Chapter Text
“What draw did you say it was in again?” Will called down the stairs, frantically looking at Mike’s messy drawers.
“Top one, on the right!” Mike’s voice yelled back. “And hurry up!”
“Okay! Give me a sec!” He shouted.
The drawers in front of him were very unorganized, with clothes, pieces of paper, books, bags and other assorted items hanging out haphazardly. Top on the right. He pulled the swollen top draw out and scanned over the many sheets, folders, books and binders that were shoved in the wooden cavity. ‘Draft #3’, ‘Adventures of Mike the Brave’, ‘Campaign 12’, aha, English Essay. Will grabbed the slightly crumpled sheet out of the draw and was about to run down the stairs to hand it to Mike, when a hefty, battered, blue folder caught his eye.
‘To Will.’
He looked at the worn sticky label again. It did say his name. Surely Mike hadn’t accidentally left it there? I mean if he wanted to hide it, he wouldn’t have sent him up here to get the essay that was right on top of it? Would he? Or had he forgotten?
“Will!” Mike’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Coming!” Will replied. Without much of a second thought he stuffed that blue folder into his backpack.
~☆~
The tires of Will’s bike rode over the crunching leaves in front of the Hopper-Byers residence. He parked it round the side and stepped inside, shaking off the mild chill of the early November evening. There was no noise coming from any part of the house signalling he currently had it all to himself. Hop and El were probably training, Jonathan likely at work and he knew his Mom was at a job interview. He put his bag down, relieving the weight that had been pulling at his shoulders. His bag wasn’t usually that heavy was it? With a frown, Will unzipped his bag to check. There it was. That blue folder with ‘To Will.’ scribbled onto a faded, once-white label. He took it out.
Will sat on his bed, door closed for privacy despite being alone. In front of him was that folder. Carefully, he opened it and a flood of paper burst out like a dam breaking. There were many different types of paper and colours of ink on the sheets that had spilled out- some were lined, some were plain, some were scrap, some were whole, some blue ink, some black ink, some messy, some tidy, but all in Mike’s handwriting. An uneasy feeling nestled itself in the pit of Will’s stomach as he looked at them, but he wasn’t sure why.
He picked one of the pieces up. It was a letter.
‘Dear Will,
I’ve sent countless letters to El now, but I’ve hardly spoken to you. I guess I feel guilty or something, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t really know what I feel most of the time anymore. This is stupid. I don’t know why I’m writing this, I probably won’t send it to you because I’m such a scared idiot. I miss talking to you though, it doesn’t feel the same without you here. It’s like there’s a small hole where you should be and it just keeps getting bigger, but you’re not here so it’s just empty forever. Maybe it’ll stay that way. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I’ll finally be normal. I don’t know, but I don’t want that hole to stay empty. I want you back.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing this. I might keep this up, start a small diary type thing of what I would say to you. It’s not ever going to get sent to you. You’d probably hate me if you ever found them. I think everyone would hate me if they ever found what I’m going to write ‘to’ you, but, hey, no-one will ever find out.
I’m sorry for the shitty thing I said to you last year. I know it was wrong, I was a complete douche. Your dad and everyone at school has called you gay since I can remember. I’m sorry I became like them. I didn’t mean it, I guess I was just upset. That makes it sound worse. I shouldn’t have said that to you. I was more confused then than I am now and I’l just say that’s the cause of it all. Maybe one day I’ll write you the real reason. I just hope that one day I won’t be confused anymore.
From,
Mike’
Will couldn’t believe what he was reading. Mike had written him letters, just like he had El? But he never sent them because he was scared and confused?
He looked at all the papers in front of him: letters, poems, stories and even a couple speeches.
What had he found? What was he going to find out?
Was he really going to hate him just like he thought?