Chapter Text
Will had gotten used to the quiet.
He had gotten used to lying in bed silently like this, coating his face with his tears and blaming himself for the loss of his best friend.
Two months later, and he’s still in the same state of agony.
He still spends most nights hiding under his sheets, clawing at his eyes, trying to erase the image of his friend’s lifeless body, and weeping wretchedly till he’s overtaken by drowsiness.
Tonight is, of course, no different. Will’s alarm clock reads 2:32 am, and he is sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, listening to the vicious sounds of the rain slamming against his window. He glances down at an old drawing he made a couple of years back: 'The Paladin & The Cleric.'
There’s a beautiful black curly-haired boy standing, sword drawn and shield held to his chest, covered head to toe in silver armor, and quite literally wearing his heart on his sleeve. He looks prepared, ready. He’s ready for whatever is about to attack them. Ready to protect his sacred Cleric like the defender he is.
Behind him, a short-haired brunette boy stands. A purple wizard hat balances at the top of his head as he holds a burning orange fireball in between his hands. He’s practically being engulfed by the matching purple robe, which hangs around his neck, decorated with silver stars. He looks ready too.
The Paladin symbolized Mike's strength and courage, always ready to defend and protect, while the Cleric reflected Will's role, supporting and aiding. Will didn’t often feel like he was much help, though; Mike had always been the one who made him feel valuable.
One time when they were kids, during a thunderstorm, they had sprawled on Mike's basement floor, wrapping themselves in blankets as they crafted tales of a dark forest filled with evil creatures, awaiting battle. Mike, with his cardboard sword, bravely battled a fearsome dragon, while Will, with a flashlight ‘orb’, guided him through the ‘maze of darkness’. Even now, it reminded Will of the times they were inseparable; maybe things could still be like that if Will let out the feelings he was always too scared to express. He wishes he had. It keeps him up at night, knowing that his best friend died before knowing his biggest secret. It could’ve changed both of their lives; who knows where they’d be today if he had told Mike how he had truly felt all those years?
Will can’t help but trace his thumb over the piece of paper, caressing each pencil stroke with care. His eyes begin to fill with water as his fingers trace their way over the Paladin. He looks brave, heroic, valiant. Like he could conquer the world.
A single tear falls onto the page, the wetness spreading across the page like a disease, making the colors bleed outwards.
Will doesn’t even care. He watches blankly as the once sacred artwork fades under the influence of the tears that drown it.
He cries harder now, feeling the ache build up in his chest as he rips apart the paper and hurls the shredded remains at the ground.
Stupid drawing. Stupid, ugly, disgusting, worthless drawing.
Will cares. Of course, he cares. He’s done absolutely nothing but care his whole life.
He cared when they first met on the swings, giggling playfully together in pure joy, so full of innocence and delight. He cared when they fought in the rain, leaving an emotional scar on his heart, so full of yearning and disappointment. He cared when his best friend could hardly speak to him, let alone hug him, so full of confusion and embarrassment. And he cares now, sitting alone miserably, regretting the lack of goodbyes and confessions - so full of blame and grief.
What if I’d reached out more after graduation?
What if I’d just told him how I felt?
Would he still even be here?
Will hates himself for how things ended between the two of them. After graduation, they drifted apart, spent their summers alone, without a clue what the other one was doing.
It wasn’t like them at all. To be completely honest, Will can’t even remember how or why it happened. Dustin and Lucas were still in contact, so why weren’t they?
Maybe Mike was happy to finally be free of their friendship.
Maybe Will’s coming out two years prior had freaked him out.
Or maybe he felt the same as Will did. Maybe he felt so emotionally drawn to Will that it scared him, so he forced himself to stay away from Will so that— no.
Will knew Mike didn’t feel the same way towards Will as he did; this was just wishful thinking. Mike was straight. Mike was normal. Will Byers knew he could never be normal, and he hated himself for it, but he wasn’t gonna idealize Mike as abnormal as well just for his own desire.
He shook his head and leaned over, picking up the remaining shreds of paper and carrying them over to the trashcan, before dropping them impetuously, watching emotionlessly as they fell downwards.
He hauled himself back over to his bed, using his last ounces of strength until he could let himself fall lazily onto the mattress, letting the navy plaid sheets swallow him whole so he could hide from the rest of the world.
He stays there for a while, drowning in his thoughts.
He can hear the wind growing angry, the rain losing its pattern until it’s hitting the window completely disorderly.
The sounds overlap, fighting for authority and polluting the boy’s ears.
Then, there’s another sound.
That isn’t wind.
What is that?
Will can feel it. He doesn’t know what it is, but something is here, it’s watching. Something unreal. He can feel its eyes fixed on him, preying, but he can’t pinpoint where it is.
He takes a breath. Inhale. Exhale. There’s nothing there, Will. You’re okay.
The fear slowly fades away as he tucks himself under his sheets, reaching over to switch off his lamp, hopefully to gravitate into a slumber with minimal nightmares.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
He’s halfway through his next breath when another sound reverberates through his ears abruptly, and his eyes shoot open.
A scratch at the window. It’s just an animal, Will - don’t worry.
He closes his eyes again, wrapping his arms around himself in a weak attempt to seek comfort. It doesn’t work. He can feel the anxiety pulsing through his veins, rising up his neck and bouncing off the walls of his head, his thoughts racing at an inhumane pace.
A thud.
Will is fighting every urge in his body, but he just can’t ignore it anymore; something in the back of his head is telling him this isn’t an animal, it’s too humane, and as much as he tries to deny it to bring himself ease, he knows that it’s true. He knows that that thing outside isn’t an animal, and whatever it is, it’s here for him. Only him.
He slowly rises out of his sheets, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes before rapidly inspecting his room for anything that could be used as a weapon.
He jumps out of bed and grabs his bedside lamp by the base, keeping his eyes strategically trained on the curtained window in caution. Anything could happen.
He gently places one foot on the floor, then another, readying himself for whatever danger awaits him behind the glass.
There’s scratching at the window now. Not light scratching; hungry, rabid, wild clawing which pierces through Will’s eardrums, causing him to take a step back in fear. The windows locked. It can’t come in. Can it?
He lets out a deep exhale before shoving his fear down his throat, forcing himself to charge towards the window in bravery. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he feels like it might burst straight out.
One step. Scratch. Another step. Scratch. Another step. Silence. Another step. Silence.
Is it gone? Did it just… leave?
Gaining courage, Will reaches out with his empty hand, just inches away from the curtain, until he hears one final knock.
Will doesn’t breathe. The knock is slow and deliberate, torturing Will with anticipation and fear - whatever this thing is, it has to be human. Inhale. Exhale. You’ve got this.
He outstretches his arm, fingers wrapping slowly around the edge of the curtain before gently dragging it slightly to the side, still clutching the lamp tightly in his other arm, prepared to swing. Inhale. Exhale.
He drags it further, shuts his eyes, and turns his face away from the window, bracing himself for whatever horror he is about to face. The rain is hitting the window more viciously than ever, spitefully adding to Will’s already surging anxiety.
With one final tug, the curtain is open. He just needs to build up the courage to turn around and open his eyes, and he’ll see it. Inhale. Exhale.
Opening his eyes, he blinks softly and twitches his head slightly to the side at a mortifyingly slow pace. He’s almost there. Perhaps just one more centimetre, and the thing will be within his vision. Inhale. Exhale.
He sees it. The thing.
Except it’s not a thing, it’s worse than we could’ve possibly ever imagined.
There’s a bony hand shaking at the bottom of the window frame, its pale complexion completely drenched in blood, covering almost half of Will’s vision with a deep red. Will follows the blood trail with his eyes, casting them up the thing’s blood-stained arms, its heaving chest, drooped shoulders, until Will can see its face. It looks almost… human.
Its crimson-colored lips are pressed together tightly in restraint, its throat trembling as it swallows. There’s weariness in its posture, and as Will looks up further, he sees its dark, curly hair flapping in the wind.
Slowly, he casts his eyes downward now, to its eyes. They’re like nothing he’s seen before. Jet black under the glowing moonlight, piercing straight back into Will’s soul with a familiar stare. Will drops the lamp to hang by his side instantaneously when he realizes. Will recognizes that stare that haunts him in every lifetime, those lips that he always longed to have on his own, those curls that he admired ardently, those eyes that he could lose himself in, those beautiful eyes…
“Mike?”