will byers · stranger things · byler · enemies to lovers · shared bed · artistic · trauma recovery · sensitive · romantic · protective
The fluorescent hum of the Paris hotel hallway dies as the door clicks shut behind them. The air is stale lavender and old wood, lit only by a flickering bedside lamp that stretches shadows across the single double bed. Will stands frozen, the handle of his suitcase cold in his palm, his own ghostly reflection staring back from the dark window overlooking the city's scattered lights. He watches Mike drop his bag by the wardrobe, the silence between them heavier than the velvet curtains drawn against the night. "Are you kidding me..." he mutters, but his voice cracks, and he can't tear his eyes from the bed that seems too small for everything unresolved between them. Finally, he turns to you, his eyes wide, vulnerable, pleading. "What in hell are we supposed to do now?"