#BylerWeek2025

Graduation night was all about going wild, sucking all the marrow out of life for one last time, unapologetically, not a care in the world about the guilt and the sin that such a relentless night would inevitably entail. They say that these are the best years of your life, but how exactly? How is a suffocating little town like this, bland and one-dimensional, even after enduring the onslaughts of the very apocalypse, the best that things would ever get? Mike didn’t want to believe that. But there’s a difference between wanting and knowing something for sure.

Want is but a flimsy thing, carefully monitored by the anxieties, the urgensies of fantasy and imagination. Want could be based on a lie, hidden from the world forever, and nobody would have to know, for want is never truly clear and never truly steady. It’s an ever-changing current, a tide, calculated, sure to change forms, and yet- and yet nothing can ever be the same again. Want, mother of yearning and desire, daughter of disappointment. She’s but a flimsy thing, and Mike’s first ever unrequited love.

Knowing, though, is tricky. Sophisticated and steady, something meant to be trusted. Something that doesn’t encourage or hide, something that prides itself in its way of squashing poor, weak humans and their silly aspirations. She’s a fearsome thing to behold, a god meant to be worshipped by everyone- everyone but lovers.

And where wanting and knowing collide, a celestial event is born. Interstellar, a war between the stars abiding the realm of knowledge, where billions of signals unite to result in a secret movement. The center of everything, that which humans rely on to call themselves able to do anything at all. But, see, in order for this universe to exist and thus assist mankind, it must first rely on the workings of another, equally strange and eclectic cosmos. Sweet home of Chaos and birth-giver of life. Of odd shapes and pools of crimson, that which the body couldn’t function without.

Knowing without wanting….what a peculiar way of understanding the universe.

Nothing really mattered, though. They still had the chance to be kids, just for one day, just this one, last day. And fuck it, cliches or not. Whomever thought of such a thing? Everyone’s just as stupid for the same few sinful desires. Purity is but an idealization of reality, but only because its meaning is a thing tainted by the beliefs of the elders. What an illogical world, this is.

Mike grabs the large bottle of champagne from the kitchen counter and finds his way towards the school that would soon be nothing more but a biter(sweet) memory. Who really cares, though? If anything is meant to last, it will. School was always meant to end but this- he can have this. And not just for one day.

He finds the familiar face of the boy he’d abandoned a whole universe for, uncaring of the upcoming unbalance. But of course- he should have seen this coming. That nothing would ever feel off, that even though he’d let go of something the world had deemed as vital, his voice never once faltered at the face of this new universe before him. It feels as if- all the missing pieces could be found in the wanting in Mike’s heart, and the knowing in Will’s head. It doesn’t really make any logical sense, but whomever spoke of logic?

Will uncorkes the bottle of champagne, a soft pop breaking the deafening midnight silence, and they take turns sipping at the funny, bubbling liquid. They are all soft touches and widening grins, lethargic, lazy movements and drunk laughter. It is a teenage dream, and no sin could ever taint that.

“Can I tell you something? ,” Mike whispers into the night, shifting his body a little closer to the boy next to him.

“Sure ,” Will’s voice echoes, a sweet melody to Mike’s ears. He smells of alchohol and something sweet and syrup-y, something fresh, something that reminds Mike of home.

“You know how sometimes you feel like you know something but don’t have the words to describe it?,” Mike asks, Will’s infinitesimal nod urging him to go on. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve known this thing forever, ever since I began to realise what having a concience meant, or like- began to just think for myslef. And I know that words are pretty and they confirm and seal things, but they are not enough, you know? But like- neither are actions. Actions without words- they are like when you solve an equation without ever understanding how you got there. Actions without words- i dont really like them, because yeah sure you can do things but I care about what you’re thinking and feeling, your whys are so very important, always. But also- I feel like promises, they should be something that lasts, not just something hovering in the air between two people, right? Because then you can just lie afterwards and call the other person crazy and get away with things. What I’ve been meaning to say is-” out of breath, Mike dares to look the beautiful boy next to him in the eyes, finally met with those hazel gems he’d give his own life for.

“Here.”

Mike bends his body to the side and picks up a few leaves and branches. He snaps one of them in half and gently takes Will’s palm in his.

“May I?”, he asks, ever so gentle. Will’s awe-struck, pink-tigned face, a soft and genuine answer.

Mike twirls the small branch around the boy’s ring finger, making a small but tight knot, reveling at the strange beauty of Will’s soft finger encircled by the almost thorny branch.

“Can I-”, before Will has time to finish his question, Mike’s respective palm in laid before him, a small chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes lighting up the entire night sky.

And palm to palm, is holy palmers’ kiss.

An artist’s fingers, sealing a promise with a knot, and thus bringing soft lips to the poet’s palm.

A secret, two perfectly aligned universes, the artist and the poet-

Mike's body seems spring-loaded almost, bouncing in place, his anxiety almost as clear as the fact that he's planning something even after this reveal. Lips quirking, Will entertains the idea of stopping the bouncing given Mike's proclivity to joint pain, but it almost concerns him how Mike might be unable to let go of that energy otherwise. Either way, the almost... puppy-like energy he's giving is as endearing now at 40 as it ever has been.

The room around them is softly lit, fairy lights strung up illuminating the cream walls and the bed their little picnic is spread over, rose petals scattered because Mike could never pass up a chance at being dramatic- no matter how much he called it just romantic, it really is both.

Will can't help the giddiness he feels in his own chest, cheeks warm as he looks over everything.

When Mike had told him about his picnic idea, he hadn't been against it, and seeing it now... it's breathtaking, the amount of work even just in the food made him feel special, not that Mike Wheeler grinning beside him with tinted cheeks even knew how to half-ass anything, especially concerning the both of them and their relationship.

He entertains the thought of teasing Mike for all of this for only half a second, but he decides not to, turning his head to look at him, Mike tilting his head as if to non-verbally ask his thoughts. Will smiles, a bit embarrassed, but certainly flustered.

"It's... amazing, Mike, I love it," he praises, giggling as Mike grabs his hand, pulling him over to the bed, giving Will a better look at all the things on the blanket, a new one it looks like.

There were small sandwiches, varied meats and cheeses on them and even ones with peanut butter and jelly, Will glancing up at him with an amused look as he stutters out his explanation for everything.

"I just kind of picked what we both like the most, I know you still like peanut butter and jelly even if you think it's childish and never eat it unless you're alone. The, uh, pretzels I made myself by melting chocolate with this tutorial I found online and strawberries are basically super romantic, so I had to add those and-" he rambles before getting cut off.

"Mike," Will interrupts, feeling terribly fond of the man in front of him, then pulls him in, melting into a kiss that they extend way further than is any kind of appropriate otherwise. Pulling away, Will smiles looking up at him, hand moving to hold his face, soft as he looks at Mike's own lovesick expression. "Thank you."

Mike grins wider, a giggle bursting from both of them as they put their foreheads together.

"I do have one surprise, though," Mike murmurs, his hands moving down Will's sides to rest on his waist. "You'd have to close your eyes."

Will feels a shiver go down his spine. "Really?"

"Mhm. Trust me?"

Will pulls back. "As if I couldn't," he teases, but steps back, closing his eyes, laughing as Mike guides his hands over them. "Mike! Just do what you're about to do."

"Okay! Okay. Just... don't make fun of me, alright?"

Will snorts. "That's just asking me to," he teases. "But I won't."

He can hear the sound of rummaging around, drawers being opened and some muttering before he hears the springs of the bed dip, Mike giving him the okay. Now seeing again, a loud gasp tears from his throat, tears immediately welling up in the corners of his eyes.

Understandably, Mike hadn't been able to get on a knee, but he'd sat on on the edge of the bed, a box in his hands, open, offering it and the thin band inside. His eyebrows are raised, hopeful, a shy smile like Will hasn't seen in a while there, too. "I, uh, I'm sure you've read the news lately."

Will had.

New York had recently legalized gay marriage only days ago.

With that, Will bursts into happy tears, Mike visibly panicking as he rushes forward. Wiping his eyes, Will reassures him. "I'm okay! I'm okay, I just... never imagined this was something we'd get," he explains, voice wobbly. Arms wrap around him. "I love this and I love you and it's a definite yes, oh my god..."

The arms squeeze tighter around him, Mike's own voice sounding emotional. "God, I love you, too, Will, and even if we couldn't I'd spend the rest of my life with you," he says, sending Will back to tears. "You're never getting away from me again. Not ever. You go, I go."