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Summary
“Did you feel it too?” Will asked, not looking up. “When Dustin mentioned past lives. You...you remembered something, I saw your face.”
or: Mike is a paladin who lost his faith in God but not in one single person.
This is not a love story with a happy ending. This is a love story that refuses to end at all.
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Will could still feel it. The storm. Feel the way it moved, fast and endless and alive, spreading through everything; through him. Black clouds twisting in impossible shapes, something enormous shifting inside them, something that saw him even when he couldn’t see it back.
He jerked upright with a gasp and the room slammed back into place around him.
The dorm he shared with Mike. The single beds they'd pushed together to make one. The faint glow of the lamp on the other side of the room – always left on for Will. The low, distant hum of the city that never slept.
New York. 1992.
Not there.
But the feeling didn’t leave. It clung to him, cold and heavy.
The lamp flickered.
He froze.
The light stuttered once, dimming and snapping back so quickly it barely resisted. But he felt it, the drum of energy, like a pulse.
Will’s stomach dropped.
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Summary
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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“Just saying, if you’re taking another hit, you should share it with me,” Mike says, and Will slowly tilts his head, drinking in every word. “It just makes sense. Like, mathematically.”
Will’s reddened eyes narrow, bewildered. “Mathematically?”
“If there’s two hits left, we’d each only get one,” Mike explains. “But if we shotgunned, we’d both get two.” God, this is the best idea he’s had in ages. He should’ve stolen Will’s weed, like, months ago. “That’s like, bang for your buck. This is simple math, Will Byers. Keep up.”
In which it’s well past midnight in New York, Will can’t sleep, and Mike feels like they barely know each other anymore.
So, they get a little high. Mike is very normal about all of it.
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Summary
Will pressed his face to the glass, wishing that he were closer. The man’s cheeks were pale, having thick eyebrows and lips. His nose was long, though it didn’t disrupt the harmony of the man’s features. His eyes were the most captivating part of his face: wide and brown, reflecting the moonlight.
In other words, he was beautiful.
Will found himself blushing, feeling foolish for swooning over the knight, who clearly was just doing his job. He couldn’t help but itch for his parchment and ink, to see the man up close, take in those eyes when they weren’t forced to remain a disciplined neutral.
Or: William Byers is a prince under King Henry's rule, known for being one of the most exceptional clerics of the entire lands. In comparison, his life remains pretty lackluster, and Will is convinced that nothing more will ever come of it.
That is, until a certain Sir Michael Wheeler is elected as Will's personal knight.
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