[whoops. he forgot that mike's berserk button is...literally anything being wrong with will himself.]
wait shoot sorry lemme try again you need to come home right now immediately for a GOOD THING nobody is hurt or dead or turned into a frog or anything good things
sorry don't run, the streets are all slippery and bloody and gross
[plus the house is sort of -- weird-looking outside, now. not that will's been outside a lot, not since the beginning of october. everyone had warned him not to be, after all, so he's really only left for work.
but he doesn't have work right now. he has something far more important. something tiny and fluffy that's currently skittering across the floor towards the front door, leaping up and papping it's tiny front paws against mike's shins in delight.
will's close behind, grinning and bouncing on his heels, in a pretty funny unintentional imitation of the dog.] Mike!
[Mike's never had a pet. He'd tried to sneak in a turtle - saved up for the tank and everything - but Karen and Ted run too tight a ship to let in anything that smells and eats up extra cash. Now the habitat is just a fancy desk lamp, slowly melting the He-Man figures he's stashed inside.
Coming in from that horrorscape, it takes him a moment for Mike even register what's going on. The dog's beady eyes latch onto the pizza box right away, letting out an excited, inquisitive yap, and Mike just looks between it and Will as his own eyes adjust. Then, silent and awed, he crouches down to set one hand against its soft head.]
Where'd- [Oh, oops, it's after the pizza again. Mike sets the box on the stairs.] Where'd you find it?
[will was there for the turtle fiasco, saw how mike complained and scowled to hide the fact that it hurt him, that something he worked so hard to create was shut down immediately. maybe he thinks about that as he plops down cross-legged, lets the little puffball scramble into his lap, then immediately race to try and climb onto mike's knees.]
He was on the porch this morning, just sitting and waiting when I opened the door. [the little dog is panting, wagging his whole body as he rotates between will's lap, mike's knees and the closed pizza box.] Isn't he cool?
[Mike offers out his hand, and his smile widens as the pup sticks his nose up against it.] Yeah.
[It's a sort of childlike wonder, a slow discovery that peels back the defensive anger he usually wears. Staring down at the dog, he could be twelve again.]
Does Steve know? Are we gonna keep him?
Edited (respecting this dog's gender) 2019-10-06 17:32 (UTC)
[will genuinely loves having the little dog around -- he's always loved animals of all kinds, but especially dogs -- but it's almost better to see mike's reaction. he looks like he used to, back before everything. happy without being self conscious about it.
so will scoots a little closer, scoops up the dog and settling it on mike's lap, so it can stand on it's tiny back legs and lick mike's chin.] Yup. I told him I'd do all the dishes forever, even the gross cereal bowls, if we could keep him. I think Steve secretly thinks he's really cute, but he's embarrassed about it.
...I thought we could name him Frodo. Cause he's little and fluffy.
[He sits down, knees just barely touching Will's, and gives Frodo a few tentative strokes. Sure, he's been around other people's dogs, but Chester was big, almost overpowering when they were still small. Frodo is more like a rabbit in comparison.
And part of Mike is consciously glad about that. If Will had brought home something bigger, something with longer teeth and sharper claws- ]
And a little sword. [frodo immediately blisses out, closing his eyes and letting his tongue loll out as mike strokes his poofy fur. he seems to exist for no reason other than to be petted and look adorable.
which will is more than happy about. he'd gotten used to chester knocking him over when he was smaller, and still thinks about that with fond nostalgia, but in a place like deerington it's nice to have something small and soft and portable.
then he grins, nudging his knees to mike's.] Well, yeah. He's got all that hair and the feet. Totally fluffy.
[Mike hits a sweet spot, and Frodo flops over onto one side, white-furred belly exposed, little legs sticking straight up. It's aggressively cute, and Steve needs to get over his whole macho thing and admit it.]
My hair's bigger than his. [A little demonstrative shake, and his messy curls almost seem to multiply. There's a joking competitiveness to it.] Wait, shit - am I fluffy? Maybe I'm Frodo.
[He's 100% teasing now, a pantomime of dramatic surprise.]
[it's the cutest dog in the whole wide world and will is going to die he loves it so much. have the gentlest belly rubs in the world, little doggo.
but he looks up as mike tosses his too-long hair, something almost hypnotized in the way he stares for a heartbeat of time. then he recovers, blinks, nods seriously.]
[Mike gasps, looking down at Mr. Baggins in faux horror. Then, in an act of utmost Dungeon Master-class theatrics, he topples forward and sideways onto the floor, landing with his ridiculous nest of hair beside Will's legs, his face level with the dog's. Frodo licks him on the nose.]
What's the treatment, doc?
[Whether he's addressing Will or Frodo is unclear.]
[will barely stifles a delighted giggle as frodo sets about licking mike's nose vigorously. he scoots a little closer, putting on his most serious, grave doctor-face and reaching to pat at mike's tangled curls.]
I'm afraid you've progressed beyond treatment, son. Your only hope is to pray that your hair doesn't take over the world as we know it and bring about an age of fluffy darkness.
[will lets out a gasp, not expecting that, falling forward and having to brace himself with his free hand on the ground, grinning upside-down at mike, hovering above him.]
My action?! Um, um, uhhhh -- [he fumbles for a moment, breathless and laughing, with frodo frolicking around them and letting out happy yaps. then will grins even wider.] I cast Mage hand!
[the hand caught in mike's moves deeper into the mess of dark curls, scritching and ruffling them into an even bigger mess, blunt fingernails scraping against the top of mike's head.]
[And then it's just laughing, hollering, the dog barking, Mike reaching up to tug messily at Will's shoulder, trying to throw him off balance and pull him the rest of the way to the floor. It's the same brand of play wrestling they've been doing since they were small(er), since they had short legs and chubby cheeks and no coordination. The only difference is that he doesn't remember feeling so breathless before, his heart skittering.
And when he finally gets Will close enough, his head close enough to feel warm breath - he'll reach right up into his hair and set about enacting revenge]
[mike knows exactly how to topple will off-balance, after those years of gentle roughhousing, of pouncing on each other and tumbling around like puppies, in mike's basement or will's living room, bumping into the coffee table or lamp or stairs and ending up lightly bruised and giggling and breathless. it's boys-will-be-boys behavior, one of the few acceptable ways they can be close, can make contact without it being frowned upon.
it feels familiar, like riding a bike or rolling a handful of dice or picking up a pencil does. it feels different too, rolling onto the floor laughing, with frodo bouncing around them, half on top of mike with fingers digging into his too-long hair, hiding his face against mike's chest in a vain attempt to get away from the mussing.]
[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: ]
[will takes a moment to catch his breath, face pressed over mike's heart, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of it. he can feel mike smoothing his hair, and he wants to stay inside that half-second, the care of it, the gentleness. but he shifts after a moment, folds his hands over mike's heart and rests his chin there.]
How come? I'm not blond. Or an elf. Or...tall. [it's amusing, he's smiling up at mike, stifling a laugh when frodo comes and sits on his back. he shifts a little so he's not lying directly on top of mike, asks in a softer voice:] Am I too heavy?
[A head-shake, lifting up just a bit to acknowledge Will - and wow, he's close, their noses just an inch apart, out of focus in a soft, familiar way, like every sleepover dawn. Mike can feel his own cheeks go pink, but he doesn't move, instead crooking up an elbow to rest on. His palms feel sweaty.]
Y-yeah. [Oh, jeez.] 'Cause he's, like... [What is he, Michael? What is Legolas? You were certainly thinking of a few words the other day.] He's- [Pretty? No. Cute? Worse.]
His hair's soft. Looks soft. [He wasn't thinking about touching Legolas' hair, who started that rumor?!]
He looks. [Kill him. Put him out of his misery.] Good. He looks nice.
[that is...a terrible explanation, michael. will's brow furrows slowly throughout the stammering, trying to figure out what mike's trying to say. he drums his fingers absently over mike's breastbone, very lightly.]
I...guess. He's one of the good guys, so...of course he's nice. I...didn't know you liked him so much. [nope, he doesn't remotely get it. he's trying to figure out where mike's sudden obsession with legolas came from. is this a new thing? had he always felt this passionately about legolas? he always thought mike liked frodo or aragorn better.
but okay, he supports you, mike. in your...weird new...elf fan life.]
[will lifts his head a little, blinking a few times, one bare foot crossed over the other as mike stammers this out. for a moment it looks like he almost understands, like it almost clicks.
but then the old mental block falls back into place (no, not allowed, not for you, never for you) and he tilts his head to one side, hair falling into his face.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text; un: willthewise
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what's wrong?
are you okay??
i'm on my way
i'll be there in five minutes
more like ten i dropped a pizza
are you alright????
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wait shoot sorry
lemme try again
you need to come home right now immediately for a GOOD THING
nobody is hurt or dead or turned into a frog or anything
good things
is the pizza ok
text > action
yeah it's fine they said i could keep it
i'll be there in a few
with pizza
[Breathe. In, out. No one's hurt, or dead. Or a frog.
About eight minutes later there's a rattle of the front door, a fumble with the key, and then Mike stumbles in from the perpetual night.]
Will?
action
don't run, the streets are all slippery and bloody and gross
[plus the house is sort of -- weird-looking outside, now. not that will's been outside a lot, not since the beginning of october. everyone had warned him not to be, after all, so he's really only left for work.
but he doesn't have work right now. he has something far more important. something tiny and fluffy that's currently skittering across the floor towards the front door, leaping up and papping it's tiny front paws against mike's shins in delight.
will's close behind, grinning and bouncing on his heels, in a pretty funny unintentional imitation of the dog.] Mike!
look more excited in your icons, mike!!!
Coming in from that horrorscape, it takes him a moment for Mike even register what's going on. The dog's beady eyes latch onto the pizza box right away, letting out an excited, inquisitive yap, and Mike just looks between it and Will as his own eyes adjust. Then, silent and awed, he crouches down to set one hand against its soft head.]
Where'd- [Oh, oops, it's after the pizza again. Mike sets the box on the stairs.] Where'd you find it?
be HAPPIER my son
He was on the porch this morning, just sitting and waiting when I opened the door. [the little dog is panting, wagging his whole body as he rotates between will's lap, mike's knees and the closed pizza box.] Isn't he cool?
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[It's a sort of childlike wonder, a slow discovery that peels back the defensive anger he usually wears. Staring down at the dog, he could be twelve again.]
Does Steve know? Are we gonna keep him?
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so will scoots a little closer, scoops up the dog and settling it on mike's lap, so it can stand on it's tiny back legs and lick mike's chin.] Yup. I told him I'd do all the dishes forever, even the gross cereal bowls, if we could keep him. I think Steve secretly thinks he's really cute, but he's embarrassed about it.
...I thought we could name him Frodo. Cause he's little and fluffy.
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[He sits down, knees just barely touching Will's, and gives Frodo a few tentative strokes. Sure, he's been around other people's dogs, but Chester was big, almost overpowering when they were still small. Frodo is more like a rabbit in comparison.
And part of Mike is consciously glad about that. If Will had brought home something bigger, something with longer teeth and sharper claws- ]
... Wait, are you calling Frodo Baggins fluffy?
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which will is more than happy about. he'd gotten used to chester knocking him over when he was smaller, and still thinks about that with fond nostalgia, but in a place like deerington it's nice to have something small and soft and portable.
then he grins, nudging his knees to mike's.] Well, yeah. He's got all that hair and the feet. Totally fluffy.
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My hair's bigger than his. [A little demonstrative shake, and his messy curls almost seem to multiply. There's a joking competitiveness to it.] Wait, shit - am I fluffy? Maybe I'm Frodo.
[He's 100% teasing now, a pantomime of dramatic surprise.]
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but he looks up as mike tosses his too-long hair, something almost hypnotized in the way he stares for a heartbeat of time. then he recovers, blinks, nods seriously.]
Yup, you're definitely fluffy. Chronic, terminal fluff. It's incurable, I'm afraid.
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What's the treatment, doc?
[Whether he's addressing Will or Frodo is unclear.]
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I'm afraid you've progressed beyond treatment, son. Your only hope is to pray that your hair doesn't take over the world as we know it and bring about an age of fluffy darkness.
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It's already sucking you in!
[Frodo lets out a tiny, excitable bark.]
What's your action?!
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My action?! Um, um, uhhhh -- [he fumbles for a moment, breathless and laughing, with frodo frolicking around them and letting out happy yaps. then will grins even wider.] I cast Mage hand!
[the hand caught in mike's moves deeper into the mess of dark curls, scritching and ruffling them into an even bigger mess, blunt fingernails scraping against the top of mike's head.]
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[And then it's just laughing, hollering, the dog barking, Mike reaching up to tug messily at Will's shoulder, trying to throw him off balance and pull him the rest of the way to the floor. It's the same brand of play wrestling they've been doing since they were small(er), since they had short legs and chubby cheeks and no coordination. The only difference is that he doesn't remember feeling so breathless before, his heart skittering.
And when he finally gets Will close enough, his head close enough to feel warm breath - he'll reach right up into his hair and set about enacting revenge]
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it feels familiar, like riding a bike or rolling a handful of dice or picking up a pencil does. it feels different too, rolling onto the floor laughing, with frodo bouncing around them, half on top of mike with fingers digging into his too-long hair, hiding his face against mike's chest in a vain attempt to get away from the mussing.]
Noooo, no, no, I surrender! I give up!!
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If I'm Frodo, then you're Legolas.
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How come? I'm not blond. Or an elf. Or...tall. [it's amusing, he's smiling up at mike, stifling a laugh when frodo comes and sits on his back. he shifts a little so he's not lying directly on top of mike, asks in a softer voice:] Am I too heavy?
gay slapstick
Y-yeah. [Oh, jeez.] 'Cause he's, like... [What is he, Michael? What is Legolas? You were certainly thinking of a few words the other day.] He's- [Pretty? No. Cute? Worse.]
His hair's soft. Looks soft. [He wasn't thinking about touching Legolas' hair, who started that rumor?!]
He looks. [Kill him. Put him out of his misery.] Good. He looks nice.
[A broken man.]
it's a comedy except with more internal screaming
I...guess. He's one of the good guys, so...of course he's nice. I...didn't know you liked him so much. [nope, he doesn't remotely get it. he's trying to figure out where mike's sudden obsession with legolas came from. is this a new thing? had he always felt this passionately about legolas? he always thought mike liked frodo or aragorn better.
but okay, he supports you, mike. in your...weird new...elf fan life.]
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No, I-I don't, I- [Okay, no, he does like Legolas a lot - thanks Mr. Bloom - but that's not the point.
Breathe in, out.] What I meant was- [The stammering is starting again, let's see if he can work his way through it this time, folks.]
That's why you'd be Legolas.
[please get it please get it please get it]
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but then the old mental block falls back into place (no, not allowed, not for you, never for you) and he tilts his head to one side, hair falling into his face.]
Because I'm nice? [gdit william]
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