Bound By Shadows 3 | Will Byers x Reader (Fem)

~ 14 ~

~ the next morning ~

The door creaked, then came an exaggerated, theatrical sigh that rolled across my room like a bad cymbal crash.

"Alright, Sleeping Beauty," Steve announced, way too chipper for 9 a.m. in July. "Up and at 'em. You can't sleep through the whole damn summer."

I stuffed my face in the pillow. "Piss off."

"Language," he said automatically, which is rich coming from him. I cracked one eye and caught his reflection in the mirror—and snorted.

He was already in full Scoops Ahoy glory: baby-blue sailor suit immaculate, red neckerchief tied like he practiced in the mirror, and that tragic little hat flattening The Hair. His one true love looked... defeated.

"You look like a cartoon," I croaked.

He turned with a flourish, arms wide. "This is abuse," he declared, pointing at the cap. "This hat ruins my best feature. How am I supposed to attract the ladies when I look like I'm handing out toothpicks at a mall kiosk?"

"Didn't stop you from striking out with that college girl last week," I said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Steve's smirk sharpened. "Bold words for someone who practically writes 'Mrs. Byers' in her notebooks."

I wrinkled my nose, groaning. "Ew. Who do you think I am?"

"Uh, a lovesick teenager," he shot back, grinning like he'd won something.

"Shut up," I muttered, but my voice was too fond to have any real bite.

He leaned on the doorframe, doing that fake-casual thing he does when he's actually keeping inventory of my bruises, sleep, food intake—whatever passes for guardianship when your parents are ghosts and your babysitter is a reformed douchebag in a sailor suit. One minute he's lecturing me about curfew; next minute we're swapping gossip like sisters.

I stretched until my shoulder popped. A tiny static fizz snapped at my fingertips—blink-and-miss-it red. Half-asleep power leak. It happens.

Steve saw it. Of course he did. "Hey, hey. No exploding furniture today. I just fixed that shelf."

"It was a spark," I muttered. "I'm not going to explode."

"Uh-huh. Want me to recite the list of things you've toasted this week?"

I stared him down. "No, Dad."

He rolled his eyes. "Eat something. And maybe go outside where the sun lives."

I opened my mouth to tell him precisely where the sun could go, when the phone on my nightstand rang. I grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

"Get dressed," Max said, flat like a dial tone. "I'm bored out of my skull. You're coming over."

"Is there breakfast?"

"I'll make waffles, just for you. We'll rot. I have ice cream and a stack of movies."

I smiled into the handset. "Give me half an hour."

She hung up without a goodbye, which meant she was really bored.

Steve was still watching me. "Where you going?"

"Max's," I said, swinging my legs out of bed and immediately regretting the ice-cold floor. "She's dying of heatstroke and requires my sparkling personality. Girl emergency."

"Be back by six," he said. "No funny business."

I saluted. "Aye aye, Captain."

He flipped me off on his way down the hall, muttering, "Ungrateful pyro-kids," like a prayer.