Chapter Text
The basement smells of stale coffee and damp concrete. It is 3:14 AM. Mike doesn’t look at the clock. He doesn’t need to. He only looks at the open three-ring binder on the worn surface of the D&D table, his knuckles white where they grip the edges of the wood. His eyes burn. He hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours, terrified that if he closes his eyes for even a second, the lead will scratch against the paper and he won’t be awake to answer. A sudden, sharp scrape echoes in the quiet room. Mike flinches leaning so close his nose nearly touches the grid paper. At the bottom of the page, beneath the stats for a level 10 Paladin, charcoal-black graphite begins to drag itself across the fiber. It doesn’t look like Will’s neat handwriting anymore. It is jagged. Desperate. The pencil pressed down so hard the paper puckers, tearing slightly at the curves.
Will: “Mike, I can't feel my hands.”
Mike grabs his own pen, his fingers shaking so violently he drops it once before slamming the ink onto the page.
Mike: “I’m here. Will, I’m right here. Keep talking to me. Where are you?” He waits. Ten seconds. A minute. The silence in the basement feels heavy, suffocating, like the air is turning into ash right in front of him. Then, the phantom pencil drags again.
Will: “It's so cold. I keep thinking about the day we built castle byers in the rain. you gave me your yellow raincoat.” Mike swallows a sob, a dry, painful sound that scrapes his throat.
Mike: “I remember” He writes frantically, the ink smudging under his palm.
Mike: “I still have it. I’ll bring it to you. Just tell me how to get to the gate.” The notebook remains still for a long, agonizing moment. Then, the writing starts again, faster now, the letters overlapping, spilling outside the lines of the graph paper.
Will: “I don't think I'm coming back, Mike. I'm sorry. I should have told you in the van. The painting was from me. I drew it. It was always me." Mike freezes. The pen slips from his hand, rolling across the table and clicking against a plastic twenty-sided die. His heart hammers against his ribs like a trapped bird. What? his mind screams, but his hands won’t move to write it. The invisible pencil doesn’t care. It keeps tearing into the paper, erratic and manic, driven by a terrifying finality.
Will: “I have loved you since we were twelve. I loved you at the rink. I loved you when you were looking at her. I'm sorry I'm sorry I’m sorry.” The words I'm sorry begin to stack on top of each other, turning into a thick, black smudge of graphite that tore completely through the page.
Mike: "Will." Mike chokes out loud, his voice cracking in the empty basement.
Mike: "Will, stop. Please." He grabs the pen back, pressing down so hard the ballpoint snaps, leaking blue ink across his fingers.
Mike: “Will, listen to me. I don’t care about the painting. I don’t care about anything else. Just stay awake. I love you too. Do you hear me? I love you too. Please write back. Please.” He stares at the page. The ink bleeds into the paper, mixing with a drop of Mike's sweat. The phantom pencil doesn't move. The basement is completely, utterly silent. The jagged line of the last I’m sorry trailed off into a sharp, violent streak that ended at the edge of the page. Mike waits. He writes the words again, screaming them onto the paper until his hand cramps and three different pens run dry. He screams them into the empty air of the basement until his voice is gone. The notebook stays completely blank. Mike grabs another pen, and writes frantically.
Mike: “Will.” The name feels like glass against his throat. A violent wave of panic washes through him. Mike grabs the D&D book, and slams it against the floor.
Mike: “WILL PLEASE ANSWER ME!” Mike screams a raw sound, coming straight from his chest, fists clenched so tight his fingernails draw blood from his palms. Upstairs, a heavy thud followed by the sound of frantic and uneven crutches make their way towards the basement. The door flies open, slamming against the wall. Max stands at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily, her red hair in two messy braids from sleep. She props her crutches under her arms, and slowly navigates her way down the stairs. When she sees Mike, he is on the floor, D&D book in hand, sobbing.
Max: “Mike, what is going on?”
Mike: “He’s gone… he’s not responding anymore.”
Max: “Mike, who isn’t responding anymore?” Mike opens his mouth to answer, but the telephone on the wall interrupts him. The mechanical ring cuts through the basement like a blade. Mike’s bloodshot eyes turn to face the yellow phone hanging on the wall. Max’s jaw clenches. At 3:30 AM, a ringing phone is never good news.
Max: “Mike, wait. Don’t.” But Mike is already sprinting in the direction of the deafening rings, leaving the crumpled notebook on the floor. The panic in his veins really sets in as he picks up the phone.
Mike: “Will?! Will is that you?” There is nothing but static on the other line. Like the soft, rhythmic hum of the upside down. Then a voice cuts through the line. It isn’t Will.
Voice: “Mike?” It’s Jonathan. He sounds panicked. His usual calmness has been stripped out of his voice.
Mike: “Jonathan? Jonathan, where's Will? He was just writing to me, and then he stop-”
Jonathan: “Mike, listen to me.” Jonathan’s voice is breaking over a sob. There is a terrible, loud sound coming from his end. It sounds like sirens wailing into the night.
Jonathan: “It… It’s Will. He collapsed. Joyce just found him in his room. He isn’t breathing Mike. The paramedics are here right now.” Mike’s entire world grinds to a halt.
Mike: “No.” The word is completely empty. Distant.
Mike: “He was just writing to me. He was just here.”
Jonathan: “He’s cold, Mike. His skin is completely freezing. They’re putting him in the ambulance. You need to get here. Now.” The line goes completely dead. Reverting to that soft hum of the dial tone. Mike slowly lowers his hand. Not even bothering to put the phone back. It dangles from the cord, tapping the wall gently. He turns around to face Max. His face is completely drained of color. Max sits on the floor holding her breath.
Max: “Mike, what did he say?” Mike opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. The absolute finality of the situation settles over him like ash.