𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝; byler

- ¢нαρтєя тωєиту тωσ -

MIKE COULDN'T MOVE. 

He couldn't process anything but the slight, spicy tingle on his lip, the tiny taste that couldn't belong to anything but the liquor- one, tiny tingle, a single faded taste that meant everything had gone horribly wrong.

Go! Chase after him you idiot- he screamed at himself, Go after him! but his feet wouldn't listen. He couldn't do anything but stand in front of the open door, standing still until the tingle on his lips faded with the salty tears that just kept coming down. 

Will was drinking? Will had- he had left him? No. No, no, no, no. He couldn't let himself think that last part, because if his mind let that thought really sink in he wouldn't be able function. That didn't matter right now- if Will had left him, he'd deal with that later. It wasn't important, because it seemed like Will was drunk, and Mike had been stupid enough to let him disappear somewhere in the streets.

You should've stopped him! Now he's all alone in the night with nowhere to go, he could be anywhere by now if he took a cab, what if he falls and- He thought he might start hyperventilating, but kicking himself wouldn't be of any help. He had to think rationally- he had to figure out where Will could be, and he had to figure out what was wrong. Stumbling into the street and screaming for him wouldn't be of use.

And finally he was able to move his feet, to move back into the apartment and into the now messy bedroom. Clothes Will had flung around in his chaos littering the ground, drawers open... He dropped to his knees, suddenly (and for the first time in his life) unable to stand the mess. Picking up the shirts and pants and underwear and trying not to think about how everything smelled exactly like him-

dropping them in the drawers, too dazed to be sure he was putting them in the right place. One pile after the other, closing drawers- until he found a pair of green boxers with huge white letters reading "keep out- property of Will Byers"  that Will had bought for him jokingly for Christmas. He remembered how much they had laughed, cuddled on Will's bed- not caring about Joyce's voice calling them for the Christmas dinner.

 He didn't know whether to smile or to cry- and so he settled on both. He picked the briefs, but to his dismay three small black objects tumbled out of it.

They were notebooks, identical black journals. 

He picked one up, opening the cover and riffling through the pages gently. Pages full of what he instantly recognized as Will's handwriting

Under normal circumstances, he would've put the journals back where he found them. If there was one thing he always tried to keep in mind, it was that Will was allowed to have his own life. As curious as he was, he never would've normally touched something so personal- but today was different. It seemed like the rules of privacy didn't matter anymore- not right now.

He started in page one.

Today it happened in the middle of lunch. I don't know what to do anymore, I don't know if they're real or if I'm going crazy or if I'm really in the upside down. I'm scared that one of these times I won't come back around, that one of these days I'll be stuck there again...

... I saw it again. Not all of it, but it came even closer. I saw the arms, I could feel it approaching and I couldn't do anything, and suddenly Bill was there and I was on the ground... He told me I fainted... I don't know  if it's actually coming back but I think it might be. 

Pages upon pages filled with horrific descriptions, pages he flipped through with his stomach so tight he almost actually threw up. All three of them full of episodes, of so much fear Mike felt his own skin rising with goosebumps. After the first three, he found six more... And he just sat on the floor, surrounded by clothes and notebooks, and read.