Chapter Text
Will Byers had always been good at hiding things.
He'd hidden his drawings in the back of his sketchbook, the ones that lingered too long on a certain smile or the slope of familiar shoulders. He'd hidden the way his heart performed acrobatics whenever Mike Wheeler laughed at his jokes. He'd even managed to hide the painting he'd made all last summer, wrapped carefully in brown paper and tucked beneath his bed, waiting for a moment of courage that never seemed to arrive.
But he wasn't sure he could hide this.
It started on a Tuesday afternoon in March, during the spring of his junior year at Lenora Hills High School. Will was sitting in his bedroom, supposedly working on his history homework, but really just staring at the phone on his desk. Mike had promised to call today. They'd been trying to talk at least once a week since the Byers had moved to California, though lately the calls had become shorter, more scattered. Mike always seemed distracted, mentioning El less and less, but talking about some new girl in his chemistry class more and more.
Will's chest tightened at the thought.
He coughed—just once, a slight tickle in the back of his throat that felt strange, almost foreign. He swallowed and went back to his textbook, trying to focus on the words swimming across the page about the Cold War and nuclear tensions, but the tickle persisted.
Another cough, harder this time.
Will frowned and grabbed the glass of water from his nightstand, taking a long sip. The water didn't help. If anything, it made the sensation worse, like something was caught where it shouldn't be. He coughed again, covering his mouth with his hand, and felt something brush against his palm.
When he pulled his hand away, there was a single petal resting in the center.
Small. Delicate. The color of forget-me-nots.
Will stared at it, his mind going blank for a moment. The petal was soft between his fingers, unmistakably real, and yet completely impossible. He looked around his room as if expecting to find a bouquet he'd somehow forgotten about, some rational explanation for why he'd just coughed up a flower petal.
There were no flowers in his room.
His heart began to pound, a cold dread settling into his stomach. He knew what this was. Of course he knew. He'd read about it in one of Jonathan's old manga that he'd borrowed last year, thought it was just some tragic fictional disease created for dramatic effect. But there were whispers about it online too, threads he'd stumbled across late at night when he couldn't sleep, people claiming it was real, that it happened when—
No.
Will crushed the petal in his fist and threw it in the trash can beside his desk. He was being ridiculous. It was probably just a coincidence. Maybe a petal had blown in through his window, gotten caught in his throat somehow. That made more sense than the alternative.
The alternative meant that his unrequited feelings for Mike had manifested into something physical, something dangerous, something he couldn't ignore or shove down or pretend didn't exist.
The phone rang.
Will jumped, his hand flying to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. He stared at the phone for two more rings before picking up, clearing his throat twice before answering.
"Hello?"
"Will! Hey, man, sorry I'm calling late. Basketball practice ran over."
Mike's voice poured through the receiver, warm and familiar, and Will felt that dangerous flutter in his chest again. He swallowed hard.
"No, it's fine. How was practice?"
"Exhausting. Coach is riding us hard because we have regionals next month." Mike paused, and Will could hear the smile in his voice. "But I made the starting lineup, so that's cool."
"Mike, that's great!" Will said, meaning it despite the ache that was building beneath his ribs. Mike was thriving in Hawkins, making the basketball team, probably surrounded by friends and possibilities and people who weren't hundreds of miles away.
People who weren't Will.
They talked for another twenty minutes about nothing important—classes, Jonathan's new job at the photo lab, Mike's campaign for their D&D group that was apparently reaching an epic conclusion. Will tried to focus, to participate in the conversation the way he normally would, but the tickle in his throat was getting worse.
"So, uh, I was thinking," Mike said, his voice shifting to something more hesitant. "Spring break is coming up. Maybe I could visit? I mean, if that's cool with you and your mom."
Will's breath caught. "Really? You want to come here?"
"Yeah, of course. I miss you, man. It's not the same without you."
Three simple words—I miss you—and Will felt another cough building in his chest, urgent and undeniable. He tried to suppress it, pressing his free hand against his mouth, but his body betrayed him.
"Hold on," he managed to choke out, pulling the phone away from his ear as he doubled over with coughing.
More petals. At least five this time, tumbling from his lips onto his bedspread. All the same impossible blue.
"Will? You okay?" Mike's voice sounded distant, concerned.
Will swept the petals into his hand and shoved them into his pocket, his eyes burning. "Yeah, sorry. Just—allergies or something."
"Since when do you have allergies?"
"Since California, I guess. Different plants here."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, mixing with the floral sweetness that seemed to coat the back of his throat.
They talked for a few more minutes, but Will cut the conversation short, claiming he had homework to finish. After he hung up, he sat on his bed and slowly pulled the petals from his pocket, spreading them across his palm.
Six petals. Six perfect, blue forget-me-nots.
Forget me not.
Will laughed, a broken sound that turned into another cough. Of course. Of course it would be forget-me-nots. As if his body was mocking him, making the metaphor as obvious as possible.
He gathered the petals and walked to his trash can, ready to throw them away, to pretend this wasn't happening. But his hand hovered over the bin, trembling.
If he told someone—his mom, Jonathan, even El—they would know. They would know about his feelings for Mike, feelings he'd guarded so carefully, buried so deep that sometimes he could almost convince himself they weren't real.
If he didn't tell someone, if this really was what he thought it was, it would get worse.
Will thought about Mike's voice on the phone, the easy way he'd said "I miss you," the plans for spring break. He thought about the painting under his bed, the words he'd written on the back that he'd never been brave enough to share. He thought about every moment of the past few years, every time he'd swallowed his truth to preserve their friendship.
He could do this. He'd hidden bigger things before.
Will closed his fist around the petals and threw them away, then crawled into bed fully clothed. As he pulled the covers up to his chin, he felt another tickle building in his throat, but he ignored it.
He was good at ignoring things.
He was good at hiding.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would figure out what to do.
But tonight, he would just pretend that everything was fine, that his body wasn't growing a garden in his lungs, that he wasn't in love with his best friend.
Tonight, he would pretend he was still safe.