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Spring break was supposed to be relaxing. School being out for a week or two, being able to exist without constant stress over new work, being able to stay up late into the night—or morning, technically. Having the freedom to do as you please and just simply enjoy yourself.
Spring break was supposed to be relaxing. Apparently Will didn’t get the memo.
Sitting on the dingy carpet of his bedroom floor, Will was struggling to take in enough oxygen to fund his body. One hand resting on itchy grey carpet, the other on his laptop's keyboard with a single finger laid on its touchpad. Yeah, he’s stalling. So what?
Hesitantly, he clicked on the grading canvas, scrolling past all of the writings until it reached final class grades.
54.8% (F) – Chemistry
He’s fucked it. He’s failed. God, he is screwed.
Closing the laptop and pushing it to his side, he allowed his head to lull until it hit the bed behind him. He feels his heart speeding up as each bad thought makes its way into his head, hands now gone from carpet and running through his messy unbrushed bowl-cut.
He’s failed the class, the one class he needed to be able to graduate. He checks the time, a 10:36 P.M. in glowing red font on his alarm clock taunting him as if to say ‘Too late! Too late!’
He’s lost the opportunity to beg his chemistry teacher to up the numbers by just a little more, just around 6 more points. What the hell is he supposed to do? He needs this class. It’s junior year, he needs his act together and steady. His schedule doesn’t have enough room to be able to fit another revision class.
His hands pull at tangled brown strands, blood roaring through his body and becoming one of the only things he can hear besides his own heartbeat thumping in his ears at rapid speed. This is supposed to be a time for relaxation, not constant stress over the fact he may be held back a year solely because he cant figure out what the fuck chemical thermodynamics is and how it works.
He can’t handle the thought of taking that class again. The mere idea of sitting through that hellish course learning about chemical components makes him want to jump off of a tall building. Not to mention the pure humiliation he would feel having to tell his friends ‘Oh yeah! I failed chemistry! And I may not even make it to senior year with you guys if I don’t get my act together this semester!’
He can hear Dustin already. ‘Oh, Will! How’d you manage to fail such an easy class!’ ‘Will, it’s pretty simple.’
Will was spiraling and he knew it. His heart was beating 10x faster than it was just a few minutes ago, his breathing becoming so ragged and harsh that he can almost imagine the smoke coming out of his ears, not out of anger but out of pure unbridled misery and anxiety. His chest was beginning to ache with the feeling of holding back the urge to cry, the back of his eyes stinging painfully in a reminder of his failures.
The pain in his chest only heightened and heightened until a broken whine-sob pushed past his lips as his hands gripped his hair. It was distracting, the loud ringing in his head, the constant drumming of his rapid-beating heart, his own blood rushing in his ears. So distracting that he didn’t notice his bedroom door being opened then closed seconds later, didn’t notice somebody kneeling in front of him—a hand hesitating before being placed on his knee.
He startles, head bolting upwards to look at the culprit. Their voice sounds distant under the sound of his own brain. Through his obscured vision he makes out a blue sweatshirt and black hair—Mike, he recognizes.
“Will?” he says softly, kneeling on the carpet before him. “Will, can you look at me? You’ve gotta breathe, alright? Like this;”
Mike takes a few example breaths, hands gesturing in a motion to follow the rise and fall of his chest.
Will tries to follow along, sharp breaths still stuttering through his lungs painfully as attempts to breath in and out to match Mike’s pace.
“Yeah, like that. You’ve got it,” Mike praises, hand coming down from his motions and grabbing one of the hands Will has tugged in his hair, gently releasing it and grabbing on allowing Will to do whatever he pleases with it in order to ground himself.
Will continues following Mike’s breathing, hand squeezing the other boys in a most likely painful manner—not that Mike cares anyways.
Inhale, exhale. Clammy hands gripping Mike’s own, Mike squeezing back with the same amount of force. Repeat.
Mike follows his gaze the entire time that Will has his eyes open, continuing the cycle until his hyperventilations are nothing but sharp yet even breaths.
“God,” he sniffles, voice scratchy with tears as an arm comes to rub across his nose, “I’m sorry.”
“What the hell are you apologizing for?” Mike questions, words still soft in a way that makes Will’s heart clench painfully.
Will uses his hoodie sleeve to push against his eyes, attempting to stop the small sting of a post-cry. “You know,”
“What, for having a panic attack? Feeling emotions? You can’t control that, Will.” Mike reassures, the tenderness in his voice betraying his narrowed eyes.
“It’s my fault—I caused it.” Will sniffles ashamedly.
He expects Mike to continue arguing, or maybe to reassure him once again, but neither of those things happen. Instead, he feels him stand from his position in front of Will and walk out with a quick ‘I’ll be right back!’
He assumes he’s going to go get tissues, or snacks like he usually does. Not this.
Mike walks back in, a tied white plastic bag in his hand. “Up,”
“What are you doing?” Will asks, frowning at the other boy.
Mike smiles, genuine but Will’s known him long enough to spot the mischievous glint in his eyes even with slightly tear-blurred vision.
Looking closer at the bag, he spots a few pieces of rolled up paper and a black lighter visible through the thin plastic.
“Is that Jonathan’s weed?” Will nearly shouts, Mike’s grin only growing.
“Yep,” he replies, popping the P. “Jonathan always says weed helps anxiety, let's put that to the test!”
Before Will get the chance to reply, he hears Mike shout a quick ‘Heads up!’ before black jeans and Mike’s blue sweater are tossed at his head.
Dragging the clothing off his face, Will stares at Mike in confusion. “What’s going on?”
“What do you think?” Mike answers black plainly yet playfully. “Put it on. We’re going out.”
There was a beat as Mike stared at him, waiting for him to get up from the uncomfortable carpet and get dressed. While a part of him wanted to argue, tell Mike he wasn’t in the mood to leave the house after having a 10 P.M. panic attack, the other part was grateful for him, grateful that he cared enough about him to try to do something in order to clear his head.
Will sighed, standing and shooing Mike to turn around as he pulled on the clothes. Mike’s sweater smelt like his cologne, a recent addition to his look as he’s gotten older. He takes a moment to breathe in the scent combined with just Mike as he looks back up at his back, the grey graphic shirt having been under the sweater.
He tugged on his shoes before tapping Mike on the back signalling he was ready to leave.
“Fuck yeah!” Mike exclaims, his keys twirling around his pointer finger as he turnt back to Will.
He flicks his lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him as he follows Mike out of the house. It was late, 11 P.M. late, so they kept their steps light as they tiptoed through the quiet house and out the door. His mom didn’t enforce strict curfews much anymore since he was 17, but Hopper however wouldn’t let him leave the house past eight. Sorry, Hop.
Will slid into the passenger seat of Mike’s car, the engine rumbling to life as Mike twisted the key. Low hum filled the otherwise silent atmosphere as he turnt the air conditioning on. Slumping down slightly, he watched as Mike drove, how his hands wrapped around the wheeler and how he would lean into Will’s space to look through his rearview mirror.
He forced a blush to cool down his face when Mike glanced over at him, a toothy smile engulfing his features before he turned back to the road ahead.
Only minutes later, Mike pulled into a gas station, the convenience store holding a sign that said ‘24-HOUR SERVICE’ on one of the windows. He parked, and Will could feel how uneven it was.
“Your parking’s uneven,” Will mentions as Mike turns off the car.
He looks over at him, a small frown of confusion on his face. “No it’s not, you can't even see it.”
“I can feel it.” Will hums back, pushing the car door open.
The first thing he noticed was the car, parked nearly diagonally in the vertical parking space. He snickered as Mike knit his eyebrows together. “How the hell did you know that?”
Will just shrugged. “Spidey senses,”
They walked up to the glass doors, various signs and stickers planted across every surface advertising different products.
“What are we doing here?” he asked, face contorting into one of confusion.
Mike smiled. “You get hungry when you're high. These are for the munchies!”
It was hard to keep up a responsible facade with Mike by your side, Will thinks. He’s known this ever since they met at age five yet he continues to surprise him every time. On one hand, Will’s absolute craving a gatorade right now, maybe some Reese’s too. On the other hand, he didn’t bring his wallet.
“I didn’t bring my wallet, though.” he tells Mike, who is already scouring the snack isles like a raccoon looking for garbage.
Mike’s face contorts. “What? I’m paying, idiot.”
“You don’t have to do th-”
“Shh,” Mike puts his finger up to Will’s lips, “let me do what I want with my money.”
Will fights back another blush at Mike’s face so close to his, Mike’s finger on his lips before he pulls away grinning. He ends up just nodding, firstly not having the brain power to argue and secondly not having the social skills at 11 P.M. to try to get into a full conversation.
They rush back to the front, Mike dumping the various snacks onto the counter in a pile before Will places his Gatorade and Reese’s next to it.
“You guys want a bag?” the cashier asked, and they both nodded. He totaled the price up to $17.63 as Mike handed over his card.
Minutes later they’re climbing back into the car, the bag of snacks placed on Will’s lap and Mike restarted the car.
Will watched as Mike drove, driving and taking turns around their small town until he reached his appart destination, a hill located just past the woods.
He stared past the hill in awe, the entirety of Hawkins seemingly rather small from the height they were at. Mike walks up behind him, bag in hand and sits, bag placed next to him as he leans one palm on the ground behind him and the other into his hoodie pocket. Will sits next to him, leaning in a similar position but rather than legs spread ahead of him he crosses them.
Mike pulls out the small plastic bag from his pocket, quickly untying the small knot in the material before reaching in and grabbing a joint and the lighter. A few attempts at lighting it later, Will grabs the lighter.
“Cup your hands around the joint, the wind is what's blowing it out,” he giggled, holding the lighter up to the joint in between Mike’s lips. Two attempts later it was lit and Mike was breathing it, a rough cough instantly escaping his lungs as he pulled the joint back from his mouth.
Mike hunched over, loud coughs leaving his mouth as Will laughed. “Jesus—fuck!”
Will took the joint from Mike’s hand, his eyes boring into Will’s side profile as he took a hit.
A few small coughs left his lips but other than that, Will was perfectly fine. He looked over to Mike to find him already staring and grinned.
“How the hell did you do that without dying?!” Mike exclaimed, grabbing the joint from in between Will’s fingers and holding it up to his mouth. “You make it seem so easy, makes me think you’ve done this before.”
“Who knows, maybe I have,” Will shrugged in response.
Mike’s reaction was immediate, cough after heavy cough leaving his lungs as he gripped his chest. “You—what??”
He only giggled in response, taking the joint back and breathing in more of the smoke before exhaling it into the humid night air. It isn’t too hot, but the wetness from the day's rain still lingered over the town, small puddles of rain scattered around the pavements.
“Want me to teach you?” Will asked, acknowledging Mike’s heavy staring as pure curiosity.
“Hm?—oh, yeah, sure. Please.” Mike stumbled out, sitting up straighter.
“Watch,” Will mumbled out, joint between his lips. He inhaled once, then inhaled one more time to get the smoke into his lungs before exhaling and pulling it away, holding the joint out for Mike to take.
He grabbed it, placing it between his lips and mimicked the method Will used to show him. His coughing wasn’t as rough this time around, only soft ack’s. He grimaced before his expression soothed back down into a droopy smile, passing the joint back to Will as he leaned against his body.
“Better?” Will questioned, leaning against Mike equally as much. The pressure of his arm against his own comforting, grounding.
Mike hums in response. A silence passed between the two boys—comforting rather than cripplingly awkward—before he broke it.
“Hey Will?” Mike questioned, glancing towards his leaned over form before looking back at the starless night sky.
“Hm?” he replies, continuing to admire the atmosphere around them. The town below them is almost as quiet as they are, a few lights dotted around looking like a star map of sorts against the darkness.
“What happened earlier?”
Mike asks the question so softly that Will barely notices he was being asked, a few seconds being passed before it truly settled in his brain. It was so random, out of the blue that he almost didn’t know what to say.
“What are you talking about?” Will answers, knowing full well what he was talking about.
“The panic attack.” Mike clarifies. “Did something happen? Were you hurt? What was it?”
Oh.
He shifted uncomfortably against the grass, hand reaching down into the bag of snacks before pulling out his Reese’s and biting one. “Nothing, it was just—it was stupid, is what it was. Nothing to worry about.”
Mike makes a defying noise. “It wasn’t stupid if it upset you. And, I always worry about you no matter what. That’s my job.”
Will’s glad for the darkness as a blush curls its way up his neck and to his cheeks, the tingly burning sensation amplified by his slight high.
It’s silent for a few beats until Will answers. “I just—I failed chemistry. If I don't find an opening to retake the class next semester I won’t be able to pass junior year.”
Admitting it feels embarrassing, humiliating, but Mike just hums, taking a swig of a water bottle.
“So what? You’ll be able to retake it, and even if you can’t, yeah, you’ll be held back maybe, but that doesn’t mean your stupid. I’m surprised I even managed to pass with a 61%. You’ll be able to recover the credit, I know you will.” Mike reassures. “You know our friends, they wouldn’t make fun of something you’re serious about. Yeah, it might be a little embarrassing, but who cares? It won’t affect you once it’s over with.”
Will sits there in a stunned silence for a moment, contemplating Mike’s words.
“Since when were you a school therapist?” he jokes, a huff-like chuckle leaving his mouth.
Mike just shrugs, looking down and taking another swig of water. “Since I failed physics, so yeah, I get it.”
Oh.
All of the pieces start falling into place. “You failed physics?” Will questions, making sure he heard it right.
“Sure did, you’re not alone in needing to take an extra class next semester. What I told you is what I’ve been telling myself.” Mike laughs softly, passing the joint back to Will as he reaches into the snack bag and fishing out a bag of Lays.
They sit in silence for a while, the only sounds being crickets and the soft burning sound of the paper as Will inhales the high. “Thank you, Mike.” he says softly, nearly inaudible.
“For what?” Mike asks, looking towards Will’s profile.
Will takes another hit before softly exhaling and leaning his head on Mike’s shoulder. He feels him stiffen, nearly pulling back before the other relaxes and wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer to his chest.
“Cheering me up, being insane. The usual.” he jokes, looking up at Mike and smiling.
The smile Mike sends back tugs at his heartstrings, head nuzzling into Mike’s neck as he scoots closer. Mike holds him close, almost protectively. He knows the way they act when alone isn’t particularly ‘normal’, but Will wouldn’t change it for the world.
“Want another hit?” he questions after a few seconds of silence, handing it over to Mike once he nods.
Mike takes a breath of the smoke, automatically doubling over in a coughing fic sending Will falling off his shoulder. His hands clutch at his chest and he heaves and hunches over, and Will doesn’t think he’s laughed this long in a while. A while meaning since he last hung out with Mike, because every time they hang out they manage to make a new unforgettable memory. He supposes that’s just how being with Mike is, a new experience every time. Always a good one, even if it doesn’t go that well in retrospect.