Chapter Text
Will is slumped over with his eyes keeping to the pencil lines, occasionally drifting away when his mind drops focus from the heat of August. His hand that swishes the pencil all over the paper - very out of whack compared to the previous day’s late evening sessions - is curved uneasily, his fingertips brushing at the edge of his workspace. His free hand numbly supports his tilted head held up by his knobby elbow balancing on his raised knee. Will’s hair wouldn’t have gotten in the way when he’s posed in this familiar position, but he’s failed to keep his bronze bowl cut tidy over the past few months - his mother’s been occupied with more pressing issues than her son’s hairdo. He can’t handle scissors for his life, either, even at 17, so self-haircuts haven’t been an option. He is not asking Jonathan after having to see the mop of hair that sat on his hair when his brother was his age. He looked like he sold weed, or something, which he probably did back then, knowing that he and Argyle almost persuaded Mike to give Purple Palm Tree Delight a try. His friend’s stubbornness had managed to save him, though.
When he’d felt as though he’s completed whatever's he’s been lazily working on, he tilts his head straight to figure out what he’s created. The lines are still faint - he couldn't be bothered to retrace them all, but he could recognize the shapes he mapped out. It was a goldenrod, which is something he’s definitely not drawn before. After his attempts back at Lenora Hills, he gave up when he’d spent 30 minutes sitting in the grass behind their home, examining the petal’s thin bristles that made it so damn hard to translate onto paper. Back then, he was powered by determination to draw this flower for El, since she’d shown a liking for them when they arrived there. He can remember the tinge of disappointment when he came back with a page full of erased lines. But Will did it, 2 years later, whilst waiting for Jonathan to enter the cabin and take him to a new GameStop in the rebuilt Starcourt with fingers shadowed by the smudges of his pencil. Not like she’d remember, though.
He didn’t have to wait much longer, fortunately. His brother stands in the doorway, the subtle noise of rain drizzling from outside. Will hurriedly shoves his pad of paper beneath the table in front of where hems been lounging, slips his Converses on - they’re quite small on him, now that he tries them on after digging them up from Jonathan's old wardrobe - and joins Jonathan, whose hands lean against the doorframe with fingertips clinging steadily. Will would say bye to El or Mom or Hopper, but neither of them are present - just him and his brother. He missed these evenings out with him so much since they stopped back in ‘85. It had only come to both of their minds about a year ago, when Jonathan had abruptly asked him if he wanted to check out the new Starcourt. Since then, the pair would spend a couple hours together, drifting from place to place, maybe even visiting Mike and Nancy.
Once they were both strapped in and Jonathan had started his car again, Will expected him to jump into a conversation about something - he was good at doing that, unlike himself. But he didn’t, oddly enough. Silence buzzed until they drove past the yard of dirt that once housed pumpkins.
“How’re you and Mike?” His brother asks openly, not turning his head or his eyes. Caught off guard, Will replies.
“What?”
“You and Mike? You never talk to me about him anymore. I’m assuming that’s a good thing.”
He readjusts his arm on the window uncomfortably. He hasn’t thought about Mike for a while. 2 hours, actually, surprisingly. He doesn’t want to think about him, but stopping himself is an idea that’s flown out of the window 5 years ago. Even after the time that’s passed since ‘86, the stupid 14 words that his friend spoke to El still haunts Will.
I feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods.
He didn’t mean it. It's not a big deal. That’s what Will tells himself when he recalls it so vividly. He wants to confront Mike about it, tell him something, do something, but he can’t figure out how. There’s no good reason to either, it’ll just add more fuel to the fire that’s separated them for several years.
“Yeah. We’re- Fine. We’re fine.” Will confirms to Jonathan, whose focus still remains on the road. Will’s eyes are stuck to the floor, giving him a muted throb in his temple.
“Good. I know that you two left it rough last time you talked.”
God, was it really that long ago? Was the last time he dumped his Mike troubles on Jonathan right after saving their sister? When he said those dumb words? Will has to talk to him more. It's not like he’s drifting apart from his brother, but he really needs to.
“We've been talking since then, y’know. I’m sorry I didn’t talk-“
“No- Don’t be sorry,” Jonathan waves a hand to him vaguely, turning his head hastily, before returning back to the road, “It’s my fault I never asked. You just- I- just- never had to before.”
Will never thought about it that way. He always just came to his brother and he listened carefully. Nobody had ever listened to him the way Jonathan did, with caring, welcome eyes. Something he didn’t see much of when telling anybody else about stuff. He brushes his arm without thinking. Jonathan sees this, Will can tell, even if his eyes are glued to the dusty floor of his car.
“Talk to me. I mean- If you don’t want to, then we can- we don’t have to-“
“Sure. Sure- Yeah, okay.”
He nods frantically. They turn past the Harrington’s old house, not as preserved as he remembers. Then again, Will’s only really seen the house twice. Mike mentioned something about the new owners of the residence, and that Steve’s been out to California “exploring”. He wasn’t listening much. He waits nervously for something to come out of the driver’s mouth. They’re past the Harrington’s. Can Jonathan talk already? His neck is growing stiff from his head cranked down, waiting to be positioned on his elbow again, his cue being Jonathan. Instead, his brother blindly scrambles his hand around the front compartment until his fingers land on a mixtape. Inserting it quickly, the intro to Just Another Day slowly begins to blare out from the speakers.
“So,” Jonathan begins, tapping his hand steadily when David Elfman begins to sing, “Has, uh- Mike been alright? I know that El’s been a bit rough on him lately. Can’t blame her, honestly.”
Will puffs out a short laugh.
“Yeah- He’s been fine. I heard he started singing and playing guitar.”
Jonathan inclines his head unconvinced, his thumb now rubbing the wheel to Elfman’s words. Mike hasn’t had the idea to invite him to watch, or anything, or tell him if he’s writing the songs, or just singing and playing them. He only knows because El threw it to him as a side comment when they were talking once at Max’s, so he doesn’t touch on the subject any more. He wishes he could tell his brother more, but he can’t. A numb feeling grows, as he raises his head to fall onto his palm against the window. The light rain thudding onto the pane dulls the headache, gladly.
“How’s Nancy been? Are you two still together? I’m- guessing you guys are.”
Jonathan hides a sigh by looking out of his window, biting his lip nervously. Will just blankly stares at the windshield, where the silvery clouds cross the hills, trying his best to not be thirsty for information. He shouldn’t have asked about that - Argyle would’ve been a better option. But it was polite to ask, to keep the conversation rolling. The car, though, stops, as the traffic clogs up the road. Will hasn’t experienced this much jamming since Lenora. Mom said to him and El that tourism has become a lot more pf a problem here, since the news of the paranormal activity in Hawkins has spread worldwide.
“We’re actually a bit tight at the moment. But we’re still together- It's not like I don’t love her - of course I do - but, I don’t know, I just like she’s hiding something, or something.” He suddenly blurts out, overlapping Just Another Day’s outro. Taken aback, Will blinks at his distressed face, taking his head off of the glass and loosely fiddling with the blue and yellow cuffs of his sweater.
“What do you mean? I mean, last time I saw Nancy, you two seemed pretty close.” Will tries his best to not sound pressing.
Jonathan pulls a face to the windshield confusedly as they turn a corner to Starcourt.
“It’s just- I think she likes somebody else- but she doesn’t know it yet, y’know? I want her to be happy, so I haven’t told her, but I want to tell her- but she might get offended.”
The car stops and they hop out of the vehicle to get a look at the new mall. It's better than Will expected. He’d pictured a first floor with around four shops, with construction everywhere and with only a dozen people actually shopping there. His prediction was wrong, however. The smell of popcorn looms around the entrance, mingling with the smell of the damp grass, and the same buzzing lights that spell Starcourt Mall bright and flashy above the door are still welcoming. As they walk in, hair slightly wet from the rain. Will looks at his brother’s shoulder for a second, before stuffing both of his hands into his pockets. They’re not as deep as the last time he wore Jonathan’s old jacket.
“So where’s the GameStop?” He asks quietly after walking around for 2 minutes, looking at all of the services this new place has. He’s spotted at least 2 cake shops, a couple of toy stores, a big restaurant that took up about half of that strip of shops, a laundromat and a barber shop. His brother doesn’t respond, too engrossed in his search for the game store, so he doesn’t repeat himself. They haven’t even climbed the escalator and there’s already too many shops for his head. The people who rebuilt it kept the same structure, thankfully, so the pair of them easily found their way to the second floor after searching for the GameStop on the first. By this time, Will had added around 20 new shops to his mental list of stores. There were at least four more cake shops (one was exclusively for cupcakes), another barber one, much less empty, a Seven Eleven, a Subway and a bustling Starbucks that Jonathan had insisted on visiting when they had finished with games, which Will easily agreed to.
“Finally, why couldn't they put the store at the entrance?” Jonathan exclaimed angrily, hand outstretched when they eventually found it next to the recently added Scoops Ahoy - he remembers Erica almost throwing a chair at somebody when they had rejected the idea of Scoops, only to be accepted when Hopper stepped in. They couldn't really reject the chief of police that had saved their asses a few years back.
There were four other people in the GameStop, excluding employees, which there were two of.
“What're you after?” His brother mutters, scanning the shelves of cartridges that sit on the right of the entrance. Will’s fingers brush the sides of them slowly, his eyes glaring at the labels one by one with focus. Some of them are unreadable.
“Mario Bros. 3.” He answers, not taking his eye off the games. Half of them aren’t even in alphabetical order, which is stupid. His urge to wreck the whole display and to re-sort it from A-Z heightens when his finger slips and he loses where he was.
“Tell you what,” Jonathan says, rushing to him and resting his hand on one of the shelves, “I’ll find you Mario, you find me a Game Boy with Legend of Zelda included.”
He nods his head hesitantly. He has had a disliking for Legend of Zelda since the first time he played it at Dustin's - the dragon dungeon put him off playing Nintendo games for a month. And he isn’t fond of the Game Boy, either. Why would you make a device that’s as small as your previous console’s controllers? Despite all of this, he saunters over to the shelf of Game Boys, half of them with grey cartridges stood beside them. His eyes darted around the stickers for a while, before his mind drifted. His finger that moved with his eyes absentmindedly now just slides in the air from left to right.
Jonathan said that El’s been rough on Mike lately. On Mike. Their sister’s never told Will about this. Now that he thinks about it, El hasn’t really told him anything about how Mike and her are doing. From what he’s seen, they’re fine. They still go out together, Mike still appears at their house every week, they still wrap around each other when the Party’s out together, but there’s an absence of actually saying stuff to each other. Will can’t remember a time in the past year when his friend’s said that he loves his sister.
Maybe he’s just not around to hear. He isn’t a third wheel like he used to be, which he supposes is a good thing, not being shoved out and not being blamed for rolling his eyes, but it gave him some insight on Mike’s relationship with El back then. The foundation of their whole relationship is trust, overall. When a hiccup happened (El lying to Mike), it didn’t go down well, and Will had to tell his friend that El was feeding him lies.
He shakes his head to swat away the thoughts. Will needs to focus, and nothing should get in the way of him and his brother shopping like they used to. Will firmly affirms himself to not let any pesky mental comments get in his way. His legs are still squatted down, his index finger bent over the nearest Game Boy. He brings his hand back and observes the shelves again for the Legend of Zelda. After 5 minutes, no luck.
“Will? You still there?” Jonathan almost shouts from the opposite side of the store. Startled, he springs up and turns around to see his brother’s thin arm in the air. He stumbles backwards a few steps before his hands spins to catch a basket.
“Yeah, I haven’t found it yet, though.” He sighs quickly, making his way over to the stack of cartridges that Jonathan’s made himself. Only a small pile, though.
“What’s all this?” He instinctively asks, waving his nearest hand to the crowd of games on the table in front of them.
“Those,” He hastily grabs two of them and shows them to him, “Are all the Mario games I’ve found. Not a single 3 in there. Closest I’ve gotten is Mario Land.”
Defeated, they both skim the pile once more, before agreeing to insert them back into the slots on the shelves. They’re out of the shop after three minutes, with Will’s pocket still full of money. He slides his right hand into the pocket just in case.
“Starbucks?” He says, pointing over with his free hand at the coffee shop a few stores down. Jonathan nodded quickly, and they both speed up their walking to get there. The scent of sweet tea and coffee meet Will’s senses, making his brain go a little crazy. The shop is little more than packed, with the queue being nearly doing laps of itself. His brother slumps over at the sight, looking over to Will for reassurance.
“Do you really want coffee this bad?” He gestures a hand to the store’s growing line, which is now out of the store. They stand to the side of the open doors, along with other people who are most likely debating if they should wait 30 minutes for a drink and a cake.
“I mean- yes, I want coffee- but, if you don’t want to wait, we can-“
“No- No. I’ll wait, you go explore. Might as well, with the butload of money you’ve got in there.” He pats Will on the shoulder, comforting him like it always does, like when he was a kid that just came out of hell and lived to tell the tale.
“I- Alright. Yeah. You sure?” He asks tentatively, raising a hand slightly in his pocket, listening to the jingle of his savings.
“Yes. You literally cannot change my mind. Caramel macchiato?”
The smell of coffee intensifies.
“Yes. Definitely. And thanks.”
When he turns his back to walk away, his brother grabs his shoulder hastily, adding, “Go get El some Five Guys, and get Mom and Hop some Burger King. Get some for me and you as well. Thanks. I don’t even know if there is a Five or a Burger King, but get whatever if there isn’t.”
Will nods hesitantly.
He wanders off back to the direction of the GameStop, watching over the railings, then looking back behind him, walking backwards for a second. He can spot his brother at the back of the queue, barely in the Starbucks shop itself. He smiles, even though Jonathan can’t see it from where he is. Spinning back around, his face is met with another. Not enough for them to be mouth to mouth, but their eyes meet for a moment, before he bashes him onto the ground. Very alarmed, his eyes widened for a moment, staring down at the auburn hair of the man he must’ve stumbled into, before placing his hand on his soaked sweater. God, it is wet. And it smells like tea, which isn’t the worst. The person’s bag is loosely hanging around their resting hand. They scramble to get something from their cream shoulder bag.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry, I should’ve-“ Will stammers, bending back down next to him. The man gives him tissues that he must’ve fished out, and he looks at Will, almost meticulously. He does the same, just for way longer. This man looks the same age as Will. His eyes are a gentle brown, complimenting his sharp jawline and almost glistening lips, which are sat beneath an upturned nose. His fringe sticks out, unlike Will’s, and the rest is lightly curled just enough to make it seem natural. It probably is natural. His muddy brown jacket is ruffled as it lays below his shoulders. His dark polo is thin, his skin a tanned olive. Overall, he is attractive. Jesus Christ, he is handsome.
Will’s been staring for too long. He frantically stares down at his veiny hands. They stumble around, sweeping the mess of tea that sits in front of them.
“No- Its- Are you alright? I spilled loads on you. I haven’t got any spare jumpers, sorry- I mean, you wouldn’t want them anyway.”
He speaks with a Yorkshire accent, running his hand through his hair, adding a tissue to the small heep between them. He doesn't care to question what a jumper is. All he can focus on is this
“I- Yeah, I’m fine. It's my fault. I should’ve been looking, I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He insists. He’s not even on the first floor and he’s already done something bad.
“Course I am, it's only tea. Besides, I got most of it on you, I reckon. You go get cleaned up an’ I’ll get this mess tidied. There’s a toilet over in the T.G.I.F downstairs.”
Will is taken aback by the kindness. He’s lucky that it was this man that he bumped into, and not anybody else. He wants to talk to this guy, even if the only thing he knows about him is that he’s British and has nice eyes. He cautiously stands back up, wobbling on his feet, and notices that there’s around 5 people that stare at the pair. Ignoring, he admires the boy again. He is also stood up.
“Sorted. That was exciting, wasn’t it?” He says eagerly, a hand on his hip and a cup with soggy tissues in his other. Will wants to stop him from continuing to walk the opposite way, to talk to him without cleaning tea. Luckily, he doesn't have to. The man whips back around from the trash can.
“Are you that bloke that was in that whole faff in 1985 in here?”
Startled, Will doesn’t reply immediately. How could somebody from Britain know about the Battle of Starcourt? Is it common knowledge? It's common knowledge here. Unless he did his research before arriving at Hawkins. He wanted to forget about it, but he can’t deny it to a person like the man that’s walking towards him, gazing at him with concern, like a mother to her son that’s just completed something insanely stupid.
“How’d you know?”
The man heaves out a breathy laugh. “With that haircut, mate, it's hard to forget it when you’ve seen it in the newspapers.”
He’s glad he’s growing out the bowl cut. He’s known for his stupid haircut in Britain? That’s it? His hairstyle? Nothing remarkable? Will’s eyes narrow at the man, and Will can tell that he looks very offended.
“I didn’t mean it like that. It's just that my friend was a right nerd about the rubbish and the only bit I picked up was your haircut.”
Will nods with a faint smile.
“Right, I’ll be off, see you around. Actually, I probably won’t see you anywhere, because you don’t even know who I am. Anyway, have a good one. And get yourself cleaned up.”
As he walks off, Will’s face follows him until he’s a little blur going down an escalator. A little, hot blur with a brown jacket and a British tongue. He didn’t say anything, again. He didn’t do anything to make a new friendship between him and that man. That’s the fourth time that’s happened. He could’ve said something about the battle that would’ve sparked up some interest in the guy’s heart to make him speak more, or do more. Defeated, he trudges away to the opposite escalator, like he was doing, taking his sweater (jumper, as the man had said. A British term, definitely) off and feeling the breeze of the mall fans press onto his thin striped, green shirt underneath, pale from age. Whilst travelling down to the first floor, he feels the soggy patch of tea that’s settled in the fabric of his clothes - with only a few splodges on his shirt - leaving a bronze stain in the middle.
Will bites his bottom lip and works his way through the ocean of shoppers until he finds the T.G.I.F that the boy mentioned, packed like the surrounding services. He spots a Five Guys in between a Wendy’s and a Subway. He has never entered a Thank God It's Friday before. He’s only heard it twoce, including the time a few minutes ago. The floor and walls are wood, polished and light when he steps on the planks. He waits for several minutes, behind a large group that organises a huge table, he finds out from his nosy ears. He wonders if he has to actually have a table assigned to him before he can clean his sweater. He is not risking walking with it nearly dripping - what’s the worst they can do, tell him to go wash it somewhere else?
The lady that stands behind the thin table which is filled with menus is short, barely meeting his shoulders, and her movements are animated in a way that sets Will’s nerves off. She glares at him promptly, pen at the ready, almost digging into the pad of paper.
“Hi- Can I use the bathroom here? Its just- I got something all over my sweater, and-“
She nods her head, sighing an awful lot as she leads him to the door that has a male stickman. After giving her a small,“Thanks.” And a short, “Sorry.”, he opens the door and finds no wipes anywhere. In the cramped space, there’s only two cubicles and a stuffed sink with a hand dryer beside it and a soap bottle lying near the faucet. He’s hoping so goddamn much that there isnt another man in here with him, though after waiting for a sound that indicated there’s somebody around, he confirms that nobody accompanies him. There’s also a framed quote that reads, “Wash your Hands!” with a little, golden bear with a purple top hat showing off shiny paws, seeming very sofisticated, flashy smile and everything. What can he do with a hand dryer? There’s no point of trying to dry the stain when it’s already dry. Will stands there for a few minutes, claustrophobic thoughts getting into his head every minute, mind finding a creative way to get this tea off of his sweater. If he used the sink, he’s only getting it more damp, and if he uses the dryer, he’s not really getting anything done.
A little shiver courses through himself, barely noticeable, and a sharp, tiny pain hits his chest. Impulsively, he swats the target area a bit too painfully, but the spider or fly that must’ve bit him is definitely gone. When he lowers his shirt to reveal his bare skin, there’s two visible red dots left from the insect. Not huge like a mosquito bite, but noticeable if he had worn a vest. Will runs a finger past the pair of dots, feeling no pain when he rubs them. He decides to ignore the bite for now and to get his clothes wearable again. And he does, with the bite not presenting him any trouble. But he still has the cold tingle lingering around his hands, and his mind pulsates numbly when he exits.
In around 10 minutes, his sweater is looking better, with only a subtle scent of tea and a slight amount of stain. He smiles smugly to himself when he’s finished, still not knowing how he managed to remove a stain by rubbing a wet, soapy mess of tissues onto the fabric and drying it underneath a cheap dryer. It worked, that’s what matters. By the time he’s out of the restaurant, he’s got his Five Guys money ready and his eyes peeled for Burger King. After wandering around the food court for 10 minutes, no luck. Will supposes that the new owners of the Starcourt brand weren’t fond of burgers. Rushing past the ocean of guests and almost tearing holes in his pockets due to how tightly he’s grabbing onto his money, he enters the desolate diner. Nothing more than a sprinkling of teen girls and a couple of older men. He disregards their feverish laughter and greets a blond man with a red apron slung over his shoulder. He scans him narrowly before asking for his order with sleepy, hazel eyes.
“Just- Uh- Three hotdogs and two hamburgers?”
The blond shouts his words to his workmates behind him with a booming voice that doesnt suit his features. He turns back around to signal a table over to Will. He doesn’t spare another glance to the cashier, avoiding the other people and taking a seat on the poofy red couches. The poofy red couch that he chose has a splodge of mustard beside him with a foul smell entering his lungs because of it, upsetting his stomach.
That was the most noteworthy part of his visit to Five Guys. The blond’s wink at the girls that were leaving was thought-provoking, but nothing more than a little punch the world gives him weekly. Daily, even. 75% of the time, it's something about men or Mike. Will used to pay attention to the problems that bugged him every day, years ago, but that was before Hawkins blew up in everybody’s faces. He has better things to do, he thinks. So does Jonathan, rather than listening to Will’s irrelevant issues.
He walks off without thinking away from the nauseating scent of mustard, requesting a paper bag to stuff all of the goods inside when the blond yelled at him to give him his food. Then, he winks at Will.
He winks at Will. He winks at Will. This man winks at Will.
He could run away. Forget that a man winked at him like he did with the girls. But he lets the corners of his dry lips rise, because his impulses love to make every situation wonderfully difficult for himself. The blond obliviously grins at him, his drowsy eyes now bright. Will turns his eyes quite away from the flirty pair in front of him, the small smile still present, cheeks growing hotter. Will is not ready for flirts in public, or anywhere - The idea of a man winking at him seductively was launched out of the window ages ago. Now? He wants it to stay out of the window for good. He hits the imaginary abort button soon after he pulls a strangled smile at him, rolling his money to the blond and almost sprinting away from him.
He clutches the bag during his trek back upstairs, giving his palms a burning sensation that he doesn’t take notice of. He climbs up the flight of stairs, noticing how much more people there are. The masses of head he can view beyond the railings makes him dizzy, having forgotten how much the urban growth spurt had affected Hawkins. It made him miss the actual Hawkins, the town without 5 buildings you can’t see the top of at every corner, though at night, it does make the windows of towering meeting rooms an enchanting view. It took his mind off of the irritating press that was storming after Hawkins’ upside down events.
He finds Starbucks again with the line that was present earlier gone, thankfully. Wandering over to it, spotting his brother’s almost-blond (Jonathan had requested that that was the official name of his hair colour) haircut when he entered the coffee shop. Will greets him quietly, showing him the contents of the bag, with Jonathan nodding at the “decent” food. His brother mumbles about something, and Will honestly tries to pay attention, his heart sinking when he finds his focus plummeting.
Will nods blankly in the end. He notices a barista that caught his gaze for a second, smirking at him, then returning back to his coffee making. Jesus Christ, what is up with hot men today? His brother spots his absent gaze that looks behind his shoulder and whips around, before turning back around, trying to read Will’s face.
“What?” He asks hastily, almost demanding.
He forces his focus back to his brother, having been watching the man making coffee for too long again - they caught each other’s gaze a few more times, making Will’s cheeks grow warm, similar to his last encounter with such men.
“Was it that dude there? The one making coffee near the right?”
“What? Oh- Yeah, sorry.“
His brother's voice is carefree when he laughs. He doesn’t tend to joke about Will’s taste in people. Especially not in public. Will doesn’t beckon him to stop, but he would if anybody else did. Like anybody else knew.
“It’s fine. But you could do better than that.”
Will scrunches his face up slightly, as though to tell Jonathan to shut up in a kind way, not meaning any of it, because he knows that his brother is the only person that can ever say that to him in this context. He’s so glad he told Jonathan, of anybody he could pick, about everything. And he listened, with an amount of unconditional love that Will can never understand. And he doesn’t press on about it like anybody else would.
“Is he better than Mike?” Will adds, jokingly, as another barista - another unsurprisingly stunning male that has glistening blue eyes and a shining smile when he speaks to them - slides their coffees over to the pair and tells them thank you for waiting such a long time. Jonathan snaps his fingers close to his face to get him to follow out of the store, handing him his macchiato.
“Geez, you are getting lucky with the people today, man.”
They both laugh, rather awkwardly, diffusing the tiny amount of tension and distance that stood between them. Will swills his brew as they make their way to the exit of Starcourt, the mall filling up as they step outside. The night is humid, rain coating his hair, some of it sticking to his temple. With both of their drinks drained and with Will’s lips tingling with caramel, Jonathan insists on saving the paper cups. When Will asks why, he just says Argyle. He doesn’t question it. Whilst he’s fiddling with the cups, drying them with his loose shirt, staining Bowie’s design in the process, he suddenly mumbles, “You know, I enjoyed that.”
“What? Oh- Yeah. I did, too.”
They smile at each other as they enter his car, Will placing the food on top of his shoes, feeling the warmth of fresh burgers on his feet. When they’re on the road, Bowie blasting out his songs in the background, Will sighs. He wasn’t lying about enjoying this trip, but it didn’t feel fulfilling. There wasn’t anything to remember, to think about when they got back to the cabin. He stared at a few boys, but it's not like he hasn’t done that since ‘85. His pockets are still full of change and his sweater now has a light patch on the front, that’s all.
Jonathan's short whistling gets him out of his daze. Shaking his head in surprise, he impulsively looks to Jonathan’s window, to see if anything’s there, with nothing but damp trees and a ton of grey clouds. His brother stares at him back.
Will pauses. “It’s nothing. Just thought I saw something.”
Jonathan inclines his head unconvinced, furrowing an eyebrow.
“Honestly, it's nothing.”
He continues to have his eyebrows raised. Will rubs his chest subconsciously, lowering the neck of his blank shirt, which makes him look down quickly and snap his hand away and to his leg. It still burns after.
“Woah, woah, woah- What is that?” His brother, almost aggressively, asks, taking both of his brows down concerned, eyes on Will’s, still hanging by his other hand, skin.
“What? Oh- It’s just an insect bite I got from a bathroom. It’s fine - Just a little sore.”
“A little sore?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that why you’re still itching it?” He swirls his finger in the direction of Will’s rapid hand. Dragging it away, he replies, “I didn’t- Maybe- I don’t know, but I’m not gonna get seriously messed up from it, Jonathan.”
His brother continues to drive, glancing at the neck of Will’s shirt every once in a while, not bothering to pick on the topic. Taking his sweater off, shoving it on the floor, he gnaws at his nails for the duration of the journey back home. The journey is short, compared to the time it’d taken for them to get to Starcourt. He supposed that Jonathan had chosen the wrong time to drive, with 5pm being the common time to finish work for most. With it being 6:30 now, they’re taking their shoes off and emptying Will’s pockets in the cabin. Mom, Hop nor El are home yet disappointingly, Will was looking forward to seeing El after she visited Mike. His brother wasn’t the most pleased person when the coins rolled back onto the table with none of them spent by Will, not counting the Five Guys. Nevertheless, Jonathan grabs the money and drops it in his pocket, digging for a hotdog and shutting his bedroom door, insisting that he’s exhausted from work. Not caring too much, glad that his brother is getting sleep like a normal person, a rare occurence that happened to few of them after what had gone on, Will snatches up his hamburger, slides the bag of food onto the counter next to the fridge and trudges to his room, unravelling the tinfoil of his dinner on his bed. It's not as warm as he hoped, and the ham is barely underneath the bread. They added thin tomatoes. Who puts tomatoes on a hamburger? There’s a lot of juice splattered onto the crinkled foil from the slippery ham; stomach hates the thought.
Will loses his appetite.
The reason is unknown to him - its probably the tomatoes - he even laughs at himself after glaring at the burger. His stomach feels as though it could spring up and seize it any moment - and it had been in that mood since stepping out of the door - and Will ignores it, clumsily wrapping up the burger again, throwing it to his desk - elbowing the door so that it snaps shut - and begins to undress himself. It isn’t difficult work, since he isn’t wearing more then two layers, and he manages to fish out clothes hastily, so he’s in a loose blue shirt and black pants when he tosses his outfit to the basket beside his cabinet.
Will plummets onto his bed back first, his head nearly bashing against the wooden frame. He breathes in and out, in and out. Again. And again. He shivers in the summer heat. Instictively, he snatches up his covers to his shoulders, turning on his side to face the wall. He realizes he hasn’t flicked the light switch, but he doesn’t care to get out of bed to do so. He’s tired. More tired than he was a minute ago, he swears. His bite from earlier still scorches under the sheets and when Will taps the target area, the pair of dots scream at him in agony. His eyes begin to drop, flickering shut, sweat surfacing from his chest and hands as he loses thought.
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