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The cottage had always felt like something out of a dream.
It sat on the edge of a lake, surrounded by tall pines. The wooden porch wrapped all the way around the house, fairy lights strung along the railings, glowing warm gold against the deep blue of the summer night. Music thumped from inside — laughter, shouting, the muffled bass of some overplayed song.
There were about thirty people crammed into the place. Friends from high school, college friends, friends-of-friends who had shown up with coolers and drinks.
Will stood on the second-floor balcony, leaning back against the wooden railing. He had always liked being a little further from chaos — close enough to feel like he was a part of it, but far enough to breathe.
A few friends were crowded around him, talking over each other.
“You good, Byers?” someone asked, nudging him.
Will smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just needed air.”
Inside, Mike was in the kitchen having a conversation about which horror movie had the best plot twist. He kept glancing toward the stairs, scanning the crowd every few minutes.
On the balcony, Will laughed at something someone said and shifted his weight. He leaned back, resting more of himself against the railing. It creaked faintly beneath him.
He didn’t notice.
No one did.
The next second happened too fast to process.
There was a sharp crack. The railing snapped backward under his weight.
Will’s eyes widened.
The world tipped.
Someone screamed his name.
And then he was gone.
He fell the full ten feet, back and head hitting the gravel below with a sickening thud. The music kept playing for a fraction of a second before someone inside noticed the screaming and shut it off.
Everything went silent.
Will didn’t move.
Up on the balcony, his friends stared down in horror at the broken wood hanging jagged from the edge. Someone scrambled for the stairs.
Inside, Mike’s stomach dropped before he even knew what was going on.
“What happened?” he demanded, already moving toward the door.
“Will-” someone choked out.
Mike was outside before they finished the sentence.
He saw him.
Will, his Will, on the gravel near the deck. His arm was twisted wrong. One leg bent at a strange angle. His head — there were already swelling bumps forming along his temple and hairline, dark bruises surfacing beneath pale skin.
“Will!” Mike dropped to his knees beside him so fast he scraped them on the gravel. “Will, hey- baby- oh my god-.. look at me. Bun please open your eyes."
No response.
His chest rose, shallow and uneven.
“Call an ambulance!” Mike shouted, voice breaking. “Now!”
A few people scrambled for phones, but someone yelled back the awful truth:
“The nearest hospital’s like two hours away!”
Mike felt cold.
He gently cupped Will’s face, terrified to move him too much. “Will, please. Please wake up. Open up your eyes for me.”
For a moment, nothing.
Then Will made a faint sound—a soft, pained breath—and his eyelids fluttered weakly before closing again.
Mike’s heart jumped and shattered at the same time.
“He was out for like three minutes,” someone said shakily.
Three minutes.
Mike swallowed hard. “Okay. Okay. He’s breathing. That’s good. That’s good.”
But Will’s breathing hitched every few seconds. His fingers twitched faintly. When Mike looked closer, he could see how wrong everything looked—his arm clearly broken, his foot swollen and angled unnaturally, and when Mike lightly brushed his hand along Will’s back to check for bleeding, Will let out a faint groan of pain.
“Don’t move him,” someone whispered.
“I know,” Mike snapped, though his voice trembled.
He slipped off his hoodie and gently placed it under Will’s head, careful not to shift his spine. His hands hovered uselessly after that, not knowing where to touch without hurting him more.
“Will,” he whispered again, softer now. “Hey. I’m here. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. You fell, okay? But you're gonna get help. You're doing so good, baby."
The ambulance was on its way, but the dispatcher had warned them it would take time.
Too much time.
Will stirred again after what felt like forever but was probably only a minute. His eyes opened slightly, unfocused and glassy.
“M… Mike?” he whined weakly.
Mike almost sobbed in relief. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. I’m right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Will tried to move.
The second he did, pain shot through him. His body tensed, and a broken, strangled cry left his throat.
“Don’t move,” Mike said urgently, pressing a gentle hand against Will’s shoulder. “Please don’t move.”
“It hurts,” Will whispered, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes.
“I know,” Mike said, his own tears spilling over. “I know, I know. Just stay still, okay? Help’s coming.”
Will’s breathing grew ragged. “My back-”
Mike’s stomach twisted. “Don’t move. Don’t move, okay? We don't know if something's broken. Just stay there, bun.”
He looked around desperately. “Blankets. We need blankets.”
People rushed to grab whatever they could. They covered Will carefully to keep him warm. Someone held a flashlight so Mike could see better.
There were already multiple bumps swelling across Will’s head. His pupils looked uneven. Every sign screamed.
Mike leaned closer, voice shaking. “Stay awake, okay? Talk to me. You need to stay awake. Now's not the time for a nap."
Will’s eyes struggled to focus. “You’re… crying.”
Mike gave a broken laugh. “Yeah. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Don’t,” Will whispered faintly.
“I’m allowed,” Mike choked out. “You just fell off a fucking balcony, I'm gonna worry. Even if you tell me not to."
Will tried to smile but winced instead. His hand twitched toward Mike’s, and Mike gently took it, careful not to jostle his broken arm.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Mike said firmly, even though fear clawed at his insides. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The wait felt endless.
Will drifted in and out of consciousness. Every time his eyes closed too long, Mike panicked.
“Will. Hey. Stay with me. Tell me something.”
Will swallowed. “The… lake’s pretty.”
Mike let out a watery laugh. “Yeah. You could paint it some day. You're so good at landscapes.”
Another wave of pain hit, and Will gasped sharply, tears streaking down his face.
Mike turned to the others. “How long?”
“Forty minutes,” someone answered.
Forty minutes felt like years.
Mike stayed kneeling the entire time, refusing to leave Will’s side. He kept talking to him — about anything. About the stupid playlist inside. About how the railing was definitely getting sued. About how Will still owed him a rematch in Mario Kart.
Anything to keep him here.
When the ambulance lights finally cut through the trees, red and white flashing against the dark woods, Mike nearly collapsed in relief.
Paramedics rushed over, assessing as quick as possible.
“Possible spinal fracture,” one muttered.
“Left arm broken. Right foot definitely fractured.”
“Head trauma.”
They stabilized his neck, secured him to a backboard. Will cried out when they carefully lifted him, the pain too much.
Mike flinched with every sound.
“Family?” one paramedic asked.
“I’m his boyfriend,” Mike said immediately. “I’m coming.”
In the ambulance, Mike held Will’s hand the entire ride. Moving when he was in the way. Sitting squeezed beside the stretcher. The siren wailed through the night, and the road stretched endlessly ahead.
Will was pale. Too pale.
“You’re okay,” Mike kept whispering. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You're safe."
Will’s eyes fluttered open one more time. “Don’t… leave.”
“I won’t,” Mike said fiercely. “Not ever. I’m not going anywhere.”
And he meant it.
Hours later, under bright hospital lights, they confirmed it all—two broken vertebrae, a fractured arm, a broken foot, and a concussion bad enough to keep him under observation.
But he was alive. Stable. God, Mike was so scared. So scared he was gonna lose his love.
Now he's only scared about Will's future. What if he never walks again? A thousand different what-ifs.
When Mike was finally allowed to sit beside Will’s hospital bed, he looked smaller somehow. Wrapped in bandages, one arm in a cast, one leg elevated, neck supported, bruises blooming across his skin.
Mike brushed his fingers gently through Will’s hair, careful of the bumps.
“You scared me,” he whispered.
Will opened his eyes slowly.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Mike let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead carefully against Will’s uninjured shoulder.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said softly.
Will managed the faintest smile. “Didn’t… plan to.”
Mike squeezed his hand gently, protective as ever.
“I'm literally never letting you out of my sight again," he whispered.
Will’s eyes drifted closed, exhaustion pulling him under again.
“Good,” he whispered.
And Mike stayed right there, watching over him, like he always did. He promised himself years ago that he's always going to be there for Will. His Will.