Chapter Text
Mike :)
so i’m getting ignored
The phone screen bleeds a sharp blue onto the dark wood of the table.
It's loud in the pub. The bass from an R&B track thumps through the floorboards and vibrates in Will's chest, but the buzz of the notification feels sharper.
He doesn't pick it up. He just watches the words hang there for a heartbeat before the screen goes black again.
Across from him, the guy keeps talking. He's leaning in, his shoulder almost brushing the leather of the booth.
He's saying something about a midterm, something about how the professor is a prick, and Will is just nodding. He's doing the thing where he looks like he's listening while his brain is five miles away in a messy bedroom.
"Will? You here?"
The guy is smiling, but there's a flicker of a question in his eyes. He reaches out, his hand hovering near Will's on the table.
It's a nice hand. It's right there.
Will doesn't really care, though.
He pulls back just enough to grab his glass. The condensation is slick against his palm.
"Yeah. Sorry. Just my mom."
The lie is easy. It's practiced. He flips the phone face down, but he can still feel the heat of the battery through the wood.
"She's on one tonight," Will adds, his voice forced and thin. "She's convinced the house is going to burn down because she thinks she forgot the oven on."
The guy chuckles, a low and warm sound that should be the only thing Will is focused on. Instead, he's just waiting for the next vibration.
Buzz.
Mike :)
your stupid date can't be that good come on
"Will?"
"Yeah," Will says, his voice a little too sharp.
"Sorry. She's just really stressed. I should probably send a quick one back so she stops spiraling."
The guy nods, sympathetic. "Go for it. I'll get us another round?"
He slides out of the booth and heads for the bar.
Will doesn't even wait for him to be out of earshot. He flips the phone over. His pulse is a mess, a jagged rhythm that matches the bass vibrating through the floor.
Mike :)
seen?
will <3
Stop texting
I'm busy
Mike :)
busy with what?
be busy with me
Will swallows hard. He types back, fingers shaking.
will <3
Stop blowing up my phone
You're distracting
The reply is instant. Mike was waiting.
Mike :)
good
ditch the loser
please
Will stares at the screen. The air in the pub is suddenly suffocating. He can almost feel Mike's eyes on him, even though he's miles away.
He looks toward the bar. His date is waiting for the drinks, glancing back with a small, hopeful smile.
will <3
I can't just leave
Mike :)
why not?
tell him you're sick
tell him he's so boring that you're going to puke
Will rolls his eyes so hard it physically aches.
A short, breathy exhale escapes him before he can catch it; a mix of genuine frustration and the kind of fond exhaustion only Mike can drag out of him.
It's infuriating how easily Mike gets under his skin, how he can just reach through a screen and suck all the oxygen right out of the room.
His thumb hovers over the keyboard, hitting the letters with a little more force than necessary.
will <3
No, I'm not leaving him Mike
I'll text you later
He hits send and immediately flips the phone face-down on the sticky wood. Then pushes it an inch away, like creating physical distance will somehow sever the tether between them.
Right on cue, the man slides back into the booth, setting two fresh pints down. The amber liquid sloshes, a drop of condensation hitting the table right next to Will's phone.
"Crisis averted?" the guy asks, offering an easy, oblivious smile.
Will grabs his glass, letting the cold surface ground his flushed palm. "Yeah. She's finally going to sleep. Sorry about that."
"All good," he says, leaning forward again, eyes catching the dim pub lighting. "So, like I was saying..."
He starts talking again, his voice pleasant and steady, but to Will, it sounds like it's coming from underwater. Because against the table, Will's phone gives one short, sharp vibration.
He tries to ignore it. He takes a long swallow of his beer, maintaining stubborn eye contact.
Buzz.
Will's jaw tightens.
Buzz. Buzz.
"Actually, sorry, hang on," Will interrupts, the lie burning his tongue. "Let me just... make sure she actually went to bed."
He snatches the phone and tilts the screen away, shielding the bright glare under the edge of the table so the boy can't see.
Mike :)
3+ messages!
can't believe you're trading our time with some other guy
could've put you through the mattress already
have you all flushed and gorgeous
slick with spit
Will's thumb goes numb against the glass. The words hang in the air like a physical weight, thick and humid, turning the oxygen in the pub into something he can't quite swallow.
He feels the pulse of the bass in the soles of his shoes, but it's nothing compared to the frantic, heavy thudding in his own throat.
Across from him, the guy is still talking. His mouth is moving, his hands are gesturing toward the bar, but he's just a blur of shapes and noise.
He doesn't see the way Will’s knuckles have gone white. He doesn't see the way Will's pupils are blown so wide they've almost swallowed the hazel.
Will's skin feels too tight. He can feel the friction of his jeans, the heat of the booth, and the ghost of a touch that isn't even there.
Mike :)
you know
head down and that pretty ass up, just how you love it
Will's vision actually blurs.
He can almost feel the phantom pressure of Mike's hand on the back of his neck, forcing him down, the sheer, arrogant weight of the image Mike just planted in his head.
The noise fades into a dull roar at the edges of his hearing.
He's sitting in a room full of people, across from a guy who's actually being nice, and all he can think about is the mattress in Mike's room and the way Mike's voice gets dark when he's getting what he wants.
His heart is a crazy thing against his ribs. He feels a drop of sweat slide down his temple.
"Will?"
The man's voice breaks through the fog like a siren. He’s leaning forward, his brow furrowed, his hand hovering over the table like he wants to reach out but is afraid Will might shatter.
"You're really pale. Is it your mom?"
"I'm fine," Will says, his voice too low, too strained. He grabs his phone, his knuckles white. "I just... I need to use the restroom. Give me a minute."
He doesn't wait for a reply. He slides out of the booth, his legs feeling heavy and disconnected from his body.
He pushes through the crowd, the heat of the bodies and the smell of gin suffocating him until he hits the narrow hallway in the back.
He shoulders open the heavy wooden door of the men's room.
It's empty. The sudden isolation hits him like a wall.
The air in here is cooler, smelling like cheap cherry soap and damp paper towels.
Will drops his phone onto the edge of the sink like it's burning him. He turns on the faucet, plunging his hands under the freezing water and splashing it over his flushed face. He grips the edges of the porcelain, dragging his dripping hair back from his forehead as he stares at himself in the mirror.
He looks wrecked. His eyes are dark, his collar is unbuttoned, and his chest is heaving. He looks exactly like a guy who is absolutely losing his mind over someone who isn't even in the room.
The phone buzzes again, rattling against the surface, loud and demanding.
Mike :)
don't leave me on read
Will squeezes his eyes shut. A drop of cold water slides down his neck, soaking into the collar of his flannel.
Buzz.
Mike :)
come on, baby
He opens his eyes, looking at the screen through the reflection in the mirror then reaches for the phone with a dripping hand. He wipes his thumb on his thigh to unlock the screen, leaving a smear of water across the glass.
will <3
What do you want?
Mike :)
to make you feel good
and to make myself feel good
Will swallows a breath that sounds dangerously close to a whine and doesn't—can't even think about resisting.
He grabs the phone, turning his back on the mirror, and pushes open the door to the furthest stall. The metal latch slides home with a sharp click.
He leans his back against the cold, painted metal of the door, his chest heaving. Now, it's just him, the harsh lighting, and the glowing blue rectangle in his palm.
will <3
I don't think you'll succeed
Mike :)
forgetting about the times i had you coming all over my face huh :(
you liked it well enough to confess then, what changed?
Will's eyes flutter shut. His head drops back against the stall door with a soft thud.
He's in a dirty pub bathroom, his 'date' is sitting less than fifty feet away paying for their drinks, and Will is actually reaching down to grip the zipper of his pants.
will <3
You weren't actually pissing me off back then
Mike :)
and now i am?
will <3
Very much
Mike :)
oh yeah?
that turns you on?
Will’s jaw hitches, a silent laugh escaping him that’s more of a sob.
It's the truth that hurts the most. The way Mike has him mapped out, every nerve ending and every shameful reflex, even from a few miles away.
He stares at the words until they start to blur.
will <3
I'll genuinely kill you
Mike :)
yes keep going
tell me how much you hate me
makes me horny
Will slides his hand fully into his jeans, his palm meeting the slick length of himself. He lets out a choked noise, instantly biting his knuckle to stifle it.
Mike :)
makes me imagine you grabbing my throat as you ride the fuck out of me
god you're such a wet dream
wanna slide in and hit the back of your guts so bad
Will's fingers move on their own, a slow drag that makes his toes curl against the tile.
He's breathing through his teeth now, his chest a tight knot of panic and pure, unadulterated need.
will <3
Yeah?
Mike :)
yeah
just bottoming out until your eyes roll all the way back
Will's vision swims. The friction is almost too much.
He never felt more exposed, more visible, even though he’s behind a locked door in a dark hallway.
Mike :)
keeping you full of my dick like a good slut deserves
The message settles over Will like a command.
He doesn't wait for Mike to ask. He needs Mike to see the wreck he’s made of him in a public bathroom stall.
He shifts his weight as he brings the phone up and switches to the front-facing camera.
The glare of the light is harsh, and it catches everything: the way his flannel is pulled wide open, the dark, feverish flush high on his cheekbones, and his eyes completely blown out, glassed over with a hunger that’s borderline terrifying.
He doesn't even pose. He just leans his head back, mouth slightly parted as he catches a trembling breath, and snaps it. His hand, still wet from the sink, is visible in the frame, disappearing into the dark denim of his unzipped jeans.
He hits send before he can let the shame catch up to him.
will <3
[Image Attached]
The silence in the bathroom feels heavy, like the air has been sucked out of the room.
Will watches the little Delivered icon, his heart hitting his ribs so hard it's a physical pain. He's shaking, actually, visibly shaking as he waits.
The typing bubble pops up.
It stays there. It disappears.
Then it comes back, frantic.
Mike :)
oh my fuck
oh my gpd
i need to bend you
need to grab your waist and fuck you into that door
The thought makes Will's knees buckle, his weight shifting forward until he's leaning his forehead against the door, eyes squeezed shut.
Will’s thumb is slick with pre-cum as he fumbles with the screen, his vision swimming. He doesn't even have the coordination to type a reply.
Then, the screen flashes.
Mike :)
[Image Attached]
Will's breath hitches, a broken, strangled sound leaving his lips. He stares at the screen, the image burning into his retinas.
Mike is on his bed, the sheets a dark, tangled mess around him. His black hoodie is hiked up to his chest, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. One hand is buried in his hair, pulling at the dark curls in frustration, and the other is wrapped around himself.
He looks feral. He looks like he's in pain.
Mike :)
look
Will’s thumb drags across the image of Mike's hand, a low, needy whine escaping him. He moves his own hand faster, the slickness making every stroke feel like a direct current of electricity straight to his brain.
will <3
You're insane
Mike :)
i know
you make me really horny
so horny
gonna come all over my fucking hand just by looking at you
Will's jaw hitches, his teeth sinking so hard into his bottom lip he's surprised he doesn't draw blood.
His hand is moving in a fast, desperate blur now.
He's completely gone. Each stroke is a slick friction that sends white-hot sparks straight to his gut.
The air in the stall is thick and humid with his own breath. He lets out a broken sort of whine that he barely manages to swallow.
The tension in his chest coils, tighter and tighter, until it's unbearable. And then, it just snaps.
Will's spine stiffens, his head falling back as the world outside the stall door finally dissolves.
He's gasping, his chest heaving as he comes, the heat of it slicking his palm and spilling over his fingers. It's messy and desperate, a complete short-circuit that leaves him trembling so hard he almost drops the phone.
He stays like that for a long heartbeat, eyes squeezed shut, just trying to remember how to breathe. The muffled music from the bar feels miles away now, a distant noise that has nothing to do with the wreck he’s currently in.
Buzz.
The vibration in his damp hand makes him flinch.
Mike :)
[Image Attached]
told you
you make me cum so much
The words are a final, the kind of truth that leaves your ears ringing and your skin feeling too tight.
Will doesn't reply. He can’t.
There's no witty comeback left in him, not when Mike has just laid the reality of their shared ruin so bare.
He just shoves the phone into his pocket, the heat of the device feeling like a brand against his thigh.
He leaves the stall and washes his hands with shaking fingers, splashing more cold water onto his face until his skin stings, but the flush won't fade. It's written into his marrow now.
He pushes out of the bathroom and back into the wall of noise. The track has switched to something with a bassline that feels like a hand dragging down his spine. He feels every eye in the pub on him, though nobody is actually looking.
When he reaches the booth, he slides back in with the grace of a shipwreck.
The guy is there, holding a fresh pint, his expression shifting from patient to genuinely alarmed the second he sees Will’s face.
Will can't even look him in the eye. His breath hitches, a small, choked sound that he barely manages to mask as a cough.
"I—I have to go," Will says, his voice sounding thin and foreign to his own ears. He’s already grabbing his jacket, his movements frantic and clumsy. "I'm sorry. My mom... it's an emergency. I have to go."
The man looks stunned, half-rising from his seat. "Wait, Will, let me drive you—"
"No!" Will says, a little too loud, a little too desperate. "No, it's fine. I'll catch a bus. I’m sorry. I’ll text you."
He's already moving before he finishes the sentence. He pushes through the crowd, the heat of the bodies and the smell of gin making his head spin.
He hits the cold night air outside the pub and it feels like a slap to the face, but the fire under his skin doesn't go out.
will <3
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Mike :)
that's so mean :/
will <3
Mike you can't just
Just text me all these things
Are you out of your mind
Mike :)
and you can't go on dates with stupid fucking people but here we are
i can almost smell his disgusting cologne through your texts
Will lets out a frustrated breath that mists in the freezing air. The wind bites at his neck where the collar of his flannel is still unbuttoned, but he's running way too hot to care.
He starts walking down the pavement, his boots hitting the concrete in a fast, furious rhythm.
He doesn't even know where he's going yet. He just needs to move.
will <3
He is
Well
Was actually perfectly nice
Will watches the screen. The little grey typing bubble pops up at the bottom of the chat.
Then it vanishes.
Will stops walking. He just stands there on the pavement under a flickering streetlight, waiting. Staring at the blank space below his own message.
Ten seconds go by. The bubble appears again.
Mike :)
don't defend him to me
i don't give a fuck how nice he was
Will swallows hard, his pulse hammering an insane rhythm against his windpipe.
He wants to type back something sharp, something that proves he still has the upper hand, but his fingers feel numb and completely uncoordinated.
Mike :)
sorry, i don't mean to be rude
to you at least
what i mean is
let me come over?
you left right?
i can come over and pick you up
just send me your location
Will just stares at the glowing screen. The sudden drop in altitude gives him actual whiplash.
He can picture Mike on the other end.
He's probably sitting straight up in bed now, running an impatient hand through his hair, staring at the screen, terrified that Will is actually mad at him.
Will leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, the freezing night air seeping through his jacket. He types back, his thumb clumsy from the cold, but he can't stop the arrogant curve of his own mouth.
will <3
You're pissing me off
Literally
The typing bubble doesn't even hesitate. It’s frantic.
Mike :)
i know
i'm sorry
please
i already have my keys in my hand, i'll drive wherever you are
Will watches the text sit there. The wind howls down the street, biting at his exposed throat where his flannel is still undone.
He should go to his dorm. He should get on a bus, lock his door, and make Mike sweat it out until morning just to prove a point.
Instead, he opens the map extension on his keyboard.
He hits Send Current Location.
will <3
If you're not here in twenty minutes, I'm calling an Uber
Mike :)
fifteen, baby
don't move
Will locks the phone and drops his head back against the brick. His breath comes out in a shaky, white cloud.
He's standing in a dirty alleyway behind a pub, freezing his ass off, and his blood is humming so loud he can barely hear the traffic.
He can't help but physically face-palm himself.
"Idiot... idiot. Fuck."