“Then get them right,” Will responds flatly, but a part of him wants to meet with Mike. Not when you can just hang up if I get my words wrong.”

But-but I can’t say the stuff I want to say over the phone. “Jesus-I know I was an absolutely shit friend-I still am, and I know that. Will gives him a moment to collect his thoughts, out of habit. “It’s not a joke!” Mike’s frustrated voice yells through the speaker. Just say what you want to say and-and go away.” “If this is some joke, I can’t be bothered with it. Mike’s silence goes on for a bit too long for Will’s patience, so the latter speaks again before Mike can say anything. Why now? What changed? What the hell changed? Those same thoughts ricocheted around his mind. “Can’t you just say it over the phone?” Will’s chest feels tight and the cord around his fingers tightens with it. I wanted to talk about some stuff in person.” “I called to ask if we could meet somewhere. Why now, after ignoring me for three weeks? What changed? “Why are you calling?” Why are you calling now? he wants to ask, wants to beg. He scrubs at them furiously and leans against the wall, wrapping the phone cord around his fingers tightly, before loosening it. “Mike?” Will asks tensely, feeling the burn of tears building up behind his eyes. Jonathan’s behaviour suddenly made a lot more sense. “I know,” a familiar, tinny voice sighs through the phone. He takes a moment to steel himself, glancing down at the phone in his hand with a conflicted expression before lifting it up to his ear and speaking. Will flinches at the slam of the door as his brother leaves, and sighs as Jonathan yells sorry! through the open window. Jonathan looks like he wants to protest, but after a pleading look from his little brother he stalks out of the house to cool off. Will decides it’s probably a good time to intervene and in six steps and a smooth hand motion, the phone is in Will’s grasp and away from Jonathan’s. Will couldn’t quite make it out what was said in response, but by Jonathan’s darkening look, it wasn’t anything good. “It’s nobody important,” Jonathan replies easily, before hissing “Fuck off” to the recipient in a low, angered tone. Will was pretty sure that he hadn’t worn it in years. It was one of Jonathan’s, an old, faded band logo plastered on the front. It was far too warm for his usual jeans and plaid shirt combo, so he’d dug out his old denim shorts and stuck on a loose, thin t-shirt. “Who is it?” Will calls, tapping his fingers on his bare leg absently. Will doesn’t know anyone who Jonathan hates that much. Jonathan casts a hesitant glance at him and winces, before directing a scowl at the phone. Will catches the end of a phrase that sounds like if he doesn’t want to, I’m not going to make him, and pauses at the wall. He reaches the lounge, where Jonathan was stood tensely with the phone held up to his ear. He slowly pushes open his door and makes his way down the hall, the squeak of the wooden floors doing nothing to hide his approach. Thankfully, the ringing had stopped and Will could hear Jonathan speaking quietly to whoever was on the line, but Will was curious. So, as he stops mid-stroke, the harsh red standing out against the previous neutral tones of the piece, he takes a step back and, with a carefully controlled exhale, goes to check on the phone. Beforehand, he’d tried everything to get his mind to shut up-listened to music, talked to himself, buried his head in a pile of pillows-but nothing seemed to work except for painting. He’d just managed to get into the peaceful lull of painting, the sound of his paintbrush on the canvas becoming a soothing white noise accompanying his echoing thoughts. The shrill ringing of the phone snaps Will out of his concentration, and he shoots a dark look at the door to his bedroom. ← Previous Work Part 15 of going nowhere Next Work → Stats: Published: Words: 1,836 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 16 Kudos: 573 Bookmarks: 28 Hits: 4,391 jonathan byers stop staring at mike like you want him to explode challenge.

Dumb conversations lose track of time