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Mike's throat is thick when he comes downstairs to see Will still on the couch. He's been trying to do something, anything, to distract himself. Joyce looks up as he enters the room, face grave, eyes pink. ‘Mike, honey, you don’t have to watch him. He’s gonna come round soon, I know it..’
Until Hopper almost bodily pulls her away from the couch, insisting she drink and eat. ‘You're up, kid.’ he nods gruffly to Mike.
Will almost doesn't look real. His skin is so pale it's almost translucent, heavy purple smudges under his closed eyes. The faint dusting of summer freckles over his nose is more visible now his face isn't in motion. His lips are chapped and split, thick red stripes eaten into the bottom one where he's chewed them, yelled, screamed over the past few hours. They're very slightly parted, as though he'd been just about to talk. Mike wishes, more than anything, that he would.
He sits at his side, dragging over a folding chair rather than kneeling behind his head like Joyce had. It would be kind of a weird thing to explain when he wakes up. If he wakes up.
Will’s hand is cold and lifeless when he takes it in his own, his skin clammy. He runs his thumb over his knuckles as he watches him, like he can rub the life back into the stiff joints.
His mouth twists, glancing up to check they're properly alone before he speaks. ‘You gotta come back to us..’ he says quietly. This feels different to when he sat with Will at the hospital before. They were both so little then, and there was so much he didn't understand - actually, he still doesn't understand. Why he pulled away from Will in the past year, why he's been so damn scared to be close to him like they used to be. Why Will isn't waking up.
Will’s eyes, which had been rolling restlessly beneath their lids earlier, are now eerily still. Can he see anything behind them? Mike wonders. Is he unconscious? Or… in a trance, like Max? He can't be dead. He reaches forward, fingers briefly under Will’s nose until he feels the telltale rush of warm breath.
‘You gotta come back to me.. ‘ His throat aches with unshed tears. He can't remember when he last properly cried. Or properly ate, slept, laughed. He leans closer, Will’s hand still gripped tight in his. ‘I’m just gonna tell you this while your mom's not here. And if you die, or I die, before I can say it to you properly, that's just too damn bad..’ he says, low and close to his ear. He can smell the dried blood and sweat, salty and faintly metallic, on Will’s skin. ‘I love you. I thought it was just…I don't know, working some stuff out, but I'm in love with you. Not because of what you can do, but.. because of everything you were before you were a sorcerer. You made me laugh so damn much. You drove me crazy sometimes..’ He pauses, remembering every sleepover, every argument at family video, Will’s earnest explanations of why they definitely needed to watch Life of Brian again even though there are newer movies to watch. ‘
You believed in me. In the whole party, I guess, but especially in me. You told me to be brave, so I was brave. How about that?’ he grins, even as tears prickle in his eyes. ‘You were my best friend. You are my best friend. But you gotta come back to me because I gotta tell you, okay? I've got to tell you that I love you, and I'm sorry. I’ve been such an asshole.’ He picks up his hand, pressed his cold knuckles to his own dry lips and kisses them. Holds his limp hand to his mouth for a moment whilst he looks down on his exhausted, handsome face.
He doesn't believe in all that stuff. What God wants or doesn't is pretty clearly above his concern. But he prays anyway, clinging to Will’s cold hand. Please. I'll never ask for anything again and we can carry on ignoring each other. But please, just let him be alright..
The first miserable tear rolls down his cheek as he watches the steady rise and fall of Will's ribs.
Please, Will..