Mike recognizes something, an expression borrowed from a different version of himself. It reminds him of the way Will looked when they were younger, that certain kind of glimmer that was only ever reserved for him.
“Jealous?” Will taunts
“No,” Mike spits out, and it’s a lie.
“I think you are,” Will says
“You want me to be,” Mike accuses him.
“Why would I want that, Mike? We’re friends.”
“I don’t fuck my friends stupid,” is what he says in response.
“Well, maybe I do.”
He wants to say Will’s name.
He wants to say Will’s name.
He wants to say Will’s name.
He wants to say Will’s name.
“Will?”
“Yeah”
“Can I come closer?”
“Okay”