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Summary
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Will asks.
Each second Mike fails to respond, Will grows increasingly worried.
“No it’s… it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
After Henry takes his right eye, Will feels hopeless about his recovery. Tucked away in a bathroom at Hawkins Memorial Hospital, Mike tries his best to cheer Will up.
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There’s something wrong with Will.
It started three weeks ago, almost four. Will had woken from some sort of nightmare and, instead of seeking comfort in Mike the way he usually would, he’d rolled out a sleeping bag from the closet and chosen to sleep on the floor.
No one believes Mike, except for Joyce. But even she doesn’t understand the full extent to which something is wrong with Will.
Mike understands, though. Mike has been paying attention.
Series
- Part 1 of eye of the beholder
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Summary
part 1: churchgate
part 2: loverslakegate
or: what happens when the author listened to way too much ethel cain while hyperfixated on byler.- Words:
- 21,856
- Works:
- 2
- Bookmarks:
- 21
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autumn air, jacket ‘round my shoulders is yours by gaysforbyler
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
01 Oct 2024
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The anniversary effect is very real; they’ve all felt it. Especially Will, as another shiver racks through him, stronger than the last. This time, Will takes a step closer to Mike and presses their shoulders together. Whether it’s for body heat or comfort, Mike doesn’t know, but he isn’t going to complain.
If he can’t protect Will from the horrible memories and sleepless nights, he can at least protect him from the autumn breeze. He quickly tugs off his leather jacket and holds it out for Will to take, who looks down at it in surprise.
“What?” he asks, glancing between it and Mike, like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“You’re cold,” Mike states, no room for question. He knows that Will would lie about it if he could.
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Mike and Will attempt to navigate Halloween together while struggling with the anniversary effect.
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The invisible shoulder nudges him, and Mike wishes he'd taken the piece of paper to read what Will would've actually said, and then misses, more generally, Will's voice. His spoken word. Which is unfair - Mike's lucky he gets even this much, the cool brush on his arm, the creaks of his weight on the floorboards, the gentle drum of his fingers. Reminders. Will, inasmuch as he can be, is here, even if it will never feel like enough.
Sometimes — he never tells anyone this — he shuts his eyes, tells himself that Will is alive, and sitting there, next to him, and the moment he tilted his head, they'd be face to face.
He doesn't like opening his eyes, after that.
Will is a ghost. Mike is haunted.