As in, do any of your memories take place during the 90s (yes, a single memory from 1999 counts).

Mike thoughts for the season 5 that exists in my head

Will seems to scan him, eyes darting over his face, until he says, “Sure, go for it.”

Mike swallows, works the words in his mouth, and then finally asks, “Did you ever, y’know. Did you ever have a thing for me?” He makes a valiant attempt to sound casual. It just comes out slightly strained.

He risks a glance over.

Will looks like all the blood drained from his face. His lips part silently. Finally, he says, voice cracking, “What?”

Mike leapt off the edge of a cliff and is dangling suspended in the air. He hears wind and blood rushing in his ears.

He laughs. “I— I was just wondering. Stupid question, sorry. Obviously— obviously not.”

“Mike,” Will says, disbelieving. Like he’s praying this is a joke. “You— you know I did.”

Free fall.

Will's eyes desperately search his, and Mike is lost. “What?” he breathes. “Will, that’s not— what do you mean? What are you talking about? I don’t—” He breaks off, and says, weakly, “Will, if I knew, I would’ve…”

His mouth snaps shut and he swallows hard. Looks away, furious tears prickling his eyes.

“Mike, you would’ve what?” Will’s voice trembles. Does he fear this is a joke?

Mike wants so badly to spare himself this — it’s his own fault for fucking asking, why did he ask when he knew whatever answer would be past tense anyway? — but he can’t refuse Will.

He turns to look at him, meeting his glossy eyes. “I would’ve thrown myself at you,” he says brokenly. “Jesus, Will, I—” He curls over his knees, hugging them to his chest.

The stretch of silence drags on, long enough that when Will finally whispers his name, Mike instantly blurts out, “Forget it. It doesn’t m— it doesn’t have to be a thing. I’m sorry.”

“Would you still?”

The question hits him like a bullet. He turns, slowly. “What?” Careful. Like reaching out to a dog that’s sitting pretty for once, knowing you’ll probably still get bit.

“If I felt that way now, would you still?”

“Will… don’t joke.” He doesn’t think he’s joking. He has to say it anyway. His eyes scan Will’s face for some hint that this is a dream, a nightmare, something to wake up from.

He sees nothing.

“Mike,” Will whispers. Answer me.