chapter 7 of my byler fic is up on ao3! itās called Where Is Your Boy Tonight? because i simply couldn't resist.Ā
excerpt:Ā
After composing herself, Jane nudges Will gently, pulling him out of his fixation of ripping a cherry red napkin to shreds. āYou okay? Whereās Carlton?ā
Mike finds that he despises booths. Thereās nowhere to look except for the people in front of you, and right now, thatās the absolute worst place to look. Heās afraid that when Will inevitably raises his eyes from the massacred paper, theyāll not land on Mike, but see right through him. Thatās what they did, before. He knew Mike, and Mike knew him, and all of this reminiscing makes him want to get up and walk through those creaky double doors, never to be seen again.
āHeās, uh,ā maroon stains begin creeping up from his neckline, āheās justā heās not feeling well, really, so he stayed home. Yeah.ā
Lying is a lost art, because blush-ridden Will is dying to be painted as an oil-on-canvas masterpiece.
Why are you lying?
āThatās okay, though,ā Will shrugs as if heās relieving his back of a phantom burden, āI think Iāll be staying out longer tonight, anyway.ā
Now, Mike would try not to think too hard about that statement or the sharp tone with which it was said, if the boy in front of him wasnāt looking straight at him, through him, into his very soul, slowly enunciating the words, making them sink into his pores. A threat. A promise.
Thatās so funny! Will said the same thing!, he sorely remembers the last words of Willās chirpy boyfriend. So. Okay. Tonight is the night for settling scores. His stomach drops at the thought.
Mike barely manages to break free from Willās orbit, feeling his cheeks unnecessarily heat up as he concentrates on picking at the ridges of the vintage oak table-top. In the brief moment of looking away, he could have sworn there was a ghost of a smug smirk pulling at the boyās lips.
God. Heās miserably losing the game already.




















