Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun stretched across the linoleum floor of the dorm room, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the space where a second night stand used to be beside the second bed. Will’s roommate had cleared out forty-eight hours ago, leaving behind nothing but a lingering scent of cheap cologne and a stray poster tack in the wall.
Will knelt on the floor, his movements methodical as he folded a thrifted flannel shirt. His suitcase was nearly full, a mosaic of his first year in New York.
He reached under the bed and pulled out a wooden box. It was heavy, the lid slightly warped from being opened so often. Inside, a thick stack of envelopes was held together by a single blue rubber band. He picked up the one on top, postmarked from Chicago only three days prior.
“Will,” the messy scrawl began. “I’ve survived finals, barely. The creative writing prof said my last piece was ‘excessively nostalgic,’ but whatever. I’m counting down the days until I get to see you. New York isn’t ready for us.”
Will’s thumb traced the jagged way Mike crossed his t. When he had received the letter several days ago, it had done something to him, reading those words. Until I get to see you. He knew Mike was just a friend, that there was no romantic notion to those words, but the way they had made him feel…
And then two nights ago, he had sat with Dave and told him he couldn't be with him anymore.
“It’s not you,” Will had whispered, the most clichéd line in the world, except it had been the truth because Dave was perfect in every way but one. “I just… I think I’m still waiting for someone who isn't here.”
Dave had taken it well, just to make it worse. He had nodded, said he understood, and wished Will well.
He tucked the letter into the stack, sliding the box into a hidden compartment of his suitcase. He didn't want to think about the breakup. He didn't want to think about how excited he felt every time Mike’s writing appeared in the mail.
He stood up to zip the bag, the silence of the room ringing in his ears. Habit made him glance out the window toward the campus quad.
His breath hitched.
Near the stone archway, a girl was walking away from the dorms. She wore a simple denim jacket, her hair a dark, short buzz that caught the light. She moved with a specific, light-footed grace that made the air in Will’s lungs vanish.
“El?” he breathed, his forehead pressing against the glass.
The girl turned her head slightly to speak to someone, and the illusion shattered. Her profile was wrong. Softer, different. She wasn't the girl who had vanished. She was just a stranger.
Will stayed there for a moment, his hand trembling against the windowpane. The tightening in his chest didn't go away; it just settled into a familiar, dull ache.
That happened sometimes. Less now than it used to, but his mind played tricks on him.
A sharp, rhythmic knocking at the door startled him.
“Will? You decent? We gotta beat the bridge traffic or Mom’s gonna have a heart attack before we even hit the driveway.”
The door pushed open, and Jonathan leaned against the frame. He looked good, his camera bag slung over one shoulder and a pair of sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. He looked at the suitcase, then at Will’s pale face.
“Hey,” Jonathan said, his voice softening with that instinctual older-brother intuition. “You okay?”
Will forced a small smile, grabbing the handle of his bag. “Yeah. Just… end of year jitters.”
Jonathan didn’t look entirely convinced, but he reached out and took the heavier bag anyway. “Come on. Mike’s flight lands tomorrow, and I promised Hopper I’d help him move the new sofa before you guys take over the living room.”
He didn't need to go home for break, he was only a short car ride away, but his mother had insisted. The plan was that they would all stay in the house together for a couple of nights, and then Mike and Will would stay in his dorm for the rest of his stay. Sharing a room with Mike for the best part of a month was going to be nothing short of torture.
Will followed him out, pulling the door shut behind him.