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Max enters Billy’s room for the first time a month after Starcourt. It’s a quiet day, nothing really going on, and their mom and Neil are out of the house. They don’t know or care what they're doing, to be honest.
It isn’t quiet in Max’s mind.
There’s a raging battle going on in their head, every step met with protests, their rational brain telling them they shouldn’t be doing this.
Trembling hands turn the doorknob and they enter. They feel a little sick when they see themself in the mirror, because it’s the face of someone who doesn’t know who they are. Or worse, someone who knows who they are, and feels like a freak.
They open the closet door, and see all of Billy’s t-shirts and button ups that he’d always leave a few buttons down on to expose his muscled chest.
They take off their own shirt and peel off the sports bra two sizes too small and look at themself in the mirror. Fuck, they think, blinking back tears. They wonder if in another reality, they wouldn’t look like this, long haired and curvy. They press down at their breasts with their palms in some ceaseless attempt to make them look less full and disappear. They want to disappear.
Max has thought about this before, in moderation. They remember the discomfort when their mother would make them wear a dress, or when they would ask to cut their hair short and she would tell them, “Maxine, you have such beautiful hair. Why would you cut it?” Or when someone would call them by their full name, and they’d flinch and correct them immediately. It’s Max . Or when Billy would have his shirt off and they’d feel a twisting in their gut and envy would build up.
They don’t know why it’s today that all these feelings come pouring out, full force.
Max pulls Billy’s shirt on—a dark red button up—before looking at themself.
It’s big enough that it falls to their mid-thighs.
Their eyes are slightly red.
They let out a sob.
Max runs straight to the bathroom and throws up in the sink. It’s Billy. It smells like Billy. It looks like him. They can’t do this. They feel so sick for doing this. For going through their dead brother’s closet because they have some freakish desire to look like a boy. Fuck fuck this was such a bad idea fuck—
They rip the shirt off and see themself in the mirror again and they just can’t escape. They fumble through the cupboard, trying and failing to hold back tears.
A lock of red hair in their hand.
Snip.
And another.
And another.
And another.
Until they sport a chin length haircut so choppy and bad that it seems unfixable. Now, aside from being a girl , which is already a problem in itself, they’re fucking ugly.
Max sits down and leans into the wall, sobs echoing through the bathroom. Nobody will want this broken mess. They’re such a freak.
Max Mayfield is in the bathroom with a laughably bad haircut, and they kind of want to die.
And soon, their mother will see them and then their friends and everyone who even remotely cares about them, and they’ll wonder if Max is even worth their time. Shit, Lucas doesn’t want a girlfriend who isn’t a girl. He doesn’t like boys, or whatever Max is—a boy in a girl’s body.
They feel so unwanted, and so, so scared to lose the only people who actually give a shit about them.
What did you do? Their reflection seems to scream.
An hour or two minutes or an eternity passes, and Max calms down a little, at least enough to somewhat suppress urge to burst into tears and scream at any given moment anymore. The red shirt is still on the floor and so is their hair. They need to get out of the house.
They put a sweatshirt on and pull up the hood to hide the mop on their head before stepping out. They pause, contemplating where to go.
They could go to Lucas, who helped them navigate bisexuality, and was there every step of the way. But they’re too vulnerable for that. They can’t let him see them like this.
It would hurt the least if it was Mike who they went to, but they also have no idea what Mike will say, and they don’t really want to take that risk.
Dustin was bothering Steve last they heard from him. And Steve himself was being bothered by Dustin, though they’re not remotely close enough to Steve to turn to him at a time like this.
Max makes their decision and steps onto their skateboard.
A few minutes later, they’re knocking on the door of the Byers’ home, and it’s Will who answers. “Max?” He looks them up and down, though they doubt he’s checking them out, before asking: “Are you okay?”
And he sounds so genuinely concerned that Max can’t help the way their lip wobbles and their vision begins to blur.
“I’m sorry,” they choke out, “I just needed get out of the house and this was the first place I could think of.”
“Max,” he says slowly, as if to not startle her, “it’s okay. You can come in.” He motions for them to follow him inside, and they slowly pull down their hood, looking around as if someone’s going to jump out and call them a freak. Will doesn’t comment on their hair, but they can see how his eyes widen, just a little bit.
“I’m going to get El. Is that okay?” Max nods and he knocks on her door. “El? Max is here.”
Almost instantly, El emerges, before looking at Max and asking bluntly, “What happened to your hair?”
Max inhales sharply, and even Will winces, though El doesn’t pick up on it.
“I—I wanted it short.” Max mumbles, trying to think of a way to explain the whole debacle without them seeing right through their lies. “I just didn’t like it the way it was earlier.”
“Oh.” El says. “Well, you are still pretty.”
And Max breaks, because El, sweet El doesn’t care that Max is a mess, barely notices.
They let out a strangled sob and El is quick to hug them. Will raises his hand in a jerky motion like he’s going to touch them before letting it fall back to his side and then moving to touch again. He puts a hand on their back and rubs circles in with his thumb.
“What’s wrong, Max? You can talk to us.”
“I’m—I’m not—I don’t want to be a girl! I’m not a girl! And I don—don’t know what to do about it b-because I want to be a—I can’t—I can’t look at m-myself—” they manage before dissolving into sobs. El holds them and even Will joins in the hug.
“Shh, Max, you’re okay. You need to breathe, okay? In and out, in and out, just like that. You’re doing great.” Will says, and he’s so good at doing whatever he’s doing because it soothes them.
El looks at her, puzzled. “But why do you have to be a girl? Why can’t you be what you like?”
“It’s not that simple,” Max says, wiping at their eyes. They’re breathing is a little uneven still, but they’re calming down. “I was born as a girl, and some people think you—you have to be what you were born as. But I don’t want to be a girl. I want to be a—a boy, I think.”
“I think you should be a boy then. You should be what you want.” El says simply.
“I agree with El,” Will says, “don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, obviously, but me and El are okay with it, and I think the rest of the Party will be too. I think they’ll take it well if you want to tell them.” Max nods.
“I—thank you. It’s just hard sometimes. To see myself and see a girl.”
El’s hand slips into theirs. Will smiles at them. “You could try on some of my clothes if you’d like?” He suggests.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“And we can ask Joyce to cut your hair!” El says excitedly, “She cuts mine and Will’s for us!”
Will meets their eyes and grins. “Though I doubt you’d want this .” He gestures to his hair and Max smirks.
“As nice as you are, Will, that bowl cut is not doing you any favors.”
“Who knows? Maybe it’ll be it for you.”
Max shrugs. “You’re right, who knows?”
Max is so fucking thankful for the Byers. So fucking thankful that they were there, that they exist, that they’re as kind as they are.
“Let’s go try on clothes?” Will says. Max nods and he leads them to his room before pausing and facing them. “Oh, and, Max? If you want me to refer to you as he or him or whatever else, or a different name, let me know, okay?”
Max regrets not being friends with Will sooner. He’s quiet, but he’s gentle and caring and has a little bit of snark when you get him out of his shell, and he’s so, so kind.
“Just Max is fine. But I think I’d like to try being called he and him.” Will smiles reassuringly.
“Got it. So, this is my friend Max. He skateboards, which is super cool.” He says to nobody in particular, but it makes Max feel all fluttery and warm inside.
Max is now a he , and it feels so right.
Will pulls out a bunch of t-shirts and flannels (the Byers seem to have an obsession with flannel) and tosses them onto his bed for Max to look through.
“Help yourself to anything.” Max looks at El.
“What do you think?” He asks. She looks through everything, delighted to be consulted and holds up clothes, narrowing her eyes in concentration and trying to match things up.
Max thinks it’s really fucking adorable.
“This.” El says finally. She’s picked out a green flannel and a striped shirt with some of Will’s jeans.
It’s…not the greatest ensemble, but Max physically cannot refuse to El.
“I’m going to go try it on.” He says, before going to the bathroom and pulling on the outfit that El’s picked out. He’s leaving the bathroom when he runs into Jonathan. His eyes widen when he sees Max and he looks at him quizzically.
“What—?”
“We’re doing a fashion show. Is there a problem?” Max says defensively, speed walking back into Will’s room and closing the door before Jonathan can respond.
“So,” he says, looking back at them and putting his hands on his hips in an attempt to pose, “what do you think?”
“Pretty.” El says. “You are a pretty boy.”
Max blushes. Oh, he definitely likes being called that. Admittedly, El calling him that makes it even better, but he thinks if Lucas called him a pretty boy he’d get the same reaction.
“A-anyways,” Max says, “as fabulous as I look, we have more outfits to try on.”
Jonathan knocks on the door before peeking in. “I heard you’re doing a fashion show.” He holds up his camera. “I can take pictures.”
Max freezes. On one hand, Jonathan hasn’t said anything about his hair or him trying on Will’s clothes, and that’s a good sign, but Max also barely knows him.
He looks at Will, who nods. Safe , he mouths, and Max relaxes a little.
“Sure, come in.”
They burn through more things El’s suggested, and Will occasionally, and Jonathan lurks quietly in the corner, taking pictures whenever Max emerges from the bathroom with a new outfit on, and he’s having a blast with them. He’s a little antsy at first, with Jonathan around, but he gets over it quick enough, asking him for his opinions as well as Will and El.
“You could wear a beanie to hide your hair.” Will says, tossing one at her, “And this, with those jeans.” Max catches the hat and the clothes he’s tossed her before going to try them on.
It’s an slightly oversized The Cure t-shirt (Will’s favorite song is Boys Don’t Cry, he learns) tucked into faded jeans, and it’s pretty simple, but it covers up his boobs and it looks good on him, and Max feels his heart race in excitement at his appearance.
This is Max Mayfield now.
“So, what do you think?” He says, for the millionth time that afternoon. El gasps and tells him he looks really good, Will agrees, and even Jonathan gives his approval.
Max plops onto the bed.
“Thank you guys for this.” Max says. “I feel like I can’t say it enough.”
“You’re welcome!” El says brightly.
“We’re always here, Max.” Will says. “The party is always there for each other.”
Max smiles all the way to his cheeks and wraps her arms around them. “You guys are the best.”
Jonathan watches them as they hug, and when the three of them pull away, Max straightens himself out and looks in the mirror. Short hair peeks out of a blue beanie, and he’s wearing an old band t-shirt he got from someone who is one of his best friends now, and he looks more like a boy.
He still has more to go, still needs to find more things that feel like him , still needs to fix his shitty haircut, find a way to hide his chest that isn’t too-small sports bras that hurt to wear, but it’s a start. A good start.
He looks a little more like Max, and he’s a little more okay now.
He’ll be okay.