Chapter Text
Will thinks he’s going crazy.
Correction. Will knows he’s going crazy.
Because normal people don’t wake up with the distinct feeling that they were being watched.
And normal people definitely don’t go to sleep with their bedroom window cracked open just enough to let the late summer air in and wake up to it shoved wide open, curtains billowing like something had pushed its way through.
Will stares at it for a long time, sitting upright in his bed, blanket twisted around his legs. The morning light is pale and weak, stretching across the floorboards. Everything looks exactly the same as it did when he fell asleep. His sketchbook is still on the desk. His shoes are still kicked under the chair. His door is still shut.
Nothing looks wrong.
Except the window.
He gets up slowly and pads across the floor. The glass is cool under his fingers as he pulls it shut again, latching it with more force than necessary.
Get it together, he thinks to himself.
It’s been two weeks since they moved.
Two weeks since Joyce cried over cardboard boxes and Hopper pretending he wasn’t sentimental about the new job. Four weeks since Jonathan left for university, promising to call, promising to visit, promising everything would be fine.
And it is fine. Mostly.
School is okay. Better than okay, actually. Will has friends, real ones. Max, who swears like she’s constantly daring the world to correct her. Lucas, who’s smarter than he actually lets on. Dustin, who talks nonstop and somehow makes it endearing.
And Mike.
Mike, who sits beside him in english class. Mike, who watches him with an intensity that makes Will’s ears burn, but only because Will assumes that’s just what being noticed feels like.
He doesn’t tell any of them about the window.
He doesn’t tell Joyce either, even when she frowns at him over breakfast and asks why he looks tired. He just shrugs and blames it on unpacking, on new school nerves, on anything that sounds reasonable.
That night, Will locks the window.
He checks it twice.
He even pushes his desk chair in front of it, feeling a little stupid for doing so.
Sleep still comes slow.
And when he wakes up, heart pounding for no reason he can explain, the chair has been moved.
The window is open.
Will doesn’t sit up this time. He stays very still, staring at the ceiling, counting his breaths like he used to when he was younger; in through his nose, out through his mouth, slow enough that his chest doesn’t hurt. The air feels colder than it should, brushing against his skin in a way that makes him want to pull the blanket tighter.
Nothing moves.
Nothing sounds wrong.
Eventually, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touch the floor. He winces like he expects it to give way beneath him. The chair is angled now, just slightly. Not enough to be obvious, not enough to scream someone touched this, but enough that he knows it wasn’t like that before.
He changes clothes quickly, back to the wall, eyes flicking to the window every few seconds. Pulls on his shirt. Jeans. Socks. His hands fumble with the buttons more than they should.
When he finally reaches the hallway, relief loosens something in his chest. Light spills in from the kitchen. The house feels awake.
Jane is there, leaning against the wall outside her room looking in the hallway mirror, tying her hair back. She glances up when she hears him and smiles.
“Morning.”
“Hey,” Will says, and then stops.
The words catch in his throat. He almost keeps walking. Almost convinces himself this is nothing, that saying it out loud will make it real in a way he doesn’t want to deal with.
But his mouth moves anyway.
“Hey, uh – weird question,” he shoots.
Jane’s smile shifts, curiosity replacing it. “Okay…?”
Will rubs his palm against his thigh. “Does your window ever… open by itself?”
She blinks at him.
“What?”
“Like,” he rushes, already regretting it, “from the wind or something. Or maybe the latch is loose. I don’t know.”
Jane frowns slightly, thinking, then shakes her head. “No. Does yours?”
Will takes a deep breath.
He’s not sure what he was hoping she’d say. Yes, obviously, happens all the time, houses are weird. Or maybe no, but in a way that made it sound normal anyway.
“No,” he lies, responding too quickly. “No, it doesn’t.”
Jane studies him for a second longer, like she might ask another question, but then Hopper’s voice booms from the kitchen and the moment slips away. She nods and turns back toward her room.
Will doesn’t linger in the hallway for long.
By the time Hopper’s car pulls away from the school parking lot, Jane is already at his side. Together, they cut across the lot toward the bike stands where Max and Lucas are arguing about something with exaggerated hand gestures.
“Okay, but I swear it was blue yesterday,” Max says.
Approaching them, Will and Jane exchange a look. Most mornings they find the two like this, arguing about something. Will doesn’t understand in what world they’re still dating.
Lucas shakes his head. “It’s always been green.”
Dustin walks up a second later, immediately inserting himself. “I heard arguing. What are we mad about?”
“The bike rack,” Max says. “Its colour.”
Dustin squints at it. “It’s green?”
Max throws her hands up. “You guys are stupid.”
Will smiles despite himself. The stretch feels strange in his face, like he hasn’t used it enough lately.
They cluster together easily, moving toward the entrance as the first warning bell echoes across the lot. The morning feels ordinary. Too ordinary for the way Will’s thoughts keep snagging on the same image.
An open window. Curtains shifting. Cold air against his skin.
He shakes it off.
“Where’s Mike?” Jane asks suddenly, glancing around.
Max frowns. “He’s not here?”
They slow, scanning the crowd instinctively.
Lucas clicks his tongue. “That’s the fourth time he’s been late recently,” he states, looking at Dustin. “Is he okay?”
Dustin shrugs, adjusting the straps of his backpack. “He told me he’s been struggling to sleep lately.”
“Huh,” Max hums. “Same, honestly.”
Will exhales softly.
Yeah, he thinks. Me too.
The window flashes through his mind again. The way it never opens when he’s awake. Like he’s always missing the moment it changes. Like sleep is swallowing the wrong parts of the night.
The bell rings again, sharp and insistent, and they break apart at the lockers.
“I’ve got English,” Will tells his sister, already backing away.
“Math,” Jane replies with a grimace. “I’ll see you later.”
Will nods and slips down the hallway alone, the noise thinning as he reaches the English wing. He takes his usual seat near the back, drops his bag at his feet, and folds his hands on the desk.
Students file in around him, chairs scraping, voices overlapping. He watches them without really seeing them, eyes flicking to the door.
It stays closed.
The teacher starts talking. The lesson begins.
Mr Dougall is halfway through explaining something about symbolism when the classroom door creaks open.
Mike slips inside, hair still a mess like he ran his hands through it one too many times. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, likely not having time to stop by his locker, and his eyes go wide when he realises everyone’s looking at him.
“Sorry,” he whispers automatically, then a little louder, “Sorry I’m late.”
The teacher pauses, gives him a look that’s tired more than annoyed. “Take a seat, Michael. Try to be on time tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Mike replies, already moving.
Will’s stomach does a small, strange flip as Mike drops into the chair beside him. The desk wobbles slightly with the movement.
Mike leans in, voice barely above a breath. “I overslept.”
Will huffs quietly. “Again?”
“Don’t start,” Mike murmurs, but he’s smiling. “My alarm keeps betraying me.”
Will glances at him, really looks. The faint shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders sag like he hasn’t quite woken up yet.
“You okay?” Will asks, softer.
“Yeah,” Mike tells him easily. “Just haven’t been sleeping great.”
Something tight in Will’s chest loosens at that. “Yeah. Me too.”
Mike’s smile widens just a little at that. He bumps Will’s knee lightly with his own under the desk before turning his attention forward, pulling out a notebook.
Will faces the board again, lips still curved upward.
The rest of the lesson passes quickly. The bell eventually cuts through the room and chairs scrape back all at once. Will packs up methodically, sliding pens inside his pencil case as Mike does the same beside him.
“So,” Mike starts, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, “what you got next?”
“Art,” Will replies.
Mike scrunches his face. “Lucky.”
Will snorts. “What about you?”
“Chemistry.”
Will mirrors the expression without even thinking. “That sucks.”
Mike smiles through a soft chuckle. “Yeah. It does suck.” He hesitates for half a second, then adds, “See you at lunch?”
Will nods. “Mh. See you at lunch.”
They drift toward the door with the rest of the class, then peel off in opposite directions. Will heads down the hall toward the art wing, glancing back once before he can stop himself.
Mike doesn’t look back.
Will carries his packed lunch through the cafeteria, dodging clusters of students, the hum of chatter and clatter of trays filling the air. He spots Jane waving from an empty table near the windows and heads over, sliding into the seat beside her.
“Hey,” he greets, setting his lunchbox down.
“Hey,” Jane replies, smiling. “Long morning?”
“You could say. Nothing too bad though,” Will unwraps his sandwich, glancing around.
Soon, Lucas and Mike appear, walking side by side. They each have a tray, joining Will and Jane at the table. Mike drops into the seat next to Will with a grin, nudging his tray closer.
“Saved me a spot?” Mike murmurs. Will nods, returning the smile.
Lucas settles on the opposite side of Jane. “So, guess who is going to fail chemistry,” he sighs under his breath.
A few minutes later, Max swoops in and slides onto the seat next to Lucas, stealing his carton of juice.
Dustin rounds out the group a moment after, plopping down with a tray full of fries and a grin.
Will takes a bite of his sandwich, but his attention keeps drifting. He watches the group, listens to their banter, and for a moment, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. But his gaze keeps finding Mike, sitting casually beside him, the way his finger taps against his tray, the faint crease in his brow when he’s thinking about nothing in particular.
“So, what’s been keeping you up?” Will asks softly, voice low, careful.
The boy jumps ever so slightly, caught off guard by his question. Mike shrugs after a few seconds, eyes tracing the table. “Stuff,” he says vaguely. “School, life. You know, the usual.”
Will nods slowly. “I get that. I haven’t been sleeping well since we got here.”
Mike’s hand brushes against Will’s on the table, accidental maybe, deliberate maybe. Will isn’t sure.
“Yeah?” Mike asks, softly.
“Yeah,” Will repeats, fidgeting with the corner of his lunch wrapper. “It’s weird. I used to share a room with my brother, but he’s at uni now, so sleeping in my own room just feels different.”
Mike nods, listening, eyes gentle. “Mh, that makes sense.”
There’s a silence between them for a second.
“Do you miss him?”
Will bites his lip.
“A lot.”
Mike hums, taking a bite of his apple.
“Do you have any siblings?” Will asks, watching the way Mike’s teeth indent the apple.
Mike nods. “Yep, I got two sisters. My older sister is at uni as well.”
“Do you miss her?”
Mike hesitates, his fingers rubbing his lips.
“I guess. She’s been there for a couple years now though, kind of got used to it.”
Will nods, understanding that. He’s unsure if he will ever get used to not having Jonathan considering he was his only friend for 13 years before Jane and Hop showed up.
“How old is your other sister?”
Mike furrows his brows, seemingly trying to figure out Will’s question. He looks deep in thought for a while.
“Nine? I think. She just started grade 4,” Mike finally answers, taking another bite of his apple. “What uni is your brother at?”
“NYU.”
Mike makes a ohhh noise.
“That’s cool. Nancy goes to Emerson, but I think she’s planning to drop out soon.”
“How come?”
With a shrug, Mike finishes his bite before saying, “I don’t know, that’s just what mom said. Dad isn’t happy about it.”
It isn’t hard to picture. Hop would also be upset if Jonathan dropped out of college. Though, he can’t imagine he would be mad for very long.
When the bell rings, Will looks up to find Jane is already looking at him. He smiles at her, she smiles back.
When Will gets home, he makes sure that the window is shut. He closes it, checks the latch, and twists it several times to make sure it’s secure. Then he pushes the chair in front of it, pressing it against the sill so it can’t be moved.
He pulls the curtain closed, tucking it around the chair so the window is harder to reach. He even moves his bed a little closer, just to make sure no one could get through.
Will sits on the edge of his bed and listens. The house is quiet, but he still hears every creak of the floor, every soft rustle outside. He gets up again and presses his hand against the glass just to make sure. Cool, solid. He nods to himself. Okay, it’s closed.
Then he double-checks the latch. And again. He wedges his backpack against the window for extra weight, just to be safe. Then he checks one more time.
Finally, he sits on the floor next to his bed, eyes on the window. He wraps his arms around his knees, counting his breaths, trying to calm himself.
But even as he settles down, he can’t shake the feeling that the window might move on its own, that tomorrow morning it could be wide open.
Sleep takes him slowly.
Not all at once, not gently, but in fragments. His thoughts thinning, his breaths evening out despite himself. At some point, his head tips against the side of the bed, and his eyes close. The room stays quiet. Still. The window doesn’t move.
When Will wakes, it’s with a sharp inhale, his heart already racing.
Morning light spills across the floor.
He scrambles to his feet and crosses the room in two steps, hands already reaching.
The window is closed.
The latch is still turned. The chair is exactly where he shoved it, legs pressed tight against the sill. His backpack is still wedged beneath the frame, undisturbed.
Nothing has changed.
The relief hits him so hard his eyes burn. He presses his forehead briefly against the glass, breathing out a shaky laugh that almost turns into something else. He blinks fast, forcing the sting back.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”
Will sinks down onto the floor, back against the bed, staring at the window like it might prove him wrong if he looks away. Sunlight warms the glass. Dust motes float lazily in the air. It looks ordinary. Safe.
He stays there for a long moment, just watching it, memorising the way everything is, exactly as he left it.
A soft knock sounds at the door.
“Will?”
He barely reacts. His eyes stay fixed on the window, like if he looks away it might change out of spite.
The door opens anyway.
Jane steps inside and stops short when she sees him sitting on the floor, back against the bed, staring straight ahead. Her brows knit together.
“Are you possessed?” she asks, crouching down next to him.
Will blinks. He turns his head toward her slowly. “Hm. No?” He rubs at his eyes, disoriented. “Sorry. What time is it?”
He glances at the clock on his wall just as Jane answers.
“7:47,” she responds. “You are late. Mom already made your toast. She asked me to come wake you, but you are already awake.”
Will lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. After meeting her four years ago, it had taken him a while to get used to the way she talks. So direct, so precise, like she’s reading from a list only she can see. He doesn’t know why she talks that way. He doesn’t really care, either.
“Sorry,” he apologises. “I’ll be out soon. Thank you.”
Jane nods once, satisfied, then glances briefly at the window before standing. “Okay.”
When she leaves, Will looks back at it again.
Still closed.
Still untouched.
Letting out a breath of relief, Will gets ready and makes his way to the kitchen.
Joyce is already there, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee going cold beside her, scribbling something down on a scrap of paper. A list, probably. She looks up when she hears his footsteps.
“You okay, darling?” she asks gently.
Will nods and slides into the chair at the table. A plate is already waiting for him. Toast, butter melting into the surface. He picks it up and takes a bite.
“Good,” Joyce murmurs, though her eyes linger on him a second longer than necessary. “Have you been sleeping well?”
Will shrugs, swallowing. “Not really. Still getting used to everything.”
It’s not a total lie.
Joyce’s mouth pulls into a small pout. “I know. I’m sorry, hun. Hopefully things get better soon, hey?”
Will gives her a soft smile. “It’s not so bad. Just a lot of changes. New bedroom, new house.”
“Ugh,” Joyce says immediately, rolling her eyes. “Tell me about it. The bloody window in our room doesn’t shut properly. It’s driving Jim crazy.”
Will freezes, toast halfway to his mouth.
“The window?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even.
“Yeah,” Joyce sighs. “Won’t close properly no matter what we do.”
“My window is the same,” Will says, a little too quickly.
Joyce brightens, nodding. “Ah, okay. I’ll get Hop to fix it when he fixes ours. Just waiting for the right stuff to arrive at the hardware store. Being a small town and all, doesn’t have things when you need them straight away.”
Relief settles in Will’s chest, warm and steady.
So there is something wrong with the windows.
Maybe he isn’t imagining things. Maybe no one is opening it. Maybe nothing is coming in at night.
He takes another bite of his toast, shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning.
They barely make it to school on time. Hopper drops them off with a rushed warning about the bell, and Jane and Will hurry inside, the hallways already buzzing. The rest of the group is nowhere in sight, probably already in class.
Jane stops at her locker, and Will mirrors her, shoving his bag inside a little too fast. When the second bell rings, they fall into step together, heading toward biology. It’s the only class they share, and Will’s always secretly grateful for it. Jane nudges his arm once before splitting off to her seat. Will exhales, settling in.
After biology, he heads to English.
Mike is already there.
He’s sitting in his seat, notebook open, pen balanced between his fingers. Will slows without thinking, something warm flickering in his chest. He slides into the chair beside him, setting his books down.
“Arrive on time today?” Will asks quietly.
Mike looks over and grins. “Yep. Got here early too. Look at me go.”
Will smiles back before he can stop himself. Mike is his favourite, he thinks.
“That’s good,” Will says. “Did you sleep better?”
Mike puckers his lips, considering. “Yep. Mom got new medication for me, so sleep’s coming like a charm.”
Will hums. “I was on sleep medication for a while when I was younger, but I had to go off them. They gave me really bad nightmares.”
Mike’s smile pulls tight, just slightly. “Yeah, they can do that. Holly tri–”
The teacher starts talking, cutting him off. Mike shifts his focus forward, then flicks Will a quick side-eye before straightening in his seat.
Thirty minutes later, Mike leans back toward him.
“Hey,” he whispers. “So Lucas wants to do a D&D night. We usually do it at my place, but Holly’s having a sleepover this weekend. We were wondering if we could come to yours instead?”
Will blinks, caught off guard. “Uh – sure. I mean, that should be fine. I’ll talk to my parents, but, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”
His eyes light up despite himself. He’s never really had friends over before.
“We can finally teach you and Jane how to play,” Mike exclaims, clearly excited.
“Oh, I already know how to,” Will admits. “I tried to teach Jane, but she doesn’t like it.”
Mike’s face brightens. “What? That’s so cool. I mean, sucks she doesn’t like it, but it’s nice to have a new party member.”
Will clears his throat, tilting his head like he’s only half-curious. “So how long have you guys been playing?”
Mike chews his lip, thinking. Will tries and fails not to notice. “Uh, maybe just over ten years?” he says finally. “We haven’t done a proper campaign in forever, though.”
Will nods, something small and wistful tugging at him. He doesn’t think he’s ever done a real campaign, not one that lasted, not one where everyone stayed. He imagines it anyway: minutes stretching into hours, stories growing bigger than the table they’re told around.
“That’s still,” Will says, smiling softly, “a really long time.”
Mike nods, before both their attentions are drawn to the teacher.
The bell rings. Mike falls into step beside Will. They move with the current toward the cafeteria, shoulders brushing now and then.
By the time they reach the table, everyone’s already there;
“Hey,” Will says, dropping into the seat beside El.
“Hey,” she replies, glancing up at him with a small smile before going back to her lunch.
The cafeteria is loud in that constant, buzzing way. Trays clattering, people shouting over each other, the low hum of too many conversations happening at once. Will is sat between Mike and Jane, knees tucked in, hands folded around his carton of juice.
“So,” Mike begins carefully, “what do you play as?”
Will blinks. “What?”
“In D&D,” he clarifies. “Your character.”
“Oh.” Will thinks for a second. “Usually a wizard. Or a cleric.”
Mike’s eyes light up immediately, like someone just handed him something fragile and important. “Why those?”
Will shrugs, thumb worrying at the edge of his carton. “They’re useful. They help the party.”
Mike nods slowly, like that answer slots into place. “Okay. Yeah, that makes sense.”
He leans a little closer, voice lowering even though no one around them is listening. “Do you like spellcasting more? Or healing?”
Will hesitates. “Healing,” he admits. “But spells are… cool.”
“What’s your favourite spell?” Mike asks, immediately following it up, like he doesn’t want the thread to snap.
Will blinks again, surprised he’s being asked this seriously. “Uh. Probably Detect Magic. Or Shield.”
“Defensive,” Mike reiterates almost fondly. “Figures.”
Will finally looks at him properly. “What do you play as?”
“Paladin,” Mike answers without hesitation. “Used to be fighter, but–” He stops himself, then shrugs. “I like having rules. Makes it easier to know what you’re supposed to do.”
Will hums. “Paladins protect people.”
Mike’s smile softens. “Yeah. That’s the idea.”
There’s a beat. Mike watches Will like he’s waiting for more, like he always is.
“What about campaigns?” Mike asks. “How many have you done?”
Will shakes his head. “Well, I don’t know. Not a lot. They always kind of fall apart. People stop showing up.”
“That won’t happen this time,” Mike says quickly, firmly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Jane nudges his leg with her knee, just enough to pull him out of the moment.
Will turns to her.
Her lips are pursed, eyes flicking pointedly down at his lunchbox. “Can I have your cookie?”
Will follows her gaze. The cookie is still sitting there, untouched, wrapped in crinkled plastic. He blinks, then nods without hesitation. “Of course.”
He slides it toward her. Jane grabs it immediately, peeling the wrapper back and taking a bite like she’s afraid he might change his mind.
“Th’anks,” she mumbles around her mouthful.
Will huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
When they get home, Will feels a bit more relaxed knowing his safety procedure for his window works.
He pauses in the doorway, eyes flicking over it automatically. The latch is where he left it. The curtains haven’t shifted. Nothing looks disturbed. His shoulders loosen, just a little.
It helps, knowing the routine works. Closing it tight. Checking the latch twice. Making sure everything is exactly where it should be. Joyce’s words echo back to him, the windows being faulty, the house settling, nothing sinister at all. A problem with hinges and old frames, not monsters or hands reaching in from the dark.
Will crosses the room and presses his palm briefly to the glass. Solid. Cold. Still.
“Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else.
He pulls his curtains halfway closed, not all the way, and sits on the edge of his bed, exhaling slowly. The tight coil in his chest unwinds a notch. Today didn’t feel so bad.
Maybe it is nerves. New beginnings, things are getting to him easier. He’s got a wild imagination, always has. This is definitely one of those things where he’s read one too many stories and starts believing that those fictional words are happening to him in real life.
Will leans back on his hands, letting his shoulders drop. It’s just a window. Just a house. Just a little imagination spinning too far.