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Summary
He doesn’t remember seeing Mike that evening, or any evening recently. He’d always hear him, though.
Abandoning any attempts at sleep, Will stood from his bed and padded over to his desk. His abandoned still-life sketches only frustrated him, so he turned the page and started anew. Tracing familiar shapes and lines until Mike’s face stared right back at him.
Will’s cheeks colored as he ripped the page out and stuffed it into his desk drawer. Absolutely not. He was supposed to be moving on, leaving it all behind. Hawkins and Mike.
He blew gently on the fresh page to remove the stray pieces left from his haphazard removal of the previous page, and he tried again, instead drawing a small Will the Wise shooting a fireball at a small Mike the Brave.
Yeah, that felt deserved.