Work Text:
April, 1986
Will passes Mike a wet plate which he loads with ease into the dishwasher.
“You know, I could do this by myself, you can go down with Jonathan and hang out,” Mike says, again.
“Mom would kill me if I didn’t help,” Will plays the tired argument out, scrubbing down a fork with Mrs. Wheelers fancy sponge. They’d been living at the Wheelers for about two weeks. It was temporary, of course. Hop’s cabin was still relatively destroyed and it wouldn’t fit five of them even if it was up and running. Plus, Joyce was hesitant about moving in with Hopper for some reason that baffled Will. If she was willing to fly to Russia to save him, what was the big deal about moving in together? Other than, of course, the fact that both Hopper and El were in active hiding from the military.
The military had moved in while the rifts were still spewing Upside Down into the Rightside Up. The quarantine went into effect immediately. That didn’t leave a lot of empty houses or a booming real estate industry. The Byers were out of luck until Mike and Nancy sat their parents down and made a logical case for why the Byers should to move in. So here they were, doing dishes after dinner, settling into a weird new routine.
“You’re putting in way too much effort for that fork,” Mike teases, yanking the utensil from Will’s hand. He tries to protest but Mike plops it into the dishwasher. Will reaches into the tepid sink water and extracts another fork, repeating the process.
“You don’t need to scrub them like that! The dishwasher will do all the work,” Will’s brain short circuits as Mike’s hand covers his and they grapple the fork.
“It’s going to get crusty if I don’t,” Will argues. They tussle in the sink water until it splashes over the edge, soaking Mike’s shoes. He retaliates by flicking water all over Will’s shirt.
“Oh, you’re dead,” Will turns the tap on and turns the spray at Mike, a full-on water fight ensuing in the kitchen. Mike seizes the sponge, dunking it and attempting to ring it out over Will’s head. Will dodges, nearly slipping on the wet floor. He grabs onto Mikes arm for balance. A critical error, as Mike then swipes the sponge over Will’s face.
“Ew ew ew,” Will tries to pull out of Mike’s grasp and go for the sink again, but he can’t break free.
“Boys!” Karen Wheeler stands in the doorway, hands on hips, catching them in the act. To Will’s dismay, Mike releases him. They take in the room before them: water and soap covering the floor, the counter, and each other.
Mike ducks his head, “Sorry, mom. We’ll clean up,” he resigns himself to grabbing a dry towel and half-heartedly wipes down the counter. Will follows suit, apologizing profusely and kneeling on the ground to dry the floor.
“This is not play time, boys. There’s enough chaos going on outside, can we please limit it inside the house?”
“Of course Mrs. Wheeler, I’m so sorry. This was irresponsible of us,” Will ducks his head in shame. Karen’s face softens a bit at Will’s words.
“It’s okay, Will. I know it’s a little boring around here, being all cooped up. But let’s limit any water fights to the yard, okay?”
Mike and Will both nod their heads and Karen sighs as she leaves, sounding like the world is too heavy for her to carry right now. As soon as she’s gone, Mike nudges Will with his foot to get his attention. They lock eyes and burst out laughing.
July, 1986
“Will,” blinking into the dark, Will grumbles out of sleep. Did someone just say his name?
“Will, wake up,” Mike’s standing at the edge of the couch, shaking Will’s foot and whispering his name. Is he dreaming?
“Huh?” Will rubs his eyes with his hands and sits up. The basement is dark and the alarm clock between him and Jonathan reads 1:28AM. Instead of talking, Mike gestures for Will to follow him. Still confused, it takes a second for Will to move. Impatiently, Mike tugs him up by both his hands, pulling him to stand. He doesn’t let go as he drags him up the basement stairs, through the first floor, and up to his room.
“You have to see this,” Mike doesn’t drop the whisper even though they closed the door behind them. Will’s still not sure if he’s fully awake.
“What’s going on?” He gather’s it’s nothing bad by the excitement in Mike’s voice. Throwing his bedroom window open, Mike begins to climb out and flags Will over to him.
“Come here, it’s a meteor show, you have to see it,” Mike disappears through the frame. Glancing around the room, Will orients himself. It’s dark. He can make out Mike’s disheveled bed, lacking a comforter and pillows. Papers are scattered haphazardly across the desk in his room, some spilling to the floor. Clothes litter the floor. He’s a bit envious; being a guest in this house means he and Jonathan have had to keep the basement tidy so as to not be rude. He was never a slob, but he misses the days when he could neglect a pile of clothes for a few days before putting them away.
When he sticks his head out the window, he sees his best friend reclined on the roof, propped up by the pillows from his bed, laying on the comforter. Mike smiles when he sees him, a brilliant, wide, uninhabited smile. Even the dark circles under his eyes look lighter with the shine of it.
Slowly, Will crawls out the window and joins him, unsure of his footing on the sloping roof. Mike shifts and hold out his hand for him to steady himself.
“Careful! Here,” he guides him down beside him, adjusting the pillows so he’s comfortable. Then he points to the sky, “Look!”
Will settles and casts his gaze upward and he sees it. One after another, stars falling from the sky in dancing streaks. It takes his breath away.
“Isn’t it awesome?” Mike asks, his voice soft and focus on the sky.
“You had me worried for a minute,” Will confesses. Mike tears his eyes away to frown at Will.
“What, why?”
“I mean, typically when I’m woken up in the middle of the night, there’s some life-threatening emergency,” Will says with a shrug, deciding it’s easier to look at the meteor shower than at his friend’s look of concern.
Recently, Will wished they found a new house so he could get away from Mike seeing right though him. It was hard enough tamping down his unrequited feelings when he was a thousand miles away in California. Here, his daydreams have new material to work with everyday. The feeling of Mike’s smile at the breakfast table, winking as he takes the last piece of bacon. His gangly arms pulling him into the sprinklers in the front yard on the first day of summer. The look he’s giving him right now, like he would do anything to make Will feel comfortable.
“Sometimes, the emergency is beautiful,” Mike says, tucking in closer to him. Will fights to keep his breath even, “I didn’t want you to miss this. The universe is still out there, even if we’re stuck in Hawkins. There’s a whole solar system that’s just as magical as any alternate dimension. Like…” Mike thinks for a moment, putting his hands above his head, “I don’t know. I had a really awful nightmare and I woke up to this. It’s like the world gave me a little reminder to put things into perspective. There will be something after this, something so good we can’t even comprehend it.”
“You’re so…” Will bites his cheek, trying very hard to say you’re so easy to love, opting, instead, to say, “optimistic.”
This gets a silly chuckle from Mike. (And dare he say, a little blush?)
“Sorry. Can’t help it. I guess, now that we know Hopper can do these crawls, I’ve been thinking about how we might actually win. It doesn’t feel so hopeless anymore,” Mike settles in, lost in thought as the meteors re-engage his attention. Will wants to say a million things, but he holds back, lightly humming in agreement, content to just lay next to the love of his life and watch the stars. He imagines each one carries a wish. There are enough for everyone in Hawkins. Maybe they hold enough power to actually come true. Will knows he should wish for everyone’s safety, that they get out of this alive. But as his eyes flutter shut, he only wishes for Mike.
They wake up to an abrupt shout:
“What the hell are you doing?”
The sun is rising over the horizon, casting a soft pink light across the sky. The two of them sit up in a blur, disoriented and slightly dewey from falling asleep on the roof. Nancy and Jonathan are standing in the driveway, absolutely furious.
“Get the hell off the roof before mom sees you!” Nancy yells at them, tapping her foot impatiently. Will catches Jonathan’s eye, who’s looking at him like, dude, you’re playing with fire right now. He sends a thank you to the universe that their older siblings need to get up so early to get to the radio station. He’d be dead if his mom caught him up here.
“Chill out, Nancy. It’s the crack of dawn,” Mike shouts back, grumpy and rumpled. It’s adorable. Will disregards the fact that their legs are entwined and his arm is numb from falling asleep on it. They untangle and fumble through the window, dragging the pillows and blankets with them.
There’s an awkward moment as they stand in Mike’s room, the sunlight casting an orange glow across the floor. Mike’s running his hands through his hair and stretching into a yawn. He flops backward onto the bed after a moment, patting the space next to him.
“I slept like shit, let’s go back to bed,” he says, curling up and tugging the sheet over himself.
“Sorry, yeah… I’ll just-“ Will turns to leave but Mike stops him.
“Just stay here, ’s fine,” he pats the bed once more. Will flutters from one foot to the other, debating if he’s misinterpreting things. Mike turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow and jerks his head like, get in here, you weirdo.
Tired enough to not over think it, Will obliges, sliding in next to Mike. He feels sleep heavy on his eyelids but before he gives over to it, he whispers, “Thank you.”
October, 1986
“I still don’t know why you couldn’t just ask Steve to get us some beers,” Lucas complains, stuffing a handful of Doritos into his mouth.
“If you want them so bad, ask him yourself,” Dustin bristles, he’s crouched by the TV in the Wheeler’s basement, rewinding The Thing for their movie night. It’s Halloween and Hawkins streets are still locked down. Not that the boys would go trick-or-treating at their age. They didn’t even come up with costumes this year. Lucas had the idea for a “Party with The Party” to get their minds off of things. It sounded like a great idea at first; Jonathan would be out with Nancy at Steve’s and they’d have the basement to themselves.
Now that it was happening, it was undoubtedly awkward. Dustin had been moody ever since they put up the gravestone for Eddie. Lucas tried to hide his baseline worry about Max with a faux-upbeat attitude, and Mike was fidgety with every passing crawl that didn’t result in any discoveries. In short, they were all going a little crazy.
“I could steal weed from Jonathan,” Will suggests. Lucas perks up, mid-bite and Dustin turns slowly away from the TV.
“Wouldn’t he be pissed?” Mike asks, clearly on his back foot about the whole thing. He’s been on high alert the past few days, constantly checking in on Will to make sure he was okay. Halloween brought back a lot of unpleasant memories, but his worry was growing tiresome.
“Whatever, I could probably convince him that he smoked it himself,” Will says, crossing the room to rifle through his brother’s bag. Jonathan isn’t that good at hiding his stash and he’s holding the joint in no time.
“Have you smoked before?” Dustin asks, his tone finally breaking from his recent angst to a more familiar curiosity.
“I have,” Lucas pipes up, “After the championship. But I think it’s going to be a lot more fun with you guys.”
“Me too, with Jonathan,” Will says, digging around for a lighter. He finds a box of matches tucked into a dirty pair of his brother’s jeans. He places the joint between his lips and moves over to the basement window, opening it a crack. It’s a bit tall for him, he knows he’ll have to crane his neck to blow the smoke outside and not stink up the basement. He momentarily considers going outside, but it’s miserable and raining. When he turns around, none of his friends have moved. He rolls his eyes and tucks the joint behind his ear so he can speak.
“Are you guys joining me or is this a solo mission?” To his surprise, Dustin moves first.
“Light me up cap’n,” he requests, even tipping his hat a bit as he stands beside him. Will smiles; it’s good to see his friend actually excited about something for the first time in months.
“Grab your Coke, you’re going to want to drink something right away,” he instructs. Once Dustin’s ready, he walks him through it:
“I’ll light it for you. Just inhale through the joint until it catches. Hold it in for a sec before you blow out. You’re probably going to cough, but don’t worry about it, everyone does their first time. Try to aim out the window so we don’t have to explain to Mrs. Wheeler why it smells like a skunk down here,” Will strikes the match and lights the joint for Dustin, who immediately starts hacking up a lung.
“What the hell, that’s awful,” Will just laughs and relights it, telling Dustin to try again. He coughs a few more times, but eventually gets the hang of it. Lucas bounds over, picking the joint from Dustin’s hand. Dustin gives it over readily, grabbing for his drink and chugging it.
“It’s puff, puff, pass. That’s the etiquette,” Lucas smiles and takes a drag. He then bursts into a coughing fit.
Will cackles even louder, “God, you guys suck at this.”
He takes the joint from Lucas and inhales, turning it over so it doesn’t canoe. On his tip toes, he blows out the window before seeking out Mike.
His best friend is still sitting on the couch, arms crossed as he watches his friends get high.
“Do you want to try?” Will asks, voice soft. Mike shrugs. Will stubs the joint out on the windowsill, careful that he doesn’t crush it in case they want more later. He moves over to the couch and sits closer to Mike than he would usually dare to, trying to keep his voice low enough so Dustin and Lucas don’t overhear as they theorize about how frequently Eddie came to school stoned.
“You okay?” He asks. Mike scrutinizes him for a moment before speaking.
“Do you do this with Jonathan a lot?”
“Not really. A few times since California. He was kind of hesitant at first, but I told him I’d tell Nancy if he didn’t let me,” he confides. Mike’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to, you know,” Will reassures Mike, daring to pat his knee. Mike gnaws at his lower lip.
“I do, it just kind of freaks me out. I don’t know what it feels like,” his voice is low, like he’s confessing a secret. Will takes this into consideration and closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the effects of the weed begin to course through his body.
“Its… peaceful. Honestly, it really helps me with the nightmares. Everything kind of slows down, I actually feel like I’m in my body for once.”
Mike’s confused, “What do you mean, ‘in your body’?”
“Like,” Will tries to think of the words, but he’s starting to fade into the feeling. He picks up Mike’s hand and shows him, tracing the blood vessels running through his wrist up to the tips of his fingers, “I can feel all of this, all of those nerve endings in my hands, but like, all over my body. It’s really grounding. I can’t be worried about Vecna or the Mind Flayer or reliving some awful memory of the Upside down if I’m so, totally, here.”
He forgets to drop Mikes hand, enjoying the way it feels to trace the life lines of his palm. He has such nice hands; long fingers, like he could have played piano in a different life. He bites his finger nails, he can tell by the angry red hangnails on the edges of his nail beds. Will smooths of them his his thumb for who knows how long until he snaps back into reality. Oh fuck. This is Mike’s hand he’s holding. He basically flings it away from himself like it’s on fire.
“Okay,” the sound of Mikes voice comes to him at a delay. It takes Will a moment to register what he’s agreeing to, “Will you show me how?”
Will’s nodding his ascent, “Totally,” to distract himself from his embarrassing actions, he turns to Dustin and Lucas, “Are you guys feeling anything or do you want to hit it again?”
“I’m good, don’t want to overdo it and get super panicked,” Lucas says, heading for the bag of Doritos again. Dustin follows him, surely feeling the munchies. The two of them begin throwing chips into each other’s mouth with limited success.
Mike fidgets next to Will by the window, “Panicked?”
His question comes from such a vulnerable place, Will wants to wrap him in a hug. Instead he hands him the joint, “You won’t feel that way, I promise. That only happens when you’re around people you don’t trust or you smoke way too much, which is impossible because this is basically a roach.”
“What’s a roach?”
“Sorry, the end of the joint. Like, we’ve almost smoked the whole thing,” he gently explains. Mike studies the joint like it might grow legs and become a bug, then steals himself and places it between his lips.
“I’m going to light this match and hold it to the end of the joint. Breath in so it lights, okay?” Will explains again. Mike still looks nervous so he continues, “If it’s awful and you hate it, we can put on Star Wars and fall asleep. You trust me, right?”
It’s like the anxiety drains from Mike’s body at Will’s question and he gives a small little nod. Will strikes the match and holds it up to the joint until it catches. Mike looks so beautiful in the flame, little shadows dancing in the waving light. He’s staring at Will, not breaking eye contact as he inhales. Will slowly brings the match to his lips and blows it out, the gust moving a few strands of hair across Mike’s forehead. When did they get so close?
Will knows he’s whispering when he says, “Now exhale.”
Mike turns his head, not breaking eye contact, and blows the smoke out the window. He’s so tall, Jesus Christ. He hits it again, staring at Will. It’s a different from the pitying glances he’s given him this week. The darkness in his eyes is hungry. Will has to cut the tension, only making it worse when he turns his gaze to the joint, held lightly between Mike’s elegant fingers, enclosed by his red lips. Mike holds it out for Will to take. In a moment of insanity, Will puts his lips directly to it, letting Mike hold it for him, locking eyes yet again. The smoke burns his throat and lungs as he holds his breath, not wanting the moment to end. When his eyes start watering, he finally turns, blowing out the window.
“I’m taking a hit,” Dustin intrudes, snagging the joint from Mikes hands. Will’s grateful for the distraction. He has no idea what that was. He’s stoned enough to want more of it and Mike isn’t running away. Actually, Mike is still very much staring at him.
“Can we bring your record player down here?” Will asks.
“Sure, wanna pick something out with me?”
The next thing he knows, he’s sitting criss-cross applesauce in Mike’s room browsing his record collection. Mike’s unplugging the player from a hidden socket, leaned all the way over his desk and contorted.
“I want to draw you like this,” Will says. Mike huff out a laugh before straightening up with the wire in his hand.
“You’re such an artist,” he teases, before plopping down next to him, “Did you find anything good?”
“No, your taste is awful,” he bumps him with his shoulder, “I’m looking for The Wall by Pink Floyd. I know you have it because I gave it to you three Christmases ago.”
“Oh, it’s over here,” Mike gets up and goes to a box under his bed. Will twists to try to see what else is in there. Catching him, Mike quickly closes the box.
“Why is it under your bed? Do you hate it that much?” Will puzzles out. Mike holds out his hand to help him stand. Then he doesn’t let go.
“No, nothing like that. It’s just safer down there,” he smiles but doesn’t meet Will’s eye. He knows he’s lying.
“Okay, Michael, keep your secrets,” with much effort, Will drops Mike’s hand, sensing that something has shifted in the room. Mike’s blushing a little bit and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
“Let’s go back to Lucas and Dustin. I’m about to change your life with this album,” Will says, trying to sound more confident than he’s feeling. He’s got to get out of here, it’s too hot.
“Wait, um,” Mike reaches out and holds his arm, stilling him from leaving, “Before we go down to the guys, will you answer a question for me?”
Will absurdly thinks Mike’s going to ask to kiss him. That’s got to be the weed talking. There’s no way Mike would ask him that. That’s crazy, dream stuff. Not real life. Not his best friend, no way. Will gulps and nods.
“Why didn’t you ask me before? To, like, smoke with you?” Mike asks, clearly a little hurt. Will’s heart softens.
“I didn’t think you’d be into it. Plus, I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you,” the last bit slips out without his permission.
“Oh. Okay,” Mike sounds relieved, “You know I wouldn’t have judged you, right? You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
If only you knew, Will thinks. He forces out a nonchalant chuckle and tilts his head to the door, “C’mon, let’s go be delinquents with our friends.”
March, 1987
Will sort of hated his birthday. He was grateful it landed on a Sunday this year. That way, he didn’t have to deal with people blatantly forgetting about it. Nobody needed to decorate his locker or wish him happy birthday in the school halls.
He asked Lucas if he could come over and lift weights with him that morning, hoping the exercise would help him blow off some steam. Mike and Dustin didn’t really care about working out. Will had started when he was in California. There was nothing better to do and he, to his surprise, really liked it. Besides, there was no harm getting into physical shape when their lives were constantly in danger. Better to fight monsters with actual strength than pure adrenaline.
“Hey,” Lucas greeted him in front of his garage. Will appreciated the fact that Lucas was a morning person. Even though he quit the basketball team, the discipline hadn’t left him. He gathered they were both after the same thing: endorphins to distract from their peril.
They took turns spotting each other during chest presses and squats, breaking a sweat after twenty minutes. They keep going for another twenty, challenging each other to a push-up contest to burn out at the end.
“You’ve gotten stronger,” Lucas comments as Will flops to the ground
“I’ll probably be able to beat you by summer,” Will says, feeling confident after his set. Lucas tuts and shakes his head.
“No way, I’m big,” Lucas flexes his muscles dramatically and Will laughs, reaching over to drink his water. His watch blinks at him 8:02AM.
“You want to go on a run? I could use the cardio,” Will suggests, eager to burn off his anxious energy. Lucas looks at him in surprise.
“Nah, not today. I have some stuff I need to do,” Lucas wipes sweat from his forehead and sets his free weights back in their rack. Will takes this as his cue to leave.
“All good, I’ll probably just do a quick one,” Will says on his way out.
“Oh, Will!” Lucas gets his attention, “Happy birthday, dude.”
Will smiles and thanks him, hitting the pavement on the way out. He isn’t planning on running far, just long enough to clear his mind. He makes it all the way to the school before he gets too hot and whips off his shirt, tucking it into the waistband of his shorts. The thud, thud, thud, of his feet on pavement lulls him into a meditative state. He feels his breath regulate with his pace, appreciating how free he feels like this.
Then something tickles the back of his neck. He freezes. With a shaking hand, he touches the skin there, anticipating goosebumps. To his great relief, he feels sweat, trickling from his hairline down his back.
Thank God. The last thing he wanted to deal with was Vecna on his birthday. He does a full body check, making sure he wasn’t sensing anything evil. Nothing. Just sweat. He’s fine. He’s safe. He starts running, faster this time, ready to get home and take a shower.
When he rounds the Wheeler’s house, Mike’s standing in the driveway.
“Where the hell were you, dude?” Mike sounds pissed. Will notices he keeps sweeping his eyes over his bare chest and back up to his face, turning a shade of pink that could be a result of his fury.
“Can’t a guy work out without alerting the town?” Will jabs, not wanting to deal with an irritated Mike on his birthday.
“You can’t. We were worried sick!” Will rolls his eyes at the dramatics.
“I’m fine, I went on a run,” he tugs his shirt back on, uncomfortable with how it sticks to his sweaty body.
“Whatever,” Mike mumbles under his breath and follows Will inside. As he opens the front door, he’s greeted by a chorus of “Surprise!”
There’s a banner hanging from the front hall, clearly designed by Holly, spelling out ‘Happy Birthday Will.’ He feels Mike hold his shoulder and lean into whisper, “Surprise.”
Now, Will’s covered in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the Upside Down. Before he could get too caught up in the feeling, his mom and brother were bombarding him with hugs.
“No, mom, I’m gross, let me go shower,” he protests.
“Told you it wasn’t a good day for a run, man,” he hears Lucas say from his left. He looks freshly showered and is holding a plate of pancakes. In fact, all of his friends are standing in the dining room around a massive spread. Mrs. Wheeler comes out of the kitchen wearing a ruffly apron.
“Will, honey, how about we eat, then you can take a shower. Lord knows no one here is a stranger to a smelly boy!”
Will cringes at her statement, but doesn’t want to be rude. Joyce herds him over to the head of the table. Will notices Mr. Wheeler grumble something to his wife before stalking back upstairs. He feels a little guilty for taking over his home like this, but Karen looks so happy. They all do, especially when Nancy comes in with a stack of pancakes covered in candles and they sing. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you… Dustin harmonizes over the tone deaf crowd, sounding like an angel.
Breakfast lasts an hour, ending with a stack of newspaper wrapped gifts. Will especially treasures the drawing Holly made for him: the two of them triumphantly holding the head of Medusa in a flowery field.
“We’re meeting at The Squawk at 5 for a new campaign, do whatever until then, but don’t be late, okay?” Dustin urges him as he and Lucas leave.
“Okay, sounds good. Seriously, thanks guys,” he waves them both out and shuts the front door. Mike is standing at the base of the stairs when he turns around, clearly on the edge of saying something.
“Think fast!” Jonathan says and tosses him a set of car keys. Will catches them midair and gawks.
“Are you serious?” He asks, staring at his brother.
“Mom said I can start teaching you. Get your ass in the shower then meet me in the driveway,” Jonathan beams at him. Will is so overwhelmed by excitement that he pulls him in for a hug.
“Thank you,” he says into his shoulder, afraid he may start crying.
“Will?” Mike’s voice breaks him from the hug. Jonathan ruffles his hair and heads down to the basement. Will focuses back on the stairs, “Come upstairs with me real quick?”
Will follows Mike into his room. He’s suddenly very conscious that he smells like hour-old sweat. When Mike’s back is turned, he waves under his armpits, trying to dispel the odor. He stops abruptly when Mike faces him, holding out a binder.
“Here, um, happy birthday,” Will takes the binder and opens it. It’s a thick tomb of hole-punched pages, the first boasting Will The Wise in fancy calligraphy. It must have taken Mike days to write it out. He turns the page:
On the far edge of the Borderlands, where the Dark Shadow had yet to invade, lived a young boy who would one day become the most powerful sorcerer in all the realm. Today, however, he was serving his punishment, mucking the stables for Sir Creighton.
“It’s our first campaign,” Will says with awe.
“It’s all of our campaigns. The entire life of Will the Wise. I really wanted to give it to you for Christmas, but I wasn’t done yet. I actually started it for your birthday last year, but a bunch of stuff happened that sort of distracted me,” Mike rambles and reaches over to turn the pages, “There’s some blank pages at the end, too, because the story isn’t over.”
“So I’ll have to give it back to you to keep writing?” Will asks. Mike gets flustered.
“No, obviously not. But, like, I can keep writing it. I want to. But I thought, maybe, if you want, you could draw some of it out? Like, do the illustrations for it, because I can’t draw. I’m so much better with words. Not right now, like talking, god, yeah, um… do you like it?”
Will wants to start crying again. He wished he had a better handle on that particular proclivity, given he was 16. He clenches his jaw and swallows down the emotion, nodding fervently.
“I love it, thank you,” he flips through it, catching an odd sentence here and there. Mike seems to relax.
“Good, I’m glad,” he lets sends a shy smile his way and Will can’t help himself. He wraps Mike in a hug. They hold each other, binder crushed between them, for a long time. Will feels Mike take a deep breath and tenses.
“God, sorry I must stink,” he goes to pull away, but Mike holds him tighter.
“It’s fine, I like you anyway,” Mike says it and Will closes his eyes. It’s almost painful, the love. Especially in these moments, when it feels like Mike might love him back.
September, 1987
School always sucked for the party. Last year, their peers were preoccupied enough by the destruction of the town to keep the bullying down to a minimum. After more than a year to adjust to the new normal, the torment was back, stronger than ever.
Dustin didn’t help. He wore his freak status like a badge of honor, poking at the bear more often than not. Lucas faced the worst of it, ostracized by the boys he once called a team. He pretended like it didn’t bother him, but Will overheard the coach begging him to rejoin this year. Eavesdropping, he listened as they made a plan to keep Lucas in shape until he was ready. At lunch, Will offered to go to the park to shoot hoops sometime. Had they not worked out together all summer, this might have raised some flags, but everyone accepted it. Lucas was grateful and confounded that Will’s hand eye coordination wasn’t terrible. What can he say, being an artist gave him some unexpected transferable skills.
At school, he tried to keep his head down, focus on his GPA so he can get into any college he applies for and get the hell out of Hawkins. If they don’t all die first. Which is why the he’s unsurprised when Mike and him get an A+ on their chemistry project.
Mr. Davis sets the rubric on their shared lab table with a, Good work boys, before moving on.
“Fucking fairies, probably sucked each other off between problem sets,” Will hears Chance snicker from the table behind him. Mike’s hand curls into a fist on the table.
“Mike, don’t, it’s not worth it,” Will whispers to him, but it’s too late. Mike’s turning around with an unimpressed expression on his face.
“For a guy who claims he’s straight, you spend a lot of time thinking about other’s guys dicks, Chance,” Mike says, completely neutral. Chance’s eyes widen at the accusation.
“I’ll kick your ass, Wheeler,” he threatens. Mike doesn’t miss a beat:
“Are you sure you don’t mean kiss it?”
Chance lunges across the table, hands raised. Will acts without thinking, grabbing Chance by the collar and slamming him back into his seat.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growls.
“Boys! This is a classroom! William, I expected more from you,” Mr. Davis yells across the room. Everyone is looking at them. More accurately, a lot of people are gaping at Will, who hasn’t let go of Chance. He uncurls his fingers and settles back into his seat, mumbling an apology. He expects to hear Chance say more heinous shit under his breath, but the bully is silent.
“Holy fuck, dude,” Mike tells him. He glances up to see Mike grinning at him from ear to ear, “That was badass.”
Blushing, Will picks up the rubric as a distraction, “Whatever. I’m tired of meatheads thinking they can get away with that shit.”
“Revenge of the Zombie Boy,” Mike jokes. Will hides a smile behind his hand.
“Shut up, Mr. Davis is going to give us detention,” he warns. They spend the rest of the class period in silence, occasionally catching each other’s eye to share a gleeful look. Lucky for them, Chance bolts out ahead of them as soon as the bells rings.
Will only has one class without the rest of the party: advanced painting in the art wing. Secluded from the main hallway, it’s tucked in a quiet corner on the opposite side of the gym. So he’s unsettled when he sees Chance leaning against the wall outside the door. Be brave, be brave, be brave. He chants to himself as he approaches the boy.
“Byers,” Chance says, blocking him from the door, “We need to talk.”
Adjusting the strap on his backpack, Will straightens up and tries to radiate don’t fuck with me nonverbally.
“I don’t have anything to say to you, get out of my way,” he moves to shove past him, but Chance holds up a hand. It’s not aggressive, which makes Will pause.
“Please,” Chance pleads like he actually needs help. His gut tells him there’s no danger here, so he makes the stupid choice of following Chance down the hall into an empty band room.
“What did you want to say?” Will asks, trying to keep calm, acutely aware that they were alone and Chance could get away with beating him to a pulp if he was so inclined.
“I wanted to apologize, for what I said. It wasn’t cool,” Chance is playing with one of the xylophones, lightly tapping on the highest key. Will’s mouth drops open in shock. He quickly snaps it closed, trying to gather his composure.
“Oh, um, okay,” is all he can muster. The note rings through the room, the keening sound a bit unsettling.
“You can tell your boyfriend I’m sorry, too,” Chance continues.
“He’s not- we’re not dating. Mike’s my friend, he’s not, like, gay,” Will scrambles, “We’re not gay. You’re just an asshole.”
Chance stops playing with the instrument, flushing a deep shade of red. Will still expects him to throw hands at any moment, but he continues to surprise him, “Sorry, I just thought - they way you guys look at each other - I thought… sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m gunna go. Sorry, again.”
Then he’s running out the door, leaving Will completely flabbergasted. He stays that way through his art class and next period, trying to figure out what the hell he meant by the way you guys look at each other. The bells rings for lunch and he attempts to shake out if it enough to seem normal to his friends.
“Dude, I heard you kicked Chance’s ass in first period,” Dustin gushes as soon as he sits at the table, choosing to sit across from Mike instead of right next to him.
“It was so cool, he slammed him back into the chair, it was totally badass,” Mike tells them, beaming. Will rolls his eyes.
“It was nothing, he was being a dick and I told him to stop,” he shrugs, but Lucas slaps him on the back with pride.
“My man, I knew those days at the gym would pay off.”
Eventually, the conversation turns away from his out of character show of strength and he falls back into his head, mindlessly pushing peas around on his lunch tray. A foot nudges his under the table. He brushes it off. Then it happens again, more insistent. He looks up at Mike, who’s furrowing his eyebrow as if to ask, you good?
Will forces a smile and nods, trying to put his friend at ease. Mike’s eyes narrow slightly, I don’t buy it. Rolling his eyes, he tunes back into the conversation.
“… so I now have keys to the cage because Mrs. Stacy thinks I may have a future in animal handling,” Dustin finishes his thought.
“I wouldn’t trust you within 30 feet of a reptile. Remember Dart?” Lucas razzes him.
“I don’t know, didn’t he show loyalty when it mattered most? Mrs. Stacy might be onto something,” Will adds, glancing back at Mike. His diversion was successful, as continue discussing Dustin’s future life as a veterinarian until the end of lunch. There’s only three more class periods until the final bells rings.
Mike and Will meet by the bike racks, waving goodbye to their friends as they set course for the elementary school to pick up Holly. They make it off school grounds before Mike says something.
“Hey, what was up at lunch today?”
Damnit. He thought he was off the hook.
“Uh, well, Chance sort of cornered me before my art class,” he hears Mike’s tires squeal to a stop.
“Did he try something?”
Will bikes circles around Mike instead of stopping, not wanting to kill momentum on their ride.
“He actually apologized.”
“No way, really?”
“Yeah. It was weird, threw me off, but I’m good. We’re good,” he says, “Let’s go get Holly. She’ll freak out if we’re late.”
Mike kicks into gear, following Will on his bike.
“Damn, Will. You must have really scared that mouth breather if he apologized.”
“Something like that,” Will tells him, holding back the rest of the conversation. Mike doesn’t need to know. They’ll pick Holly up from school and everything will go back to normal. He tries to ignore the way Mike’s watching him as he catches up to peddle next to him.
Because, if Will didn’t know any better, Chance may have been onto something.