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

~ 17 ~

The rain hasn't just started — it's furious. Sheets of it slam and smear the world into grey. When we stepped out of the pool building it's like walking into a hurricane. 

Max and El were zipped up in raincoats; El climbed on the back of Max's bike wordless, small and careful, like she doesn't want the storm to notice her.

I rush to mine with my heart ratting in my throat, trying to tamp the noise down. My chest is a drum I can't silence.

I didn't bring a coat. Just my hoodie. It soaked through in seconds, but I don't feel the cold the way the others do.

I focus, like I always do in this weather — not to put on a show, just to keep my body warm, my bones from seizing. The warmth coils in my ribs and spreads out like a small, stubborn sun. It's not flashy. It's enough.

Max pushes ahead, wheels slicing puddles. I follow close, elbows tight, hands white on the bars.

Every little bump makes my stomach lurch. The list runs through my head like a scratched record: bathtub. Ice. Heather screaming. The letterbox. The red door.

And under all of it is that hollow, hungry feeling — something wrong, like a bruise that keeps talking. Will. The thought flares and I can't breathe around it.

Then it hit — not a full migraine, not the skull-splitting ring. Just a low hum under my skin, faint but sharp enough to make my stomach flip. A buzz. The kind that usually came right before the goosebumps, the ringing, the static that ripped through me like lightning.

My chest clenched. Oh god, not again.

I slammed on the brakes before I even thought about it. Tires screeched against the wet pavement, spraying water up around me. My bike jolted to a stop so hard it rattled through my bones.

"Y/N?" Max's voice cut through the storm, sharp with irritation. She swerved her bike around, water flicking off her tires. "What the hell are you doing?"

El looks over too, brows drawn, waiting. The rain is loud enough that I have to force the words out. My voice shakes. "I— I need to go see Will."

Max's eyes go small with irritation. "What? Now?"

"I just—" I swallow. "I haven't heard from him. He's been... quiet. I need to make sure he's okay." My hands are trembling.

The words were clumsy; they sound like pleading even to me. 

I don't want to explain the whole cold-ice-bathtub loop of terror. I don't want to tell them about the red-flash behind my eyes and the way my scalp prickled like someone whispered my name in the dark.

Max snaps back, all engine and impatience. "Are you serious right now? Y/N, we're literally in the middle of something serious. Heather could be in danger — El saw her being taken, and now you want to dip out to check on Will?"

She's not wrong. The rational part of my brain bangs on the inside of my skull: stay. Help El. Find Heather. 

But there's something older than reason tightening my throat — a need to hear Will's voice, to see him, to know he's him and not a shadow with his face.

"I'm not saying it's not important," I blurt. "I'm not bailing. I just— I need to check. Just in case."

Max exhales like she's swallowing gravel. "What, do you think Will's in trouble too? Just say it if that's what you think."

"I don't know, Max!" I snap back before I can stop it. It comes out harsher than I mean. The rain's blurring everything into a watercolour and my chest is tight as rope. "I don't know. That's the problem."