#sorry idk what prompted this.

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” a comic for NaruMitsu Week 2023

day 1 - lies & secrets - 2 - 3 - 4

[wardingshout]

Viridian trainers for day 5 of spesilverweek! they are my most beloved but Lance is a cursed character who is impossible to draw or portray in any way to me

[sonknuxadow]

[sourmiiiilk]

day 2 of drawing @carnivorekitty's Jacob until he realises he's been leaving blonde hair all over my apartment while breaking in.

bro got hit hard by the recession, he doesn't even have pants anymore

[demodraws0606]

What Cyberpunk DeadBoy Means and What it's Potentially Foreshadowing (aka very complicated analysis that makes a lot of sense and could happen depending on how colorpalet is feeling while writing the story)

Now I'm seeing so many people like running around wondering what this event could mean for the future for multiple reasons and like I've made like one post throwing my hat into the ring.

I've been frustrated with people's unwillingness to realise that this comm is prob foreshadowing because this is not the first time Colorpalet has hidden foreshadowing into comms weither subtely or not

Exemple's being :

-Akito's second comm foreshadowing his third event

-Lower's cover art literally foreshadowing what would happen to Mafuyu's phone in her event

-88 vocals being emurui and nenekasa foreshadowing the kind of dynamic the disbandement arc had with nenekasa wanting to move forward with emurui being scared of isolation

-Probably way better exemples that I forgot

I've seen people make Some assumptions which I don't agree with but there is one thing I think is true

There is 100 pourcent gonna be struggle between corporation/reality and WxS.

Purely because that's been WxS's entire theme since the beginning. They constantly bash you over the head with the theme of compromising with reality and the importance of dreams. In fact the pick of Maiki-P is not at all surprising as he basically has the same message WxS has just... well harsher.

The Big thing people have ignored however is by focusing on the lyrics, they've ignored something that's personally to me even more telling and that's the line distribution

We know for a fact colorpalet loves to mess around with line distribution, weither it's to make characters say lines that fit them or to kind of foreshadow their headspace.

Now something Big happens with the line distribution of Cyberpunk Deadboy that i've seen NO ONE notice and that's in the last chorus (that and also Tsukasa's lines which people have pointed out but it works less on it's own which is why I'm gonna analyse his lines afterwards).

This is the only time the chorus is like that, the others have a much more even distribution.

In fact the distribution choice makes it look like the rest of WxS is Talking to Rui.

It's even more evident considering the lines they chose to make WxS sing compared to only just Rui

Emu/Tsukasa/Nene saying kimi (you)

Rui saying boku (i)

Which honestly makes me think this is colorpalet foreshadowing some kind of issue reguarding specifically Rui. Remember Emu's second event ? The story of Rilley whose imagination was crippled by the industry to the point where he didn't really have any artistic vision until Emu's grandpa helped him.

In fact remember how the flashback that showcases that has Rilley working on a film

Now we get to Tsukasa's line which have been pointed out to be kind of sus but it's not just his lines.

Tsukasa refuses to sing with Rui (unless it's a line they all sing together but i consider those exceptions). In fact pretty much everyone has a duo line with each other except those two.

In fact in the section where Rui has duo lines with everybody, Tsukasa is the only one he doesnt sing with and the visuals make it clear that it's something that we're supposed to find strange

And then we of course have Tsukasa's solo lines

Tsukasa is the only one that say "fuzakeruna" outside of Rui (of course ignoring entire group WxS lines) and i've seen some people pointed out how it sounds like he's saying it in response to Rui's lines. Which I agree with.

Then we got his big boy solo lines

These lines will make more sense with my theory/analysis but right now if we go with the idea that WxS in the last chorus were speaking to Rui and Tsukasa in this comm refuses to sing with Rui then this implies those lines are Tsukasa speaking to Rui.

And this is where the insanity begins because people have pointed out a concerning trend with Ruikasa that I know some people use for shipping fuel but for me kinda feels more so like foreshadowing.

IGNORING all the ARG ass weirdness of the Fixer 2dmv, this choice to switch Ruikasa's colors have to mean something in my opinion outside of just wholesome shipping influence especially considering the two songs they do this are less than jovial.

What this kind of color switching signifies to me is that, Ruikasa somehow are/or will switch places.

And with that let me bring back Tsukasa's lines

These lines stand out because Tsukasa before remembering his dreams was extremely shallow only doing things for fame and probably the money that would come with it.

Now if you think about everything I've layed out I think you can gain a pretty clear picture.

Of Rui falling into the trap Rilley did, becoming jaded and losing the true motivation of his dream (or at least starting to have doubts). Becoming stuck with the struggle of managing dreams and reality.

Rui's costume even has a mask which can be a metaphor for his artistic voice and individuality being silenced .

Which now you get into the line distribution where WxS is implied to be talking to Rui.

And you get to Tsukasa, who is refusing to sing with Rui and in fact seems to be arguing with Rui if we really want to overthink it. In fact almost switching their roles from the main story.

Because Tsukasa has grown now and how else to show that growth than to switch Rui and Tsukasa's perspectives/roles.

Now how this would happen really depends since there are multiple ways they can go about it with the time they have.

There is obviously mystery dude dude (who i know now is sakaki) who still gives me bad vibes. However there is actually two way they can make mystery dude trigger this sort of plot :

-Mystery dude is malicious and actively manipulates/confronts Rui to make him rethink his worldview

-Mystery dude isn't malicious but instead is just jaded/has been through a lot of industry bullshit which ends up rubbing off on Rui accidentally

But you can even just not have mystery dude involved with this at all (which i doubt but still) because you know what loose plotpoint is still lingering over WxS, fucking Asahi

Rui still has not talked about Asahi to WxS, in fact Curtain Call ends on an explicit cliffhanger which is never really emotionally concluded (at least in Rui's own events, technically the arc ender did but there are still a lot of loose threads from that arc). Why would Colorpalet make Asahi come back after Rui graduates, they could've just had him disappear into the sunset but instead they hint at his potential comeback.

Unless Rui will be forced to again confront similar feelings he did during Curtain Call this time with possibly an added layer of whatever happens during WxS's freelance arc.

Anyways yeah this is overly complicated but then again colorpalet is not being easy with us so...yeah.

[navnae]

Eddie has been in the press for several years now and his relationship with Steve wasn’t known about due to Steve panicking over what his family would say if the news had gotten a hold of that information. So Eddie made sure that things went smoothly for Steve when every they went out, he’d block the paparazzi that would surround him, refuse to answer any questions that involved, and he shut down every newspaper that tried to even paint the idea that they were together. Eddie took his personal life very seriously and if Steve wasn’t ready to have their relationship public than that was what Eddie fought for. Of course Eddie never shied away from being honest about his sexuality, basically everyone in the entire world knew he wasn’t straight it was almost like a goal for him to tell everyone “no to hetero” (he even made it a shirt). Meaning that he wasn’t shocked when the rumors started when him and Steve would get touchy from time to time but he kept playing it off as them being good friends for the sake of Steve. This went on for a long time that eventually everyone came to the conclusion that they were just friends and their love language was touch, the questions stopped, the pestering stopped, the theories stopped, everything finally stopped. Eddie felt like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders he didn’t have to go through all these obstacles to protect Steve but when an interview asked him about his relationship status he wanted die right on the spot every time. He wanted nothing more than to tell everyone how much he loved Steve and how he had so many thoughts that revolved around marrying him one day, this was killing Eddie deeply. Nonetheless Eddie kept those answers to himself and only hoped that one day they could finally be a couple without hiding.

It was New Year’s Eve when Corroded Coffin got an invite to perform on tv and Eddie was pumped. Steve helped him with his outfit which made him sweat throughout the whole day since it was the biggest jacket known to man but it was freezing outside and he just had to deal with it. They were going to be the last performance of the night right before the countdown for the ball. When it was around midnight Eddie had lost his voice around this point from singing with so much passion that the entire crowd could feel his energy. It made him feel good that while he was on stage he could see Steve in the front row cheering him on, Eddie couldn’t help the butterflies he got. Soon it was time for the countdown and everyone gathered around for it. Eddie being in his own world he shouted the numbers at the top of his lungs as he watched the ball in the distance he didn’t realize that Steve had made his way onto the stage. He kept counting down til he finally said “3… 2… 1” and right when he finished counting his whole body was turned towards the opposite direction then his lips connected with Steve’s in front of everyone. The confetti started to fall as they continued to kiss in the coldest weather they could feel their lips twitching against one another’s. Eddie was still in shock by Steve doing that and apparently the crowd was too. They gave their attention to the couple then the actual New Years event all together. When Steve pulled away a big smile was on his face with tears rolling down his cheek.

“Why did you do that? This is live, your family’s going to see it.” Eddie said worriedly. His heart pounded at the thought of what Steve’s family would do to him.

“I know and I’ve thought about this long enough to say that I don’t care. You went out of your way for years to protect me and make sure that I was okay. It’s not fair to you that we can’t simply live each other because of my family.” Steve spoke softly. Eddie smiled as he brought his thumb up to Steve’s check and wiped away another tear.

“And I would’ve continued to do it if you wanted me to. You should come out on your own terms not because of how I may feel.” Eddie knew that the damage was already done but he was still trying to figure out how he could get the press to forget it.

“I know that too but this is me coming out on my own terms. Who knows I might get a call in the morning from my family saying they accept me and I might not. All I know is I’m in love with you, that’s something I couldn’t hide forever Eddie.” Steve’s voice cracked halfway as he talked. The tears just kept coming down and it broke Eddie’s heart to see him like this.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve tightly letting him sob against his chest. He didn’t care if all eyes were on his right now, Steve was more important than all of that. Eddie planted several kisses on the top of Steve’s head and when he did his own vision started to become blurry. Those days of him telling off everyone that said he was in a relationship with Steve flashed in his head over and over again. He hated not being able to hold Steve like this without someone trying out their nose in their business. Now Eddie could do what he always wanted to do with Steve and he wouldn’t have to cover it up anymore. He held his boyfriend close as if he was going to runaway, both of them felt free for the first time in years.

“I love you.” Eddie whispered against Steve’s hair.

“I love you too.” Steve sniffled. Eddie laughed lightly when he felt Steve shiver a little when the wind blew. They were definitely going to be sick after this.

[thelotusarchives]

Yeah them!!! 🫶🏻✨

[bittersweetstargazer]

okay yeah so I made this off of that one post by @frownyalfred about Clark not understanding that human can sense like danger bc he obviously. isn't. so anyways. there's two of them and they're both short– the 1st one is 600 words and the 2nd one is 400 words because I have other things to do with my life currently and I would probably add more to them and maybe I will in the future but this is the best it's gonna get for now (unbetaed as usual)

Untitled by bittersweetstargazer:

1.

Clark stood next to Bruce as Jon and Damian scurried over to the next house in the neighborhood. He chuckled as Jon tripped and almost fell, catching himself only by using his powers of flight. Damian had grabbed him by the back of his costume like scuffing a cat.

"They look so . . . happy." Clark commented, bumping his, shoulder against Bruce's. Bruce snorted, pointing at his own son.

"Damian looks like he's about to stab Jon. I'd hardly describe that as happy."

"Fortunately, he doesn't have his kryptonite sword."

"Oh, I wouldn't trust that. It looks like his sword is covered in lead. To cover what? The world can only dream."

Clark tensed, trying to look through the (supposedly fake) sword Damian brought as part of his costume, jaw dropping when he couldn't.

"You mean he—!"

"No." Bruce snorted. "He made it out of plastic but covered it in a thin layer of lead to mess with Jon."

"Why is your son making empty threats to mine?"

"Did you really expect anything else from him?"

"Like father, like son, I suppose." They both turned to each other and glared.

"Anyway," Clark huffed, "I think it would be nice if we could just have a nice, calm night of no crime-fighting together, right?"

"And with our children."

"Together. And our children, yes."

Bruce shrugged. "Sure."

Clark's left eye twitched. "Right."

They walked off to go join their children just as Damian started scolding at Jon for messing up their innocent act.

"Imbecile!" Damian hissed. "You said the wrong thing! Did you see how many pieces of candy we got? Five! Do you remember how many we got last year? Seven!"

"I'm sorry! My suit was pinching me and I couldn't focus!"

"It doesn't matter about how uncomfortable you are, you must stick to the script!"

"But I—!"

"Boys." Clark cut in. "You already have plenty of candy. And Damian, you're rich. You can buy more candy anytime."

"It's not about the stupid candy!" Damian scoffs. "Half of these aren't vegan-friendly anyways. It's about how much candy we can exploit from these suckers."

"Damian." Bruce raised an eyebrow and his son fell silent. "Although, I must say, your current strategy is quite succe—"

Bruce tensed, falling silent. It didn't escape Clark's notice when Damian also tensed as well. Hm. His earlier statement didn't seem to extend to just murderous tendencies.

"Bruce?"

Bruce shushed him. "Something's not right."

"Not right?" Clark and Jon shared a look. "Everything seems fine. How do you know? Get a report from O in your earpiece?"

Bruce shook his head, eyes looking around sharply. "Someone's watching us."

Before Clark could even begin to think of a response to that, Bruce jumped forward right as a gunshot rang out, covering Damian.

Jon screamed as Bruce grunted, a blossom of red blooming from his right bicep. Damian scowled, pulling out a sword from a hidden sheath on his body. Jon went white.

"You had that on you the entire time??" He whimpered, backing towards Clark. "Relax, dimwit. It's not made of Kryptonite."

Bruce pulled off his shirt, craning his head to inspect his wound. He hissed as the fabric brushed against the broken skin, spreading the blood further across his arm.

"We should get out of here before our mystery sniper takes another shot. We're easy pickings out here in the open."

He pressed his shirt against his arm, attempting to stifle the blood flow. Clark picked him up and tried not to brush against his gunshot wound as Bruce struggled to get back down.

"My arm is injured, not my legs."

"I still don't want to risk any side effects you might get from blood loss. I know you have a high pain tolerance but transportation would be much easier this way. Also, the faster we can get you to Alfred, the better."

Bruce sighed as he settled back into Clark's arms, lip curling as he was lifted into the air. He heard Damian start to curse in another language as Jon attempted to lift him as well.

"Language." Bruce muttered, head sliding down to meet Clark's chest. Clark simply chuckled and flew down the familiar path to Wayne Manor.

2.

Bruce grit his teeth as Clark landed on his balcony, the familiar feeling of his neck hairs rising washing over him once more. He tried to focus back on his book, but he found it difficult with his body desperately trying to warn him about a nearby threat, which happened to not be a threat at all.

"Hey B!" Clark greeted, his smile unnaturally bright, like the sun on the earth, like warmth on a cold day. It made him shiver.

"Hello, Clark." Bruce replied simply. It was always hard to grit out more than a few words in his presence, as he constantly felt like he should turn tail and run. It was one of the reasons why he chooses to communicate with grunts rather than speaking.

Clark walked inside, plopping himself on Bruce's bed. "Busy today? There's a game tonight and Gotham is playing against Metropolis. I got some tickets, if you'd like to come? I've already asked Lois, but she's too busy following her newest Lex scoop."

"Which is?"

"She's convinced that Luthor's been ordering sex toys filled with Kryptonite as a way to avoid detection. After he was caught last press conference, he tried to play it off as a new product they were planning on branching out to, but everyone knows that—"

"That Luthor's bald head is probably the last thing you'd want to get off to? Yeah, I figured."

"Yeah. Anyways, I'm pretty sure that one she finds what she's looking for she's gonna get one for me as a 'souvenir'. God, I hope she doesn't. That would be awkward to explain."

"Mhm." Bruce hummed, placing his book face-down on the table, unable to even continue the farce of reading it.

"So, about that game? I'll pay for everything if I have to." Clark waved the tickets in front of him, trying to tempt Bruce into accepting.

"Clark, you are aware that I'm a billionaire."

"Yeah, I know." Clark huffed. "Can't I just do something nice for my friend every once in a while?"

Bruce shook his head fondly, reaching over to grab his ticket from Clark's hand, trying to ignore the spike of fear he felt while getting closer.

"B, you good?" Clark frowned at him. "I heard your heart skip a beat or two."

"Fine." Bruce waved him off. "Let's talk about the game. I can't let you sit there thinking your team is going to win while I know very well the Knights are."

"Hey!"

[benetnvsch]

*squeakytoynoise*

[hailsatanacab]

@the-ghost-trader - ooooh, i love this! it has the potential to be so incredibly sad, too, like poor Damian just trying to carve out something normal for himself only for it blow up in his face

BUT, shockingly, i'm not about the angst today! not yet anyway 😇

---

“So, how was your day?”

Despite his answering groan, Damian likes this. This. This whole… thing he has with Danielle. With Ellie. 

And, yeah, he’s not exactly told any of the others yet, but can you blame him? For wanting to keep something, anything, to himself. Wanting to keep this small little slice of goodness he’s managed to carve out, untouched and unmarred by his family, by their other lives, by the rogues, the vigilantes, the assassins, everyone.

“That bad, huh?”

Being with Ellie is freeing. That’s the best way to describe it.

She knows. Damian surprised even himself when he told her—not about the others, mind, but he supposes it’s not hard to put two and two together and Dani has always been smarter than most—but it’s the best decision he’s ever made, and no matter what the niggling little voice in the back of his head says (the one that sounds suspiciously like Father), he can’t bring himself to regret it.

He won’t. Because having Ellie know gives him freedom.

She’s a safe place, a hand to hold, a warm, welcoming presence when things inevitably turn ugly. It’s the freedom to just be normal when everything else in his life spirals into stranger and more stressful missions.

“Richard is being insufferable again. I do not understand his incessant need to know everything about my life.”

“Oh? What’s he done now?” 

“I was subjected to an hour long interrogation about my love life, like it’s any of his business. It’s infuriating!”

“Ugh, tell me about it. I get the same thing from Jazz, constantly. It can be suffocating.” Ellie says as she curls herself tighter into his side. “But it’s just how they show they care.”

“Yes, well, sometimes I wish he wouldn’t—”

“Hey!” Ellie pushes herself up to glare at him, punctuating her shout with a soft whack to his arm for good measure. “What have I said about using that word?”

“Yes, yes,” he placates with a roll of his eyes, “‘Be careful what you wish for.’ I apologise, it won't happen again.”

“Damn straight it won't.”

She maintains eye contact with him for a second longer before tucking herself back into his side, squirming around with a long, contented hum that Damian can feel rumble through him. He smiles and doesn’t complain even when he has to shift to give her more room after a particularly strong elbow jabs him in the ribs. It means leaving the warm patch on the couch, but he’s rewarded with another long, happy moan as she settles and Damian can’t bring himself to mind.

Ellie constantly makes noises. Little mews and hums and laughs and songs known only to her. It reminds him of a cat, sometimes. He likes it. It calms him down; it means she’s happy, so he's happy.

They settle back into the cushions and Damian lets the subject drop, not wanting to spoil the moment. Outside, the wind changes direction and from where he’s laying he can watch as the snow starts to come down thick and heavy. Hopefully it’ll mean a quiet night's patrol.

“Is that why you haven’t introduced me yet?”

“What?” He can't help it, he stiffens at the thought of losing his secret, of the scrutiny he'll be inviting if he lets anyone know.

“Are you worried I’ll embarrass you?”

Damian’s eyes snap down quick to reassure her, only to see her light, teasing grin. He lets out a breath of relief. It figures she wouldn't worry about that.

“Of course not, don’t be absurd. You could never embarrass me.”

“I don’t know,” she muses, her voice taking on a dangerous lilt, “that sounds like a challenge.”

“Believe me, having been subjected to Father’s Brucie persona at every gala I’ve been to, it would take a lot to embarrass me.”

“Alright, bet. I’ll get you, just you wait.”

“You’ve already got me.”

She flicks him on the nose. “You’re such a sap.”

He hums his agreement, enjoying the tinkling sound of her laughter. And then, before he can think otherwise, he asks, “Is that why you haven’t introduced me?”

“That’s different,” she scowls. “You know how hard it is to get there, there’s no signal, and Danny only gets a break like—oh, Ancients!”

Damian gets another elbow to the ribs as she bolts upright, a manic grin on her face that has him laughing.

“What is it?”

“It’s the holidays! It’s nearly Truce Day! You know I said I had a family thing around Christmas?”

“Yes?” 

“Well, do you want to come to it? I can introduce you then! I mean, it’s going to be a bit formal and you’ll have to meet everyone, not just family. There’s going to be some banquets, you’ll have to sit through some long speeches and you have to be on your best behaviour at all times, okay? Absolutely no fighting, it’s called Truce Day for a reason!”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’ll be perfect! I think Jazz is going in a couple days earlier to help with the preparations, so I’ll get her to let Danny know—and fair warning, he will try to give you the shovel talk, but this is great! It’s Truce Day, so he can’t actually do anything about it!”

“I’m sorry, but you're going to have to explain a bit.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a bit much—but that’s family, right? Danny can get pretty protective over me, which is why going on Truce Day is the best time to do it! He can’t even command the Fright Knight to stab you! It’s genius!”

“Ellie, what?”

“Like, yeah, sure, he’s the king, but even he has to obey the rules of Truce Day—and then once you’ve spent all day with him, he’ll see that you’re a fantastic, wonderful, kind, brilliant, smart, strong, capable person and he’ll get over himself and everything will be good!"

Damian collapses down onto the couch, the wind knocked out of him. This is… He had not expected anything like this at all. For all that Ellie talked about her family, she had never mentioned this.

“Did you… did you say your brother is a king?”

“Yeah! High King Phantom, have I…” The manic grin slips off her face as she turns round and notices Damian. “Have I not mentioned that before?”

“No. No, you have not.”

“Ah. Sorry. Probably should clarify that I’m also a princess.”

“Right. Yes, that follows.”

“And I’m not really his sister, I’m his clone.”

“What?”

Damian blinks and tries to say more, but he has no idea what he’s meant to do with… any of this information. 

Normal. He thought she was meant to be his normal. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Not that it changed anything, of course, of that he was certain. It’s just… a lot to take in. Overwhelming. But it's okay! He takes a deep breath, and another, and a sense of calm washes over him. Ellie makes one of her little hums as she cocks her head to the side to consider him and he can't help but relax at the normalcy of the sound. It'll be okay, he's dealt with stranger and he can deal with this.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve told you that we’re half ghosts, though, right?”

“What?”

[wildstar25]

MiqoMarch Day 23 - Midnight

With their intended voyage into the void only a few days out, Arsay thought it the upmost importance that she steal her partner away to Kugane, that they might share one more fond memory together should things not turn out the way they plan in the thirteenth. It was as they crossed the very same bridge the miqo'te had once sat on together two years prior when Arsay gifted Y'shtola with a bracelet matching that of her own. A token of endearment which, Arsay confessed, she would have given to her fellow scion back then, had nerves not gotten the best of her. While their relationship has undoubtedly changed since the initial purchase of the jewellery, the sentiment remained the same. Y'shtola was someone who Arsay loved dearly and she will forever be grateful to have the seeker's life intertwined with her own. No matter where their free spirits took them, they would always hold each other in their hearts. A promise Y'shtola was more than willing to keep. She slipped the the string of beads around her wrist without a second thought. They were never to come off, not even when the two decided to delay their return to Radz-at-Han in favour of a private bath at the dead of night.

[possibilistfanfiction]

surgeons au - when they get engaged?

[@gohandinhand hbd pt2 lol // ao3]

//

‘chief superion?’ dr. alvarez says, poking her head into your office and looking more frazzled than you expect and much more frazzled than you ever want to see any of your doctors, especially your head of ortho. ‘do you, uh — do you have a moment?’

you never have a moment, but you close your computer and nod, motion for her to come sit.

‘actually, i… can you come with me? it’s for…’ she sighs. ‘please?’

it worries you, instantly, because this would never happen if things were business as usual, if everything was running smoothly. ‘what’s going on, dr. alvarez?’

she hesitates. ‘it’s ava,’ she finally admits after a few seconds. 

you’ve spent decades perfecting the art of looking calm when you are very much not, but this tests you immediately, the jolt of panic that shoots through your body. when silva had joined your residency program, he had frustrated you beyond measure: you thought her unserious, impatient, selfish — the only reason you had any patience to begin with is because jillian had recommended her so warmly after ava’s time as her doctoral candidate. but you were so, so wrong — about her work ethic, her overwhelming compassion, her deep bravery and even deeper capacity for love. beatrice, from even before she had matched with your hospital, had been your favorite in a way that you trusted her to, one day, take over your program and continue to make sure it’s the best in the world — even better, you’re certain. she’s unshakably calm under pressure, good with patients and colleagues alike, a skilled surgeon and even more skilled teacher.

but ava is special in a way that feels too close to even say — your mentee, the incredible leader of next generation of neurosurgeons and researchers: miracle after miracle, delivered with a bravado and a kindness that’s impossible to teach.

so you nod, stand and grab your cane with the steadiest hands you can manage. camila leads you, silently and quickly, clearly also trying to act calm, to the nearest staff bathroom to the OR, and you open the door and then see ava sitting on the small bench there, slumped over a little to one side. normally, ava never stops moving, always fidgeting, gesturing, greeting you with a wave and a daily attempt to get you to come up with a secret handshake with her. but now, ava’s face is set in a pained grimace and her body is noticeably still.

‘hey, dr. s,’ they say, trying to smile, but it doesn’t work.

‘hello, dr. silva.’ you feel caught in no-man’s land for a moment, with ava so still and camila hovering worriedly. 

‘so, i, uh. well, first of all, my surgery went great. secondly, please don’t tell bea until we know what’s going on.’

‘ava —‘

‘— i can’t move.’

you don’t have any comforting thing to say: you’ve seen ava’s scans over the years, especially when her back has flared before; you know about how jillian is always working on more effective injections, better tech. you hear about it when you visit her lab for business, and you also hear about it over quiet dinners at either of your houses, with the lights low and her voice taking on a sadder timbre than the determined, professional clip when she’s talking only of science, not of love too. 

so instead you nod and walk toward ava, crouch down with only a few clicks in your knee — you’ll take it. ‘numbness? tingling?’

‘i —‘ ava’s voice shakes and she takes a deep breath, steadies herself. ‘i can’t feel anything. it’s — there’s just nothing.’

you go through a few more questions and she answers with what you can tell is honesty: she’d been in pain lately but nothing out of the ordinary, especially with the winter weather rolling in; there wasn’t anything concerning before operating, or else she certainly would’ve postponed; after she finished — eight hours of concentrating and microscopic movements later — when she sat down, things degraded quickly from there.

‘i had my intern page cam,’ they say, ‘because i just — bea is going to panic and go into worst-case-scenario mode, and i don’t know if it actually is worst-case-scenario or just, you know, a passionate flare-up.’

all of you can guess that this is not a normal flare, but, ‘okay. let’s get an mri then. but i don’t want to move you without a brace and a backboard.’

ava pouts.

‘you know i can’t justify just helping you transfer to a chair right now.’

‘yeah, but it doesn’t mean i have to like it.’

you place a tender hand on the top of her head and she leans into it, just for a moment: a comfort, quiet and small and, you imagine, as much as she can accept right now.

‘alright,’ ava says, sniffling. ‘let’s get this show on the road.’

/

you would never take away ava’s autonomy, especially not now, but when you show her the scans — the worst worst-case-scenario results — she bites her bottom lip, clearly trying not to cry, and you say, ‘can i page dr. choi for you?’

ava looks toward the ceiling in frustration, in fear, in anger, in grief. ‘yeah,’ she says eventually. ‘yeah, i want her here.’

/

it’s a risky surgery, one that even you feel unsure about: if things go wrong, or, really, even if they go right, ava could have worse chronic pain and irreversible paralysis. beatrice accepts those risks steadily when you talk to her privately, when camila is doing one final pre-op update of ava’s vitals, her mouth set in a firm line, jaw clenched tightly.

the risks that shake both of you are much worse: too much blood loss, stroke, a lack of oxygen to the brain. you don’t want to say them, let alone think them about ava, but they both deserve to know, to choose.

but, ‘there’s no other options, are there?’ beatrice says, finally sitting down and putting her head in her hands, running a hand over her hair and then sitting back in the stiff chair, slumped, horrified. 

your silence is the only answer she needs, because she’s brilliant and there’s nothing else you can say: you will do everything in your power. she knows that. 

‘just — i love him.’

‘i know,’ you tell her. ‘i do too.’

she nods. ‘okay,’ she says, steeling her resolve as she looks to ava’s room. ‘okay.’

/

‘hey,’ ava says, ‘can you scoot where i can fully see you with this stupid neck brace on?’

even without being able to move, even scared out of her mind, ava glares at you. it makes you want to smile, the fight that sits in her bones. 

beatrice sits carefully on the side of ava’s bed fully in her line of sight. ‘what do you need, my love?’

ava smiles softly. you wonder, briefly, if she feels the grief of not being able to touch her partner, always so tactile. ‘don’t pretend this couldn’t end really badly, please.’

‘ava.’

‘bea.’ 

beatrice frowns, staring down at their linked hands, held tightly even if ava can’t himself.

‘i’ve lived way longer and better than i ever thought i would,’ ava says.

‘and you’ll have plenty of good time left,’ beatrice says, stubborn even still.

‘well, i hope so,’ ava concedes. ‘but i just — i gotta ask you something, just in case.’

beatrice swallows, clearly fighting back tears, and nods.

‘there’s a ring in my tan purse, the one i never use.’

beatrice does start to cry then; she shakes her head.

ava’s smile is so, so sad. ‘i was waiting for, like, the perfect moment or the perfect plan. which you still deserve, but, well.’ she shrugs with her jaw clenched in pain. ‘i can’t get down on one knee right now, but i know you’ll like the ring.’

‘i — i’ve known,’ beatrice admits, which has them both laughing through tears. beatrice dries ava’s cheeks first, then her own.

‘and you didn’t say anything?!’

‘i knew you wanted to ask. also, i was just looking for a spare mint; it didn’t seem fair to ruin your surprise for such a ridiculous reason.’

ava shakes her head. ‘that’s very kind.’ and then, ‘so, what do you say then?’

‘i, um — i have a ring too, in my winter pack.’

ava grins. ‘so that’s a yes?’

‘yes, ava,’ beatrice says, then leans forward to kiss him softly. ‘of course it’s a yes. as soon as you can, i’ll marry you. i’ve wanted to for years.’

‘wow,’ ava says. ‘okay, cool. sweet. it’s a yes from me too, obviously. also — is it a big diamond? family heirloom?’

beatrice laughs, despite it all. ‘i thought a diamond band might suit work better.’

‘hot,’ ava tells her. ‘well, when i wake up, i expect it.’

‘i’ll send lilith to rifle through all our belongings as soon as i can.’

ava sobers. ‘i wish i could feel you.’

beatrice cups ava’s jaw gently, her thumb grazing over her cheek. ‘i’m here.’

‘i love you,’ ava says.

‘i love you so much, ava silva.’ beatrice smiles, watery and terrified and sorrowful and grateful. she kisses ava, who leans her head up as best she can with a neck brace on. ‘in this life.’

ava nods, sniffles, and then looks at you, resolved, determined. ‘let’s do it.’

/

‘promise me,’ ava says, loopy from the drugs already administered in her IV but not asleep yet, ‘that you’ll take care of her if things don’t work out.’

‘things will work out.’

ava shakes her head. ‘we both know they might not.’

you smooth your hand over ava’s hair. ‘you are both loved beyond measure,’ you say, and ava takes it in.

‘well, try your best not to fuck it up.’

you laugh, and ava grins, and then her eyes flutter closed.

/

you explain to beatrice — now changed into joggers and a hoodie you’re sure was once ava’s — her alma mater not even close to beatrice’s — since it’s the middle of the night, lilith sitting stiffly beside her — that ava is alive but there were complications: too much blood loss, low oxygen levels. her spine is stabilized and you think — you hope — that part, at least, was successful, but you’re just not really sure if ava will wake up — or, if she does, what her cognitive function will be, who she’ll be. 

beatrice takes it, just for a moment, like a physical blow, but then she nods. ‘thank you,’ she says, quiet and polite without fail, but lilith looks on, concerned. 

‘we’ll monitor him closely in the neuro icu,’ you say, ‘and hope for the best.’ you don’t think beatrice has prayed in years and years, but there’s a rosary, probably lilith’s, clenched in her hand. 

‘okay,’ she says, and follows you quietly there. 

even though beatrice is a surgeon, seeing ava hooked up to so many monitors, drains and leads and an oxygen cannula in her nose, seems to give her pause, slightly unsteady on her feet — just for a moment, but enough for you to think nothing of it when you take her in your arms and hug her tight. unlike ava, who is always physically affectionate, beatrice has been reticent for as long as you’ve known her. but she sinks into it this time, letting out a shaky sob while you rub her back, and then steadies herself eventually. 

she sits down by ava’s bedside, faithful as always, and brave, and fishes out a box from her pocket, opens it and then slips a beautiful ring onto ava’s left hand. ava’s hands are cold, you know, because you made personally sure that she was comfortably settled in bed; but beatrice just holds steady, brings it to her lips, kisses the cool, still skin there. 

she murmurs something — please wake up; please don’t leave me; i love you, you’re not sure. 

you’re technically both done with your shift and also behind on so much paperwork, but you settle down at the nurse’s station and watch ava’s vitals as beatrice prays.

/

jillian brings you breakfast early the next morning, kissing your forehead in a show of affection that you both rarely allow at either of your workplaces. but she loves ava too, for years now, even longer than you, and so she takes you by the hand and leads you into her room. beatrice is asleep on mary’s shoulder, shannon bringing coffee for everyone. there certainly aren’t this many people supposed to be allowed in an icu room, but it doesn’t stop anyone because it doesn’t really matter: whenever a nurse comes in to change a dressing or an iv, you all stay out of the way. it’s quiet, small conversations only. you think ava would probably hate it — the lack of stupid jokes, beatrice’s bright laugh, mary and lilith’s fondness not at all masked by their snark.

you take turns getting beatrice to eat; you sleep lightly. eventually jillian makes you shower, changing out of your scrubs and into comfortable slacks and a soft sweater she’d brought you. 

it stays like this for two days: so many people from the hospital dropping by to see how ava’s doing, to drop off flowers, to check in with beatrice too. ava’s kindness is remarkably present even when he’s not fully; being returned tenfold. you don’t even ask or say anything, just make sure that beatrice’s shifts are covered by your other cardio attendings, and so she waits, sentinel. 

and then, just as beatrice is about to doze off again, 46 hours after you’d finished surgery, ava groans. beatrice shoots up like she’s not sure it happened, a specter too good to imagine. 

‘ava?’ she asks hesitantly.

it seems like a herculean effort, and you wait with bated breath, but then ava fights and opens her eyes. ‘hey bea,’ she says, weak and rough but coherent, aware, sure. 

beatrice smiles, immediate tears running down her cheeks. ‘hi.’

ava lifts her left hand — a miracle in itself — an inch or so off the bed, but easy, natural, and sees the ring there, beams. ‘hot.’

beatrice kisses ava’s forehead, her cheeks, her mouth — joy, everywhere.

/

you walk ava down the aisle, almost a year later — it was slow going, at first, and then more and more progress in physical therapy, beatrice’s steadfast reassurance through even the most frustrating, painful days. but now you’re here, ava smiling at your matching canes. 

‘wouldn’t be here without you,’ he says, in his wispy, beautiful white dress and immaculate makeup. 

you smile, hug her to you. ‘it’s an honor.’

you walk her down the aisle, steady and easy, both of you, and then watch as she stands, grinning at an already emotional beatrice. visible below her hair that falls just at her jaw, the newest scar along ava’s neck — from your scalpel, as careful and neat as you could — has faded; is still fading; has healed.

[basiatlu]

How abour 1c for ritunia (Rita skeeter x petunia Evans)? For the pose meme

“Your kind has caused me enough trouble! Now leave at once!!”

“Of course! Any other insightful quotes to entertain our readers with?”

[lesbiradshaw]

if they didn’t want me to believe that rooster and hangman were in love then maybe they shouldn’t have included significant scenes of them parting and reuniting that directly parallel each other… just a thought.

[biillys]

BILLY WEEK → DAY ONE

i'm flesh and bone i'm a rolling fucking stone and the experts say i'm delirious

give me therapy i'm a walking travesty

all time low; therapy

[astrobei]

byler 22 for the touch prompts??

22 for touch prompts: falling asleep on the other's shoulder (+ bonus mini soundtrack that i listened to on repeat while writing this)

“Remind me again,” Mike says, as Will climbs into the passenger side of the car, “why we have to go to this thing today?”

Will gives him a look. Or his best attempt at a look anyway. He’s ninety percent sure they fall too flat to ever be effective, or Mike would have stopped saying stupid shit years ago. “This thing?” He struggles with the seatbelt for a moment before it finally clicks into place. “You mean your sister’s wedding? To my brother?”

Mike pulls a face. “If you want to get into the semantics,” he mumbles, adjusting the rearview mirror, and Will laughs.

“You’re ridiculous. It’s their wedding, Mike.”

“Rude to get married on a Saturday night,” Mike says, as if every wedding in the history of the world ever hasn’t taken place on a Saturday night. “Maybe some of us had things to do.”

“Yeah? What did you have going on?” Will asks, smoothing down the lapel of his suit. This jacket is a lint magnet like nothing he’s ever seen before, and he plucks a little piece of it away. “Hot date?”

Mike wiggles his eyebrows, and Will realizes immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. “Yeah,” Mike chirps, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You.”

Despite himself, Will feels his cheeks turn red. It’s stupid, because he quite literally handed Mike the opportunity to say this on a silver platter, and it’s more dumb than any sort of flirtatious, except the unfortunate truth of dating Mike Wheeler is that he doesn’t even have to try and actually flirt to get Will blushing like a teenage girl. “I had that coming,” he admits, and Mike grins even harder than before. “And we didn’t have a date tonight.”

“We did! We were going to–”

“We can order pizza and watch TV when we get back, Mike,” Will chides, and, when Mike’s lower lip turns downward in something reminiscent of a pout, “this is Nancy’s wedding.”

“I was never Nancy’s favorite sibling,” Mike says noncommittally, releasing the parking brake, “she won’t even notice if I’m not there,” which one, is not true because Mike makes up about a third of Nancy’s bridal party so she will most definitely notice if he goes AWOL. And second, this is also not true because Will knows that Holly is currently in the throes of teenage angst, and Mike is still working on the angst but he’s moved on from the teenager part, at least, which is definitely earning him some points in Nancy’s book. So at worst, he’s tied with Holly. At least for the next couple of years.

And Will knows he’s not being serious anyway. For all of the fuss he’s kicking up, he knows Mike is happy for them. Will checks the backseat to make sure he put the presents in the car earlier that afternoon, and says, laughing, “Cold feet? It’s not even your wedding, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike moans, falling forward until his forehead hits the top of the steering wheel. “And it’s exciting! I’m happy for them! And your brother too, and I know your mom and Hop are so pumped, and– it’s just that I’m not so pumped about spending the evening with my family.”

Will suddenly feels very, very stupid. Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about that– about Mike’s parents being there, and his nana, the one that his mom had totally guilted Nancy into inviting because she might not live long enough to see Mike and Holly get married, Nancy, just let her have this. Which was kind of a depressing enough thought on its own, Will thinks, even without the entire conversation that had followed, the one he’d overheard Mike have on the phone in the living room, loud and frustrated before he’d slammed the phone down on the receiver hard enough for Will to hear it from their bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, then rests a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, okay, Mike? Just– hang out with us instead. I know Dustin’s been dying to break out his new dance moves.”

Mike cracks a tentative smile, then turns his face slightly so that one side of it is illuminated by the glow of the street lamps outside. “I’m scared he’s going to get driven away in a stretcher,” Mike admits, and Will grins. 

“Yeah, probably. It’ll be a good distraction, at least. I’ll tell him to take one for the team.”

Mike nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Will hesitates, then drops his hand to Mike’s and slots their fingers together. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

Mike looks up the rest of the way. He looks incredible tonight, which is something Will’s been thinking ever since they’d started getting ready an hour ago, and at least half of the reason it took him so long was because he’d been totally distracted the whole time. Maybe Will is just biased, which is a little true, sure, but Mike should definitely wear suits more– and he’s officially taking it upon himself to make sure that Mike wears suits more– because suddenly he’s tempted to take Mike up on his offer of becoming a runaway best man and going back inside and collapsing on the couch and kissing him stupid into the early hours of the morning.

“What?” Mike is saying, eyebrows twisting a little self-consciously. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You just look really nice,” Will says simply, and then, because that comes nowhere close to how good Mike looks in a tie, “no, actually, you look– wow.”

Mike’s lips twitch, but he looks a little pleased. “Wow? Really?”

“You’ve rendered me speechless,” Will nods rapidly, and Mike’s shy smile breaks into something more genuine. “You– look at you, I mean– I can’t even– wow.”

“Will,” Mike says, drawing out the single syllable until it feels big enough to fill up the whole car. “Okay, I look nice! You can stop playing it up now.” 

His cheeks are turning red, slowly, visible even in the dim lighting of the street lamps through the windows, because it’s early fall and it’s started to get dark ridiculously early in the day. It feels like a victory, getting Mike flustered, even after a year of dating. Will smiles to himself. 

“I’m not,” Will says, then leans in across the console. “Come here. I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll–” Mike gets out, eyes going wide in surprise, “–has anyone ever told you that you’re–”

Whatever it was that people may or may not have told Will is apparently a mystery that will die with the universe, because Will never finds out. He kisses Mike with one hand still holding his, threads a hand through his hair and cups his jaw. Soft. Slow. Unhurried, even though they should have left ten minutes ago and they’re going to be cutting it real close– Will can’t be bothered to rush.

Mike hums low in the back of his throat, pleased, and shifts closer. He’s pushing himself up over the console, a hand ghosting the side of Will’s neck, when–

Beeeeep.

“What–” Will jerks backwards, startled, and Mike immediately lets go of his hand. “Did you just–”

Mike rubs his elbow and moves further away from the wheel. “I got a little distracted,” he laughs, but the tension has ebbed from his shoulders a little and his eyes are creasing up at the corners, so Will considers this a mission success, thank you. “We should probably go?”

“Good idea,” Will says, then reaches over to smooth out a stray tuft of Mike’s hair that was– he thinks, a little proud of himself– definitely not out of place before. “And hey,” he adds, before Mike can take the car out of park. “Seriously. Ignore your parents. It’s not their wedding, okay, it’s Nancy’s. And Jonathan’s. And they both want us there. Together.”

Mike’s lips press together into a thin, determined line. “You’re right,” he nods, “I know, it’s just–”

“I know,” Will echoes, and Mike shoots him a grateful smile. “Now let’s go, or we really will miss the ceremony.”

—-

They don’t miss the ceremony, which is good, because having both the best man and the– whatever Mike was– would probably not be a good look for anyone involved.

“I can’t believe you cried,” Dustin says, after the toasts are done and the speeches are given and everyone’s been supplied with enough champagne to go a little loose and maybe a little tear-happy.

Mike scowls across the table at him. “I didn’t cry,” he insists, which is kind of pointless because Will had been watching him the whole time he’d been standing up there, shuffling his feet awkwardly in place at his designated spot in between Holly and Robin Buckley, and he’d definitely cried. Just a little, but he had.

“You did,” El chimes in primly, plucking at her shrimp cocktail. “I saw.”

“Thanks, El,” Mike mutters, sinking back in his chair a little and crossing his arms. “It’s– the vows were very emotional, okay, you’d have to be made of total stone to not tear up!”

“I didn’t cry,” Lucas announces, which is a fucking lie, by the way. Will saw him dabbing at his eyes in the bathroom on the way here.

“I think it’s sweet,” he says, instead of throwing Lucas to the dogs like he maybe should have. He flashes Mike a grin, leans over in his chair to bridge the space between them and squeezes his hand, once. “They were very sappy vows, to be fair.”

Mike blinks up at him from where he’s slumped down to somewhere around shoulder height. “You didn’t cry.”

“Oh, I did,” Will assures him. “I just cried in the back with Jonathan while he was getting ready.”

“Really?” Mike perks right up. “You did?”

“Yes,” Will laughs, “and I can’t believe you’re happy about it,” and then Mike grins so wide that Will can’t help but lean in the rest of the way and press a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Lucas says, and he’s maybe one strike away from Will speaking up about the bathroom incident after all.

“Maybe so,” Mike relents, looking properly cheered up now. “What about it?”

Mike’s grip on Will’s hand never falters. Will feels himself turn warmer with every slow pass of Mike’s thumb over his knuckles, even with their hands tucked under the tablecloth and out of view. And it isn’t from the champagne. He’s had just the one glass with dinner, which is nothing, so it must be something else that’s making him feel like this. Something–

“You okay?” Mike murmurs as his thumb pauses, briefly, on the back of Will’s hand. “You got kind of quiet out of nowhere,” and yeah, there it is.

“I meant it,” Will says, lowering his voice so their friends can’t hear them from across the table. “What I said in the car, I mean. You look beautiful.”

It’s a little amusing just how fast Mike can turn such a violent shade of red. “You can’t just say that,” he splutters. “Give a guy some warning, Jesus, Will–”

“Mm, no,” Will decides smugly, watching the red creep down the collar of Mike’s carefully starched dress shirt. Then, because the soft lighting of the venue and the way Mike’s hair has started to fall free around his face is doing something funny to his chest and stomach, Will nods to the dance floor and says, “You wanna?”

Mike hesitates, looking over his shoulder. “Dance?”

Will shrugs, then looks over to where Jonathan and Nancy are trying– and failing, quite hilariously and miserably– at a dance of their own. “I mean, it’s a wedding, and people dance at weddings. Not that either of us are good at it, but it might be fun to try?”

Mike chews nervously at his lower lip and nudges Will’s foot with his own. “I don’t know,” he admits. “My mom was eyeing me earlier and I was totally avoiding her by hiding out over here but I feel like the dance floor is fair game for a–” he waves his hands around, “pseudo-confrontation. Nancy’s only three years older than you, blah, blah. When are you going to settle down, blah, blah. Even though I’m here with my boyfriend, which apparently doesn’t count for shit, and–” Mike sighs dejectedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down, it’s just– I was having such a good day, too.”

Will squeezes Mike’s leg, just above the knee. “You were having a good day? Really? Even though your hot date got canceled?”

“Well,” Mike rolls his eyes. “My sister got married, and now my hot date is all dressed up and sweet-talking me, so I think this is even better than pizza on the couch.” He pauses, contemplating. “Actually, scratch that. It’s not. But it’s a close second,” Mike adds, then grins and picks Will’s hand up again. “Dance– later, maybe? I’m really enjoying this for right now.”

“Of course. Anything you want,” Will smiles, as the music in the background softens into something more mellow. He pulls his chair up so that it’s flush with Mike’s, their thighs pressed up together in one line, and passes Mike a flute of champagne from the table. “You might want to drink this, though, because your mom looks like she might be heading over here any second.”

“Thanks,” Mike groans, then knocks the whole thing back in one go.

—-

Will knows that a big fancy flashy wedding isn’t really Jonathan’s style, and he didn’t think it was Nancy’s either. Which is why he was surprised to get an invite to an event at all, because he’d honestly sort of thought they’d make a courthouse affair of it and then have everyone over for dinner or something. They’d been engaged for, like, three years, because it was career stuff and then more career stuff and then a couple months of long distance while Jonathan was doing some photojournalism thing in London, and Will had figured at some point that they’d get so tired of being engaged that they’d show up the next day with papers from City Hall and that would be that.

Apparently, though, in a not-so-surprising turn of events, Nancy Wheeler takes to event planning like a moth to flame, and Jonathan was immediately dragged along for the ride. He didn’t seem too upset about it, though, when Will had asked. “It’s Nancy,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, because not too long after that, Will started dating Mike and everything immediately clicked.

Which is maybe the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. For anyone else, Will would not even entertain the thought of fussing over seating arrangements, and he’s certain he only knows, like, five types of flowers– if pink and red roses count as two different types. It’s Nancy, Jonathan had said, and Will hadn’t gotten it then but he does now.

Mike’s hand twitches on Will’s bicep, fingers clutching once at the fabric of his shirt. Will’s suit jacket lies abandoned on the chair behind them. Mike had leaned over maybe half an hour ago to rest his head on Will’s shoulder, as it got later in the night and guests started slowly trickling out of the room. And then, maybe fifteen or so minutes ago, his breathing had evened out, fingers slackening in their grip against his arm, and Will doesn’t know how the hell Mike can fall asleep in a room that’s filled with so much noise, but he can’t help but find it endearing– wholly, completely, embarrassingly endearing.

And he gets it, he does. It’s Mike, he thinks, chest flooding with warmth in a strange, hollowed-out way, like there’s nothing left inside him except this feeling. It’s Mike. It’s Mike. It’s–

“Hey, hon,” comes a voice behind him, and Will startles, just a little, then immediately relaxes.

“Oh, hey mom,” he whispers, and Mike’s hand twitches lightly against his arm again. Joyce gives him an amused look, glancing down at Mike, then back at Will.

“Did he fall asleep?” she asks, pulling up a chair next to them. “I’ll be quiet, don’t worry.”

Will feels himself smile before he actually realizes he’s doing it. “Yeah,” he snorts softly, “but I have no idea how.”

As if roused by some sixth sense, like he knew they were talking about him, Mike stirs, lifting his head off of Will’s shoulder and blinking blearily. “What–”

“Shh,” Will says, and Joyce bites back a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mike says, and then yawns loud and conspicuously. “Shit– I’ve just been so tired this week, sorry, Will–”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, even though his shoulder and arm are starting to fall asleep, just a little. Will drops a kiss to the top of Mike’s head, and feels him start to smile into his shoulder before stiffening, a little self-consciously, and glancing up at Joyce.

“Um–”

“Oh,” his mom waves a hand, “don’t mind me. You two are so sweet. You remind me of Nancy and Jonathan after they started dating. Jonathan would turn so red, but maybe not as red as you’re turning right now, Will–”

“Mom!”

“Red?” Mike perks up, and then, “Oh you are turning red!”

“Shut up,” Will mumbles, but he’s sure it’s not convincing in the slightest. “Did you come over here just to embarrass me?”

Joyce puts two hands up in the air like hey, don’t look at me. “I was just going to let you know that Hop and I are taking off,” she says, eyes sparkling. “He has the early shift tomorrow, but Mike, now that I’ve caught you– your speech was wonderful. Really. Jim was tearing up and he told me to never let you find out but I figured you’d want to know.”

Mike blinks. He still looks a little out of it, still a little red from sleep or the champagne from earlier, but he smiles, sudden and pleased. “Really?”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Joyce grins conspiratorially. “But yes. It was very sweet.”

“Thanks Mrs. Byers,” Mike says, the words stretching into another yawn, quieter this time. He groans lightly, then pushes himself off of Will’s shoulder and sits back up.

Will peers over at him. “Are you tired? You want to head back?”

Mike rubs at his eyes with both hands, blinks a few times in rapid succession, then shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the sleep out of his body, like it’s a physical thing. “No,” he smiles, and it’s a little bit tired, but he looks happy. “No, not yet.”

“Okay,” Will whispers, and he’s probably grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. That’s the common denominator here, between every interaction he ever has with Mike– that he’s so happy that he just can’t help it. “You still want to get pizza on the way back?”

“God, yes please,” Mike groans in relief. “Um. No offense, but wedding food is just– like what the hell, man, I’m starving. That was nothing.”

“Pizza it is,” Will agreed easily, mentally making a pros and cons list of getting a large and having leftovers or saving money and going for a medium. “Pepperoni?”

“Anything goes,” Mike is saying, and then Joyce clears her throat.

“Well,” she says, snapping her purse shut and smiling. “Hop and I are heading out but– oh, drive safe you two. Eat a slice for me, actually, I’ve been craving pizza all week.”

“Bye, mom,” Will smiles, craning his neck upwards as she plants a kiss on top of his head.

“You too,” she says to Mike, who barely has time to blink in surprise before his mom is dropping a kiss on his forehead. She rests a hand on his shoulder briefly as she smiles and says, “I’d welcome you to the family, Mike, but you’ve been a part of it for years already.”

“I– bye, Mrs. Byers,” Mike says faintly, eyes wide, as Joyce waves goodbye. He turns back to Will. “Part of the family? Really?”

“It’s what you get for dating your best friend,” Will murmurs, glancing out over the rapidly emptying room before tugging on Mike’s arm until he falls into him with a small, startled noise. “You get smothered by my mom.”

“I wouldn’t call it smothering,” Mike laughs, eyes darting down to Will’s mouth. He swallows, and says, softly, “Plus, I like your family. No complaints from me.”

Will hums, soft. “I’m sorry about– you know. How did that go?”

“Nancy said she survived mom and dad with minimal damage,” Mike laughs drily. “And nana too. And I managed to avoid them long enough that they didn’t have a chance to ambush me, so.”

“Good,” Will says, kissing Mike softly on the corner of his mouth, then again, right over the curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s a little warm, a little loose and pliant from sleep, and he moves easily, tucking a finger into the loop of Will’s tie and pulling him in closer. Their knees bump against each other under the tablecloth, chair legs scraping gently across the polished floor as Will leans forward. “I’m glad,” Will says into the kiss, and Mike smiles.

“Me too,” Mike whispers, tucking his hands into Will’s hair and pulling away, just barely. “Because now they’re gone and all of our annoying cursory invite relatives are gone and it’s just you and me– and Nancy, and Jonathan, and El and Lucas and– whatever. I think I owe you a dance.”

There’s something slow and melodic playing as Nancy and Jonathan make the last of their rounds, most of the tables empty and the dance floor cleared out. Will grins, kisses Mike one more time for good measure, then stands up. “Okay,” he agrees, “but I’m leading.”

“I don’t think it makes a difference, because neither of us can–”

“I’m leading,” Will says again, and Mike chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way, Will.”