Chapter Text
New York City
Modern day
Will Byers leaned into the worn leather of his usual booth at Rockin’ Robin’s Coffee Shop, letting the familiar hum of the environment wrap around him. The scent of roasted beans and sweet pastries created a bubble of comfort he always found himself falling into. Around him, businessmen milled about, students frantically studied away, and the occasional barista shouted names over the shrill of the espresso machine. It was chaotic yet predictable in an everyday way that felt like home.
He tries to believe that leaving his small town in Indiana was the best thing for him. And partially, it was. He could be openly gay, or pursue art like he’s always dreamed of, or meet many people all of different backgrounds.
But even in a city of millions, there was always the lingering feeling of loneliness. He was surrounded by people who all had somebody to come home to at the end of the day. However, Will had nobody. He would arrive to his studio apartment on 22nd street with nobody to kiss in greeting or to tell about his day. Friends were rare, and true love felt like something that was improbable to obtain.
Will sighs softly as his gaze wanders out the window, watching the city pass by. Outside, the city moved with its usual rhythm. Yellow cabs sped down the streets and pedestrians walked with the typical intensity of a New Yorker. It was a cool, autumn day. Winter was coming, and with it meant even more dreadful solitude. After years of feeling this way, he began to grow used to it, or so he believed.
He soon finds himself wandering down the streets of the city, toward nothing in particular when a flyer gets shoved infront of him. The sudden movement brings him back down to reality.
“Take this. You look like you need it, young man.” The lady said, her voice sharp and assuming.
“Oh? Thanks.” Will said politely.
Will’s eyes trail down to the flyer in his hands. It was neat and brightly colored, the elegant font bore a striking promise.
Wishing to find love? Go to 18000 West 55 street for the “soulmate experiment.” for a chance to find the one. Operating 24/7.
He paused in the street, multiple people shoulder checking him as his heart fluttered at the promise the flyer advertised. Normally, he would’ve tossed it aside, rolled his eyes, or assumed some scam. But boredom or maybe even curiosity urged him forward. This could mean anything. It could mean a blind date with an actually decent guy, or a place where he can just simply meet someone. Or, it could mean a terrible way to get murdered by a serial killer. But this was a risk he was willing to take.
The autumn wind blows through his brown hair as he treks his way to the address, slightly regretting not taking the subway to the other side of Manhattan. But eventually, the destination looms before him.
It’s a tall, brick building with minimal windows. A simple sign on the door reads soulmate experiment.
Will stands before the door for a moment. The sounds of the city are muffled from behind him, and the late afternoon sun shines through the trees. The air feels heavier here, as if the building itself is waiting for him to make a choice. His hand hovers over the handle. He could leave in an instant, and avoid the possibility of being brutally murdered. But instead, he twists the handle slowly.
It’s a dimly lit building, with sparse decorations besides the multitude of bookshelves. It smells of dust and old paper, and the floorboards creak under every careful step Will takes.
“Hello?” He calls out.
His voice echoes down the looming halls of the building. No answer comes. Will’s breath quickens as he takes another step inside, clutching the flyer tightly. The door swings shut behind him, closing out the sunlight and the familiarity of the outside world.
Before he can debate turning around and leaving, an elderly woman emerges from the darkness. She’s shorter, and her graying hair is pushed back into a tight bun. Will’s eyes widen in curiosity widen at the sight.
Her expression is calm, as if she’s been expecting him. “You’re late.”
Will raises his eyebrows in confusion. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have an appointment. I thought it wasn’t needed?”
The woman hums softly, unconcerned. “Most people don’t.” Gesturing for Will to follow, she walks into another room. “Come, come. We don’t have much time, dear.”
His pulse spikes. Every instinct tells him to turn around, to grab the door handle and bolt back into the safety of noise and strangers and normalcy, and he wonders if it’s even too late to do that. But his feet move anyway, carrying him past shelves that seem to shift when he’s not looking directly at them.
The pair stop at a large wooden table in the center of the room. One large book rests on it, the spine frayed and the cover faded.
“All you have to do is open it.” The woman says slowly as she rests her long, aged fingers against the book.
Will hesitates as he sits down on the chair infront of the desk. The faint lettering on the cover is in a language he doesn’t even recognize. He slowly runs his fingers against the smooth material.
He then looks back up at the woman, heart pounding. “That’s it?”
“Open it.” She repeats.
And somehow, impossibly, Will already knows that once he does, there will be no turning back.
Will swallows as he pulls the mysterious book open. The pages are rough against his finger, certainly thicker than regular paper. His eyes trail down to the first page. It’s nearly blank, besides for a single line written neatly across the center in dark ink.
Find a love that transcends time.
“Is that it?” Will asks, in awe of the simplicity of it all. He’s seriously debating turning back around.
“Keep going.” The woman instructs.
Unease crawls through Will’s body, but curiosity gets the best of him and he flips to the next page. And before he can inspect what it reads, the whole room seems to shift. The dim light flickers and the shelves groan softly, as if settling. Then the words on the page begin to blur, the ink bleeding outward before rearranging itself into symbols Will has never seen before. His head starts to feel light, like he stood up too fast
“Shit!” He calls out, jumping from fear. “What even is this? Is this safe?”
The woman doesn’t answer as the air begins to grow thick. Will feels like he’s shrinking, as a low ringing in his ear drowns out any other senses. He tries to grip the table for stability, but everything feels distant.
“What’s happening?” He calls out again, but his voice seems far away from him.
The smell of the old library fades away, replaced by a strange mix of burning and stone.
His vision blurs, the room folding in on itself as darkness surges forward. Will gasps, the sound ripping from his chest, and the world he knows disappears.
***
Rome, 117 AD
Confusion hits Will first. And then the harsh, cold stone that he is resting on. His vision is still blurry, and all he can hear are voices barking orders in a language he doesn’t recognize, yet vaguely understands. A torchlight flickers overhead, casting long shadows against…wait a minute. Iron bars?
Will’s breath instantly quickens as he looks down at his wrists, seeing shackles against them. They’re also on his feet, and he nearly topples over from fear when he stands up.
This isn’t the old library. And definitely not New York. Panic fully takes over his body as his hands tremble, gripping the bars of the cell and widened eyes staring out at the unfamiliar world beyond them. He sees other men locked in the same kind of cell across from him, some clearly having been there longer than others.
Somewhere in the distance, more orders are barked and metal clashes against the stone walls.
Hours turn to days before Will begins to feel his sanity waver, and he realizes that the prison never truly goes quiet. Even when no one is shouting for mercy, there’s the constant scrape of metal, the soldiers barking orders, and the distant sound of water dripping through the corridors. The air is thick with sweat and rust and something sour Will can’t name. He breathes through his mouth and regrets it instantly. His stomach growls in pain. It’s been days since he’s been given food. The only thing he had was stale, moldy bread.
It didn’t take long for Will to realize where he was. He had been transported to Ancient Rome, and he desperately believed that maybe the experiment made a mistake, and that he didn’t mean to get sent on a journey for an actual time ascending love. But with all the time spent in his cell, he started to grow manic. Maybe this really was the whole point of it, maybe he’s stuck here and it’ll only be a matter of time until he’ll find atleast someone.
Will hopelessly slumps down on the cold floor, feeling himself grow sick from the lack of food. He tunes out the sounds of another prisoner getting beaten, desperately hoping he’ll be able to get out of here.
Moments later, he hears footsteps heading towards his cell. A soldier. Will winces, already knowing that with soldiers come humiliation or beating.
But the solider doesn’t begin a humiliation ritual. Instead, he lowers himself to Will’s level, brown eyes widening in curiosity.
Will looks back at him. The soldiers eyes still manage to glint under the minimal sunlight leaking through the small windows, and he has a face full of freckles. His black hair is cut short, and his pale fingers wrap around the bars of the cell. He’s taller than the others Will had seen around, with broad shoulders underneath well-worn armor marked with scratches and dents.
He’s certainly beautiful. Will watches as his eyebrows furrow, and he hopes that this man is his soulmate, and not a grimy prisoner.
The solider says something in Latin, and Will wishes to be able to understand. He can barely make out what he’s saying, only picking up certain parts like fragments of a forgotten dream. Will raises his mouth to speak before the solider cuts him off.
“New here. Are you new here?” The solider questions in broken English.
“Yes. I am.” Will nods carefully
The solider speaks again in Latin, low and measured. However, he doesn’t look at Will like he’s less than human. There’s a soft glow that radiates off of him.
“I’m sorry…I don’t understand.” Will says helplessly.
The solider continues to stare at him for a moment before shaking his head slightly, as if he expected that. He taps at his own chest, the sound thudding against his armor. “Michael. But call me Mike.”
Will nods, pointing at himself in return. Mike. He commits that name to memory. “Will.” He replies.
Mike’s lips curl into a small smile, as if he’s also committing Will’s name to his own memory. Will stares into his eyes again, wanting to count each and every one of those freckles on his face or listen to whatever he has to say, even if he can’t speak English all that perfect.
There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable, but just unsure. The two continue to stare at each other, tethering on the edge of curiosity and something else. Mike glances down at Will’s shackles, his sharp jaw tightening. He then slides something in between the bars of the cell, the item plopping down on the stone floor.
A piece of bread wrapped in cloth. It’s still warm and soft, not the stale kind the prisoners get.
Will hesitates for a moment, thinking it’s a trap. But Mikes welcoming gaze makes him unfold. “Thank you.”
Mike straightens back up, glancing down the corridor before speaking again. His expression grows more curious, his Latin quieter. He’s gesturing around them, saying something longer this time. A question.
Will shakes his head, assuming he’s asking how he got here. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how I ended up here.”
“Were you an artist?” Mike asks, Roman accent thick.
Will startles before pausing for a moment. He was an artist in his modern day, maybe he was arrested for being an artist in Rome. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”
Mike's eyebrows lift slightly. He makes a small motion with his fingers, mimicking the shape of holding a tool. A paint brush.
Will nods again, a little breathless. “Yeah. I draw.”
Before Mike can respond again, loud voices come across the corridor. They’re calling Mikes name. He quickly stiffens as he stands back up, going back to a solider at duty and not one speaking to an imprisoned citizen. He says something under his breath that almost sounds reverent. His armor clicks against him as he looks back down at Will one last time.
“Be careful.” He says softly. “Don’t draw too much attention.”
“Okay.” Will says as he grips the bar.
Before Mike leaves, he looks back at Will one last time. But not as a prisoner. As someone he wouldn’t mind getting along with.
Will clutches the bread against his chest as he watches Mike wander off, his boots thudding against the stone floor of the prison.
It was at this moment Will had realized the experiment had truly started, and he would definitely not be home for a very long time.