Byler one shots

39

*written by Jerrylaine on Ao3 titled waiting for somebody like you, //alcohol use//*

Will’s living room is a mess; papers, paints and brushes everywhere.  

He’s in the middle of it all, lying down on his back in his yellow rug, – head near a green spot where he dropped a whole tube of blue paint on it a few months ago, but that Will swears he can still smell the ink on it as if it as a yesterday’s accident – clothed feet propped up on the sofa in front of him, his reading glasses already thrown away in the middle of the chaos.  

He’s trying to come up with... anything, really. A new idea for an art project, a game, a fun lesson… Something to help the kids unleash their imagination and creativity, because Will knows it’s there somewhere, he just needs to give them a little push. It’s his job for god’s sake.  

His job. That’s the thing keeping Will sane. How depressing is that? A 24-year-old saying the best thing about their lives is their damn job? But Will doesn’t really care, not anymore at least, he had his fair share of days spent thinking about why he was so different from everybody else he used to be close to and why was him the only one who had the urge to run away the first chance he got – to a new city, new life. A new him.  

Asking himself why while everyone he used to knew so well are back home having Sunday's breakfast together every weekend, laughing, joking and thinking about creating families, he is here. In the middle of New York, in a shitty apartment, only him and his dog, trying his fucking best to be a good example for these little kids he sees every day, to help them find a safe net in art. Like he did. Because for some crazy reason he loves them. 

You can call him sappy if you want. 

Will’s in deep thought, almost landing in an idea involving crayons and some kind of origami, when his house’s phone start blasting out. He looks at his wristwatch instinctively. 1:04AM. Who the hell could be calling him at this time of night?  

He frowns before getting up, kinda dizzy from lying down for such long time, the only people who ever call him are his mom and El. Sometimes Jonathan, or Dustin. But none of them ever called him in the middle of the night.  

Will picks up before he can start panicking thinking of billions of horrible scenarios involving any of his friends and family.  

“Hello?” - He says, shakily.  

“William Byers?” - An unknown, and female voice says.  

“Ye- Yeah. Who is it?” – Screw “no panic”, the panic is full on, because what if it’s the emergency calling him because something happened and he needs to-  

“I work at Zoes, and a friend of yours is here...” - Will frowned in deep confusion at that, he doesn’t know lots of people in New York, especially people who would go to such an expensive place - “He’s too drunk to be left alone. Can you pick him up? We’re closing in an hour.”  

“Friend? Which friend? I don’t-”  

And then Will is being interrupted by the woman sternly yelling at someone to stay back, and asking them to not touch the phone, but it’s useless because a second later he hears a different voice coming in.