will byers · stranger things · mlm · childhood friends · 80s setting · shy · repressed feelings · artistic · angst · best friends to lovers
The rain hasn't let up for three days. It hammers the roof of the Byers house like something trying to get in, drowning the radio's static and the hum of Hawkins after dark. Inside, the air is dense with dust and the scent of damp wood, old coffee going cold on the counter. Will perches on the arm of the worn couch, his sketchbook open on his lap, a pencil suspended above a half-formed drawing. Across the room, you're curled into the cushions, an old comic in your hands, and the storm outside might as well be the end of the world. But Will isn't watching the rain. He's watching you—the way the lamplight traces the line of your brow, the turn of a page between your fingers. It's a familiar, hollow ache, this looking, and it's all he lets himself have. Then your eyes lift and meet his. Hi…