Chapter Text
As the car veers out of the parking lot, Will is silent. The courthouse grows smaller and smaller behind him as his father presses the gas pedal more and more, like if he goes any slower the reality of the situation will dissipate.
Will has lived with his mother for a while now, but once his father lost his job, he all of a sudden wanted to “reconnect with his children,” – or as Will likes to put it, he wanted the child support money to fund his nightly bar trips. Since Will is the younger boy of the two, Lonnie knew that he was the one to go after if he wanted the money. He put up quite a good show, too–fake tears welling in his eyes and everything. The only thing that made Will able to see through his act so clearly was the smug grin his sleazy lawyer had plastered across his face the entire time–besides knowing how much of a scumbag his father is, of course.
After their divorce, Will’s father left for a small town in Indiana, somewhere far away from California where nobody knew who he was, or how much of a dirtbag he is. As the interstate signs shift, reading closer and closer to Indiana, Will can feel the pit in his stomach growing. This is it, he thinks. It’s actually happening.
He stares out the window, not daring to say anything the whole ride. His father has the music playing, some shitty mix between rock and country that feels like it’s drilling a hole into Will’s skull. The only time Lonnie speaks is to cuss someone out–pedestrians, other drivers, even the radio hosts for talking too much in between songs.
Once they take an exit off the highway, and the roads start to become more and more weathered, Will feels like he’s going to be sick. Pull over. Pull over so I can hurl, and maybe run, or jump in front of the next car so I can wake up from this sick nightmare.
The car turns down a mostly dirt drive, the shitty little house sitting threateningly at the end. It’s small, Will didn’t expect anything grandiose, but it’s still smaller than he was expecting. There’s a sunken porch out front, cigarette butts and empty bottles lining the inner side of the railing. One lone rocking chair sits out there, almost like a warning.
They enter the house, a sour smell hitting Will immediately, as Lonnie continues to disregard his son. It’s not a huge mess, per se, however there’s definitely clutter. Pizza boxes, cases upon cases of beer bottles–both full and empty–and random clothes and miscellaneous belongings litter the main room of the house. The kitchen counter acts as a barrier, dirty dishes peeking around the corner that Will can almost smell the grime on from here.
Will is frozen. He’s never been here before, never been in this house. Where does he even go? He has a few bags, one draped over his shoulder, and the other two bearing like weights against his tired arms. He tries to find somewhere to put them down, somewhere clean, but his thoughts are cut short when his father addresses him for the first time since leaving the courthouse.
“Your room is down the hall, the empty one. If you can’t find it that’s your own fucking fault.” He practically spits the words out at him, making his way to the fridge before flopping on the couch with a cold beer, the television already on.
Will nods and swallows thickly. “Okay,” he makes his way over, cautiously peering down the hallway like something is about to jump out at him.
“Before you get any big ideas, don’t think I really want you here. You’re here so I can get paid.” He chuckles for a moment before letting out his next thought, though it sounds more like a scoff. “It’s what I get for having to put up with your nutcase of a mother.”
“You’ve barely spoken to her the entire time she had us. You never even checked in on us.” The truth hurts Will, but he knows it shouldn’t. There was a time when his father seemed to care, when they were a happy and normal family. But then the yelling became more frequent, the arguments, and eventually–the hitting. Will hated when Lonnie hit his mother, but he was too small to do anything. He tried once, tried to stop him, but Jonathan grabbed him and yanked him into his room before any words could even escape his mouth.
Will knows he messed up by talking back. Even though he hasn’t seen his father in years, the memories still remain. A silence lingers for a moment, even the background noise of the show his father is watching seems to pause for suspense.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” His voice is slow and methodical, and Will can hear the rickety sofa creak as his father shifts his weight forward, leaning and craning his neck to see Will clearer.
“Nothing,” Will takes a shaky breath, fighting off the urge to continue the argument. “I said nothing.” He finds his room, empty and ominous, as he drops his bags inside just in the doorway. He closes the door behind him, a false sense of privacy trying to etch its way into the wood between Will and his father. The bed sits in the corner next to the window, a small end table decorating its side. The dresser is across the room, next to his awkwardly small closet. Will opens the window, hoping to get some fresh air in, after setting his bags down next to the bed. He inspects each piece of furniture methodically, as if there’s some hidden key that will open a door to his freedom. The dresser and end table are hollow, the closet empty save for a few barren coathangers, and his bed has sheets and blankets on it that look–and smell–as if they haven’t been touched in years.
As Will settles in, all of his clothes in their new homes, and the rest of his belongings placed haphazardly around the room, he takes a moment to sit on his bed and try to process what’s really happening. His mother and brother are over two thousand miles away, along with the few friends he had back home. He has to start a new school, during senior year at that, which makes it so much worse. Everyone already has their cliques, and nobody is really interested in making new friends that late in their high school life. At least it’s only one year. I can just keep my head down and push through it.
Will reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, seeing a few missed texts from Jonathan. He looks and sees that his phone is almost dead, to which he reaches to his bedside table to grab his charger, his half-empty water bottle being knocked over by the movement.
“Shit–” the metal bottle clanks against the hardwood floor, a small puddle forming around the opening at the top. Will stands up and immediately picks it up, trying to find something to wipe the floor up with.
Before he can even realize, his father is pounding on his door. “Keep it down in there, I’m trying to watch my fucking show. I don’t need you making all that noise and bothering me.” His voice is aggressive, much louder than it has to be, which makes Will flinch. He doesn’t give him the satisfaction of responding, just stays frozen where he stands. When he hears his father’s footsteps recede back to the living room, he looks back down at his phone, opening his messages with his brother:
Hey
How you holding up?
ok, i miss u guys tho
I know, I’m sorry kid. Hopefully I can drive over to
visit when my car is fixed.
yeah, thatd b cool
You started school yet?
no
i start tmrw tho
wish i had more time b4 having 2 go but wtv
You’ll be okay. I’m sure you’ll find some good friends.
yea, sure ig
Will sighs and throws his phone on the bed, wincing as it bounces and almost falls off the side. He grabs the backpack he has laid by the door, filled with new school supplies his mother got for him before the move, and pulls his sketchbook out. Will grabs his headphones, turning his music on and muting all noise around him before starting to draw.
It’s mainly mindless doodles to help him calm down, but Will can’t find any inspiration to truly draw. Before he would draw his friends, the scenery, random strangers in California, anything, but now it seems like all of that has been stripped from him.
He throws his sketchbook on his end table gently, laying down and trying to fall asleep. His music continues to play, drowning out any outside distractions, as he turns over to face away from his door.
Will manages to drift off to sleep after a few hours of tossing and turning, the new environment keeping him on edge no matter how tired and drained he is.
⋆
Will wakes up to too many noises: a blaring alarm right next to his head, a pounding on his door, and his father yelling at him through the plywood. He looks around, disoriented, and tries to fit all the sounds together. He shuts his alarm off, reading 6:00, groaning at how early it is. The next two noises both come from the same source, which is his father yelling at him to get out of bed.
“William, I swear to God if you don’t get your ass out of bed right the fuck now you’re gonna fucking walk to school. I was being generous when I said I would drive you, don’t make me take it back.” His voice booms throughout the house, giving Will his first headache of the day less than five minutes after waking up–that’s gotta be a new record.
“Yeah, I’m up, dad. I’m up.” He waves his hand in his father’s direction, even though he’s not visible. Will climbs out of bed and goes to his dresser, finding an oversized band tee and some baggy shorts to throw on, topped off with his favorite oversized zip-up hoodie despite the late summer heat. He looks around his room, gathering the things he needs–his headphones, pencil, sketchbook, phone, etc–before grabbing his seemingly ancient Converse and putting them on. It’s a wonder they’re still holding up, as he’s had them for over five years now, and they’ve had plenty of repairs to them. There’s a few small patches of mismatched fabric, drawings all over the white rubber, and one shoelace is different from the original set, the first one having broken off ages ago.
He steps out of his room, immediately going to the bathroom to brush his teeth. His newly-adjusted routine is interrupted by his father’s looming presence in the doorway. “If you’re expecting breakfast, wake up earlier and make it yourself next time. I’m not gonna bend to your every fucking will like your mother does. You’re lucky I’m up early enough to bring you on your first day.”
Will only nods in response, making eye contact through the mirror. He finishes brushing his teeth, spitting into the sink with a little more aggression than he was intending, and wipes his mouth with the hand towel next to him. His father looks at him expectantly, rage already seeming to fill him.
“You answer me when I speak to you, boy.”
Will looks at him directly now, a slight scowl slipping through his best efforts to keep his face devoid of emotion. “I nodded. That’s an answer.”
Lonnie stands up straighter and takes a step towards Will, their three inch height difference feeling much greater due to his father’s large presence. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He practically spits the words out at Will, stepping even closer so their faces are barely inches apart. “When I say you answer me, I mean verbally. None of your quiet-treatment bullshit. This is my fucking house, and if I want an answer, I’ll fucking get it.”
Will swallows thickly, trying to calm himself, even though he feels his strong facade cracking under the pressure. “‘Kay. Got it.”
“I don’t need your fucking attitude, either.”
“I wasn’t giving you attitude, I was giving you a verbal response. Like you told me to.” Will winces internally at his own words, wishing he could bite his tongue and shut the fuck up for once in his life. Back home (well, not home anymore) in Lenora, there weren’t many things that threatened Will, or that he was necessarily afraid of, so he got used to being able to talk back and harbour a good amount of sass. When he was with his mother, she would give it right back, and then they would laugh it off together right after. However, this is not Lenora, and Will isn’t with his mother anymore.
Instead of being met with laughter and lightheartedness at Will’s snark, he’s instead met with a sharp slap in the face, almost too quick for him to even notice what had happened. He stands there in shock for a moment, hand creeping up to where his cheek is starting to throb.
“That’s the only fucking warning you’ll get.” Lonnie points his finger in Will’s face, the distance between them seeming to shrink. He stays there for a moment, as if waiting for Will to retaliate again so he can hit him harder. When Will stays quiet, not letting any emotion slip through, he steps back and walks towards the living room. “If you’re not in my car in five minutes, I’m dumping your ass on the side of the road and you can find your own fucking way there.”
Lonnie turns around expectantly, to which Will responds with a nod and a quiet “got it.” He turns back around and walks out of Will’s view.
Once he can’t see his father anymore, Will turns back into the mirror to look at his reflection. His cheek is bright red, his eyes glassy from threatening to water, and he looks fucking miserable. He barely slept last night, the bags under his eyes are proof enough, and his eyelids feel heavy with sleep. Hopefully the anxiety-induced adrenaline that comes with starting your first day at a new school will help wake him up.
He goes back into his room to grab his bag, double checking that he didn’t forget anything, before putting his headphones on and connecting them to his phone. He plays his music, heading out to the car and locking the front door behind him. Will gets in his father’s car, turning his music down in case he tries to talk to him, and promptly looks out the window as his father peels out of the driveway.
The entire drive, Will keeps his eyes outside. He takes in the views around him, the small dingy shops and cracked roads, trying to memorize every turn his father haphazardly takes, creating a mental map of the route to school. The town isn’t anything special, it’s small and obviously not anything like California. They approach the high school, a medium-sized brick building with a few dozen cars parked outside, and Lonnie pulls up out front, not bothering to go through the drop-off line.
“This is as far as I’m taking you. I’m not dealing with that car-line bullshit.”
“Thanks,” his voice is barely a mumble, but it’s a response nonetheless. Will gets out and makes his way to the entrance, turning up the volume now that he’s not at risk of being yelled at for not responding to anyone. When he enters the school, he immediately goes to the office to try and get his schedule, and figure out where the fuck his classes are.
He manages to get a paper copy of both his schedule and a map of the school, much to his delight. His first period is math of all classes, which makes Will want to rip his hair out. Math has never been his strong suit. Science? Sure. And art? 100%. But math? Fuck no.
He makes his way through the hallways, keeping his headphones on and trying to stick along the walls, making himself as small as possible. Nobody has questioned who he is so far, and his first few periods go by pretty smoothly, nobody asking questions besides his name, and basic icebreaker bullshit that he half-asses the answers to. None of his classes so far have been extraordinary, either, all random people that don’t strike him as interesting, and nobody he deems worth stepping out of his comfort zone to try and talk to.
When Will makes it through the first four periods of his day, he makes his way over to the cafeteria for lunch. The knot of anxiety that’s sitting in his stomach has completely quelled his appetite, so he finds an empty table to sit at. His headphones haven’t left his head for the past hour, but he does turn the volume up as loud as it can go to try and drown out the loud chatter that fills the small cafeteria. He grabs his sketchbook from his bag, trying to find something–anything–to draw, landing on a tree sitting outside the window, just perfectly placed enough in his field of vision for him to sketch.
Will is halfway through sketching the trunk when something jolts in his peripheral vision, causing Will to jump. He pushes one side of his headphones off as he turns to the side, met with a boy sitting in the seat right next to him. Will takes a minute to try and process the change in his environment, the boy’s sudden presence startling him so much that he needs a moment to wrap his head around it.
He smiles at Will, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He tilts his head to the side, eyes flicking to Will’s sketchbook as his dark, curly hair falls over his shoulder. “Whatcha drawing?” His voice is smooth, though it does have a certain pitch to it that Will can’t quite describe. The main thing that Will notices is this boy’s presence, very relaxed but confident at the same time, as he props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on the heel of his hand.
“Uh.” Will looks over to the page, then up out the window. “A tree, I guess.” He looks back over at the boy, who raises his eyebrows in amusement.
“You guess? I thought that to draw something, you kinda had to know what your subject was, or whatever.” He leans in towards Will more, to which Will promptly shrinks into himself a bit, creating more distance between the two.
“I mean yeah, but I’m just drawing random shit I guess. Just passing the time.”
“Passing the time? What are you so eager for that you’re wasting your only break during the day sitting by yourself moping?”
“I’m not moping–”
“Yeah, yeah. Sureee,” he draws out his words, leaning even more towards Will. Can this guy take a fucking hint? “Nice shirt by the way. Radiohead is cool.” Will looks down, not remembering what shirt he was wearing, before looking back up.
“I’m sorry, why are you talking to me?” The edge in Will’s voice is sharp and accusatory, and if this guy doesn’t get the hint that Will doesn’t want to be bothered anymore then he must be fucking stupid.
He shrugs, eyes flicking up and down over Will, before meeting back at his eyes. Will has never been good with eye contact before, but this seems weirdly normal, like this random guy is casting some weird ass spell to make Will be able to look at him better.
“You looked lonely. And I figured I’d say hi, and that your shirt is cool.” He continues to study Will’s face, obviously wanting to say more but testing the waters for now.
“O-kay…?” Will looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.
“You’re new.”
“Really? I didn’t know.” Will’s sarcasm bleeds through his words as he rolls his eyes, picking his pencil back up and going back to sketching.
“Damn, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Will shoots him a glare, obviously not wanting to put up with this guy’s random bullshit. “Where are you from, anyways?”
“California.”
“Cool. Where in Cali?”
“Lenora.” He doesn’t meet the boy’s gaze, but he can feel him still studying Will’s expression, trying to decipher whatever it is he’s looking for.
“Nice, is it cool there?”
“I’m sorry, but who are you? Do you just like, enjoy sneaking up on people who are minding their business and bothering them, then asking a ton of random ass questions?” Will’s tone is more aggressive than he intended, but honestly he doesn’t give a shit right now. He’s still exhausted, he’s getting hungry now even though it’s too late to get food, and now he’s fucking annoyed by this random kid coming over and interrogating him.
“Mike.” He sticks his hand out expectantly, to which Will gives him a short, weak handshake. “Mike Wheeler.”
“Cool. I’m Will. Will Byers.”
“Nice to meet you, Byers.”
“Will. Just Will is fine.”
Mike smiles at him, “alright then, Byers.”
Will rolls his eyes and puts his headphone back over his other ear, diverting his attention back to the page and clearly ending the conversation. Mike reaches over and pushes the headphone back, much to Will’s disdain.
“Whatcha listening to?”
“Holy shit dude why do you care? Why are you like fucking interrogating me right now?” Will puts his pencil back down on the table, turning his body more towards Mike, giving him the attention he so clearly wants.
“Cause. You seem cool, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come sit with me and my friends. Unless you want to be a loser and be alone through your whole senior year, that is.” He smiles at Will earnestly, his lighthearted and sickeningly friendly tone juxtaposing his demeaning words.
Will rolls his eyes again, “if I agree will you relax with all the questions?”
“Hypocritical, you’ve been asking me a lot of questions, too. Only fair I get to do the same.” A smug smile curls the corners of his lips up, his eyes meeting Will’s straight-on now instead of at the angle they were before when Will wasn’t facing him. From this angle, Will can see that Mike’s eyes are a very dark brown, his lashes long and straight, and he’s wearing a tight line of smudged black eyeliner around his lower lash line.
“Whatever.” Will closes his sketchbook and stands up, stepping around the chair. When Mike doesn’t follow, he gestures his hands out expectantly, as if to signal well then? Are we fucking going or not?
Mike crosses his arms lazily over his chest for a moment, looking Will up and down again as if he’s studying him. He smirks again, looking up at Will through his lashes. For some godforsaken reason, Will gets–flustered at the look Mike is giving him. He doesn’t know why, especially since he was just annoying the hell out of him less than a minute ago, but something about the boy’s look sends a butterfly or two circling around in Will’s stomach.
Mike stands, Will watches as his lanky frame instantly grows in more height, towering slightly over Will. “Jesus fuck, how tall are you dude?”
“I’m six foot. You?” That stupid smug look is back on Mike’s face, and Will can’t help but want to punch him.
“Five foot seven. You showoff.”
“Sorry, can’t control this.” Mike shrugs playfully, and Will gives him a once-over too. He’s wearing baggy black jorts, a wallet chain peeking out of his pocket, with combat boots and a slightly baggy black graphic tee. His wrists are adorned with various bracelets–some metal ringlets, some silicone with random words on them, and some studded leather. He also has a few rings on either hand, and two necklaces layered carefully on top of each other. His hair falls just barely past his shoulders, not quite reaching his collarbones, his curls gentle and framing his face, his bangs falling right over his eyebrows.
He looks down his freckled nose at Will, letting out a soft scoff as he turns away. “You coming or not?” He reaches his hand out expectantly, to which Will hesitantly takes it without thinking into it fully. Mike walks quickly–unsurprising considering his insanely long legs–and guides Will to a table in the corner with four other people seated around it.
“Dude, where the fuck were you? We were waiting for you,” one of the boys at the table says, gesturing at Mike somewhat aggressively. Will keeps his ground and does not flinch at the sudden movement. Not at all.
“Sorry Dustin, I was talking to Byers over here.” Mike tilts his head in gesture to Will, who drops his hand from Mike’s to give a slight wave. He already feels extremely awkward, not knowing how to interact with anyone here.
“Hey,” is all he manages to get out, before shooting a quick, expectant glare at Mike.
Mike meets his gaze and gives him a cocky smile, before pointing out specific people in the group and introducing them to him. He points to a redhead in a wheelchair first, a scowl already plastered on her face. “That's Max, she’s a dick so don’t let her attitude get to you”--he’s met with an eyeroll and a middle finger being thrown in his direction at this. Next, he points to the boy sitting next to her, tall and built, clearly a jock, who sticks out from the group of nerds he’s in, ”and that’s Lucas, he’s like a basketball player or whatever. Sounds dumb if you ask me.”
“God forbid a man have hobbies. Sorry I don’t want to be a twig like you,” Lucas laughs along with Mike as the two tease each other, and it’s obvious the two have been friends for a long time from the way they insult each other and laugh it off like it’s nothing.
“Those two are like, dating–gross I know–so if they ick you out just like, hit them or something. That’s what I do,” Mike shrugs before adding “I mean, only Lucas.” He leans in towards Will and stage whispers “Max scares me,” before pulling away and winking at him.
“Good, I know where you live, Wheeler. And Lucas has a car, so fuck off.” Max smiles widely at Mike, who sticks his tongue out at her.
“Yeah, and so do I, you’re soooo scary for that.” He looks at Will again and rolls his eyes, before gesturing towards the others at the table. He points at a shorter, chubbier boy, his light brown curls sticking wildly out of his hat as he focuses his attention into a thick textbook. “That one’s Dustin, he’s like a super-genius. Wants to be an astrophysicist or something, so if you have any nerdy questions just ask him.” Dustin looks up and flashes Will a polite smile, before sticking his nose back into the pages. Will follows Mike’s outstretched hand to a girl sitting at the end of the table, a wavy brown bob brushing just above her shoulders, who is in a bright and stylish outfit. “And that’s El, she’s quiet but just as ruthless as Max is. I really do not recommend getting on her bad side. Took me three whole years to make amends.”
“Maybe don’t be a shitty boyfriend then,” El interjects. “My disdain for you was completely warranted, besides you needed to grow the fuck up before you deserved my friendship again.” She straightens her posture a bit and tilts her head up snobbishly before breaking out into a laugh.
Mike turns to Will for the third time and mouths Drama queen at him playfully, to which Will snickers.
“So, Byers, you got a first name?” Max looks at him expectantly, pulling a chunk of her bright red hair over her shoulder to braid.
“Will. You can just call me Will.” He averts his eyes, suddenly overly aware of all the people looking at him.
“Cool, nice to meet you, Will. You seem fun.” Lucas leans over the table and sticks his hand out for an awkward handshake, to which Will obliges, giving a little less attitude than when he shook Mike’s hand before. Mike gestures for Will to take the open seat next to El, and Mike situates himself between Will and Max, to which he is promptly flicked in the arm by her.
Once the two settle in, the group all continue on as normal, talking about random happenings around them–except for Will, who stays silent, observing the people around him, the group he was haphazardly thrown into. It seems like these past few weeks he hasn’t had much choice in what goes on in his life, being thrown in every direction wherever other people want him to go.
Will continues to get lost in his thoughts, trying to wrap his head around all the shit that’s been happening in the last two days alone, before he’s interrupted by the shrill ring of the bell, signaling that lunch is over. Will checks his phone, looking at what class he has next, as he wordlessly gets up and starts to walk away.
“Hey, Byers,” Mike’s voice has gotten much softer, as before it was loud and obnoxious when he was talking with the rest of his friends. “Wait up.” Mike rests his hand on Will’s shoulder, to which he flinches at the unexpected contact.
“What?” He slots his phone back into his pocket, trying to keep the path he needs to take in his mind to ensure that he doesn’t forget it.
“What’s your next class?”
“Uh, science. Room 15. Why?” Will’s eyes flick across Mike’s face, who takes a step closer to him and slings his arm over his shoulders.
“I’ll walk you. My teacher doesn’t give a shit if I’m late, not that I would care either way.” Mike smiles at Will, the sunlight from the window illuminating his eyes and giving them a slightly golden shine.
“Okay, thanks I guess.” Will peels Mike’s arm off of him, ducking away from the contact and stepping to the side to create more distance between the two.
“Yeah, no problem. I figured since you’re new and all I can help make sure you don’t get lost. I skip class and wander the halls all the time so I kinda know my way around,” he jabs Will playfully with his elbow, and Will doesn’t know why but it makes him let out a small laugh.
“How thoughtful,” his sarcasm isn’t as sharp as he’d like due to the unexplainable smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind so much. Somebody took the time to consider him, to introduce themselves first, to look out for him–on his very first day, at that.
Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all.
⋆
Will decides that this place may just be so bad, after all.
His first few classes were fine, nice and quiet, but his last period was downright obnoxious. Will has never been fond of English–not understanding why he needs to learn more about a language he’s already fluent in–and being seated with the most stuck-up, annoying girls ever does not help one bit.
When Will walked into the classroom, headphones blaring into his ears, he spotted Dustin in the corner, right before spotting the seating chart plastered on the whiteboard. He looked for his name, hoping it would be somewhere close to his new acquaintance’s, however he found that he was entirely across the room from him. He takes his seat, giving Dustin a slight nod when their gazes meet, when his tablemates walk in. Thin, blonde girls, Starbucks refreshers in hand, with the most basic and untasteful outfits ever. Cookie-cutter leggings tucked into white Nike socks at the ankles, cropped shirts of various colors, and expensive-looking bags in hand as they chatter loudly amongst themselves. When the two of them seated at Will’s table see the seating chart, they look over to where Will is already seated, minding his own damn business as he doodles aimlessly, then look back at each other and laugh.
God, this is going to fucking suck.
When the two sit down, they steal glances at Will and loudly whisper comments to each other that Will can hear, despite his headphones over his ears, now that his music is quieter.
“Isn’t that the new kid?”
“Yeah, I heard he’s from like, Cali or something.”
“Fuck, when I heard there was a kid from Cali here I was hoping he’d be–I dunno, hot? Like, tall, blonde surfer kinda vibe, not some emo looking loser.”
Will doesn’t even look that ‘emo’ today, he’s literally just wearing baggy shorts and a hoodie over an oversized band tee. What in the world screams ‘emo’ to them? He’s not even wearing any of his jewelry, or the eyeliner he would occasionally wear back home–not home–back in California. He scoffs silently and ignores the rest of their comments, choosing to keep his peace instead of causing a scene. The last thing he wants is for something to happen and all the attention to be on him the first day at this school–and Will also ignores that there’s people talking about him: the new kid from California.
The rest of the class–thankfully the last period of the day–goes by faster than he expected, to which Will is not complaining. As he nears the doors to exit the school, he looks up from his phone and realizes it’s fucking raining. Because why wouldn’t it be?
Will knows the route he has to take home (he checked it on Maps multiple times for good measure) but walking in the rain is still not the most ideal thing in the world. Will pulls up his hood, his bulky headphones being a bit uncomfortable under it at first, and crosses through the parking lot to head to the sidewalk outside of the school.
Will probably makes it about fifty feet from school grounds before he hears someone wildly honking, then a car pulls up to the sidewalk next to him.
“Byers, are you seriously walking home in this shit?” Mike’s smooth, yet slightly raspy voice yells through his open passenger window. Will pushes one headphone away from his ear, a baffled look spreading across his face.
“No, I’m fucking flying, Wheeler. What does it look like to you?” Will’s sarcasm warrants a hearty laugh from the backseat of the car, to which he looks through the tinted window to see Max and Lucas sitting side-by-side.
“Dude, get in. I’ll drive you.” Mike gestures for Will to get into the empty passenger seat, the door unlocking with a click as Will approaches to hear him better.
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I don’t even live that far.”
“I wasn’t asking, Byers.” Mike’s tone startles Will a bit, it’s not rude in any way, but it’s slightly lower than his normal tone, almost smoother, like he’s trying to seduce Will into his car like some evil incubus. Will ignores the lump in his throat and the butterfly that feels like it’s slamming against his ribcage as he looks at the boy, whose head is slightly tilted down to see Will better, looking up at him through his eyelashes with his dark curls falling in his face.
Will is suddenly very aware of the uncomfortable dampness of the fabric clinging to his shoulders, and the wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks. He nods slowly, swallowing down the strange and very unwelcome feeling, before opening the door and getting in the car. He pulls his hood down and rests his headphones around his neck as Mike peels away from the curb, not bothering to wait for Will to put his seatbelt on.
“Max lives the closest, so I’m dropping her off first, but I’ll drop you off right after, yeah?” Mike looks over at Will when they pull up to a red light, the cocky smile that seems to naturally linger on his face growing slightly.
“Sure, no problem.” Will stares through the windshield, taking in the unfamiliar scenery around him as they continue through a part of town that Will has never been to before.
When they approach the trailer park where Max lives, Mike backs into the driveway. His arm props against the back of the passenger seat as Mike turns to see behind him, his arm slightly grazing Will’s shoulder as Mike’s face gets increasingly closer to him. Will’s face feels like it starts to burn slightly, but that could just be because of the heater pointed at him to quell any shivering caused by the rain-soaked clothes he’s currently wearing.
When they finish parking, Mike and Lucas both hop out of the car, Mike making his way to the trunk and Lucas going around to Max’s side of the car to pick her up, easing her into her wheelchair that Mike is holding in place for him. Will can’t help but admire it; a routine that seems so simple to them, but makes Will smile. Both of them being so gentle, so considerate to make sure she’s comfortable before Lucas directs her feet into the pedals at the bottom.
Once she wheels herself to her door and makes her way inside, both boys retreat back into the dryness of the car. Neither of them say anything, the radio playing softly, as they put their seatbelts on and pull out of the entrance to the trailer park.
“So, where am I headed, Byers?” Mike’s fingers drum on the steering wheel in beat with the song playing on the radio. He looks over to Will, patting his knee gently while awaiting an answer.
“It’s at the end of that little street off of Randolph, right behind Cornwallis. When we get closer I can direct you, I’ve just never been over here so I–”
“Ohh, that little place at the end of Mirkwood? Mike, we used to hang out in the woods right near there all the time as kids. It’s by that big abandoned place, like a factory or some shit?” Lucas leans in between the two front seats, hands on either one as he speaks to them.
“I think it was a lab, I dunno what for though. But I know right where that is, we’re actually closer than you realize.” Mike flashes another grin at Will before pulling out into the street, the surroundings becoming more familiar to Will by the minute.
When they get to Will’s house, the first thing he notices is that his father’s car is gone, to which he lets out a small sigh of relief. He unbuckles, grabbing his bag that he threw on the floor in between his feet. “Thanks for the ride, you really didn’t have to, y’know. It’s not that far of a walk.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right? I don’t mind carting you around. Besides, now I know where you live if I ever need to pick you up for something.” Mike pats Will’s shoulder gently, before Will gives him a small smile and steps out of the car. He makes his way towards the porch, turning around to give a small wave towards Mike and Lucas–who has taken Will’s spot in the passenger seat–and goes inside.
Will immediately goes to his room, throwing his bag down on the ground next to his door and pulls out his sketchbook. He fits his headphones back over his ears, picking a random playlist to put on shuffle while he draws. Will has never really been much of a social media kind of person, usually preferring more tactile stimulation to help ease his nerves. Drawing, or any form of art, for that matter, seems to be what helps him the most–killing both time and anxiety with one stone. When he lounges on his bed and finally puts his pencil to paper, however, he can’t find the motivation to draw. He tries to sketch his Dungeons and Dragons character, but nothing is coming out right and, despite the many pages he’s drawn of this character, he just can’t seem to do it today. Okay, fine. Something else, then. Maybe realism. Will looks around his room, finding zilch for inspiration yet again. He racks his brain for anything, groaning in frustration and throwing his head back on the pillow before one face refuses to leave his mind–
Mike.
Will can’t stop thinking about him now, his sharp features and expressive face. He’s perfect for anatomy study, especially with facial structure–at least, that’s what Will tells himself. His hands seem to move before his brain does, blocky structures creating a frame for the boy’s features. Before Will can think too much into it, the page is filled with sketches of Mike from different angles, showcasing his cheekbones, his eyes, the curve of his jaw, everything. A twisting feeling starts to form in Will’s gut, something unfamiliar and fairly unwelcome.
Will sighs and shuts his sketchbook, tossing it gently onto the floor next to his bed. A few hours have passed, and Will hasn’t even realized how hungry he is. He makes his way to the kitchen–house still empty–and finds some random leftovers in the fridge to satiate his hunger. He goes back into his room, finding some random movie he’s never heard of to watch to drown out the silence of the house.
Will doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until his eyes snap open, phone dead next to his pillow, and alarm clock reading 6:24. Will hears a light knocking on the front door, and he hurls himself out of bed, not realizing how late it was. His first class is at 6:45, meaning he has less than twenty minutes to get ready and be at the school. Will is so fucked. He springs out of bed, going to the front door where the knocks seem to be getting slightly louder and a bit more frantic.
Will opens the door, leaning against the doorframe sluggishly as his body refuses to catch up with how awake his mind already is. Mike is standing at the door, tall frame looming over Will’s slouched body. He straightens a little, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes to try and make sure he’s not hallucinating. Why the fuck would Mike Wheeler be at his door at six in the morning?
“Hey sleepyhead,” he smiles gently at Will, the nickname causing a burning sensation to linger in the back of his throat.
“Mike?” Will’s voice is thick, and it’s blatantly obvious he just woke up.
“You might wanna get dressed, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up.” His cocky tone is back, garnering a very warranted eye roll from Will as he opens the door a bit more, letting Mike in. Will doesn’t exactly know why he let Mike into his house, but his body seems to have a tendency of just doing shit before his mind can catch up and realize what’s happening. “Oh wow, I get to see the inside of your house too? I’m flattered.”
Will turns as he’s walking away from Mike, shooting him a quick glare over his shoulder before turning around to head back to his room. Mike follows behind, looking around and taking in all the parts of Will’s home around him. He slips into Will’s room behind him, to which Will holds the door for a moment, brain trying to process what’s happening.
“Dude, I need to change. You mind?” He raises his eyebrows and gestures his hand for Mike to step back into the hallway so Will can close the door. Mike’s face washes in realization for a second before he steps back into the hallway, Will gingerly closing the door behind him.
“So,” Mike’s voice cuts through the thin walls as Will opens his dresser, trying to decide what to wear. Indiana is nothing like California, being much chillier than he’s used to, so he grabs a random pair of cargo pants he has in his drawer.
“So?” Will continues searching for clothes that would make a somewhat coherent outfit, landing on a white The Clash tee shirt to go along with his camouflage pants.
“We’re going to the mall today after school, and I was wondering if you wanted to join.” His voice sounds different, less confident and cocky, but Will chalks it up to the barrier between the two changing his tone.
Will pauses, hand lingering on the zipper of his hoodie before he zips it half-way. He walks over to the door and opens it, sticking his torso through the open space to see Mike leaning against the wall, one foot against it as his arms are crossed over his chest. “Seriously?”
Mike’s face twists up in confusion. “What? Do you not wanna come?”
Will stands up a little straighter before running a hand through his bedhead. “Did you seriously come to my house at six in the morning to ask if I wanted to join you guys at the mall?”
“Oh, no of course not. Just right time, right place, eh?” A shit-eating grin coats Mike’s face, before he adds, “but no, I actually came because I didn’t see you walking, and I figured I’d give you a ride to school.”
“You don’t have to do that, my legs work just fine.” Will winces at the smart-ass remark, not thinking about his friend’s predicament before speaking. “I meant– not like that, I uh–I just mean I’m fine with walking to school, it’s not a huge deal.” Will turns around and starts to get his things together, grabbing his sketchbook off the floor and hanging his headphones around his neck before grabbing his charger for his completely dead phone.
Mike chuckles and follows Will into his room fully, taking a look around before speaking. “And my car works just fine. Besides, it gives us more time together.”
“What?” Will whips his head around, his face a mix between confusion, a scowl, and some form of intrigue he tries to ignore.
“We’re friends now, aren’t we? Friends spend time together, and it gives us a chance to get to know each other a little better.”
“Yeah, sure. Friends.” The words feel weird in Will’s mouth. He’s known this guy for one day, he’d hardly call them friends, but whatever.
⋆
Will makes it through his first few periods of the day by some stroke of luck. However, his luck seems to run dry when he stops at the bathroom before lunch. As he’s washing his hands, he looks in the mirror at his outfit for the day. It’s coherent, and Will likes it, but he takes his hoodie off, starting to overheat a little now that the sun has risen more, and he realizes where he went wrong.
The pants he’s wearing are the slightest bit too big for him, resting at the very tops of his hips. To make things even better, he forgot that he slightly cropped the shirt he’s wearing, reaching just above his navel. He looks at the strip of midriff exposed, groaning at the fact that he didn’t grab a belt. It’s not a huge deal, Will’s shown more skin than this before, but he’s not the most comfortable with his body, so he feels more exposed than anything at the moment. He debates putting his sweatshirt back on, but he’d rather be embarrassed for a bit than overheat, so he picks what he deems the lesser of two evils.
When he leaves the bathroom and heads to the cafeteria for lunch, Will goes to the same table he did the day before, sitting alone with a nice view out the window. He can feel the boy’s eyes on him before he approaches, seeing Mike coming towards him out of the edge of his line of sight.
“Man, do I really have to come escort you over every day?”
“What?” Will looks up from where he just placed his sketchbook down, his peace and quiet being interrupted by the overbearing boy now towering over him.
“You can come sit with us, you know.” He nods his head over towards the table where everyone else is sitting, Will following the gesture with his eyes. “That’s kinda why I invited you over yesterday in the first place, and why I invited you to hang at the mall with us later.”
Will looks up at him and sighs, standing up and grabbing his things. He stretches for a minute, back feeling sore from his shitty posture, before leaning back over to grab his sketchbook from the table. He looks back up to see Mike’s gaze lower than before, seemingly inspecting the strip of skin showing on Will’s stomach, his lips parted slightly like wants to say something. Will feels his face get hot, feeling embarrassed and exposed from the boy’s staring.
“Okay then, let’s go,” Will’s words are blunt as he steps away, trying to get out of whatever the fuck that was. He walks to the table, Mike on his heels, and sits down in the same spot as yesterday. He places his sketchbook on the table as Mike sits next to him, opening it and drawing mindlessly so as not to intrude on the others’ conversation.
“Byers, you draw?” Max’s voice cuts into Will’s focus unexpectedly, not prepared to be addressed so suddenly.
“Uh, yeah. I have since I was a kid.”
“No way, that’s so sick!” Her eager tone contrasts the way she treats Mike, seeming genuinely intrigued with Will and his hobbies. Mike looks over at Will with interest, leaning in so close that his chin is almost resting on his shoulder.
“Whatcha drawing?” His chin makes contact, and he hesitates for a second before it lands fully on Will’s shoulder and he follows the lines of Will’s pencil with his eyes. Will doesn’t recoil from the touch like he did the day before, instead feeling a slight annoyance by it since the weight on his shoulder is hindering his abilities slightly.
“A character I made.”
“A wizard?” Everyone else seemed to go back to their conversation from earlier–except Mike, whose focus is on Will, a pattern Will is starting to clock more and more.
“A cleric.”
“Cleric? Like D&D?”
“Uh, yeah. I used to play back in like–middle school or so. Stopped playing sophomore year when my friends and I got too busy to keep up with it anymore.”
Mike lifts his head up from Will’s shoulder, much to his delight. He has his full motor range back, and he rolls his shoulder back to stretch it out a bit before he continues to drag the pencil against the paper lightly.
“No fucking way!” Excitement seeps through Mike’s voice, his eyes seemingly lighting up when Will looks up to meet his gaze. “We used to play all the time, we still do every now and then, but it’s mainly one-shots when we all feel like it. You should totally join sometime, it’ll be fun.”
Everyone else around the table seems intrigued with what the two boys are talking about now, a series of hums and small comments of approval surrounding Will.
“Uh, sure, why not?”
When lunch ended and everyone went back to their classes, Mike followed the same pattern he did yesterday, trailing beside Will to walk him to his next class. Will is quiet, listening to Mike ramble about old campaigns he went on with the rest of the group, before Will arrives at his class and their conversation is cut short.