Chapter Text
Will hates his job.
He’s only had it for about three months, since his mom wouldn’t let him work before he turned 16. Why he was so set on getting a job, he has no idea. It is, unsurprisingly, the worst thing in the world.
He had no idea how stupid people could be before he had to deal with them for up to twenty hours a week. No, he can’t just fill a cup with popcorn and charge the same amount as a soda. Why? Because it’s not soda. He should not have to explain that to forty year old mothers.
He probably shouldn’t be complaining. Max got him this job, and he’s grateful for it. He can save up for a car, and buy his friends and family actual birthday presents, instead of just drawing them a picture like an elementary schooler. And El is going to be applying here any day now, so his fingers are crossed that this place is about to get twice as interesting for him.
“Will,” Max calls from a few feet away. “I’m going on break. Can you manage by yourself?”
Will looks to the mind-boggling four people standing in the lobby of the movie theater. Yeah, he thinks he’s alright. “No,” he tells her sarcastically. “I’m going to get swarmed by this massive crowd.”
Max rolls her eyes. “Okay, smartass. Don’t come crying to me if a kid’s birthday party walks through those doors,” she warns, before disappearing into their storage room.
Luck is not on his side apparently, because it only takes thirty seconds for another group of three to enter the lobby. Perhaps even worse than middle-aged women, these customers are teenage boys. Dealing with teenagers can go one of two ways— they’re either the sweetest, most polite customers ever, or the most obnoxious and inconsiderate. Judging by their appearances— hands in their pockets, arrogant strides, all around dudebro energy— these guys are looking like the latter.
He does not want to deal with this today. He really hopes they just crack a few unfunny jokes, laugh at Will’s unamusement, and move on thinking they’re the shit.
The boys stand by the doorway as one of them distributes their tickets. He seems like the leader of the group, all tall and confident with brown hair and a rich-kid polo. He looks over to the snack counter and makes immediate eye contact with Will, who is only just now realizing he’s been staring.
Will has often been called a people watcher. He likes to stay in the background— invisible whenever he can be. It’s much easier to scrutinize and figure people out from afar, than while having a real-life conversation with them. He knows that it can come across a little creepy, so as quickly as he can, he turns his attention to the chipping wood of the counter.
He tries to keep it there— he really does— but he’s always been a bit too curious for his own good. A bit too imaginative; a bit too paranoid. Within moments he’s glancing back up at the guys, who are now huddled together and whispering about who knows what. One of the boys— a shorter, blonde one— nods in Will’s direction, and the other two follow his motion with their eyes. Will is what. They’re talking about Will.
Great. He’s being made fun of at his own job. And now they’re laughing about it. Fantastic.
Why? What is he doing that’s so funny? Standing here? Working? Making a living?
It’s not even a surprise at this point. Will has been bullied his entire life. Ever since he can remember, it’s been all ”don’t hang out with that kid, son,” and ”watch where you’re going, I don’t want your gayness to rub off on me.” The only interactions he had with other kids during elementary school were with bullies. Maybe a “can you pass the red crayon” every once and a while, but nothing substantial. No friends, no acquaintances. Just him and his brother.
The leader of the group suddenly turns his entire body toward Will, making his way over to the counter with purpose. He’s so screwed. If he gets hit by this guy, he’s quitting. He doesn’t care about the stupid car anymore.
“What can I get you?” Will asks in the chillest, most even voice he can muster, as the boy stops in front of him. For now, he still has a job to do.
The boy leans against the counter, propped up on an elbow, and smiles slightly. More of a smirk, really. Will’s blood runs cold— he really hopes Max gets back here as soon as possible so she can save him from certain death. “I’ll take a pack of Red Vines.”
He looks like he would enjoy Red Vines. That’s not really saying much, since El and him are the only people Will knows that don’t like them, but they make him gag, okay? In his mind, all bullies eat licorice. No offense to his mother.
Will grabs the candy out of the glass display and sets it on the counter. “That’ll be $2.76.”
The boy pulls out his wallet and hands him a five dollar bill. “I like your shirt,” he announces, and Will looks down to where he’s pointing. His work shirt? Plain yellow with Hawkins Theater embroidered on the top right? He’s being made fun of. He has to be. It’s some rich-boy jab at how he has to work minimum wage, surely. “It looks good on you.”
That… didn’t sound like bullying. That sounded more like flirting, which is impossible. Sure, Will’s been hit on before— by girls. Not by a guy. Never a guy.
“I— thanks,” Will blushes, handing over his change and accidentally brushing their fingers in the process. He almost drops the coins right onto the ground. He’s a mess.
How the hell is he supposed to do this? This is completely uncharted territory. Now that his veins aren’t being pumped with terror-filled adrenaline, he’s finally able to get a good look at the guy in front of him. Knowing he’s not going to punch Will’s teeth out, he’s actually really handsome. Like, really handsome. To the point where Will has no idea why this man is even talking to him right now. He’s way out of his league. This is not doing anything to help Will’s nerves. He can’t fuck this up.
“Um… yours too,” he adds, like an idiot. He couldn’t have thought of anything more eloquent to say? Maybe something like, ”You have the most dazzling light brown eyes I’ve ever seen,“ or, ”Your jawline is to die for,” or whatever other cheesy line protagonists in stupid romance novels would say.
“Thanks.” The boy’s lips quirk up in amusement, looking Will up and down. He’s going to die. “Listen, I was wondering if I could get—“
“Matt!” a voice yells from the other side of the lobby, startling them both. “Come on, our movie is starting.”
The boy— Matt— turns back to Will, shaking his head. “I gotta go.” No. No. What did he want to get? If things were going the way Will thought they were…
He was asking for his number, right? That must have been it. Unless he wanted a soda, or something. No— that was flirting. Will is not an expert on the subject, but he’s not stupid. And now he just lost the one chance he’ll ever have to get a boyfriend.
Matt hesitates for a second longer, tapping a hand on the counter. “Can we continue this conversation another time?”
Oh. Okay. So this is a thing now. He has a thing with a guy.
“Yeah,” Will nods eagerly. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”
“Cool,” Matt says smoothly. He’s so effortlessly charming. “Thanks for these,” he reaches for his Red Vines and winks at Will before walking away.
What the fuck just happened?
Before he can even begin to process that entire conversation, the door to the back room squeaks open.
“What’s up with you?” Max asks, squinting at him as if he’s just grown a second head.
“What do you mean?” He’s lying. He knows exactly what’s wrong with him. He has a big fat crush.
“You’re all red,” she pokes him in the cheek, which only causes the problem to grow. This is the most embarrassing moment of his life. “Did you stick your head in the popcorn machine?”
Will laughs humorously. “Yeah. Yep, I wanted to smell even more like butter and grease than I usually do after work.”
“Okay,” Max plays along, looking at him strangely— she can tell something is up. She knows, she knows, she knows. “You have fun with that.”
Will lets out a small sigh of relief. Max isn’t going to push— she knows when to tease and when to stop. Maybe that’s because she knows, and always has, in some way. Crushes are off limits— it’s a rule that neither of them have talked about before, but follow diligently. Will, because he’s gay, and Max, because she knows, but doesn’t want to admit that until he’s ready to tell her. If she can tell that he’s just been checking out a guy, she’s not going to say anything.
“And Will?” she continues, taking her place by the second cash register. “If anyone messes with you, you come to me.”
He isn’t sure if that’s a threat toward Matt or homophobes, but it’s nice either way. He doesn’t think she has anything to worry about though; this is a good thing. It’s a new chapter in his life, and he’s so excited to start it. Things are beginning to look up for him— he can tell.
“Thanks Max,” he says softly, the two of them sharing a look of understanding. “I will.”