Chapter Text
The stench of smoke turned Will’s stomach. It always had. His fingers tightened around the glass of water on the counter in front of him, pressing round smudges into the fogged-up surface. The lights were bright and strained his eyes, the air sticky and sweet, cigarettes and alcohol joining with dozens of lips. The bartender wiped down a glass in repetitive motions, gaze brushing past Will like he wasn’t even there. Just another face in the crowd.
He hated being here. He took a sip of his water.
One kind of suffocation or another. Once, being accepted by a room of people had felt like being on top of the world. But the world wasn’t rooms of people, it was city-fulls of them. City-fulls of mouths and canines ready to bite and shred and whisper.
He hated it here. But it was the only place he could go.
He finished the glass.
Sliding it back to the bartender, he closed his eyes and attempted to tease his headache out with fingers at his temple. They had been getting worse lately. He’d had them ever since middle school, but sometimes they were just irritating strains, and other times they came with a vengeance. Early November seemed like the time they were the worst. Already having taken an ibuprofen, there wasn’t much else Will could do.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Will jolted out of habit. Twisting his neck, he was met with the face of Issac, grinning with his teeth. His eyes shone with a hopeful-naïve-combo, and with Will’s blank face, closed his mouth self-consciously and licked his teeth.
“Hey, Will!” Ah, fuck.
“Hi, Issac.” Issac’s hand was still resting on his shoulder. He tried not to squirm, and smiled politely.
Okay.
Will really hadn’t meant to lead Issac on like this. He hadn’t even realized how into Will Issac even was until Dawn pointed it out and asked what he was going to do with that boy. Will hadn’t even really considered the idea of anyone being—“head over heels”—as Dawn put it—for him. At all. And, don’t get him wrong, Issac was extremely nice. In every world, it should be that Issac is the perfect partner. Sweet, thoughtful—even put time into learning a bit of art history for Will (he had been caught off guard when Issac mentioned a Fabritius painting for the first time, and excitedly discussed all the techniques to a hopelessly confused Issac)—and yet.
And yet.
There was—it’s hard for Will to think about it—there’s this sort of emptiness inside. Not really in a he’s-waiting-for-the-one kind of way, more in a he-really-just-needs-to-know-what’s-gone-before-it-kills-him kind of way.
Anyway, the point is, Will was kind of at a loss. He had really tried letting Issac down gently, politely declining one-on-one dinners and offers for Issac to buy him drinks (Will didn’t drink anyway, but it seemed Issac never really picked up on it. Will would find his airheadedness endearing if the situation wasn’t so awkward).
“Didn’t know you’d be here tonight! Aha, you should’ve told me. We could have hung out more.” Issac smiled again, open-mouthed, before sealing his lips, again. Before Will could get a word in, Issac blurted out, “My friends and I are playing cards over there—you—wanna join?” He licked his teeth again. Nervous habit. “I was just thinking, ‘cause—Saturday nights, ha—”
“Sure,” Will interrupted his stammering. He was too tired to come up with an excuse. He did, though, send a glance over Issac’s shoulder at the bar’s unnecessarily grandiose grandfather clock, reading half past eleven. Almost late enough to excuse himself under the guise of catching up from working the whole week. Just a little longer.
Absently, he let himself be guided over to the booth Issac’s friends were at. Most were faces he couldn’t recognize, but his sluggish brain placed Dawn just in time to slide in beside her as Issac stiffly sat across from him. Playing cards were scattered about the table in a pattern he vaguely recognized somewhere in his suddenly very sleepy mind.
Dawn bumped her knee against his under the table. He looked over at her freckled face. She was frowning. She leaned in close to talk to Will, her breath smelling like whiskey.
“You okay?” Will’s mind finally tuned out everything else, zeroing in on Dawn’s concerned expression and slightly cloudy jade eyes.
He exhaled slowly, shakily. “Yeah. Just a headache.”
She was still frowning. “You need anything, you ask, ‘kay?”
Will huffed a weak laugh, but nodded.
“Dawn! It’s your turn!”
She scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” She leaned back, picking a card from her pile and setting it in the middle. Jack of diamonds. Or knave, his mind supplied, entirely unhelpfully. The next person to go chewed their lip and picked from their deck, putting down a three of clubs. They clutched their head in despair as Dawn cackled maliciously, nabbing the middle pile and setting the cards straight before shoving them under her deck.
The world fuzzied as Will set his head against the faux-leather cushion on the booth seat and closed his eyes. His skin felt entirely too cold and Dawn’s bare legs next to him entirely too hot—hell, this whole place felt entirely too hot.
Cold, he needed it to be cold.
The grandfather clock rang out in midnight.
Will set his trembling hand on what he was pretty sure was Dawn’s shoulder, and mumbled something about the bathroom before standing on legs shaking like a fawn and stumbling in the direction of the public restrooms. He barely managed to wobble his way into an empty stall, fumbling with the latch, before his knees hit the grimy tiled floor and he vomited straight into the toilet bowl.
He wasn’t sure how long he kneeled there, half shivering half sweating bullets, the contents of his stomach long emptied, dry heaving into the air. Finally, though, it stopped, and Will slumped down against the stall door. A wiped a trail of vomit-saliva from his mouth with his sleeve, not even caring to summon the strength to grimace. He wanted to sit there forever, surrounded by the comforting chill and the hum of a fan in the background. But the fluorescent lights really weren’t helping with the headache that had since evolved into a migraine. So he stood, flushed, and exited the stall, before scrubbing his shaking hands clean.
He left the bathroom, back into darkness for a blessed second, before the strobe lights kicked back in.
“Byers, holy fuck, you look like shit.” Dawn pushed off the wall she had been leaning against outside the bathroom exit. Her brows were creased. It seems like they were always creased around Will nowadays.
“Gee, thanks,” Will responded, drawing up his most sarcastic tone from the depths of his screaming consciousness. Dawn pursed her lips.
“I’m serious. You left really suddenly—I was worried. You looked like a ghost, and I could hear your vomiting from out here. How much did you drink?”
“I didn’t drink,” he snapped. And immediately regretted it. Dawn was just concerned. She was being a good friend, and he was starting to sound like—the strain on his head pulsed. Someone. He just can’t remember right now. Will sighed. “Sorry, I—” he shook his head, defeated. “I just want to go home.”
Dawn’s lips twitched into a small smile. She grasped his arm and turned them towards the exit, bag already hanging off one shoulder. “I figured. I’ll walk you back.”
Will knew better than to argue with her about this. He mustered up a pathetic nod of his head, hair falling into his vision. She guided them towards the glowing red EXIT sign, and pushed the door to outside.
He took his first non-secondhand smoke-filled breath in hours. It felt like—aaand, there was the migraine, again. Can’t forget it.
Dawn led the way back to Will’s cheap apartment, knowing the way by heart. She was the first real friend he made after moving to New York. Having another person like him—with none of the stress found in a potential for romantic feelings getting involved—was so—freeing. Almost like…he squeezed his eyes shut. Damn, that ibuprofen did nothing.
Soon enough, though, they made it to the apartment complex. All gray concrete, like a big cinderblock. Dawn dragged Will into the building, her hand gentle but firm. She led him up the stairs and to his door, opening it with her spare key. He staggered inside, one hand pressed to his forehead. His fingers were freezing, and the coolness felt melting against his burning skin. Dawn followed, shutting the door and locking it. She gently pushed him towards his bedroom, opening the door and letting him fall over onto his bead, groaning.
She patted his head, running her fingers through his hair, nails catching on the tangled strands. She stood, and he heard her puttering around the apartment for a few minutes. Glasses clinking, the sound of the fridge’s filter humming, the pantry opening. Will’s thoughts slowed to a slinking crawl, his eyelids drooping. He fought to keep them open.
Dawn returned, in her hands a glass of water filled halfway with ice cubes, and a sleeve of salty crackers. She set them on the desk next to his bed, and gave his shoulder a shove.
“Sit up.”
Letting out a groan in protest, Will rolled over and sat up, limbs all heavy and wrong. He kicked off his shoes, and peeled off his socks and jacket. Dawn handed him the glass, which he thankfully accepted and began gulping down water, nearly forgetting to breathe. She took his jacket off his lap and hung it in his closet, throwing his socks into a hamper.
“You gonna be okay by yourself?” She asked, poking him in the cheek as if to check that he was still alive. Will managed a nod and a tired smile.
“Yeah.”
She gave him a long look, before shrugging. “Alright. See you tomorrow.” She gave a wave before leaving his room and shutting the door. He heard clicks as she flipped the light switches in the apartment, and the sound of her grabbing her bag and toeing on her kitten heels. Finally, the front door shut, and the deadbolt slid into place.
Alone, Will let himself tip over and his back hit the wrinkled sheets of his bed. He curled up and closed his eyes, mind begging for sleep. The glass sat half-drank on a coaster.
Having a friend like this…was nice. Nice. It was like.
It was like.
Will’s eyes snapped, open, headache splitting through his skull in protest.
Robin.
Robin?