Chapter Text
Monday. God.
Mike couldn’t tell why Will had been so distant lately. Sure, it had only been, like, a day, but ever since they started talking again and Will moved in, they’ve gotten close once more, just like before. Mike found it extremely complicated to not completely talk Will’s ear off. He never knew why, but whenever Mike had his creative writing class, he always stared through the window next to him. It wasn’t a window showing the outside, but rather the class across. The art class, which had a matching window.
He would always allow his gaze to roam around to find Will, just to make sure he’s doing okay. That he’s not getting picked on again, that he’s not kidnapped, that he’s there in general. The closure of Will being safe had always put Mike at ease. It had always been a big priority of his.
So there he was. In a solitary desk in the back of the room, staring through the window in his creative writing class as he gawked at Will Byers. For Mike, staring at Will for extended periods of time was normal, as this had been the third time this week.
On a Monday.
His class had been learning about the different types of literary devices, and Mike spaced out so insanely hard because he assumed he knew it all pretty well. I mean, who doesn’t know what a metaphor is?
A thing Mike cannot admit is how frustrated he is at the fact the girls in art are genuinely so into Will. Mike would always shoot weird glances at the girls who attempt to “hit” on Will. Mike never knew the reason why, but he was always weirded out by the girls at school. Most of them held the same need to fit in with the shitty people. He knew all the girls were not at all a good fit for Will, since his whole life, he had always been a closed off and sensitive kid. He shouldn’t have to be surrounded with those types of people who just date to date.
Or flirt with him just to make fun of him.
Mike didn’t know why, but Will had always been bullied for that. For being sensitive and emotional. Those are good traits, Mike thought. They called him a queer for that. If that makes someone a queer, then I’m basically a queer, he speculated.
What an observation.
As his mind leaned more into the general sense of it, Mike thinks of how much Will hates not being able to take initiative for his own decisions, and he feels guilty for how he feels. How he gets jealous. Or, rather, what Mike wants to believe; envious.
Envious of what? He has no clue himself. He just hopes it’s a proper way to say jealous without it being romantic.
Though he has plenty to go about on that topic, he still refuses to acknowledge anything strange about how he feels about Will. Even after his own ex-girlfriend said it before he even realized it.
Mike snaps out of his contemplation once he sees a girl walk up to Will. He couldn’t help but grumble to himself, “Oh, here we go again.” He knew Will is most likely going to reject them because Will is definitely smart enough not to fall for the shit the popular girls say, but —
Shit — is that Jennifer?
Goddammit. Will did say the date went well. Fuck.
Mike tried to look away and focus on the lecture, but honestly, he couldn’t care less about similes. His mind only focused on the fact that Will might leave him home alone again with no gateway out of there. Maybe Lucas and Dustin could get his mind off of it for a little bit, but he knew his mind would always end up where it wants to be.
As he eases back into reality, he remember the situation he’s in. Roughly, he grips his pencil as he writes down his notes as the lesson went on, causing a tear through the paper. Mike sucks his teeth in at the lead marking slashed through the desk, almost looking like a sick battle scar.
He kept shooting glances through the window, and although he tried to stop himself, the gaping pit in his stomach was hard for him to ignore. So again, he went back and forth with his gaze, between the notes rubbed with lead all over and the apparent image of Jennifer talking to Will. He didn’t know what else he could do to ease the pain in his stomach.
Riiiiing. Thank god. Mike was, almost certainly, saved by the bell.
Mike couldn’t grab his stuff and rush out of the class any faster, as he immediately sprinted to stand next to the art room door, attempting to give the guise of nonchalance as he waited for Will. It was awkward with the amount of people walking out and seeing him with his foot behind him against the wall and fiddling with his bag, absolutely none of them being Will. Mike cancels out the girls mocking him as they whisper to one another and the guys looking at him like he’s an idiot. And they’re not far off, even he can admit that.
As the art room flooded out with copy-and-paste girls and dumb jocks who look like they just joined to hit on said girls, it sinks in how many people were truly in this class. Very few reserved and actually-passionate-about-art kids were in this class. It’s ironic, really, how the art class that was expected to be full of quiet nerds and kids with niche interests is almost full of performative asswipes.
Quickly, Mike’s thought process falters once he sees a familiar person — Jennifer — run out and stumble over to her locker. Up last, though far and not quite following her lead, was Will.
Mike had no idea what caused Jennifer to sprint off like that. Maybe Will rejected her? God, he hoped. In a sudden realization, he snaps out of his mindset once he realize Will was far ahead of him. Mike swallows before chasing after him, putting his hand on his shoulder.
He feels Will startle slightly at the sudden contact as he hesitatingly turns around. From how Will’s face looked, it’s like he knew it was Mike.
The ravenette parted his lips to begin what he had initially planned to talk about, but his thoughts collided together all at once, short-circuiting. All Mike could do subconsciously was stare into the brunette's hazel eyes as they glimmered. The auburn surrounding his pupil and the sides lined with an almost olive green. His eyes felt like Spring and Fall collided to make something even more beautiful.
Once Will notices the awkward silence between them, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows in genuine confusion, Mike finally snaps out of it. He opened his mouth again to speak, but he realized how dry his throat was, clearing it, just to make sure he not only sounded like a stuttering, nervous dumbass (since that’s inevitable), and at most, had a clear voice. Mike realizes how long he’s been standing there without a word being said once Will finally severs that silence. “Uh. Hey, Mike.”
Will’s gaze shifts from the awkward, stiff position Mike was in to the drops of sweat lying on his forehead. Even then, Mike has said nothing.
“Hi Will.”
Mike finally managed out. Clearing his throat did not help, as it came out strained. Will stood there a little longer, expecting more before he huffed, smiling for a split second before dropping it, turning around and beginning to walk over to his locker. Mike began to stutter incoherence, feeling unfulfilled before stumbling over as he walked beside him. “Sorry, uh, just…” He swallowed. “How was art?” He sidelined.
“It was the same as always.” Will murmured, his eyes transfixed on where he was stepping as he finally makes it over to his locker, setting his backpack down next to him as he fidgets with his lock. Mike’s heart feels like it’s being seared for how much he longed for Will to glance at him. Yet, their eyes don’t meet. Not naturally. Or honestly.
As much as he hated to admit, Mike couldn’t push the worry of his (possibly terrible) advice not working well down and pray for long. It continued to plague his mind for the past day. He thought he could continue to bury it and forget, but his anxiety continued to pile up onto him. Was that why Will had been so reserved recently? Was it that bad?
That can’t be it, because Jennifer seemed eager enough to walk up to Will and pursue conversation. So, then what?
Maybe Jennifer is just kind and they wanted to stay as friends. Mike couldn’t doubt nor believe it, considering he doesn’t pay enough attention to any of the girls in Hawkins, no matter how nice.
Mike leaned on his side against the locker next to Will, watching him tug at his lock as he tapped his foot. He couldn’t help but admire how his eyebrows furrowed and how he squinted his eyes as he concentrated. If anyone had passed by, observing how Mike looked at him, they’d think he’s staring at the love of his life. Pining, yearning, whatever synonyms, that’s what he was doing.
They wouldn’t be half wrong, but Mike won’t admit that.
The tapping alongside his many theories of his stance with Will and their relationship had deafened him, causing him to ease so well into the rhythm that he had tuned out any interference, so much so that he couldn’t hear Jennifer walking up behind Mike. It’s like everyone and everything else blurred around them, like a focusing camera.
His suspicions had finally made it past his brain and through the back of his throat, his words stumbling out quickly. “Hey, uh, seriously, last question — did… those notes, did they… help at all? Honestly, I forgot what I wrote so, uh, forgive me if any of them are cliché or corny or whatever.”
Jennifer stops in her tracks behind Mike once he had began talking. Quickly she leans against the locker, using her hand to ease the fall — trying to make sure Mike didn’t feel the pressure cause it to cave in — and looks away as she listens intently. Once Mike’s words are processed, she recalls Will looking over at this paper every other 10 minutes and wondered if these were the notes Mike was referring to.
Will didn’t shoot a glare at Mike once he finished speaking, only biting his bottom lip as he tried to make up something to say, grabbing his sketchbook from his backpack and shoving it in once he finally got the locker open. Mike could see from the prominent eyebrow crease that he was almost… offended.
“Yeah. They were great.” Will monotonously, a tinge of insistence in his voice as if he was trying to force himself to say it. He refused to look at him still. An ache shoots throughout Mike’s chest.
He noticed the tone of his voice and couldn’t help but bite back an utter of “fuck” in genuine doubt. Swallowing, he pressed further.
“Hey, Will, really man, if I messed up, you can tell me — “
“Mike, seriously, just — stop worrying. Everything was great. I’m great, you’re great, El’s great, Jenn’s great, everyone. Now just — just go to your next class. Seriously.” Will rambled in a slight yet genuine amount of frustration as he shoved the needed stuff into his backpack and zipped it up.
The sudden nickname — Jenn — caused the pit in Mike’s stomach to grow. As if his heart dropped into that pit. It’s almost like he felt empty.
Well shit. He realized how stupid he must look right now. How devastated he looks, like a lone puppy on a porch. Mike looks down as a way to conceal it.
“Yeah. Okay. Sorry.” Mike uttered before speed-walking off, past Will. Will widens his eyes as he realizes the words that left his mouth. He didn’t want Mike to feel like a burden just for wanting the truth. Will began to shut his locker and walk back, before being greeted with Jennifer’s upbeat personality tackling him. Well, not literally, Jennifer just latched onto his arm out of nowhere, which definitely startled Will.
He hadn’t even realized she was nearby nor that she was eavesdropping, just shocked about what had happened, still processing everything. So much so, he didn’t realize Jennifer was directly next to him. During art, he thought back on how Jennifer offered to paint something with Will. It was a kind gesture — maybe they could bond over it rather than awkwardly shoot glances at each other while Jennifer judges him and the movie.
“Hey, meet me after school, ‘kay? Like, immediately after.” Jennifer smiled with a hint of mischief. The last interaction with Mike had Will thinking nothing but the worst, worrying that this was a setup, completely ignoring the possibility that Jennifer was just shooting him a playful look.
So he hesitated, avoiding Jennifer’s glance at first before looking back at her and nodding, shifting his unsure expression to an awkward smile. Jennifer grinned as she gently let go, flashing him a smile as she walked away and shouted, “See ya then, zombie boy!”
Will’s heart dropped. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.
Riiiiiiiiing. “Oh — shoot.” Will grumbled once he realized the once crowded hallways contained him and him only, quickly latching the cold lock that he held like an icicle onto his locker and sprinting to his next class, getting berated for not only being tardy, but for running in the halls.
—————————
Finally, the last period crept quickly to its end. Will wished those minutes felt long and gruelling, but the fast ticks and tocks from the clock above the board were the only thing drowning his mind. He couldn’t stand to look up and meet the gaze of anyone — especially the teacher — as he shoved his sleeve down. The watch on his wrist read 2:57 PM.
Shit.
In 3 minutes, he had to talk to Jennifer again.
In 3 minutes, he had to face her and expect the worst.
In 3 minutes, he had to feel the mockery he’s experienced in this town accrued into one big avalanche.
As these thoughts processed, time still moved. 2:58.
Will swallowed, realizing he shouldn’t be spending these moments worried, because what if Jennifer is truly what she says she is? Will wouldn’t know, because he didn’t think hard enough to come to terms with the possibility that, maybe, Jennifer truly is a genuine person.
Because all he’s experienced from the people in this town is hatred. Shunning. Avoidance, like he had a disease. Like this sin that was held within him was contagious.
The hand of his watch was so close to the large line that represented 3 PM.
2:59
Each tick felt like it was taunting him, laughing in his face for even thinking of anything optimistic. Every tock felt like the aftermath of this mockery. How his heart drops realizing that he cannot truly get what he wanted. Only to be pulled back back up by a feign hope.
And it’s a loop.
A thought finally creeps up behind him, not like the false hope he’s had. That’s when he realizes that he doesn’t truly know Jennifer.
She’s never hung around popular kids. She’s always secluded. She avoids the guys like the plague. How is he an exception?
Will thinks more on from what he’s gathered about her. She only has a small group of friends where she keeps to herself. She paints cryptic things that, though they may not make sense to him, still hold heart.
Heart.
Riiiiiiiiing. Will jumps at the sudden noise shooting through his eardrums, jolting his knee against the bottom of the desk, hissing in pain. He rubs his knee as he gathers his things with one arm, knowing it’s going to leave a bruise. He eases into the sound of papers crinkling, shoes sliding and the bustle of noise as he takes it in.
He has no idea what will happen next, but he hopes, for once, that maybe he might get what he wants.
—————————
There Mike lays, his back on the bed. He stares into the ceiling as if it was going to change, waiting for something, anything.
Will still wasn’t home. He didn’t get to talk to him ever since Creative Writing class ended and Will raised his voice at him. He feels terrible. He shouldn’t have pushed for answers, he shouldn’t have tried to urge it out of him.
Guilt and shame coats him.
Why do I feel this way? He thinks. But he knows what he feels. He just wished he knew why.
As much as he wants to push it down in denial, he knows his feelings. All he’s done is try to convince himself it was something else. Something light-hearted, not something so big. So impure. Unnatural.
He wishes he knew why all of these feelings started so he could find a way to get rid of them. Like it’s a disease. Finding the source.
And even if he did, he knew there was truly no way out of it. It all built up onto itself, there was no way of tearing it down now.
Mike knew better than to give himself false hope. But why try to do better now? He’s done worse enough. He lets himself believe that one day, all of this would just end up to be a small, simple crush that meant nothing more. Hell, maybe not even a crush. Just the need to go back to the same best friend relationship they had that they once lost.
He wanted nothing more.
Yet still, he lays. Nothing about the ceiling changed. Will still wasn’t home. He recalls seeing him being pulled aside by Jennifer, a large light brown tote bag laced with pink patterns hanging on her shoulder. Mike wanted nothing more than to go up and apologize, but before he knew it, Will was happily rushed out by the girl. Outside.
Where? He wishes he knew. God, did he wish he knew.
Mike swallows nervously. He brings his wrist near his face, pulling his sleeve down to check his watch. 3:41 PM. It hasn’t been that long, Mike tried to insist to himself, setting his arm to lie on his side again.
Groaning, he rolls to his side to grab at the walkie on his nightstand. He just needs anyone to talk to. He huffs as his eyes trail down the antenna and at the many buttons and switches. Biting his lip, he gives in, clicked the button at the side.
“Uh, hey, Mike here, um — if anyone’s on this channel, like — like Dustin or Lucas, can you say something?” He stammers out before letting go of the button.
He shudders at the uncomfortable and overbearing amount of silence.
When he knew for sure no one was going to respond, he switches channels. “Um, if — if anyone, like, Dustin or Lucas can hear this, could you — “ Mike pauses.
“God, never mind, this is stupid.” His breath hitches as he lets go and proceeds to move to push the antenn—
“Wheeler!” A grainy, muffled voice exclaimed from the walkie. Mike jumps and puts his arm down as he sits up. “Hey! It’s Lucas. I’m — I’m on my way to the hospital to go see Max, sorry I didn’t respond quicker. Over.”
Mike couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of it all. He always liked talking on the walkie. Though it’s inconvenient, it had always took him back to old times. Times before this hell all started.
“Hey, Lucas. Are you on your bike right now? Sorry. I just — I don’t know. Will’s not home and I guess I got bored. Over.”
“Oh?”
Mike raised his eyebrow in confusion at his sudden change in tone. He hears Lucas clear his throat and continue without addressing it.
“Like, he’s out? And you know where he is, right? Over.”
“Yeah? I mean, kind of. Why? Have you seen him? Over.”
Mike could hear a very audible swallow come from the other side before he began talking again, as if he’s anxious.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I think. I hope. Over.”
“Wh — Lucas, the hell do you mean you hope?” Mike exclaims, not bothering to finish his sentence off with an ‘over’ simply because it didn’t feel serious in this situation.
“I — sorry, Mike. I saw him after school. Being dragged somewhere by Jennifer Hayes, both getting on their bikes. No idea where, but, uh… definitely wasn’t in the same direction of your house. Over.”
Mike felt his heart drop, assuming the worst.
“Shit. Shit — what if she fucks with his feelings and — and all the jocks gang up on him and, shit — fuck!” Mike exclaimed, letting go of the button as he slammed it down next to him, pulling his knees near his chest. He tugged at his hair as if it would pull out his overwhelming thoughts that have done nothing good for him.
“Woah, woah, Mike, hey. What happened with you two for you to worry so much, man?”
Lucas questioned, a small anxious laugh hidden behind.
He’s mocking him.
“I mean, Jennifer isn’t the type of person to hang around jocks, anyway. They always make fun of her ‘cause of how repulsed she is of the guys at school. Over.”
Soothing white noise held on the line afterwards. It helped ease his brain more into the situation. If she’s so grossed out by all the guys, why is Will the exception? Why did it have to be Will?
His heart ached imagining the fun they must be having. They’re probably off, skipping and holding hands as they kiss in an open field with the flowers complimenting their outfits, the blades of grass so sharp that it uncomfortably jabs at their skin when they sit, the sun shining so bright that it isn’t calm enough to be beautiful, almost enough to blind themselves whenever they try to admire the view — Mike couldn’t help but gag at the thought of any of it.
As if it were a daily ritual, he easily looks over at the empty spot that had been next to him. Reminiscing, he rubs his fingers along the sheets, missing the warmth that came alongside them. Missing the feeling of knowing someone was there. Missing the feeling of waking up to Will’s nose nuzzled into Mike’s shoulder unknowingly. Missing the feeling of inching closer as Will unconsciously nestled into his neck. Missing the warmth of Will’s pattern of breathing that Mike was so familiar with.
Missing Will.
Mike’s breathing shakes as he swallows, gripping the sheets and watching the fabric crumple together in his fist, as if he was trying to scramble a memory. He chews the inside of his cheek before a loud, booming voice that Mike had forgotten was even there cut through the aching silence.
“Mike, hey, are you still there? Wheeler?”
He looks over at the walkie as he begins to ponder more. He stares at his sleeve before pushing it back up. 3:57 PM.
Will’s been out for 40 minutes past the time he should be home. Just like that, the thoughts plagued his mind again. The possibility of him being hurt, being mocked, being called names, being tricked, shit, even possibly being taken again. All of these worries built up in Mike’s mind one by one like a house of cards and it was driving him insane. Only one of those possibilities managing to plague his mind fully is needed for it to collapse onto itself.
He wanted nothing more than to leave it. To maybe consider that Will could be happy with this girl. But nothing convinced him enough for the pit in his stomach to fade.
And just like that, the house fell, each and every card collapsing onto one another. Each possibility completely ruling over his mind. Anything could happen in this world. Any time, any place, anything.
And after that night in 1983, it’s obvious this world shows no mercy. So why stick to the schedule?
Mike’s breath quickened as he grabbed the walkie once more, holding the button as he stuttered into it.
“I — I gotta go — over and out.” He released, moving his hand up to press the antenna down before the walkie boomed again.
“Wait, Mike — “
Once Mike notices the lack of noise, he presses once more as he yells.
“I said, over and out.” He slams the antenna down, throwing the walkie aside. Swiftly, he grabbed his backpack and tossed it over his shoulder as he shoved himself into his shoes, stumbling over himself once he rushed out of his room.
—————————
Jennifer continued to pull at his arm, Will being unable to balance himself properly at each tug as the girl went at a noticeably faster pace than he was able to at the moment.
Before they rode up here and left their bikes at a bicycle rack, Jennifer insisted that whatever this was gonna be was supposed to be fun as she led him on their bikes over to the local park. He didn’t know why, but a public place like this had Will anxious.
So many eyes staring into the back of his head.
Along with the eyes that occasionally stared right into his face. Jennifer.
He had no idea if he’d ever feel something for her. He wishes he could just so he could feel normal, but he himself wouldn’t bet on it.
Part of him wants to be with her just so he could feel like he fits in. But even if that happened, he’d still be miserable. It wouldn’t fix anything. Sure, maybe he’d be bullied less and not called queer, but that doesn’t substitute the lie he would be living. It would only go downhill from there.
Jennifer halted at a picnic table far from where the majority of people were grouped. Will bumped into Jennifer gently once she stopped and immediately apologized under his breath as he stepped back.
Jennifer looks at him, bearing no resentment as she smiles, tossing her tote bag onto the table and releasing her hold on his arm. She begins to rummage through it, placing a small ziploc bag of paint brushes down, a container full of bottles of paint, cups, a water bottle, two palettes, and two medium canvases.
Will widens his eyes, tilting his head in confusion to how a bag could fit so much.
“Cool, right? Tote bags are great.” Jennifer grinned, setting up for them to be sitting on opposite sides; one palette and one canvas on each and the rest of the supplies in the middle.
“If you want, you could prop up your canvas against the containers. That’d be better if you prefer to paint standing.” She said so seamlessly, taking the lid off of the container and taking out some of her favorite paints as she immediately proceeded to put small dollops of color onto her pallet.
Will still didn’t have enough context of what was going on aside from the fact they were painting. Were they painting something specific? More importantly, was this a date?
The brunette swallows, his eyes shifting around as he attempts to find his words. “Uh, are — sorry.” He halts himself when he sees Jennifer look at him as if he broke her focus.
She tilts her head curiously, one side of her smile tugging into a friendly smirk. “No, go on.”
Will nods, pursing his lips. “So, are we… painting anything specific…? Or is this just — like — we paint anything?” he stammered out.
Jennifer couldn’t help but giggle. “Will, this isn’t an art assignment. You don’t have to paint, and if you do, just paint whatever you want.”
Subtly, he nods along as he lets out a small huff. He steps over to the side opposite of Jennifer, fidgeting with his hands before he takes a few shades of red out of the container, hesitatingly opening it as he squirts a drop or two onto his palette.
He piles some of the things they have onto each other, including his jacket, so he could prop his canvas up against it.
They both plan out what they want to realize onto their respective canvases. It’s an awkward silence, but Will manages to find peace in it. Because he finds peace in painting.
Especially when he allows his own heart to open and he reflects his feelings onto each stroke.
And what he felt more than anything was resentment of himself. He felt nothing but shame and disgust with who he will be, who he’s become, and who he’s always been. He wishes he could find one hint of change in each path he’s kept on. And he’s tried to make that change. Yet, here he is; William Byers. Still in love with his best friend. Still in love with a boy. The same William Byers that can’t manage to make himself like a girl. That still can’t be normal.
He’s still a freak. And he forever will be.
With each reminiscence that pinched at his heart, the feeling shot through his arm, tensing. Each smear onto the canvas got sharper, more swift and aggressive.
Will was never truly able to express that fury that he feels deep inside unless it was through his art. And as the wind blew gently, the wet paint on the canvas gently splattering dots next to itself, he allowed himself a moment to express it.
He clenched his jaw as he replayed every thought, every memory, every stupid moment he had where he thought things could get better.
And as soon as he was nearing the point of tearing up, he was finished.
He swallowed shakingly, steadying his breathing as he placed the brush down onto the table, wiping any tear that dared to fall.
He steps back and stares at his canvas.
A red, lone three-headed dragon. Surrounded by nothing but an atmosphere of black and white. Isolated. Afraid. Shunned.
A freak. Will huffed, resonating with that dragon. He had always felt like he’s done nothing but fight himself. Fight who he was.
He inches closer to the canvas once again before taking the brush off of the table, adding more white. Adding more light to the dragons world.
He allows himself a small, bittersweet smile.
That is, before he reminds himself where he is. He startles himself once he notices the figure in his peripheral view, snapping his head over to them.
Jennifer walked to a spot next to him as she smiled softly and waved. “Hey. Noticed you got really into it, so I don’t know if you’ll be comfortable enough to show yours, but… since you’re done, do you want to talk?” Genuine concern lined her words as she placed her canvas down onto the table.
He swallowed, examining the painting. It was a much softer and solitary type in comparison to Will’s. It contained a perspective-like shot of a lone table with items on it, placed far apart from one another; an open love letter containing a note with words scrawled out as if in a panic, fashion magazines piled onto each other, and a polaroid photo of two friends, faces both scrawled out, similar to the same sharpie used for the love letter.
It had such an eerie vibe from afar, but a familiar and nostalgic life in each detail. Though, it wasn't overly detailed nor oversimplified. It had a traditional sense to it. He could understand its meaning as well as be able to read into it. He envied her art style.
He realizes how long he had been staring at her canvas before looking back up and smiling awkwardly. “Sorry, um… I’m fine with you seeing, it’s — it’s nothing too abstract. And… sure.”
Will mumbled, taking his canvas and setting it next to hers before he sat on the bench, looking down and fidgeting with his hands.
Jennifer smiled and walked to the bench opposite of him, sitting down as she examined his canvas.
“So, uh, why… why did you bring me out here?” Will mumbled, attempting eye contact but immediately getting uncomfortable and looking down.
Jennifer ripped her gaze away from the painting for a second, looking at him with a soft smile. “Well, I thought a spontaneous hang-out would’ve been more fun.”
Will sighed at the words “hang-out”, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.
He wished he wasn’t so happy about that.
Jennifer’s smile faded slightly as she looked back down at the table, pondering. “So, your…” Jennifer began before switching her thought process.
“Our, um, our ‘date’, was, um…. was anything up? Like, was anything on your mind?” Jennifer stuttered. Will pursed his lips.
“Um, no. I wouldn’t say so.”
Jennifer nodded, though it was obvious she had more on her mind. “Well, um, I — I noticed you took out this… paper.”
Will tensed as he remembered everything on that paper. He felt himself grow sick once again.
“I just… wanted to know what it was.” The girl said with a friendly tilt of her head.
Will gulped, trying to sort his words in a way that wasn’t exactly the truth nor a full blatant lie.
“Uh, my — my friend…” Will started, feeling his cheeks warm before continuing. “He… he was worried about me going on the ‘date’ since I’ve never been on one before, so he made me a really long and sweet paper full of pick up lines and — and nice things to say, and I guess it… part of it caught me off guard and I spaced out.”
Will managed all of it, unable to maintain eye contact with the girl as he blushed, a small glint of admiration shining in his eye as he uttered each word.
Though his words didn’t reveal much, the look in his face told Jennifer everything.
She couldn’t help but study his behavior, a small smile creeping up on her face.
“Hm?” She hummed smugly. “Well, that’s nice of him. Reminds me of a time where my best friend would help me study for the most normal events, like hanging out with our friends.” She chuckled at the memory. “I — I always had this issue where I would completely blank out while talking to people because of how anxious I was.” She put her arms on the table, nudging the canvases aside so they could fit as she explained.
“And she would help me go over stupid notes she made, like — like those poster boards for history class? Like a presentation, basically.” She continued, the smile on her face growing obvious the more she talked about this friend. Will begins to take notice as he relaxes, feeling more eased into the conversation. It felt familiar.
Jennifer began to stare at her own painting, gently running her finger over it, smiling. “Whenever we did that, I always felt so dumb, but — but she knew to assure me that that was never the case. That it wasn’t because she felt pity, but because she was my… friend.” She paused.
“And, sometimes, I feel like the reason why she started doing that is just so we could have more time together.” Slowly, her smile faded as she bit the inside of her cheek.
She runs her finger specifically over the love letter in her painting. “And, you know, today…” She looks back up at Will with a small bittersweet smile appearing once more. Hope still coated the shine in her eyes. “I’ll always be so, so grateful for her.”
Her eyes darted to the polaroid in the painting. “We stopped talking regularly ever since she got a boyfriend, and… and I miss the times we had.” She pursed her lips.
“I miss her.”
Quickly, Jennifer stops herself from rambling on more once she realizes she said too much, her eyes darting to Will, trying to examine his reaction. All that had to be examined was hope in his eyes, a tear streaming down his cheek, and a familiar smile that Jennifer couldn’t help but ease into.
“I bet.”
—————————
Once the panic overwhelmed him, he immediately rushed downstairs and sprinted through the house and through the door leading to the garage without allowing a peep from any of his family members.
He urges himself inside and takes his bike out, opening the garage gate and running along with it as he gets on, pedaling. He peeks at his watch. 4:04 PM.
Mike scoffs, shaking his arm so his sleeve covers the time. He pedals faster, gripping the handlebars tighter as his mind wanders off.
What could possibly be the reason why he’s been out so long? The possibilities build up once more. He could be missing again, getting beat up at the graveyard, being ridiculed at the Arcade for his score in Dig Dug, he could even be hanging out with Jennifer. And enjoying it.
His stomach turned more and more as he thought of any of that happening.
God, he really needs to learn how to communicate with him.
—————————
Mike’s legs were exhausted, yet he pedaled on.
He had checked everywhere, even yelled Will’s name when it came to it. Still, not a hint nor a trail of him. Mike prays that maybe he just missed when Will got home. Speaking of which, the sun was beginning to set.
He sighs and swiftly pulls his sleeve up to check his watch. 5:11 PM.
Holy shit, he needed to get home.
He urges himself to pedal faster despite his legs beginning to grow sore.
Will was supposed to be home by now, and Mike hopes that that’s the case. But what if it wasn’t? Mike swallows. What if he still wasn’t home?
The thought of Vecna coaxing him out — luring him and Mike finding his body. His bones snapped. His eyes gone. Everything Mike loved about him, all gone in a day.
But no. Mike knows that’s not the case. It can’t be.
He wipes his tears, his trust in Will giving him the hope he needs. Will would tell them if he was having symptoms. The nosebleeds, the nightmares, the head-aches, the visions.
He knows Will. He wouldn’t lie about something so serious. He couldn’t.
Finally, Mike is nearing his house. He hopes he doesn’t look too stupid, considering he’d been crying the whole bike ride, envisioning every possibility. Each one left a terrible weight upon him.
He hopes it doesn’t show. He hopes more than anything no one will notice the red in his face. He hates being confronted emotionally. Especially by his family.
As soon as he recognizes the familiar property up ahead, he stops pedaling and places one foot on the ground to halt himself, hopping off and walking with the bike as he approached his garage. That is, before he hears voices from afar. He typically takes the shortcut through the trees, so he hadn’t noticed anyone near the front door.
He quickly — though carefully — eases his bike down before sprinting past a tree and approaching the front door.
He notices one unfamiliar bike in their yard, and an all-too-familiar one propped up near the front door, that being Will’s. Mike feels relief wash over him, though the wave halts as he remembers the time they found his lone bike in the forest. In ‘83. When it first started.
Mike quickly tries his best to shake the feeling off. He’s fine. He has to be.
Slowly, he inches closer as he squints, trying to make out who was at the front.
He can recognize that voice anywhere, even yards away. Will. He’s okay.
But he approaches closer and notices who he’s talking to. Jennifer Hayes. Of course.
But… this time it’s different.
They’re laughing. Will is smiling. Ear to ear.
Will has that warmth in his face. The same warmth he gets whenever Mike tries to tease him.
Mike felt ill. His stare could burn a hole as his eyes land on Jennifer. This Will wasn’t meant for you.
He hates how Jennifer looks at him. The comfort in her eyes. But more than anything, he hates how Will looks at her back. With warmth. Joy.
He felt selfish. So terribly selfish that he could almost feel guilty. But right now, none of it mattered in the bigger picture.
As the moment lingered, the laughter they shared felt like it was taunting Mike. It echoed in his head. Suddenly, he felt dizzy.
And so, there he was. Frozen. Dazed. Upset. Sick. Jealous.
And he stayed that way once Jennifer waved Will goodbye, walking in his direction.
She looked surprised to see him, but ultimately looked at him with a smug look on her face. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like she got him before he ever could. Like he should’ve done something sooner and maybe they wouldn’t be here.
A smug look that left a terrible taste in his mouth as she waved before passing him by.
And that taste will never truly leave him.