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The door opened with a soft click, waking Will up from the daze he’d found himself in.
It was almost night, he could almost guess, though he didn’t really have an approximation of the time currently. The room he was in was a concrete slab with furniture pushed to either side, a bed sloppily placed on the side. He guessed it wasn’t always a bedroom, judging by how small it seemed and the fact that there were no windows from either side. Just grey walls and grey stone floors.
It was mildly lived in, a couple comic books thrown across the floor and the nightstand holding a sketchbook and a couple ink pens.
Will had flipped through it a couple times. It was well worn and he thought it was his, due to the if lost please return to William Byers that adorned the inside of the cover.
William Byers.
He guessed that was his name, as he rolled it around in his mouth, stretching each syllable. Spitting it out or letting it fall off from his tongue like honey.
William Byers.
It sounded vaguely familiar. Vaguely right in identifying whoever he was through this amnesiac fog that locked away whatever memories he found himself inching towards.
They’d called him Will though, so he guessed that was his nickname. The strange people that flooded in and out of his room, some named, some not. All the same solemn, aching expression on their faces.
Faces that begged for the person that Will was, or was supposed to be, to return. Sometimes they asked him questions or sometimes they just peered in, saw the look of confusion upon Will’s face and left. Just without a word.
It’d been like this for three days. At least. Again, Will wasn’t exactly cued into the time. All he had to go off of was the slightly chipped alarm clock that rested on the dresser along with the sketchbook and flickering lamp.
Three days since Will couldn’t recall a single thing from his life before. Since his memory had swirled away from him like dirty water dripping down a sink, never to return. A vague fog had served in its place, jumbling his past into vague colors and emotions. Every time he’d tried to reach into that fog he just came back empty handed and with a headache.
It was like his entire life was on the tip of his tongue and just had to grasp at the right nerve ending and it would all come flooding back. Yet, he’d tried that much to no avail. It all just felt like a big question mark.
He was beginning to feel frustrated as well. No one seemed to be explaining anything to him ever since he woke up from that heat filled daze with nothing to his past, not even his name. Panic filling his lungs at the realization that it was all gone. That there was nothing there.
He didn’t know how that could have happened. How something as monumental as an entire seventeen years of life could slip away like nothing at all.
“Your name is Will and you're seventeen years old,” his mother had told him. He didn’t even know her name. Didn’t even know he was her mother until she’d told him, soft worn features and shaggy brunette bangs covering her teary eyes. The taller brunette boy, his brother, had stood behind her, shaking slightly a look of object horror in those eyes that Will didn’t think he’d ever forget.
Though he seemed to be pretty good at forgetting things nowadays.
And in the corner, there had been that strange black haired boy. The one that had slipped out when Will had begun to panic. The one that hadn’t returned, yet haunted Will like a ghost for those three days. His face carefully inked into his sketchbook, each line conveying a deep care for the boy.
Will didn’t know his name, yet it was right there. At the tip of his tongue.
He was important to him was all that Will had deduced. There was something in those strange features–statusque nose and dark eyes–that drew Will to him. Like a moth to a flame. It was intriguing, albeit incredibly frustrating, to stare at those smudged pages and know. Know that that lanky figure that had graced his room just once, might be all so important.
So imagine his surprise when that same boy was the one opening the door to the room, a tray of food in his hands.
He closed the door with a soft click before turning to Will, who had sat up from his bed. He fiddled with the hem of a pillow, as the boy carefully avoided his gaze and made his way across the room.
It was weird to see that face again after only seeing it through sketchbook pages and one blurred memory. In full color as well.
Will carefully absorbed each feature, cataloging it for fear he would lose them and have to resort to sketchbook pages again. The raven of the boy's hair. The way the wispy flyweights caught the artificial lighting. The bridge of his nose.
The dark brown of his eyes.
Will couldn’t quite get a good look at them as the boy hung his head, letting his hair obscure most of his face and set the tray down on his nightstand.
An awkward silence hung in the air. The tension is almost palpable. Will squirmed slightly trying to relieve the discomfort that filled his limbs and he fiddled with the pillow edge again.
He should probably stop staring at the boy like an idiot.
The boy stood up straight and stared at the ceiling, still avoiding Will's gaze. He let out a shuddering sigh towards the grey concrete slab that roofed them. It was twinged with exhaustion and a deep sadness that Will couldn’t quite place.
He just could place it. Feel the way it vibrated through the room like a funeral bell. Miserable and longing in a way that made Will feel a little queasy inside. Guilty that this was somehow his fault.
That the boy that he somehow–somehow knew.
Knew deep in his bones in a way that he couldn’t quite place. Knew him well enough to translate that sigh like morse code. Knew him well enough to want to erase that echoing sigh from existence .
“Um… Hi?”
Will regretted speaking immediately as the words left his lips, croaking and a little mangled. He hadn’t spoken in a while. His insides clenched with embarrassment as the boy turned to him.
The first thing Will noticed as he properly took the boy's face was his eyes.
They were a deep brown, almost black. Like freshly brewed coffee that he could almost smell, though he was sure he’d never tried coffee before. Or like dirt after it rains, moisture wafting through the air as beads of liquid stick to every plant.
Will thought that he could stare at them forever. Get lost in them even.
They were mysterious and familiar.
That was important. He recognized those eyes.
“Hi,” the boy said back, biting his lip and staring at Will, a bit of apprehension in his gaze.
“Ye–what,” Will fumbled, sounds just coming out his mouth instead of words. He couldn’t break eye contact with the boy. Still enamored by seeing those dark eyes flushed with color.
“How–how are you?” Will managed to get out.
“I’m fine,” the boy responded. They stared at each other for another moment.
“Um–who? I mean…” God this was painful. “You were here when I first woke up?”
He asked it like a question, instead of a definitive statement that he knew to be true.
The silence returned.
It was so quiet Will could faintly hear the other boys breathe. He was just staring at Will. Like he was simultaneously a puzzle, a bug underneath a rock to be examined and also the most important thing in the world.
A million things lay in that gaze. None of which Will could make a proper conclusion from.
“Yeah,” the boy finally said. He blinked twice.
“Cool.” Will grimaced.
They continued to stare at each other. The boy's expression seemed to have slowly shifted to sadness. A deep misery as he picked apart Will with his gaze.
“Are you okay?” Will asked hesitantly, afraid for a second that the boy might cry.
The boy sniffled slightly and finally tore his gaze away from Will’s own. He stared at his feet for a moment. He was wearing mismatched socks. One was green and the other was white with two red stripes around the top.
“Yeah, I just–” he took a breath– “I’m just tired.” He glued his gaze back onto Will, who waited patiently for him to continue. He hoped his gaze was inviting. Inviting enough to keep this boy in this room long enough for Will to trace every feature. Long enough for that weird faint recognition to rush back.
“Do you really not remember anything?” the boy asked finally. Will would have felt annoyed at that statement, with the way everyone had been asking him that for the last couple days, but the boy looked so sad that he would have felt guilty not to answer.
“Yeah,” he responded. The boy's face fell like a stone. “I mean not from three days ago. I just woke up and–” he gestured with his hands. Opening his palms to mimic explosions. “poof! Nothing.”
The boy continued to desperately hold his gaze.
“Oh.”
“I mean I kind of have this feeling.” Will stuttered. “Like–it’s all there. In the back of my mind. Being held–” Mike’s face scrunched at that particular wording. Like it held some meaning that Will was not privy to. “Held behind a door. And I just need to open that door and I’ll remember. But I don’t have the key.” He finished, sighing. “Sorry it’s hard to explain.”
“No no no,” Mike said, shaking his head softly. “You can–let it out man.”
He gestured towards the floor with his head. “Can I?”
“Yeah! Yeah! Of course!” Will replied, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He cringed visibly at that.
The boy gave a small chuckle as he sat down, positioning it so that he could clutch his knees within his bony arms.
Will wanted to hear him laugh again. It was soft and sweet and domestic in a way that filled Will with inexplicable nostalgia. A distant childhood he couldn’t comprehend.
The boy laughed all sweet and breathy. Like wind chimes or rustled leaves. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like drinking a hot drink or snuggling under a blanket. Will wanted to make him laugh again. Be the one to crack a grin from those guarded, anxious features.
“It’s like having a word–” Will continued, the boy now situated comfortably on the floor. Well as comfortably as one could manage to be on the cold concrete. “–a word that's on the very tip of your tongue. You know that vague meaning of it and that it would be the perfect word to use. But you just can’t grasp it.”
“That sounds irritating.” The boy nodded, still listening intently.
“Yeah. It really is. And no one will tell me what's going on? Like I don’t know where I am, much less who am I?” His voice rose slightly, frustration tipping over. “It’s infuriating.”
“I’m sorry,” the boy responded rather unhelpfully. He had a strained look on his face as he listened. “I can’t–I mean I would, but…” He trailed off and curled in on himself slightly. He looked guilty.
“Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I mean–there’s all these people coming in and out of my room and I just don’t understand why? Why can’t you help me?” His voice cracked again on that last syllable.
“I’m really sorry. We just can’t. It’s too dangerous.” The boy mumbled, cheek pressed against his knee.
“Why?” Will felt dread churn in his gut. “Why not? You guys keep on asking me to remember but you're not helping me remember?” He threw his head back, feeling his throat clench. His eyes prickled slightly. He wasn’t going to cry. “I don’t even know my mothers name.”
There was a pause.
“It’s Joyce.”
Oh. That fit her.
Joyce. His mother. The one with the mousy brown hair and crinkled smile, who was endlessly kind to Will in these three days. She had this warmth to her, like kindness flowed from her like a well.
Though Will could also feel the exhaustion and grief that poured from her every time her eyes lingered on his blank expression too long. Or when he asked a couple too many questions that she apparently couldn’t answer.
The boy sat up a little straighter in place, adjusting his position on the concrete floor. Let his knee fall down so that Will could once more admire his entire face. Guilty, shame and something else.
Something soft and delicate. A gaze that held Will gently. Sanded his worn edges and glued his cracked edges together.
It was a strange gaze.
Made Will’s palms a little sweaty and his heart loud in his chest. Yet there was something beautiful hidden beneath it all. Shining and revenant that Will knew he could describe if he just had a couple more words at his disposal.
“And I’m sorry–” the boy sighed and Will felt that heart beat bounce in his chest once more. Loud and overwhelming, yet strangely satisfying. “For what happened.”
“What happened though?” Will pressed.
“I can’t.” The boy said sharply. “It’s for your safety.”
“Against what?” Will fired back and the boy leaned back slightly and laughed. It wasn’t as sweet as before. It felt heady and downtrodden. A laugh of a cruel world and a crueler reality. It was exasperated and guilty and overwhelmingly sour in a way that left Will’s mouth dry and gnawing for something as sweet as before.
“I…” The boy put his head into his hands and made a faux scream sound. “Will, please. This is hard enough as it is.”
“So you know me?” Will felt a bit stupid at that. Of course the boy knew him. He’d been there sulking in the corner when he woke up and was delivering food to his room today.
And looking at him like he was the moon in a starry supernova sky.
“Yeah of course I do. You’re Will!” He gestured with his hands up and down at Will. Like his answer was the obvious thing in the world. Like Will should know what he meant by that.
“I know?” Will furrowed his brow. “That’s about the only thing I do know.”
The boy let his gesturing hands fall to the ground once more, looking solemn once more.
Come to think of it, he gestured with his hands a lot. In a mildly charming way.
“Yeah but you're–you’re my best friend okay?” the boy murmured softly, eyes still bearing into Will.
“Really?” Will answered, hoping desperation didn’t cling to his words.
“Yeah. Really,” the boy answered again and Will could tell he meant it. Just from that gaze.
Some invisible force was pulling him towards this boy. Something that had been laid with stone foundations long before Will lost his memories. Something that whatever or whoever had stolen his memory and locked it away in the back of his mind couldn’t rip from him.
He felt like a moth to a mysterious, anxious flame when he looked at the boy. Like this boy was the ghost haunting the pages of a narrative to a book he’d just read. Like an English assignment he’d skimmed through. There was something alluring and wonderful and intoxicating about the moody boy in front of him. Something that Will was desperate to rip to the core of with all the ferocity a child peeling back wrapping paper on Christmas day.
“Look, I probably need to…” the boy drifted off with that, his face having turned a strawberry red and his fingers had begun fidgeting more aggressively in his lap.
“Yeah.” Will said absent-mindedly, still turning over the strange interaction that just occurred.
The way the boy had said “you’re–you’re my best friend okay?” felt full of something charged entirely perplexing to Will in ways he couldn’t describe.
The boy stood up, face still red and gave him a cracked smile.
“I’ll–you know–I…” he blurted before turning even more red and swiftly beelining to the door.
Will felt his heart leap into his throat in panic.
“Wait!” he called, mouth moving faster than his brain. Instinct charging through his veins in some desperate attempt to slow time and get more than just half assed answers and perplexing declarations of friendship.
The door was cracked half open, the boy almost disappearing into the artificial light that lay beyond. He craned his neck slightly, beautiful dark eyes set on Will once more.
Will’s insides suddenly felt like they were a jar of electric eels.
“Whats your name?” he called out, the first thing on his mind coming out impulsively. He wanted to get at least one answer to his thousands of questions.
This one seemed weirdly high on the top.
The boy opened his mouth and closed it before pursing his lips, eyes flickering slightly as he studied Will intensely.
“It’s Mike,” the boy, no Mike, said and shut the door behind, leaving Will in silence.
Mike.
Mike.
Huh.