mike took a sip of his soda, trying to recover. “Right, but do I get a cool badge or something?” he joked, his smile wide. “Where's the 'I survived my first hit' sticker?” Will laughed, the sound bubbling up from a place deep within him. “Yeah, I’ll make you one. Just draw a little stick figure wheezing, and you can wear it with pride.”
If only it were that simple, Will thought, watching Mike relax a little, his laugh turning infectious. Their playful banter lingered in the space between them, a welcome distraction from the weight of the outside world. Their playful banter lingered in the space between them, a welcome distraction from the weight of the outside world.
The smoke curled between them, thick and heavy, like the silence that had settled in the room after Will’s confession. As the atmosphere shifted, they drifted into deeper conversation, the kind that bound friends through shared secrets. Eventually, Mike ventured into more serious territory. “So, Will, what’s it like? You know, dating and all that?”
Will felt his cheeks flush, heat creeping up to his ears. “Um, I wouldn’t know, honestly,” he admitted, the words slipping out more candidly than he intended. “It’s… complicated. Especially when you don't quite fit in the boxes everyone expects you to.”
“Right,” Mike nodded, his look thoughtful. “I get that. People can be… well, obnoxious. But I mean, you do like guys, right?”
How the hell did he know that? Will internally panics, looking for any disgust in Mike's face. But his efforts come up fruitless, not a single negative emotion can be read. Slowly taking deep breaths, Will hesitated, then finally spoke. The prospect of opening up about his feelings was daunting, but there was an encouraging spark in Mike's eyes. Seriously, how on Earth did Mike know that? Will thinks to himself before responding, “Yeah, I do. And it’s always been… tricky. Like, I’ve pretty much had this crush on this guy since forever,” he blurted, surprised at his own words.
Mike’s gaze sharpened, a playful grin forming. “Oh, really? Some guy, huh? I can’t wait for the dirt. What’s he like?” Will’s heart raced. “Well, he’s, um… funny, kind, and he doesn't judge me. He’s always there, and it just… it feels easy with him. It always has. But…” He clenched his fist on the blanket, his stomach fluttering at the thought of Mike knowing, tears threatening to spill. “I know he doesn’t like me like that. I'm sure he likes girls.” His voice trembles, absolutely terrified of the possible outcome. “Sounds like someone’s lucky,” Mike said, nudging him playfully. “But you have to tell him, you know! Don’t let that crush stay a secret forever!”
“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Will said, his voice a hushed whisper, mingling with his insecurities. The fear of rejection gripped him tightly. Although the thought of Mike finally knowing, and maybe, just maybe, returning his feelings. Mike gives a soft, reassuring smile. “Hey, if he doesn’t see how amazing you are, then it’s his loss,” Mike reassured him, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who sees you, Will. Like, really sees you for you.” Will's face flushes and his heart thudded, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. “Thanks, Mike. That means a lot.” The moment hung heavy between them, each contemplating the unspoken, a secret shared that lingered in the air.
As they leaned back, letting the bliss fall over them. Will looks over at Mike, who just so happens to be staring off into space. A giggle escapes Will's throat as he nudges Mike with his elbow. “How are you feeling?” Will teases. Looking over at Mike, he definitely looks (hi..) off his mind. Mike snaps back into reality, his cheeks flushed as he looks at Will. “Sorry, sorry. Just thinking about something…” He takes a deep breath. “Does it normally feel like the world is spinning while also floating on a cloud?” Mike smiles, letting a laugh loose, filling the entire room. The two of them end up bursting into laughter, with Mike being on the verge of tears. “Youre fine, don't worry.” Will continues to tease. The laughter dies down, and the two of them go back to being in their own worlds, lost in their thoughts. Will’s inner doubts began to creep in again. *What if I’m too much? What if I'm just unworthy of love?* The shadows whispered maliciously, clawing back at the edges of his mind, and he found himself teetering on the brink of those dark doubts.
He pushed the thoughts aside, suddenly feeling the weight of his reality pressing down—years of torment, the constant longing for acceptance, and the need to escape the incessant ache within him. “Mike,” he said, breaking the stillness, “I—” But before he could find the courage to reveal everything, his struggles, his fears, the truth about his feelings, something deep within him churned, forcing him to retreat into the shadows where he felt safer, curling tightly around the pain he wished to release in other, more dangerous ways. The world outside the attic felt like a distant threat, but the urge to hide behind a mask of indifference surged like an unyielding tide.
“Let’s just chill here a bit longer, okay?” Will suggested, trying to push down the surge of conflicted emotions, hiding his internal storm behind a fragile smile. Their laughter echoed through the room, a moment tethered in time, layered with unspoken truths and the glimmer of something that could someday be, returning to their original silence.
Mike broke the silence gently, “Does it really help? Even if just for a little while?” Will’s voice was barely above a whisper, brittle and raw. “It... it quiets the chaos inside. Just for a few minutes. Like I’m not... drowning in all the hate I feel for myself.” Mike’s eyes searched Will’s face, wanting to reach through the wall of pain. “What kind of hate?”
Will’s fingers gripped the fabric of his sleeve tightly. His throat tightened, voice cracking as the dam inside him broke open. “Everything. That I’m ugly, that I’m disgusting, that I’m unlovable. That I’m a mistake.” He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself but failing. “I look in the mirror, and I don’t even recognize the person staring back. I hate him. I hate myself.” Mike reached out, hesitating, then gently brushed a loose strand of hair from Will’s face. “You’re not those things, Will. Not to me. Not to anyone who really knows you.” Will’s lip trembled, and he looked away, tears threatening to spill. “But I am.” his voice trembles with every word. “I wish I could believe that. But the voice inside... It's so loud. It never stops.” He takes a deep breath, turning his head away from Mike. “I’ll never be able to love who I want to love, and I’ll never fit in with anybody. I’m just destined to be alone.”
He shifted his arm, and his sleeve rode up farther than he realized. Pale scars, some old and faded, others fresh and raw, stretched along his forearm. Mike’s breath caught. “Will...” Mike’s voice softened, thick with worry. “What happened here?” Will’s hand snapped up, yanking his sleeve back down like it would erase the marks. His face burned bright red, shame flooding his features. “It’s nothing. Just stupid mistakes... I’m fine.” But Mike’s eyes wouldn’t let go. “You’re not fine. And you don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to hide.”
Will’s body trembled, the fragile control he’d been holding onto slipping away. His voice broke completely, a desperate, ragged plea. “Sometimes... sometimes the pain inside is so loud, it’s like it’s screaming in my head. And this is the only way to make it stop. To feel... something else. Anything else.” Tears spilled over, tracing hot lines down his cheeks. “I’m so tired, Mike. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if it’s fixable.”
Mike's hand moved to cover Will's, steadying him. “You're not broken beyond help. You don't have to do this alone. We'll figure it out together. I'm here. Always.” Will leaned into the touch, the warmth, a fragile lifeline in the storm of his emotions. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice cracking. Then, Mike does something Will would've never expected him to ever do. He grabs Will's left arm, circling his hands around Will's wrist, where it's now obvious the size difference between the two. Mike quickly glances up at Will's face, his eyes filled with compassion and worry. Breaking eye contact, Mike leans down and *kisses Will's wrists, right over the cuts and scars.* And at that moment, Will wonders if he's dead, if he's dreaming, if this is real.
Will's breath hitches, his heart hammering so loud he's certain Mike can hear it. The gentle press of Mike's lips against his scarred skin sends electricity through his entire body, igniting something he's tried so hard to suppress. When Mike pulls back, his eyes meet Will's, and there's something raw and vulnerable there that makes Will's chest tighten.
The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken words, until Will lets out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “You're ridiculous,” he says, his voice cracking as he tries to lighten the moment, to protect himself from the intensity of it all. “You took like, one hit and you're already acting all...” He gestures vaguely at Mike, at the tender way he's still holding Will's wrist. “All weird and sentimental.” Mike's cheeks flush, but there's a small smile playing on his lips. “I'm not that high,” he protests weakly.
“Oh really?” Will teases, though his own voice is unsteady. “Because you're doing things that definitely qualify as high behavior.” He reaches for the bong again, his hands trembling slightly as he brings it to his lips. He needs something to do with his hands, needs a moment to process what just happened, needs the fog to thicken so he doesn't have to think about the way his skin still tingles where Mike kissed it. Will takes another long hit, deeper this time, holding the smoke in his lungs until they burn before exhaling slowly. The haze settles over him more completely, softening the sharp edges of reality. When he looks back at Mike, his best friend is watching him with an expression Will can't quite decipher.
“Will,” Mike says softly, and there's something different in his voice now, something that makes Will's stomach flip. “That guy you mentioned earlier. The one you have a crush on.”
Will's entire body goes rigid. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. “Mike, I don't—”
“Is it me?” Mike asks, and the question hangs in the air between them like the smoke still curling from the piece in Will's hands.
Will's throat closes up. He can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at Mike with wide, terrified eyes. His first instinct is to deny it, to laugh it off, to protect himself from the inevitable rejection. But something in Mike's expression stops him. There's no disgust there, no mockery. Just... hope? Fear? Something that mirrors the chaos in Will's own chest. “I...” Will starts, then stops. His hands are shaking so badly that he has to set the bong down before he drops it. “Mike, please don't make me—”
“Because if it is,” Mike interrupts, his voice barely above a whisper, “you should know that I... I think about you all the time. Like, all the time. And not in a best friend way. Or maybe it is a best friend way, I don't know, but it's more than that too.” The words tumble out of him in a rush, like he's been holding them back for too long. “When you started pulling away, it felt like I was losing a part of myself. And I know I'm probably reading this all wrong, and I'm definitely too high right now to be saying any of this, but—”
“It's you,” Will blurts out, cutting him off. “It's always been you, Mike. Since forever. I just... I never thought you could...” His voice breaks. “I'm not exactly what people want, you know? I'm broken and messed up and—”
“Stop,” Mike says firmly, moving closer until their knees are touching. “Just stop. You're everything, Will. You're everything to me.” The words settle between them, impossible and perfect. Will feels tears prickling at his eyes again, but this time they're different. This time, there's something warm mixed in with the fear and self-loathing. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
“You're really high,” Will whispers, because he needs to give Mike an out, needs to protect himself from the possibility that this is just the drugs talking. “Yeah,” Mike admits with a soft laugh. “Yeah, I really am. But I mean it. I've meant it for a while now. I just... I didn't know how to say it. Didn't know if you'd...” He trails off, reaching up to brush away a tear from Will's cheek with his thumb. “I'm terrified right now, if I'm being honest.” A light smile appears on Mike’s face looking deep into Will’s eyes. “Me too,” Will breathes. “I'm so scared, Mike.”
“Then let's be scared together,” Mike says, and there's something so earnest in his expression that it makes Will's heart ache. “We're already broken together, right? Might as well be everything else together, too.” Will lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. The haze from the smoke wraps around them both now, insulating them from the harsh reality that waits outside this moment. In this space, in Will's bedroom with the door closed and the world shut out, anything feels possible.
“I can't believe this is happening,” Will murmurs, and he's not sure if it's the high talking or the overwhelming rush of emotions, but everything feels surreal, like he's floating outside his own body. “Me neither,” Mike admits. His hand is still on Will's face, thumb tracing gentle patterns on his cheek. “But I don't want to take it back. Even if we're both completely out of our minds right now, I don't want to take any of it back.” Will closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. For the first time in longer than he can remember, the voice of Doubt is completely silent. There's just Mike, and the warmth of his hand, and the impossible reality that maybe, just maybe, Will isn't as unlovable as he's always believed. “What do we do now?” Will asks, opening his eyes to meet Mike's gaze. Mike's smile is soft, a little uncertain, but genuine. “I don't know. But we'll figure it out. Together.”
And in that moment, wrapped in smoke and vulnerability and the terrifying beauty of mutual confession, Will thinks that maybe together is exactly where he's supposed to be. The silence that follows feels different from before. It's not heavy with dread or thick with unspoken pain. It's gentle, expectant, like the world is holding its breath alongside them. Mike's hand is still cupping Will's face, his thumb brushing softly against Will's cheekbone, and Will finds himself leaning into the touch without thinking, craving the warmth and safety it offers.
“Will,” Mike says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Can I ask you something?” Will nods, not trusting his voice. His heart is racing again, but this time it's not from panic. It's something else entirely, something that makes his chest feel too small to contain everything he's feeling. “Those scars,” Mike begins, his gaze flickering down to Will's covered arms before returning to his eyes. “Do you... do you still...?” He can't seem to finish the question, but Will understands what he's asking. The concern in Mike's expression is so raw, so genuine, that it makes Will's throat tighten.
Will looks down at his lap, at his hands twisted together, at the long sleeves that hide so much. “Sometimes,” he admits in a whisper. “When it gets really bad. When Doubt won't shut up and I can't... I can't make the thoughts stop.” His voice cracks. “It's the only thing that makes me feel like I have control over something, even if it's just... just hurting myself.”
Mike's other hand finds Will's, gently prying his fingers apart and lacing them together. “What can I do?” Mike asks, and there's such desperate earnestness in his voice that it makes Will's eyes burn with fresh tears. “How can I help? Because I can't... Will, I can't stand the thought of you hurting yourself. It kills me.”
“I don't know,” Will says honestly, his voice breaking. “I don't know how to stop. I've tried, but then something happens, or someone says something, or I just look in the mirror and—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I'm so messed up, Mike. I don't know if I can get better.”
“You're not messed up,” Mike says fiercely, squeezing Will's hand. “You're hurting. There's a difference.” He pauses, taking a shaky breath. “And I know I can't fix it. I know it's not that simple. But I want to be here for you. I want to help carry some of this weight, even if it's just... I don't know, being someone you can talk to when it gets bad. Someone who reminds you that you're not worthless, even when your brain is telling you that you are.”
Will looks up at him, tears streaming down his face. “Why?” he asks brokenly. “Why do you care so much? I'm just... I'm nothing special. I'm—”
“You're everything,” Mike interrupts, and his own eyes are shining with unshed tears. “You're everything to me, Will. You always have been. And I know you don't believe that right now, but I'm going to keep telling you until you do. Even if it takes forever.”
The words break something open inside Will, something that's been locked away for so long he forgot it was there. A sob tears from his throat, and then Mike is pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him, and Will is clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in a world that's constantly shifting beneath his feet. “I'm scared,” Will whispers against Mike's shoulder. “I'm so scared that I'll never get better. That I'll always be like this.”
“Then I'll be scared with you,” Mike murmurs into his hair. “And I'll be here, every step of the way. You don't have to do this alone anymore, Will. I promise.”
They stay like that for a long time, holding each other as the high continues to blur the edges of reality, making everything feel softer and more bearable. When they finally pull apart, Will's face is wet with tears, and Mike's shirt is damp where Will's face was pressed against it. Mike reaches up, brushing away the tears on Will's cheeks with gentle fingers. His touch lingers, and when Will meets his gaze, there's something new there, something that makes Will's breath catch in his throat. “Will,” Mike breathes, and his voice is so soft, so tender, that it makes Will's heart stutter. “Can I...?”
He doesn't finish the question, but he doesn't need to. Will understands what he's asking, and the realization sends a jolt of electricity through his entire body. Mike wants to kiss him. Mike Wheeler, his best friend, the boy he's been in love with for years, wants to kiss him, he wants to be something else with him.
Will can't speak, can't form words, so he just nods, his eyes wide and his heart pounding so hard he thinks it might burst out of his chest. Mike leans in slowly, giving Will every chance to pull away, to change his mind. But Will doesn't. He stays perfectly still, barely breathing, as Mike closes the distance between them.
When their lips finally meet, it's soft and tentative, like they're both afraid of breaking something precious. Mike's hand is still cupping Will's face, and Will's hands find their way to Mike's shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. The kiss is everything, and nothing like Will imagined. It's gentle and sweet and terrifying and perfect all at once. Mike tastes like smoke and salt from their tears, and it makes Will's entire body feel like it's on fire in the best possible way.
When they pull apart, both of them are breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other. Will's eyes are still closed, afraid that if he opens them, this will all turn out to be a dream, another cruel trick his mind is playing on him. “Will,” Mike whispers, and there's so much emotion in his voice that it makes Will's chest ache. “Open your eyes. Please.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Will does. And when he sees the way Mike is looking at him, like he's something precious, something worth cherishing, it takes his breath away. “This is real,” Mike says softly, as if reading Will's mind. “I'm real. This is happening. And I meant everything I said. You're everything to me.” A fresh wave of tears spills down Will's cheeks, but this time they're not born from pain or self-loathing. They're tears of relief, of hope, of something that feels dangerously close to happiness.
“I love you,” Will blurts out before he can stop himself, the words tumbling from his lips in a desperate rush. “I've loved you for so long, Mike. I'm sorry, I know it's too soon to say that, I know we just-”
“I love you too,” Mike interrupts, and his smile is so bright, so genuine, that it makes Will's heart soar. “I think I've loved you for a while now. I was just too scared to admit it, even to myself.”
Will lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob, and then Mike is kissing him again, deeper this time, more certain. And for the first time in longer than he can remember, Will feels like maybe, just maybe, he's worth loving after all. When they finally break apart again, both of them are smiling through their tears, their hands still intertwined, their hearts beating in sync. “We're really high right now,” Will says with a shaky laugh, because he needs to acknowledge it, needs to make sure this isn't just the drugs creating false feelings.
“Yeah,” Mike agrees, his smile soft and fond. “But I'll still love you tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after that, for as long as you'll let me.”
And wrapped in the haze of smoke and confession, Will thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can start to believe that he deserves this. That he deserves love. That he deserves Mike. It won't fix everything. The scars will still be there, the voice of Doubt will still whisper its poison, and the battles ahead will be long and hard. But for now, in this moment, with Mike's hand in his and the taste of their first kiss still lingering on his lips, Will feels something he hasn't felt in years.
He feels hope.