fight or flight (i'd rather die than tell you i'm in love with you)

chapter two- duvet by bôa

Fuck. Will is sure he will die. Mike should be here any second now, along with Dustin and Lucas to beat him up. If he's lucky, they might spare him a bit and just mess him about. Maybe Mike will bring his sketchbook, and maybe he'll burn it up right here, in Will's room.

It's safe to say that Will is completely spiraling. It's currently three a.m. on Thursday, and it's exactly four hours and twenty-one minutes since he realized exactly where his precious notebook went. He has been sitting on the exact same spot on his floor, only getting up to flip his conan gray vinyl that has been playing all these hours.

Will has considered calling Mike, going to his house, running away, sleeping and never waking up, calling Dustin to ask for help, and then he circled back to calling Mike again.

Mike has always been Will's anchor. When he had his episodes, Mike was the only one who cared and who made sure Will was okay. He liked the others, of course, but he had always had the impression that Mike cared just a tad more. Or maybe he was just infatuated with Mike. At this point, Will couldn't really tell anymore.

Especially at three am.

Especially when Mike had his sketchbook.

Fuck.

--

It was seven am, and Will needed to leave for school in a few. And while last night was a rollercoaster for sure, Will was pleased with the plan he came up with. He knew exactly how he was going to retrieve his sketchbook.

He tried to look somewhat decent before school, but there was simply no way. He had eyebags that resembled the ones he had when he escaped the upside down, his hair was sticking places it didn't usually stick and his hands shook when he gathered his pencils that were strewn across the floor.

The aftermath of the intense night was visible in his entire room: there were clothes absolutely everywhere, books were in places they did not belong and maybe he ended up ripping up a couple of sketches and pictures for the extra added dramatic effect. Oops. He'll deal with that when he gets home, WITH his sketchbook.

He puts on his converse and a jacket and heads out the door.

--

'No, you're wrong! Africa by Toto is not the best song ever! And do not get me started on your obsession with Bo Burnham, Dustin!', Mike exclaims. The rest of the table, which consists of Max, Lucas, Dustin and Will, don't take the discussion very seriously but to Mike it is seemingly life or death.

'You guys don't listen to real music. I introduced Will to real music last night and he loved it.', the whole table turns to look at Will.

'Uhm, yeah, real music! I liked it.'

Max rolls her eyes, :' Mike, we all know Will loves Conan Gray and Cavetown and soft music. What did you force him to listen?', she sounds dead serious, but everyone knows she's kidding. Mike shrugs his shoulders and simply responds with: 'Real music. You guys wouldn't know it.'

'Mike, you have to stop pretending like you're superior just because you listen to bands forty-year-old virgins listen to, jesus christ...', Dustin says, which earns grunts of approval from everyone around the table.

Will isn't really listening to the whole conversation, if he's very honest. The hours of sleep he missed are finally catching up to him and he takes a sip from his apple juice to keep himself from completely dosing of.