[Mike relaxes, falling back against the floor, chest heaving with breath and laughter. His hands are still cradling Will's head, and carefully - so carefully - he ghosts one clumsy thumb over a messy lock, smoothing it back down. It feels crucial, momentous, the way Will's chin presses against his ribs, the way his bare feet bump against Mike's shoes, the way it all makes Mike's heart skip a beat. The way it all makes him want to pull Will up into a hug, to make him smile, to hold his hand. His heart feels full, and he's buzzing with something impulsive and quiet and loud all at once, and he doesn't know what to do about it so instead he just says: ]
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If I'm Frodo, then you're Legolas.