Mike’s favorite pastime is to lie lazily with his head in Will’s lap when the summer sun is bright in their eyes and seeping warm through the fabric of their clothes, fashioning mottled shadows on their freckled-pink skin through the shade of the trees that hang overhead. Will runs his fingers through Mike’s curly hair, snagging on tangles and knots that Mike couldn’t bother combing out in the shower that morning.
“Ouch! Watch it, Byers!”
Mike flinches as Will’s fingers rake through his hair and continue to catch in the coily spirals that spring with a life of their own from his scalp. Will laughs softly and leans down to press a kiss against Mike’s forehead in silent apology for his actions.
“I’m going to get it cut next week,” Mike says after a moment, opening one eye to squint up at Will in the brightness of the mid-afternoon sun.
He laughs when Will’s face pulls into a frown, brows furrowing together and lips pulling down into the cutest pout that Mike has to lift his head up to kiss even through his teasing laughter.
“Not funny,” Will mumbles out as Mike’s laughter continues. But he stays right where he is, continues passing his pale, careful fingers through the dark mess of Mike’s hair with gentle intention and soft fondness.
Mike just smiles, knowing full well that he’s not going to get that haircut he’s been threatening to get since summer’s sweet beginning - all cloudless, blue skies and humid air making his curls all the more noticeable. There’s no way he’s going to cut off his hair any time soon; not when he can spend his afternoons like this - Will’s hands softly braiding bluebells into his messy hair, pressing sweet, warm kisses to the reddened, sunburnt skin of Mike’s face and whispering shy compliments that linger warmly in Mike’s ears, echo gently through the cavern of his chest.