Work Text:
Will has always thought romance is overrated.
Not love, he knows that is real. Love has weight to it. It’s showing up when it's inconvenient, sitting beside someone in silence because they don't want to be alone. Love is remembering the things people tell you and carrying them with you for years afterward. It’s tangible, something that exists in the choices people make every day.
Romance, on the other hand, has always seemed a little ridiculous.
Maybe that's cynical. Jonathan would tell him he's too guarded. His mom would say he's spent too much of his life expecting disappointment. Whatever the reason, Will has never understood the appeal of grand gestures or dramatic declarations. They always feel temporary. Like wrapping paper around something that matters more underneath.
Mike Wheeler disagrees with this entirely. This shouldn't surprise Will as much as it does.
The funny thing is that Mike and Will are alike in almost every way that counts. They care too much, feel too much. Hold onto things long after they should let them go. They would both throw themselves into traffic for the people they love without stopping to think about it.
But when it comes to romance, they're opposites.
Mike has never hidden his heart well. Will has spent years learning how.
The first sign that this relationship is going to be different comes less than two weeks after they start dating. Will finds a folded piece of notebook paper tucked into his sketchbook while he's cleaning his room.
At first, he assumes it's a grocery list or a reminder Mike left behind by accident. The two of them have spent enough time in each other's bedrooms over the years that half their belongings seem permanently mixed together.
Then he unfolds it.
It's a list, scribbled in Mike’s handwriting. It’s almost illegible, but Will can read it perfectly. It’s numbered with a title at the top.
Reasons I Like You.
There are exactly thirty-seven of them. Will closes his eyes for a long moment. Once he opens them again, he reads the entire thing. The first few are harmless enough.
You're brave.
You always make people feel seen.
You care about things completely.
Those already make his face feel hot. The rest are worse.
Mike has somehow catalogued every tiny thing about him that nobody should reasonably notice. The way he chews on the inside of his cheek when he's concentrating. The fact that he always saves his favorite color paint for last because he doesn't want to waste it. The way he laughs differently around people he's comfortable with.
Will reaches the bottom.
Number thirty-seven reads:
You still haven't admitted that Star Trek is better than Star Wars, but I think we're making progress.
He immediately folds the paper shut. His chest feels strange. It’s something between uncomfortable and warm. When he sees Mike later that day, he shoves the list against his chest. Not aggressively, but enough to make a point.
"This is embarrassing.” Will states,
Mike glances at it and smiles, "Why?"
Will just stares at him for a couple seconds before responding.
"Because you wrote thirty-seven reasons."
"Actually, there were forty-two," Mike says. "I edited it down."
Will groans at this, rolling his eyes. Mike does nothing but laughs, planting a wet kiss on Will’s cheek.
Will was expecting Mike to feel a little embarrassed, but he isn’t even a little. He's completely sincere and unashamed. As if caring about someone openly isn't terrifying, or it never has been.
—————
The second thing happens gradually enough that Will doesn't notice it at first. Or maybe, he notices it and dismisses it. That seems more likely. After all, Mike has always been there.
When somebody has been your best friend for years, it's difficult to distinguish between things they've always done and things that are new. Mike has always shown up, has always cared. Mike has always been the first person to volunteer when someone needed help.
The difference now is that Will can't stop wondering whether it means something else. Whether every little gesture has changed shape.
The first time Will starts to notice this gesture, he's staying after school to finish a painting for class. He mentions it offhandedly during lunch, mostly because Mike asks why he can't hang out that afternoon. Will doesn't think much of it. By the time school's over, he's completely focused on the canvas in front of him, trying to fix a section of lighting that has been bothering him for the better part of a week.
An hour passes before the art room door opens. Will glances up automatically. He watches as Mike walks in carrying two vending machine sodas and enough snacks to feed a small army.
"What are you doing here?"
Mike shrugs like the answer is obvious. "You said you'd be here." He pulls up a chair like that explained everything. That it’s a normal reason to spend an afternoon sitting in an empty art room watching somebody paint.
Will tries not to think about it.
A few days later, he complains about a history assignment. Not seriously, just a passing comment while they're studying together. Something about how the textbook makes absolutely no sense. The next morning, Mike drops a packet of papers onto his desk before class.
Will blinks. "What's this?"
"A study guide."
Will flips through it. It's thorough, organized, and even color-coded. Mike absolutely did not make it himself, which means he somehow tracked it down from someone else.
"How did you even get this?"
"I asked around." Mike says so normally, as though everyone spends their evening hunting down study materials because their boyfriend complained about homework one time.
Will stares at the packet long after Mike walks away. His chest feels weird, something between uncomfortable and warm. Mike never acts like he's doing anybody a favor, he just sees a problem and moves toward it. The realization shouldn't affect Will as much as it does, but lately everything Mike does seems sharper somehow.
It may be because they're together now. Will spent so many years convincing himself Mike didn't feel the same way. Every display of affection still catches him off guard. Not because he doesn't believe Mike cares, but he knows Mike cares.
The problem is that part of him is still adjusting to being cared for like this. Mike, meanwhile, seems physically incapable of not caring for Will.
Eventually, curiosity gets the better of Will.
They're walking home after school when he finally asks. The afternoon is warm. Their shoulders brush every few steps, neither of them bothering to move away anymore. Will watches their sneakers scuff against the sidewalk.
Will says, "How do you keep doing that?"
Mike glances over. "Doing what?"
"Showing up everywhere."
Mike frowns slightly, like the question genuinely doesn't make sense. "What do you mean?"
Will lets out a laugh. "You know what I mean."
"No, I don't."
"Every time I mention something, you're suddenly there."
Mike is quiet for a second.
“Because I want to."
That's it, no explanation or deeper reasoning. As though that's enough, that wanting to be there is reason enough to rearrange your schedule.
"I like being around you,” Mike adds.
Will looks away before Mike can see the effect it has.
——— —-
The third display threatens to crack open Will’s prior concept of accepting romance. He has a terrible day. Nothing catastrophic, just one of those days where everything feels wrong.
A painting he's been working on for weeks refuses to cooperate. Somebody in class makes an offhand comment that sticks in his head longer than it should. By the time he gets home, he's exhausted in the way that has nothing to do with sleep.
He mentions it to Mike exactly once.
Today sucks.
Nothing more.
The next day Mike hands him a box. Inside are comic books, a new sketchbook, his favorite candy, and a note.
Emergency bad day supplies.
Will stares at it, up to Mike, and then back at the box. "You're ridiculous."
Mike grins. "Thank you."
"I wasn't complimenting you."
"You kinda were.” Mike says proudly, wrapping an arm around Will’s middle and kissing the top of his head.
The thing that gets him isn't the gift itself. It's that Mike remembered. That one passing comment had stayed with him. He'd heard the exhaustion hiding underneath it. Sometimes Will thinks Mike understands him too easily. It's unsettling, but wonderful.
—————
At this point, Will should probably know what he's getting into, because Mike somehow keeps escalating. The date is suspicious from the beginning. Mike refuses to tell him where they're going, won’t answer any questions, and has a stupid grin plastered on his face the whole way.
By the time they arrive at a quiet hill overlooking the edge of town, Will already knows he's in trouble. Mike has planned everything. He has blankets, food, and drinks. Even a portable speaker quietly playing music in the background.
It's absurdly romantic. The kind of thing Will would normally make fun of. Instead, he finds himself watching Mike arrange everything with nervous concentration. He sees all the effort and care Mike has put into this. The hours Mike must have spent planning something just because he wanted Will to enjoy it. That realization settles heavily in his chest.
"You're staring."
Will looks away immediately, "I'm not."
"You totally are." Mike laughs.
Will hates how much he likes that sound.
—————
The final gesture isn't really a gesture at all. It's an accident. Months after they start dating, Will discovers a notebook he doesn’t recognize in Mike’s bedroom. Curiosity gets the better of him and he opens it. Inside, there are pages and pages of observations. There are entries dated back several years at this point, but there is one common theme between all of them.
Will.
Mike remembered every single thing.
Will turns the pages slowly. His throat tightens because suddenly he's looking at physical proof of something he already knew. Mike loved him long before he found the courage to say it.
All this time, he'd been paying attention.
Will closes the notebook carefully. Mike is romantic because he refuses to leave love unspoken. Every grand gesture or note left behind, they’re all versions of the same thing. They're Mike's way of saying: I love you. I love you. I love you.
“So I was thinking we could do—oh—” Mike walks in cheerfully but stops in his tracks when he sees what Will is holding. “Sorry—you weren’t meant to see that.” He says sheepishly. a blush rising onto his face.
"I like that you're romantic," Will says.
The words visibly stun Mike. For a moment, he just blinks. Once his brain catches up, his entire face lights up. Bright enough to make something warm unfurl inside Will's chest.
“Oh so now you like the romance?” Mike teases, walking up to Will. He wraps his arms gently around Will’s waist, pulling him in close.
“It may be a little much sometimes,” Will starts, letting his hands wrap around Mike’s neck. “But it’s endearing.” He leans forward to press a kiss to Mike’s lips, who quickly reciprocates.
Suddenly, all those years of cynicism feel a little less convincing. Because maybe romance isn't separate from love after all. Maybe, for Mike, it's simply another language for it. Will is now learning how to understand it.