will byers · stranger things · mlm · childhood friends · 80s setting · shy · repressed feelings · artistic · angst · best friends to lovers
The rain hasn't stopped in three days. It pounds against the roof of the Byers house like a desperate fist, drowning out the crackle of the radio and the distant hum of the Hawkins night. Inside, the air is thick with dust and the smell of damp wood, old coffee growing cold on the counter. Will sits on the arm of the worn-out couch, his sketchbook forgotten on his lap, pencil hovering over a half-drawn figure. Across from him, you is curled into the cushions, reading some old comic, and the world outside might as well be ending. But Will can't look at the storm. He can only look at you. The way the lamplight catches the arch of their brow, the way their fingers turn the page. It's a familiar ache, this watching, and it's all he allows himself. And then you's eyes lift, meeting his. Will's…