Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In retrospect, Will really should have seen it coming.

“Dude, I am so sorry,” Dustin is saying, hands splayed and hovering uselessly near Will’s head, the most recent victim of Dustin and his wayward hacky-sack. It’s already bounced off the nearest wall several times, smacked into the window behind Will once, and has fallen to the floor more times than Will can count, but Will is the first animate object it’s collided with in the twenty-some-odd minutes since Dustin started playing with it. Quite frankly, all things considered, the fact that it took this long for there to be a human casualty is an impressive enough feat that Will can’t even be that annoyed about it. 

“What did I tell you?” Lucas chimes in tonelessly from Will’s right, not even looking up from the textbook spread out on the table in front of him.

Dustin forgoes his fretting over Will so that he can scowl at Lucas instead. “Shut the fuck up, Lucas,” he says with a sneer. “Literally no one was talking to you.”

“Maybe you should be talking to me,” Lucas says, running his highlighter through a line of text, a neat stroke of neon-orange. “Maybe if you were, then you might have listened when I said that someone was going to get hurt.” 

He’s certainly right about that, but Will isn’t worried about accidental bead-filled projectiles as much as he is Dustin lunging across the table and causing very intentional harm. “Guys,” Will interrupts, holding a hand up to Dustin, as if that will do anything to prevent him from jumping Lucas and bludgeoning him with his own textbook. “It’s just a hacky-sack. I’m fine.” 

“See, Lucas?” Dustin snaps triumphantly, thankfully staying in place. “He’s fine.” He bends over, closer to Will, and adds, speaking low, “You really are fine, right?” 

Will ignores the impulse to roll his eyes. “Yes,” he insists. It’s a hacky-sack – getting hit by one is the equivalent of taking a blow from a stuffed animal. At this point, he’s pretty sure that they care less about the fact that Will literally caught a stray than they do using it as a conduit for their own argument, but that’s Dustin and Lucas for you. 

“Ha!” Dustin exclaims, leaning over Will to get in Lucas’s face – case in point. “Take that, Lucas–” 

“But,” Will continues, giving Dustin an intentional look. His hand, still raised, presses gently against Dustin’s torso, nudging him further back onto his side of the table. “You should probably also be more careful.” 

Dustin noticeably wilts, his shoulders drooping from the weight of his own sulking. Lucas finally looks up as Dustin drops into the seat next to Will with a huff, smiling sweetly and twirling his highlighter between his fingers. “You were saying?” 

“I wasn’t saying anything to you,” Dustin spits, slumping in his chair petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s so weird,” says Lucas, tapping the highlighter against his chin now. “I could have sworn you were just waving your finger in my face and telling me to suck it–” 

It’s not the most accurate portrayal of events, but it’s not that far off, either. “Once again,” Dustin interrupts loudly, “literally no one was talking to you. But it’s actually kind of sad that you wanted to be included so badly that you started hallucinating interactions with people.” His head lolls in Will’s direction, raising an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that so sad, Will?” 

“Super sad,” Will agrees noncommittally. Before Lucas can get ruffled about him choosing sides, he tacks on, “Maybe we should put the hacky-sack down so that we can sort through these emotions together.” 

Lucas nods out of the corner of his eye. “You hit him in the head, so you kind of have to listen to him,” he points out. 

“Oh my God,” Dustin says, exasperated. He swipes the offending hacky-sack from the table and cradles it to his chest, like the hacky-sack is the thing that needs shielding rather than every other object and person in the room. “Whatever.” Leaning back again, he contorts in his seat until his feet are propped up on the table, legs crossed at the ankles. He’s quiet for a moment, scowling at nothing in particular, before muttering something that sounds a lot like, “Sorry, Will,” out of the corner of his mouth. 

Will leans forward to tap Dustin’s sneaker sympathetically. “That’s alright,” he says. “I will live to see my date tonight, and that’s all I care about.” His shoulder twitches in an one-armed shrug. “Some harm, little foul.” 

Dustin perks up at the mention of Will’s date. “That’s right,” he says, trading his performatively sullen look for a toothy grin. “Get it, tiger.” 

“Shut up,” Will says through a laugh, the tips of his ears already burning. In his shy glance away, his eyes meet Lucas’s, who gives him a smile and a thumbs up before turning his attention back to his textbook. 

“So,” Dustin continues, drawing the word out. Will looks back to him, still a little flustered. “What time is he getting here?” 

“Oh,” Will says, and then scrambles to pick up his phone, opening his message thread with Derek and tapping into the location displayed just under his name, opening the map. “In, like, ten minutes,” he replies once the information loads. He flashes his phone screen so that Dustin can see the dot that is Derek trucking along on the roads that connect Hawkins to Camp Whiteman – according to Apple Maps, he’ll actually be arriving in eleven minutes, but it doesn’t matter. Close enough.   

“Cool,” Dustin says with the same smile, nodding. Beyond his investment in the Will-involvement in it all, Derek’s arrival is also signifier of the ballpark time he and El need to leave by in order to make their triple feature showing of the original Star Wars trilogy. “You excited?” And then, before Will can answer– “Sorry, dumb question.”

“It’s fine,” Will assures him quickly, sitting up a little straighter. “Yeah, I’m–” But he’s somehow suddenly out of words. He is excited – of course he is – but there’s a flutter in his stomach that goes beyond the standard anticipation of getting to see his boyfriend, a nervy feeling that hasn’t really been present since their first couple of dates all those months ago. Today just feels a little different – probably a result of the time they’ve spent apart, the longest stretch since they got together. Two weeks isn’t very long on paper, but living through it has felt like an eternity, enough of a gap that this jittery feeling humming under his skin starts making a lot more sense. “It’ll be good to see him,” he finally finishes with a smile, nodding in conviction. 

Dustin nods again. “I’m sure,” he agrees, then shoots a quick glance at Lucas, who is still preoccupied with his reading. Come to think of it, it is a little insane that he’s got his nose buried in a textbook, but leave it to Lucas to start on his summer AP work before summer has even begun. By the time August rolls around, Will’s sure he’ll be regretting not doing the same, but May-Will isn’t really too concerned with what August-Will has in store for himself. May-Will is presently concerned with the existence of an August-Dustin, because May-Dustin seems pretty happy to test Lucas’s patience. His glance directs to Will, questioning, and, well – whatever. He’s already survived one hacky-sack blow to the head; what’s another really going to do? With a deliberate eye-roll, Will makes a gesture that vaguely represents a go ahead, and the hacky-sack is instantly back in the air, soaring in a near-perfect arch before landing neatly back in Dustin’s opposite hand.

Lucas doesn’t react, and Dustin looks back and forth between him and Will expectantly, clearly very pleased with himself and almost eager to be yelled at. 

But Lucas only sighs, highlighting another sentence. “Whatever, man,” he says, shaking his head without looking up. “Brain yourself for all I care – just leave me and Will out of it.” 

“Sick,” Dustin says triumphantly, sending the hacky-sack flying again. This toss is far less precise than his first, and he has to twist his torso to make the catch, narrowly avoiding dropping it at the last moment. “Anyway,” he continues with a grunt, righting himself and addressing Will again, “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thank you,” Will responds quietly, pleased. Nearly six months in, it’s still nice to hear – that the people closest to him recognize Will’s happiness for what it is, that it’s palpable enough to be contagious, that they feel strongly enough about it to make sure he knows. On a more selfish, private note, it’s also the mere acknowledgement of it: that Will wanted something and got it, that he’s still got it, even half a year later. That Will Byers can want and have, no longer destined to a life of yearning without those feelings having anywhere to go.

He’s still a little bit in disbelief himself, which is probably why he’s dug his roots into this honeymoon phase they’re in and made a nice home there. He’ll have to move out eventually – this is not a forever home, no matter how much he might like for it to be – but for now, it’ll do, new enough to still be a marvel, familiar enough to be comfortable. 

“He’s been out of town, right?” Dustin asks conversationally.

“Yeah,” Will answers, looking back to his phone. Derek’s dot has paused, seven minutes away, presumably stopped at a traffic light. “Yeah, I haven’t seen him since graduation a few weeks back.” 

That had turned out to be a good day – Will had been a bit weary about it, even beyond the uncertainty that the finality of something like graduation brought with it. The thing is – Derek’s Senior Prom had gone a little sour towards the end of the evening, and the taste that it left in Will’s mouth was still lingering, even at graduation, leaving him apprehensive in a bad way. Any unease had turned out to be unfounded, though – Derek had been normal all throughout pictures with Will and his family, and then nothing but sweet in the celebration dinner Will tagged along to afterwards, and when they’d finally been left alone – what Will had been the most nervous about – Derek had apologized for the whole ordeal, clearly sorry. Will had been relieved at how genuine it’d been, and more so at the fact that they were able to move on from it, that their relationship could not only handle the strain, but come back from it. 

Derek had left early the following morning, and Will hasn’t seen him since. But Derek had proven that Will hadn’t needed to worry at all, and had even stayed out with him past the time he probably should have to make up for all the time they were about to be apart. By the time Derek kissed Will goodbye on his doorstep, all negative feelings surrounding the matter had long since dissipated, that sour taste finally gone. 

“That’s a bummer,” Dustin is saying, nodding sympathetically, and he sounds like he really means it. “You have something fun planned, then?” he continues, attempting and completing a much less adventurous toss. “Since you haven’t seen each other in so long?” 

“Oh,” Will starts. “I– I don’t know what we have planned, actually.” He looks down at his hands, turning his phone over between them again, the anticipation coupled with his lack of information making him a little restless. “We didn’t really go over the agenda.” 

“Maybe he has a surprise for you,” Dustin offers.

Will hums. “Maybe,” he agrees. But now that the thought is there, the idea out in the open, he can’t help but dwell on it – he’s got the sense that Derek’s definition of a surprise might be different than Will’s, but it’s really the reminder that he has no idea what the day has in store for him that’s a cause for mild alarm. He doesn’t like not knowing things, feels unsettled at the concept of having to react to things organically in the moment rather than prepare multiple responses ahead of time – sorting through possibilities of what might happen just adds extra work into the mix. Will has often been praised for his creative mind, but it never feels like a good thing when the hypothetical situations his brain cooks up make him spiral before anything has even happened.

Something must have changed about his demeanor, because Dustin is suddenly frowning. “You look thrilled about that,” he points out, then launches another understated hacky-sack toss, a quick pass from one hand to the other. 

“Well,” Will says with a sheepish smile, “you know me.” His leg is bouncing beneath the table, a subtle release of the energy he’s built up too fast. “I’m not really a big surprises guy.”

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees readily. If he notices Will’s jittery leg, he doesn’t draw attention to it. “You’re more of a small surprises guy.”

Will’s brow furrows – there is clearly a joke here that he’s not picking up on, but he has trouble picking up on subtle jokes even on a good day. Right now, his mind is elsewhere, flicking through a mental rolodex of half-formed anxieties: how close dot-Derek is to Camp Whiteman property, if things between them really have blown over the way he thinks they have, on what the plan is, for today and thereafter. He certainly doesn’t have the bandwidth to consider all of these things on top of what Dustin actually meant with his wisecrack.

“Get it,” Dustin says encouragingly, and then reaches over to punch Will lightly on the arm. Despite how soft the impact is, he twitches anyway. “Because you’re short.”

There’s no time to question it, or even argue it, because Lucas is sighing to his right, dropping his highlighter into the spine of his book and looking up at Dustin even more unamused than he had been when Dustin was actively engaging in behavior threatening to his own life and the lives of those around him. 

“He is literally taller than you,” Lucas tells him, deadpan. 

Dustin clutches his hacky-sack-full fist to his chest, his face scrunching up as if he was actually in pain. “Salt in my soon-to-be-open head wound, man.” 

“You kind of asked for it,” Will points out, which earns him an approving smile from Lucas.

“More salt,” Dustin complains, directing his wounded look to Will now. “Have you considered your sodium intake lately?”

Lucas beats Will to the punch again. “Have you considered growing?” 

“Shut up, Lucas,” Dustin says, accompanied by his beloved hacky-sack being very purposefully flung towards Lucas’s head. He misses so badly that Lucas doesn’t even have to duck or dodge – the toy hits the window five feet behind him, thudding into the glass before dropping to the shelf with a final thump, knocking a picture frame off with it. 

All three of them turn to look at it, but they aren’t the only ones – the sound has piqued the interest of Max and El, gathered together on the couch a few feet away and ignoring the chaos coming from the other side of the room until now. The only one who doesn’t look up at all is Mike, who looks very committed to pouting and sulking at his phone in the armchair instead.

While Will’s first instinct wherever Mike is involved typically toes the line between annoyance and exasperation, but neither have shown their face at all lately. Part of it, Will thinks – never for too long – is guilt, always looming nearby any time he and Mike are in the same room together. Most of it – actually bearable to think about – is the fact that Will actually understands quite well just why Mike is all doom and gloom in the corner: tickets to the Star Wars triple-feature had been sold out by the time he had gone to buy them, and he has made it everyone else’s problem since. There have been many heated text exchanges between Mike, Dustin, and El in their communal group chat, something Will has been happy to witness from the sidelines. He’s not stupid enough to actually get involved, especially since he’s kind of on Mike’s side – there’s no reason that Dustin and El couldn’t have secured a third ticket when purchasing their own. If Will weren’t otherwise preoccupied today, he’d be pissed, too. 

“Just defending Will’s honor,” Lucas is saying, and Will’s attention snaps back to him in time to see him shaking his head. He shoots a very smug smile at a very annoyed Dustin, and when he catches Will’s eye, he winks at him.

Will is blushing again, because it doesn’t matter that he has a boyfriend, that his name isn’t Lucas, and that Lucas is actively dating his best friend – he has eyes, and if Lucas is winking at him, he’s going to be having a physical reaction about it.

“Consider my honor very defended,” Will says very normally. “Also, Dustin, please be careful – I don’t want to hear it from Hopper if you smash a window or crack your head open. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of paperwork involved either way.” 

Dustin pouts. “What about my honor?” he demands, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Out the window,” Lucas cuts in. “Just like your hacky-sack, apparently–”

“Blatant disrespect of my hacky-sack aside,” Dustin continues loudly, speaking over him, “this isn’t even about me. It’s about Will, who will be gone in–” 

He looks to Will expectantly, and it takes a moment for Will to realize that Dustin is waiting for him to fill in so that he can provide an accurate number. “Oh,” Will says, and then rushes to unlock his phone again, looking to his maps app to retrieve the information Dustin requested. “Um, four minutes.” 

“Four minutes,” Dustin parrots, and now his hands are splayed out in front of him, like he’s trying to physically prevent Lucas from saying anything else. “So if you could let me savor the rest of the time that I have with him, that would be really cool.” He sniffs, turning his nose up in the air theatrically. “Not that you’re familiar with being really cool–”

“Gentleman, please,” another voice interrupts, and they all turn to look at who it’s coming from – to Will’s surprise, it’s El, not Max, though Max has a hand to her mouth that’s either there to hide a laugh or prevent herself from chiming in, too. “There’s no need to argue – all three of you are losers.” 

Will frowns. “Hey,” he calls out, “what did I do?”

Max definitely looks ready to say something now, and even Mike, in the midst of his very intense sulking, looks like he wants to say something too – but El shoots them both looks, something that Will has no trouble translating even from here: be nice. 

So, Mike turns back to being very interested in his phone, and Max smooths out her expression. “Are you still breathing?” she asks. 

It would probably be in his best interest to ignore her. “Yes,” he answers anyway, bracing himself for the punchline Max is very clearly giddy about delivering. 

“Then you’re a loser,” Max replies instantly, matter-of-fact. She turns back to El for approval, who gives her a thumbs up, and they both laugh. Will rolls his eyes – he may be uncool by Max and El’s definitions, but at least he doesn’t have a third-grade sense of humor. 

“Whatever,” Dustin calls back loudly, flipping them off with both hands now that his hacky-sack is lying abandoned somewhere far away from both Lucas and Will’s heads. The action does nothing but bring another bout of giggles, but Dustin doesn’t seem to care – he drops both legs from the table and then scoots in closer to Will, speaking softly enough now that El and Max are definitely out of earshot now. “Sorry, Will – you may be short, but you’re definitely not a loser.” 

“Ditto,” he tells Dustin, and at least he means it. 

“Aw, thanks,” Dustin says, then flutters his eyelashes for dramatic effect. Lucas, who had still been paying attention to them up to this moment, decides that exact gesture is his sign to bow out of the conversation once more. As he picks up his highlighter again and returns to his reading, Dustin continues, still speaking quietly. “Anyway – agenda schmagenda, surprise schmurprise, so on and so forth.” He waves his hand dismissively. “What really matters is that you get to spend time together! And that’ll be fun no matter what you do, right?” 

Will smiles in response, but it takes more effort to put on a convincing one than he’d like. Dustin has a way of taking a question that would sound chastising coming from someone else and turning it into something sincere, and Will loves him for it. It’s not Dustin’s fault that the idea of secret agendas and surprises make Will manageably nervous at best and downright anxious at worst – and it’s especially not especially not Dustin’s fault that the catastrophe of Prom night followed by Derek’s atonement at graduation means Will’s current state of mind as landed on a confusing spot between the two ends of that spectrum.

He has no idea what Derek’s agenda or surprises have in store for him, and he knows that, logically, it’s probably stupid to worry so much over what his boyfriend clearly intends to be a fun day out together, knows that he doesn’t actually expect Derek to make the same mistake twice after he’d gone to so much trouble to right his wrongs the first time. And Will’s gotten good at turning these thoughts away when they arrive on his doorstep as unwelcome visitors, but the problem is that they’re harder to ignore when they’re constantly ringing the bell, relentlessly demanding his attention.

“Especially since you’re at camp this summer,” Dustin is saying, oblivious to Will and the way his stomach is churning in his gut, “and he’s about to– wait. Is he going to school here?” 

Will flinches like Dustin hit him. “Uh, no,” he says quickly, setting his phone down and twisting his hands together. “South Carolina.” 

Dustin flinches like Will hit him. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Will says, and his palms are clammy but his mouth is so, so dry. “Yeah, it’s–” 

“You don’t have to–” Dustin starts, then cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. His hand twitches towards Will, then pulls back– before he’s reaching out again, his palm covering Will’s wrist, stilling the movement in his hands. “Listen, I’m sorry to bring it up,” he says, earnest and low, a real effort made at making sure no one else hears. “I didn’t–”

“Dustin,” Will interrupts, “it’s fine.” Dustin gives him a skeptical look, weary around the edges, and Will gives a few pats to the back of Dustin’s hand where it’s covering his own. “Really.” And it is, truly – how could Dustin possibly have known? How could he have anticipated that his friendly, polite line of questioning would take the shape of a missile, that it would seek out and find its target in the insecurities Will has been trying to hide for weeks now, joining the crowd of the doorbell ringers calling his attention to it? 

Will forces a smile, a plaster over the wreckage he’s made of himself. Dustin holds his gaze skeptically, but either Will has gotten good at masking how he really feels or Dustin doesn’t want to dwell, because he drops it, looking marginally relieved. “Okay, cool,” he says, nodding, and pats Will’s hand a few times in return before pulling back. After a moment, leans forward again, elbows resting on the tabletop, and presses his folded hands against his mouth, like he’s physically preventing himself from saying anything else.

He seems keen enough on leaving it at that, and Will could continue to get away with avoiding the topic entirely, switching gears and steering the conversation towards something safer. But Derek is going to be here in a few short minutes, and as much as Will would like to convince himself otherwise, he knows that even if it doesn’t get brought up between him and Derek today, it’ll get brought up by one of his friends after the date is over. Will thinks the only thing that would be more embarrassing than admitting the answer to the question now is to admit it after he’d had hours alone with his boyfriend to discuss it, well aware of the fact that there’s only a matter of weeks before Derek leaves for South Carolina one way or another. He might as well get it over with now, a safe place where he can mostly manage both question and response.

“You can ask,” Will says finally, breaking the silence. “It’s alright.” 

Dustin eyes him warily. Will nods in confirmation, bracing himself for—

“Are you guys gonna, like – do long distance or something?”

He’s still speaking lower, quiet enough that Max and Mike and El definitely can’t hear him, but not so quiet that Lucas, still sitting on Will’s other side, is out of earshot – and he definitely perks up at the question. Normally, Will wouldn’t mind – anything he’d share with Dustin is something he’d readily share with Lucas – but considering recent developments between Lucas and Max, and more recent developments between Max and her attitude towards Derek, Will has the feeling that Lucas’s sudden interest isn’t for his own benefit. 

Will squirms in his seat again. He’s the one who prompted the conversation, insisted on it, even – but it suddenly feels weird, especially now that the audience has expanded beyond Dustin, something he should have anticipated but didn’t. It’s an awkward, rotten feeling; like he has to be selective with who he tells certain information to, and then, that the information he deems safe to share has to be carefully worded to give as little ammunition as possible. He doesn’t like that any of this can be considered ammunition in the first place, that he had no idea it was ammunition until it had already torn a hole through his chest, a bullet from a conversation that wasn’t intended for him but that he caught anyway, victim to the paper-thin walls between his room and his sister’s. 

He doesn’t like that, despite the fact that Dustin has no ulterior motives for his line of questioning, Will still feels like he can’t be honest about it anyway for fear that it will get back to his sister on the car ride to the theater ten minutes from now, and then to Max via their never-ending text message chain. He doesn’t like that one of his best friends is now his other best friend’s boyfriend, because he should be happy about that, but instead he’s just worried that if Max doesn’t hear about this from El who heard about this from Dustin, she’ll hear it from Lucas, eavesdropping just by the virtue of sitting at the same table, and the WillandDerek of it all will end up becoming a topic of discussion no matter what.

He hates all of this – knowing that they’re going to discuss this where he can’t see, can’t hear, won’t be in the room to defend himself or his boyfriend. It’s not fair, because Will isn’t stupid – he can tell the difference between a boy being bad and a boy being a bad boyfriend, and Derek is never the first and only ever the second on nothing more than a technicality. It’s a tiny blip on an otherwise perfect record, and Will is well aware that the problems that they do have are nothing out of the ordinary, probably experienced by every high school couple across the country at some point in their fleeting lives. 

He recognizes that he’s been quiet for too long, that Dustin’s brow is starting to furrow and Lucas is twirling his highlighter between his fingers and doing a bad job of pretending to care about what he’s reading and the crew from the couch is suddenly far too quiet, and he shifts in his seat, his leg bouncing up and down restlessly. 

“I’m not sure,” he says finally, and tries to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He shrugs. “We haven’t really talked about it.” 

This, probably, isn’t even a good answer to give, because he’s sure that Max will have something to say about it – he’s leaving in less than three months, and the subject of long-distance hasn’t come up at all? – but Will is suddenly past the point of caring. The good thing about camp, other than it being camp, is that Derek is effectively out of the equation for the next couple of weeks – not for Will, who is already scheming ways to steal away for phone calls a few times a week – but for everyone else, for Max, he’s out of sight, out of mind. Maybe the lack of exposure will make Max finally lay down her sword, take a step back from a line of defense that Will never asked or wanted her to provide.

Dustin, his only fucking ally in the world, takes Will’s nonchalance at face value, and if by some turn of events he ends up single after all of this, he’ll probably use the newfound freedom to kiss Dustin for it – because all he does is smile, and lift a hand like he’s brushing invisible dust off his shoulder, and wink at Will and proclaim, not at all subtly, “Well, as the resident long-distance expert–” 

“Lucas and I are long-distance,” Max chimes in from the couch, which both confirms his eavesdropping suspicion and adds to his festering annoyance. His nerves spike again, anxiously wondering just how much of their conversation she heard, and the effort to remain seated instead of getting up to retrieve Dustin’s hacky-sack and chuck it in Max’s direction is actually an incredibly grueling task. Quite frankly, they’re all lucky he’s able to contain it. 

“YEAH, FOR TWENTY MINUTES,” Dustin calls back, just as riled up as Will is but for an entirely different reason. “Anyway,” he continues loudly and with emphasis, clearly directed towards Max – who spits her tongue out at him – before turning back to Will, “as the resident long-distance expert, with two years worth of experience–” 

It’s at this exact moment that Will’s phone buzzes, clattering against the hardwood of the tabletop, and it nearly slips out of his hands in his scramble to pick it up and check the notification. It’s Derek, of course – a simple here, finished off with the red heart emoji – and Will won’t be needing to kiss Dustin after all, because he will very much be kissing Derek instead for inadvertently throwing him a lifesaver and getting him out of this hellscape. 

“Oh, he’s here,” Will says quickly, cutting off Dustin’s monologue about his color-coded calendar for FaceTime calls and email exchanges with Mormon Suzie. Dustin deflates a little bit, clearly sad about not being able to share the exact formula for maintaining a relationship across state lines, but Will is so relieved to be out of this godforsaken cabin that he has no room to feel guilty for it. Still, awkward advice or not – Dustin is the only person who actually cared enough to ask, and despite Will’s qualms about actually debriefing the ins and outs of his situation with Derek, it still means something. Everything, even, considering the nothing he got from everyone else. “Thank you, though,” he tacks on, pushing up from his chair and wrapping his arms around Dustin’s shoulders in a quick hug, “for your, um– expertise.”  

Dustin sighs, slumping forward on the table the moment that Will releases him. “You’re welcome,” he says, very sullen, and then, quieter, to himself: “No one ever lets me talk about my Google calendar–” 

“I’d be happy to hear about it when I get back,” Will says, walking backwards towards the door. “Really!” 

Dustin perks up at that, enough to where Will doesn’t feel like he’s kicking an actual newborn puppy anymore, so that’s always a win. “Cool,” Dustin says, shooting Will a toothy grin. “Have fun!” 

“Thank you!” Will calls back over his shoulder as he pushes the door open and practically falls through the doorway out onto the porch, squinting at the sudden onslaught of afternoon sunlight. He hops over the three steps that separate the wraparound porch from the ground, feeling a sudden burst of energy about the fact that his boyfriend is here – the same boyfriend he hasn’t seen in two weeks, who he won’t see again for at least another four, who is handsome and sweet and here, leaning against his car and waiting for Will with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face, growing wider the moment Will steps into view.

He lifts one hand in a wave, and Will picks up the pace, beelining straight for him. “Hey,” he says once Will is in earshot, removing his other hand from his pocket to hold his arms open. Will wastes no time in stepping right into the space Derek has made for him, pressing up onto the balls of his feet and wrapping his own arms around Derek’s neck. “Missed you,” Derek says into his ear as his arms tighten around Will’s middle, and then he’s kissing the side of Will’s head, leaving a wet mark on his hairline.

Will doesn’t mind in the slightest. “Missed you, too,” he says back, and means it – he hadn’t realized just how true it was until Derek was here in front of him, so solid and warm. He pulls away a fraction of an inch, leaning back into Derek’s arms to be able to look at his face. “How was the drive?” 

It’s not a long drive at all – barely half an hour – but Will is still appreciative of the fact that Derek made it at all, went out of his way to be able to come see Will. “Wasn’t bad,” Derek says, then tilts forward, kissing Will properly. Will sighs into his mouth, relieved, almost, at how normal it feels, and when Derek pulls back a moment later, Will has to bite his lip to avoid smiling like an idiot. “Worth it,” Derek adds with a wink, kissing Will again. 

“Shut up,” Will says against his mouth, giggling through it, and Derek hums, pressing their lips together more insistently, clearly happy to take point on Will’s instruction. Will lets it happen, lets Derek kiss him a little harder, lets his fingers thread into the hair at Derek’s nape and uses it as leverage to pull Derek’s face down a little more, his body a little closer– 

“Hi, Derek!” calls out a voice from behind them, and Will recoils, breaking their kiss abruptly. Derek huffs a laugh into Will’s neck as Will looks back over his shoulder to see who it is, and is completely unsurprised to see Max standing in the open doorway, grinning wildly and giving an exaggerated wave from her spot on the porch.

Derek lets out a sigh, a short exhale that toes the line of annoyance, and Will can’t exactly fault him for it – not when he’s just as frustrated at the interruption. “Hi, Max,” Derek calls back after a moment, straightening back to his full height. Face burning, Will manages an embarrassed cough before taking a step back, and one of Derek’s hands fall from his waist to accommodate for the movement, his other settling on Will’s lower back as Will reorients himself to stand at Derek’s side. Max’s smile turns a little devious in a way that Will doesn’t like very much at all, and then El’s stepping out behind her, arms crossed over her middle as her face scrunches from the change in light. “Hi, El,” Derek adds a little more politely, lifting his free hand in a wave.

“Hi, Derek,” El replies with a smile, giving a half-hearted wave in return. 

“Hello,” Will says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s so good to see you,” Max continues loudly, ignoring Will entirely as she makes her way down the steps to join them in the gravel lot. El follows behind her, albeit far more reluctantly, literally dragging her feet and carving out her own little path in the gravel. 

Derek looks a bit confused by the exaggerated niceties, but he doesn’t comment. “Likewise,” he says instead, offering a thin-lipped smile. 

Max tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before shoving both hands in her back pockets, swaying in place where she’s stopped a few feet in front of them. “How was your trip?” she asks, still cheery. It’s innocuous enough – if you squint really hard, you might even be able to convince yourself that it's a genuine question – but whether or not she means it or is just being mean isn’t what sets Will off, the catalyst for his irritation. It’s one thing to have purposely interrupted their reunion. It’s another to be subtly antagonizing Will’s boyfriend right in front of Will’s face. But to beat Will to asking the question that only he actually cares about the answer to is diabolical, easily the most annoying thing to happen in the last thirty-second run of very annoying things.

Where is Dustin’s hacky-sack when you really need it? 

“It was great, thank you,” Derek answers evenly. He seems to have identified that Max is not acting out of the goodness of her heart, face remaining carefully neutral to avoid giving her the reaction she’s trying to draw out of him. “How’s camp treating you so far?” 

“I mean, it clearly hasn’t started,” Max says with a shrug, gesturing to the empty grounds around them. “But I’m sure it will be good once there are actual people here.” 

Derek nods. “Right,” he says. “For sure.” 

The tension is so thick that Will feels like he’s suffocating from it – it’s clear that neither Max or Derek want to bend, be the first to pull back the thin veil of forced niceties and reveal whatever ugly emotions lie behind it. El certainly isn’t helping the situation either, looking back and forth between them like she’s watching a tennis match and not a witness to Will’s best friend and boyfriend somehow ready to kill each other. Will knows that they’re still new to this whole sibling thing, but, like, legally speaking, she should be on his side. 

If she is on his side, she’s doing a pretty bad job of showing it.  

“Awesome,” Will cuts in. “Well,” he continues after a moment of an extended, palpably awkward silence, his eyes darting back and forth between Derek and Max quickly, on the lookout for any sudden lunges from either side. “We should probably get going—“

As if on cue, like the universe has decided it’s not time to spare him just yet, the cabin door opens to reveal Dustin, who gives an authentically enthusiastic wave and his trademark bright, toothy smile. “Hi!” he calls out excitedly, leaving the door behind him open, and as he descends the steps to join them in the lot, Will sees Lucas appear in the empty doorway after him. 

“Or we can say hi to everyone,” Will mumbles. Dustin being on his best behavior is promising at least, a single lifesaver in a sea that’s determined to drown him, but then Mike slips out onto the porch, too, the poster child for misery, and Will thinks actually, maybe it is better to drown after all. 

“Ah– Dustin, right?” Derek is saying next to him, and Dustin nods excitedly as he breezes through the space between Max and El to stand in front of Will and Derek. Derek holds out his hand for a shake, and Dustin locks their hands together enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you again.” 

“Same, dude,” Dustin says, and Will loves him – so, so much – but as he waves Lucas and Mike closer, he wants nothing more than for Dustin to disappear off the face of the earth. “You remember–” 

“Lucas,” Derek interrupts, nodding towards the Lucas in question. Lucas gives a tight-lipped smile and a wave as he steps into place next to Max, wrapping an arm around her waist. They’re mirroring the exact way Will is standing with Derek, but they aren’t getting daggers from anyone for it – namely because the only person actually shooting daggers is Max, but still. Will shifts at Derek’s side, feeling uncomfortable at the scrutiny. 

Dustin nods. “Right,” he says with a smile, and then gestures with his arm to Mike, who is hanging at the back of the group with his arms crossed, moping. Although Dustin is beckoning him forward, trying to draw him out from his hiding spot behind El, he doesn’t budge. “And this is–” 

“Mark,” Derek fills in. 

Will goes rigid. “It’s Mike,” he mutters, but his attempt at discretion is lost in the chorus of others doing the same – Dustin, El, even Max, who is famously indifferent towards Mike. Lucas just grimaces – at Derek’s blunder, or at the fact that his blunder has lit Max’s fuse, Will can’t be sure which – and Mike himself doesn’t say anything at all, which is somehow worse than anything he actually could have said. 

“Mike,” Derek corrects quickly, and he at least has the decency to look embarrassed, which tells Will it wasn’t intentional – not that Will would even assume it was, considering Derek barely knows Mike, as evidenced by the fact that he can’t even remember his name right. It’s not like Will has given him much to work with by means of bringing Mike up in any conversation, and the one interaction Derek did have with Mike, back at Will’s birthday party in March, was fleeting at best and forgettable at worst. It’s no surprise that Derek got his name mixed up; it’s understandable, even, considering the circumstances. 

In some fucked up, convoluted way, it almost feels like a punishment, long-awaited and well-deserved.

“Sorry, man,” Derek continues as Will sets to work on manifesting that the ground will swallow them both whole. “It’s been a while.” 

“No worries,” Mike says with a shrug, but his tone doesn’t match his words – there are clearly several worries.

Derek coughs. “Right,” he says stiffly. His eyes dart away from Mike, but when they land on Max instead, note the way that her expression has turned stony, all traces of pretend politeness gone, he averts his gaze from her, too. Clearly at a loss for what to do, he finally looks to Will, a pleading glance that screams get me out of here. 

“Anyway,” Will cuts in. It does nothing to alleviate the tension, but he pushes through anyway, focused on securing an out. “Derek was saying that he had something planned–”

“Yes,” Derek agrees hastily, squeezing at Will’s hip, a silent thank you.

“So we really should get going,” Will finishes. He keeps it cordial, because at the end of the day, these are his friends – but it’s also a firm dismissal, an instruction to go the fuck away without saying it in so many words. “Thanks for saying hi, though,” he tacks on, even though he’s not feeling particularly thankful for it at all.

Dustin, who has come to the conclusion he is the only one of their group with manners, responds for all of them. “Any time, dude,” he says, already backing away. As he passes El, he grabs her arm, dragging her backwards with him. Mike is quick to follow, turning on his heel away from them all and beelining back towards the porch. “It was nice seeing you again, Derek,” Dustin continues. “Wasn’t it nice, guys?” 

“So nice,” Lucas chimes in. Although his loyalties are clearly split, he at least has the decency to look uncomfortable at the situation, and he tugs Max towards him, starting to turn her away. “We were going to head inside anyway,” he says, trying to lead Max back to the Counselor’s Cabin, but she barely budges, committed to the glare she still has trained on Derek. Lucas gives Will an abashed smile. It morphs into something apologetic when his eyes flit over to Derek, and then he’s dipping his head, speaking low into Max’s ear. “Come on, Max.” 

Max holds steady for another few seconds before she finally looks away, her eyes landing on Will instead. Will doesn’t know what she sees on his face, which emotion is more prominent – how pissed he is that she’s acting like this, that she couldn’t pretend to be nice longer than thirty seconds, not even for Will’s sake – or how upset he’s starting to get over that last part, that she took one look at how happy Will was to see Derek and couldn’t put her own feelings aside long enough to let that last. Whatever it is that she sees, she sags beneath it, her features softening out, melting into something that looks almost guilty. 

“Have fun,” she says quietly, and she really is trying, now, to be nice. 

Will digs his nails into the skin of his own bicep. “Yeah,” he replies wryly. 

She finally turns around, but not before throwing one last hardened glance in Derek’s direction. Derek doesn’t react, the embarrassment of his faux pas still lingering and preventing him from rising to the bait, but Lucas does, looking back over his shoulder and mouthing an apology before finally successfully getting Max to move back towards the cabin. Dustin, El, and Mike are already ahead of them, almost to the porch steps, and Will turns his attention to Derek, still stiff by his side. 

“I’m so sorry,” Will says, loud enough for any of them to hear, but he doesn’t care – let them. If they do, maybe they’ll pass along to Max a fraction of the mortification that Will is feeling now. He glances back, meets Dustin’s eyes as he turns back to look at the two of them; they’ve taken a detour back to the cabin to instead congregate by Dustin’s car parked at the other end of the lot, no doubt talking about the interaction in hushed tones. They both look away at the same time. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again, and he’s started to get himself worked up to the point of near-tears. “I’m so embarrassed–” 

“Don’t be,” Derek replies softly. He pulls Will close, presses a kiss to the top of his head, smooths his thumb over Will’s skin through his shirt, right at the dip in his back. “It’s not your fault,” he continues, “and anyway, I’m the one who messed up.” 

Will makes a frustrated noise, because it is his fault – he’s the one who invited Max into their business, spoke a little too candidly and lit a fire within her that he didn’t realize she’d still be stoking now, all these weeks later. He knows deep down that her intentions are good, that her skepticism of Derek comes from not wanting to see Will get hurt, and while he’s vaguely, distantly appreciative of it, the way she’s going about it is dealing more damage than it’s helping.

“Will,” Derek says, and Will looks up at him. All earlier traces of his discomfort are gone – it’s just an open fondness now, so unabashed that Will’s face burns from it. “It’s fine. Really.” 

He sounds so sincere, and Will desperately wants to believe him, wants to banish every other bad feeling away – he doesn’t like feeling like that, especially not towards the people he’s closest to. Will sighs, releasing the last of his tension with it, and tips forward into Derek’s neck, both hands coming up to rest on his arms. 

“It’s fine?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” Derek repeats. He rocks forward an inch, just enough to nudge Will away far enough for them to look at each other again. “We have the whole day ahead of us, yeah?” 

Will bites his lip, fighting a smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. 

“So don’t worry about it,” Derek continues, and then jerks his head to the right, motioning towards his car. “You wanna get out of here?” 

“Okay,” Will replies. He starts to pull away, ready to round the front of the car and restake his claim on Derek’s passenger seat, but Derek’s grip tightens on his hips, holding him in place.

“But first,” Derek says before Will can get a question out, and he seems disinterested in finishing his own sentence, opting instead to press his mouth to Will’s, effectively silencing them both. 

Will sighs happily, the last of his agitation from their interaction with Max ebbing away with it. Derek starts to pull back, clearly intending to leave it at that, but Will presses up onto the balls of his feet, kissing him again. He doesn’t care that his entire friend group is still lingering at the edge of the lot, that any one of them could glance over and turn them into a spectacle, use it to feed into their agenda – what matters now is that Derek is here, and Will missed him, and it’s not actually important whether or not Will’s friends like him. Will likes him, and Will is glad to see him, and even more glad to be kissing him, to let his hands slide up Derek’s arms and shoulders and dig his nails into Derek’s skin through his t-shirt. 

Will likes him, and sometimes he forgets just how much he likes him until he’s right in front of Will, when the butterflies take over like they have been since last semester and flood all of his senses, nervous in a good way. He lets those feelings get the best of him sometimes, lets the butterflies swarm him until he can’t focus on anything but the nerves – he giggles when Derek gets close, gets breathless when Derek’s face moves in towards his, doesn’t know where to put his hands, sometimes, at the start of it. 

He knows where to put his hands now. He knows that he wants to keep kissing Derek. He knows that, in this moment, he doesn’t care who sees it. They’ve been apart for so long, and they left off on such a tentative, uneasy note, and maybe, part of this is proving a point – that he doesn’t care if Max feels some type of way about him, that she’s hellbent on making sure Derek and everyone else knows it. Will can make things known, too: that she can feel however she’d like, say whatever she wants to say about him and Derek to anyone who will listen, broadcast it on national television, if that’s what she wants to do. Will can show her – show himself – that he likes to kiss Derek, that he likes when Derek holds him close like this, likes when Derek’s hands move from his waist down to his hips, and then further down, even, reaching for–

“Der,” someone says, a little muffled, and oh, it’s Will – the word bursts out of him in a giggle, a bubble that formed and floated up and popped between them before he even realized it was there. His hands have moved too, no longer on Derek’s shoulders and instead wrapped around his wrists from behind, stopping him from touching any further down than he already has. Will doesn’t remember doing that, either; it must have been such an instinctual reaction that his hands moved before his brain caught up with what was happening. 

Derek lets out a breathy laugh into the new space between them. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, and steps back half a step, widening the gap, his hands sliding back into their safer place on Will’s hips. Will adjusts to cover them with his own, keeping them in place, and Derek laughs again. “Missed you, is all.” 

“Missed you too,” Will replies easily, but his heart is racing, his skin suddenly too warm all over. He turns his face away, trying to catch his breath, to diagnose this feeling and how to get over it, and that’s exactly when his eyes meet Mike’s from across the lot. 

Derek is right here, real and tangible. Will can feel him: his breath against Will’s cheek, his hands on Will’s waist, Will’s hands over his, the body heat radiating off of him, the ghost of his kiss still on Will’s lips. Despite this evidence, the undeniable truth of whose arms he’s standing in the embrace of – his eyes meet Mike’s, and it doesn’t matter that Derek is in front of him, that the rest of their friends are ten feet away, that Mike is standing right there with them. His eyes meet Mike’s, and for an agonizing, halting moment, the world shrinks and narrows until it’s just the two of them, separated, as always, by the impassable distance between them. 

It can’t go on for longer than a few excruciating seconds, but the duration is the least of Will’s concerns – it’s the look on Mike’s face. He’s seen it in person once before, but he’s thought of it a dozen times since; it’s there, a photographic recreation, every time Will allows his thoughts to wander in Mike’s direction, and as of late, that expression is the only thing Will sees when he lets it happen. Even with how fleeting of a glance it is, how far away Mike is from him, there isn’t enough time or distance in the world to keep Will from recoiling at the sight of it, the undercurrent of hurt and betrayal that’s written all over his face. 

Will is the one to look away first, heart pounding as he turns his face and attention back towards Derek, trying to catch his breath after that one glimpse of the damage he’s done, but more horrifying than that reminder is Derek, who isn’t looking at Will – instead, his eyes are trained on Mike across the lot, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” Will says softly, but Derek pays him no mind – he’s still staring Mike down, who, at Will’s quick peek, has already looked away, caught in the act. They’re still in his line of sight, if he looked toward them, but he’s suddenly become very focused on what Lucas is saying, the picture of undivided attention. When Derek still doesn’t look back to him, Will shifts in the circle of his arms, angling his body to be directly between Derek and Mike. “Hey,” Will repeats a little louder. “We were gonna get out of here, yeah?” 

There’s a beat before Derek responds. “Yeah,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s been caught off guard, and anxiety flutters in Will’s chest, tickling at the back of his throat. Another beat, that quizzical look still on Derek’s face, and then he finally turns back to Will. It takes a moment – longer than it should, longer than Will is necessarily comfortable with – but then he’s smiling, small and subdued, not quite reaching his eyes. “You ready?” 

“Mhmm,” Will hums with a nod. He stands on his toes again, but this time it’s to plant a kiss on Derek’s cheek, hands moving to hold his face steady in place. He’s just pulling away, dropping back down, when Derek’s head turns suddenly, capturing Will’s lips in a proper kiss before Will even has time to process what’s happening. 

This kiss is different from all the others: it’s harder, more urgent, insistent – almost like Derek is the one trying to prove a point, now. Will can’t fault him, since he’d done the same earlier, but the energy has notably shifted into something territorial, possessive. There’s a brief reprieve when Will pulls back, and he has a moment to catch his breath, start to put two and two together, before Derek is pressing forward again, unyielding. As the pressure where their mouths meet increases, so does Derek’s grasp on his hips, and then, before Will’s brain or body can catch up, his hands have moved south again, and it’s no accident this time – it’s a deliberate touch, as clear as it is alarming, and Will pushes at his chest, separating them by force. 

“Derek,” he hisses, reaching behind him and forcibly shoving Derek’s hands away. To his credit, Derek lets go without protest, raising both hands in a guilty gesture, but Will’s heart is in his throat, his chest heaving, the feeling of Derek’s hands on his ass and brutal kiss both lingering like a bad taste in his mouth. “Jesus,” he says, stepping further away. “What’s–” 

“Sorry,” Derek says quickly, interrupting. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he continues, babbling, but he doesn’t look very sorry at all. He actually looks pretty proud of himself, openly smug, and there’s no effort required on Will’s end to figure out why – Derek practically hand delivers the answer as his eyes flit above Will’s head to glance back in Mike’s direction, clearly seeking confirmation that Mike was watching.

Will looks back over his shoulder and meets Mike’s eyes again – only this time, Mike looks away instantaneously, flushing so red that Will can see it from here. A twin embarrassment takes hold of Will, and he whips back around to Derek, shoving him away when he tries to step back into Will’s space. “That was totally unnecessary,” he chastises. “What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Derek says, and he’s smiling, amused, clearly unfazed by the scolding. “It just seemed pretty necessary to me,” he continues with a shrug, throwing another smug glance in Mike’s direction. 

“Maybe he’s annoyed that you messed up his name,” Will counters, but Derek remains unbothered at the reminder, and with it, plants a seed of doubt that it was an honest mistake in the first place. Dwelling too long on that thought would bring others Will doesn’t want to face, and he swallows, folding his arms over his chest. “Whatever,” he continues, then jerks his chin pointedly towards the car. “Can we go, please?” 

“Don’t be mad,” Derek says, which is not an answer to Will’s question, so Will doesn’t acknowledge it. “Come on, babe,” he tries again, grabbing Will by the shoulders and hunching over so that they’re eye level. Will just stares at him. “It was just a little joke. Completely harmless.” 

It doesn’t feel harmless, Will thinks, the look on Mike’s face coming back to him easily. But to mention this wouldn’t help anyone – not him, not Derek, and certainly not Mike – so he bites his tongue, gets to work on fixing his face. “I’m not mad,” he says finally, exhaling any lingering annoyance. They’re already on borrowed time, and Will doesn’t want to spend it being miffed at Derek before their day together has even started, so he forces a smile and pokes Derek in the chest. “Are you gonna take me out, or what?”

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t push it. “Oh, I’m gonna take you out,” he promises with a grin, then places one last, sloppy kiss to Will’s forehead. It gets enough of a laugh out of Will that it forces the last of the irritation to fully dissipate, and he wipes the lingering spit away with the back of his hand, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly. “Let’s go, champ,” Derek adds, clapping Will gently on the back and sending him towards the front of the car, nodding his head towards the passenger seat. “You’re about to be taken out so hard.” 

Will laughs again as he opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat, and Derek looks properly pleased as he settles into his own side of the car, jamming his thumb into the start button and shooting Will a toothy grin as the engine kicks to life. Will rolls his eyes again as he buckles his seatbelt, shaking his head. “You’re a loser,” he tells Derek, but Derek’s smile only stretches wider.

“You love me,” Derek says.  

Will bites his lip to hide his own smile. “I do,” he replies, and it’s true – so true, even, that he almost forgets why he was ever annoyed in the first place. 

He’s reminded when they start to pull away, when he casually glances at the side mirror and sees Mike in the reflection, watching them drive away, sticking out like a tall, sore thumb amongst the rest of their friends. Derek’s car continues down the trail, and Will watches in the mirror as Mike gets smaller and smaller until he’s out of sight completely. Derek grabs Will’s hand from where it’s resting in his lap, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Will smiles at him, squeezing back. 

Will looks back to the window, resolutely avoiding the mirror. He stares at the passing trees and buildings as they pass by, until the greens and grays and browns blur together, until the afterimage of Mike watching after them fades from his mind, blending into the scenery like he was never there at all.

☼☼☼

As promised, Derek certainly does take him out “so hard” – it turns out that his elusive, secretive plan had been to recreate their first date, which makes Will cry a little bit, right there in the same bowling alley parking lot where they had their first kiss. He’s obviously lost count, now, of how many they’ve shared since then, but he can confirm he gives Derek at least another thirty before they make it inside, so touched at Derek’s thoughtfulness that he can’t believe he ever had the nerve to be worried about what the day had in store for them. 

They bowl a couple of rounds – Will loses the first badly, and then, after a healthy amount of grumbling, miraculously pulls off a landslide victory in the second, which he’s sure has nothing to do with Derek’s sudden affinity to throwing balls down the gutter on every turn. Will not only proudly accepts the cheap win, but gloats about it, too, and Derek politely does not bring up the fact that he did badly on purpose to let Will have it. It’s a good thing that Will doesn’t care about honesty, trust, and integrity when playing games, and an even better thing that Derek goes along with it, enabling Will and his cheater ways. 

Will works up quite the appetite with how much energy he spends basking in his own (undeserved) triumph, so it’s a good thing that the next stop on their trip down memory lane is a restaurant, the very same pizza joint that half of Hawkins High works at and the other half goes to for dates. It’s not necessarily fine dining, but the garlic bread is good, the Coke is crisp, and sightings of the Hawkins High student body are miraculously nearly nonexistent. Will didn’t think that their first date could get any better than it already had been, but it turns out that it’s a lot easier to enjoy his buttered noodles when he doesn’t have his classmates gawking at him from two tables over.

Derek picks up the check despite Will’s protests, kindly reminding Will that if they’re meant to be recreating their first date, they should stick as close to the script as possible: Derek paid the first time, so it’s only right and lore-accurate that he pays tonight, too. “Deal with it,” he tells Will as he’s signing the receipt, winking, and if he’s referring to the medical condition that’s making Will’s heart do somersaults in his chest, well – Will’s been dealing with that for months now. He’s pretty sure he’ll survive. 

By the time that they head back out to the car, the late afternoon has rolled itself over into early evening, the sun starting to make headway towards its long descent over the horizon. With it, the air has turned cooler; it’s not so cold that he needs a jacket – it’s nearly the start of summer, after all – but that doesn’t stop Derek from offering one of his before Will even has to ask, retrieving it from the backseat and holding it open for Will to slip his arms into.

“You really remembered everything, huh,” Will says as he shrugs the hoodie on over his shoulders, the excess fabric hanging off of him. It’s not the same jacket he’d given Will on their first date – that one was much thicker, more appropriate for December than it is for May – but it’s the thought behind it that counts, the fact that Derek knows, no matter how warm it is, Will’s going to find a way to be cold. 

“‘Course,” Derek replies. He adjusts the hood, untucking it and smoothing it out, then brushes imaginary dust off Will’s shoulders, leaning back and giving him a played-up scrutinizing look, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Have I ever told you that you look good in my clothes?” 

Will shrugs, pretending to think about it. “Maybe once or twice,” he says after a moment, biting back a smile.

“Huh,” Derek says, as if this is surprising to him. “Is that how you’ve managed to get away with stealing half of my hoodies?” 

“I wouldn’t say it’s half,” Will protests. 

“Right,” Derek replies with a hum. “More like two-thirds.” 

Will crosses his arms, but doesn’t deny the claim. “Can it really be considered stealing if you’re the one who’s been giving them to me?” 

“Yes,” Derek says, grabbing Will’s face in both of his hands and kissing him soundly, “because you never give them back.” 

“You never ask,” Will points out. 

Derek sighs dramatically. “Bested by your logic once again,” he laments, wrapping his arm around Will’s shoulders and starting to lead him towards the passenger door. “Come on then, thief,” he continues as he unlocks the car and deposits Will on his side, shaking his head. “We have– what, ice cream to get?” 

“Yes,” Will replies with conviction. Derek rounds the hood and climbs into the driver’s seat just as Will is stepping up into the car, his door shut and seatbelt buckled before Will is even reaching for the handle of his own door. Will looks over at him, eyebrow raised. Derek looks back innocently, clearly holding back a smile.

“In hindsight,” he starts before Will can comment on the secret competition Derek started, and Will lets it go, pulling his door closed as Derek turns on the engine. “I’m not sure what I was thinking, taking you out for ice cream in the middle of December.” 

Will hums in agreement, then pulls his seatbelt over his chest. “It was very cold,” he points out as he fastens it in place, and, satisfied that Will is safely buckled in, Derek starts to move the car, backing out of his parking spot. 

“Very cold indeed,” Derek agrees, pulling out of the lot. He reaches over as soon as they’re on the main road, grabbing Will’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “And yet you still managed to eat it all.”

“It would be irresponsible to let ice cream go to waste,” Will says with a sniff. 

“Of course,” Derek says, barely containing a laugh. “It’s a good thing that you’re so responsible, then.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Will says, and Derek does laugh, then, a giggle bursting out of him before he can contain it. Will beams at him, and the conversation arrives at a natural pause, the music coming from the radio filling the silence in. The ice cream place isn’t a far drive from the restaurant, a two-minute drive from point-A to point-B. Will’s pretty sure that’s how they ended up there anyway, looking for something to do that wasn’t heading back to Will’s and idling in his driveway, twiddling their thumbs and avoiding saying goodbye. 

The good thing about ice cream in December is that it was cold, and the good thing about being cold was that it gave Will an excuse to stay in Derek’s car, strictly for warming-up purposes, and the good thing about staying in Derek’s car was that making out with someone is a pretty surefire way of warming up, and by the time the date had reached its conclusion on Will’s front doorstep, Will had nearly forgotten he was ever cold in the first place. 

It’s much more seasonally appropriate for ice cream now than it was then, and, after Derek pays for them both, they sit outside at one of the picnic tables in front of the shop, enjoying their dessert and the last of the warmth the sun has to offer. Will expects to linger there, a recreation of the dawdling they’d done on their first date, but once Will finishes, Derek practically rushes him to the car, insistent on starting the drive back to Camp Whiteman. 

It’s practical, Will supposes, as they get started on the journey back to camp grounds – thirty minutes isn’t that long of a drive, but it’s an hour when you have to do it twice, and that’s what Derek will be doing when he heads back to Hawkins by himself. Still, even with the solidity of the logic behind it, Will is a little sad for their day together to be winding down towards its end, unsure of when they’re going to have another like it. He rests his head against the window, trying not to look at the estimated arrival time in the corner of the media center’s display, not wanting to compare it to the time on his phone and watch as the two get closer and closer together. 

Derek politely holds out on acknowledging it until they’re about ten minutes into their drive, squeezing Will’s hand again and asking if everything is alright. Will replies that he’s just tired, feeling sleepy from the day full of activities, and while it’s not the whole truth, it isn’t a lie, either. Derek knows, probably better than most people at this point, how easily Will falls victim to sleep when provided a quiet environment and a surface steady enough to act as a pillow – after all, he has a dozen of attempted movie nights and drool-stained t-shirts as supporting evidence. 

“You’re an inspiration for sleepy heads everywhere,” Derek says fondly. Will huffs out a laugh, and Derek brings Will’s hand to his mouth, his lips meeting Will’s knuckles, and Will’s heart flutters and aches in tandem, missing Derek so badly even while he’s still right here. “Question for you, Mister President.” 

“President Sleepy Head?” Will asks. 

“Yes, but that’s a little formal,” Derek answers sagely. Will laughs again, and Derek’s serious expression cracks, using Will’s hand to hide his smile. “Anyway,” he continues, lips twitching, “are you too tired for a pit stop?” 

Will makes a soft noise, considering. “Depends on what the pit stop is,” he says, shifting towards Derek. 

“I passed a scenic overlook on the way here,” Derek explains. “I was thinking we could maybe scenically overlook the sunset, since it’s just about that time…” 

That fluttering feeling in Will’s chest has returned, but freer, now, without the sadness of their impending separation weighing it down. “We didn’t scenically overlook any sunsets on our first date,” Will says carefully, playing it cool. 

“Because the sun scenically sets at four thirty in the afternoon in December,” Derek counters. “I’m pretty sure I was still throwing our bowling match around then–” 

“Are you saying that you let me win?” Will interrupts, acting shocked. 

“I’m saying that I would like to watch the sunset with you,” Derek says, ignoring the accusation. “Think of it as an… enhancement,” he continues. “Our first date, new and improved.” A pause, and then: “And think of it quickly, please, because I have to take the turn in, like, twenty seconds.”

It feels a little too honest, bordering on the edge of embarrassing, for Will to confess that this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him – not that he has a whole lot of experience to compare it with, but still. It’s an undeniably thoughtful gesture, a plot pulled straight from a romance film, but instead of watching it play out on a screen, Will is living it, experiencing it in real time. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, trying to keep his voice even. “I guess we can go overlook some scenery.” 

“Cool,” Derek says. He kisses the back of Will’s hand a third time, so gentle. “Let’s go overlook some scenery, then.”

☼☼☼

They’re not the only ones interested in overlooking the scenery – there are several other cars in the lot when they pull in, the impending sunset attracting a small audience, but it’s a quiet enough area to where it’s not too crowded. At the very least, Derek is able to find a spot easily, pulling right up to a guardrail where it’s easy to – well, overlook the scenery. The view in question truly is impressive: a line of tall, bushy evergreens crowd around an expansive lake at the bottom of a quarry, the sun’s reflection glittering on the surface of the water, golden and bright. It looks like something that should be on a postcard, too pretty to be real, and Will once again feels as though he’s stumbled into a movie, cast as the unwitting romantic lead that he was sure he’d never be. 

With the car in park, Will feels safe to unbuckle his seatbelt, pulling one leg up on the seat with him, getting comfortable. Derek seems to pick up on what he’s doing without Will even having to ask, bringing his arm up to the center console and offering it to Will as a pillow, which he gladly accepts. Both of his own arms come up to curl around Derek’s bicep, and he rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, focusing his attention on the view outside the windshield. 

“This is nice,” Will comments. 

“Very nice,” Derek agrees, kissing the top of his head again. Will makes a happy noise, squeezing Derek’s arm, and Derek lets his head rest against Will’s, also taking in the view. 

The music playing through the speakers is loud enough that the silence doesn’t feel too big, but quiet enough that it weaves into the background, working with their surroundings to create the romantic atmosphere that Will still can’t believe he’s found himself in. They watch as the sun descends towards the treeline, reaching for the horizon, clouds of bright yellows and oranges and pinks starting to take on a darker hue, the deep purple of nightfall spreading like spilled ink, chasing the light away. 

It’s not long until all traces of sunlight are gone, until it’s hard to see the trees and the water at all anymore, concealing the view that the overlook promises. Other cars start to leave around them, no longer incentivized to stay, and that antsy, sad feeling starts prickling at Will’s skin again, sure that Derek is going to pull away any moment so that they can do the same. He grips Derek’s arm a little tighter, willing him to stay in place, ignore the fact that the sky has gone dark and that everyone else has left the lot and that their time together is hurtling towards its inevitable end, with zero care for Will’s feelings about the matter. 

But the end of their date isn’t the only thing that’s looming – Derek’s departure at the end of the summer is too, towering over them, casting a shadow that’s too big to ignore. Will has certainly tried to ignore it all day long, swallowing the words back down every time they threatened to bubble up, but they’re still right there, persistent, begging to be heard. He knows how weird it is that they haven’t come to a decision on it, on whether or not they’ll stay together, knows just as well that it’s even weirder the topic hasn’t come up at all, not even in passing. It’s unsettling to realize how perilously their future is dangling here, even worse to know that he doesn’t have any answers, and more awful, still, that he doesn’t even know what he wants the answer to be: whether he should start anticipating Derek’s gentle let-down, start rehearsing his own answers in his head, or if he should be setting aside time with Dustin to go over his meticulously crafted long distance schedule, get to work on creating his own, color-coded and all–

“If your goal is to cut off circulation in my arm, I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job of it,” says Derek from next to him, halting Will’s internal spiral.

His tone is light, amused, but Will immediately draws back anyway, adjusting his hold without letting go. “Sorry,” he mutters, then pats Derek’s bicep apologetically. “I didn’t realize.”

“No need to be sorry about it,” Derek says, covering Will’s hand with his. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Okay,” Will says. He feels bad for ignoring the bait – Derek has clearly noticed something is off and is trying to get Will back on track by lightening the mood, but Will doesn’t really know what else to say, afraid of what might come out if he tries. 

Derek clearly isn’t satisfied with that response, leaning forward until his face is in Will’s line of sight. “Alright,” he starts, very seriously. “What’s wrong?”

Will looks away. “There’s nothing wrong,” he answers quietly. 

Derek usually buys whatever it is that Will’s selling, but Will’s sales pitch is downright awful. “I’m going to keep asking you until you tell me,” Derek warns. He reaches out, poking Will in the side, and Will squirms away from him. “Come on, Will,” he continues, practically singing, ”what’s wrong–” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Will interrupts, turning back to him. Derek opens his mouth to protest again, but Will continues before he can. “Really, Der, it’s nothing,” he insists. He leans forward, kissing Derek’s cheek, and forces a smile as he pulls away. “Just a little sad that the day is over, is all.” 

“That’s it?” Derek asks, relieved. If Will were braver, he’d be honest, tell him that the day coming to an end is barely even scratching the surface of what’s really wrong. He’d ask Derek what the plan is for the rest of the summer, and, more importantly, what the plan is after it. He’d ask Derek where Will fits into the shiny new life just within Derek’s reach – he’d ask if he does at all, if Derek even wants him to. And even if he found that he couldn’t ask any of those questions, not in the way he’d like, he could at least try to start the conversation, make an attempt at steering them down the path they’ve been avoiding for weeks.

But Will isn’t brave, just as unable to say those words in this moment as he has been for the rest of the day. “That’s it,” he says instead, doubling down, squeezing Derek’s arm. “Honest.”

Derek smiles brightly, clearly appeased, and Will only feels a little bad for it. “And if I told you that the day didn’t have to be over,” he starts, his voice a little lower, “what would you say?” 

Will bites his lip. “I would say okay,” he replies evenly. “I would ask what you had in mind.” 

He’s toeing a dangerous line, here: he knows exactly what Derek has in mind. It’s probably stupid to make out with Derek as a way to avoid his problems, even stupider to act like everything is fine, that every quiet moment they’ve had today hasn’t been spent working himself up, growing increasingly anxious about the future. 

“I can think of a few things,” Derek says, and Will doesn’t tell him to wait, or to stop looking at Will’s lips like that, or push him away when he starts to lean in. Will lets his boyfriend kiss him – kisses him back – and forces his mind back into the present.

It starts slow, a little lazy, almost hesitant, like maybe Derek is surprised that Will agreed to this, like he’s expecting Will to pull away at any given moment. There’s a precedent, there – Prom is another conversation that they've been avoiding, so focused on smoothing things over that they maybe brushed more under the rug than they should have – but Will does his best to reverse it, being the one to push forward, to grab Derek’s face with both hands and keep him in place, right where Will wants him. Derek certainly keeps up, eager, lips meeting Will’s over and over with the same insistent energy, tilting further and further over the center console as Will practically pulls Derek into his own seat, blissfully unaware of what he’s doing until it’s already been done.

Derek keeps himself from toppling over by bracing a hand on Will’s leg, and their lips separate first with Derek’s laugh, and then again, further, as Derek pulls back as much as Will will allow, which isn’t very far at all.

“Think we might be running out of room up here,” he murmurs. Will interrupts him with another kiss, but Derek pulls back a second time, laughing again and leaning a little further out of Will’s reach. “Maybe we should take this to the backseat?” 

It’s phrased in such a way that the ball is completely in Will’s court, an out if Will needs or wants it. But for the first time, Will doesn’t think he wants it; for the first time, the backseat sounds like a great idea, maybe even the best that Derek has ever had. 

“Yeah,” Will agrees quickly, and it’s almost a little jarring to hear his own voice, the rough edge it’s taken on. He licks his lips, already wet, and runs his thumb along the side of Derek’s face. “Yeah, okay.” 

Derek was very clearly not expecting this answer – it’s evident in the way he surges forward, kissing Will soundly. It’s actively detrimental to their common goal of taking this to the backseat, but the delay is worth it. He lets Derek kiss him several more times – so many more that he can’t hope to count them all, too focused on the kissing itself and the feeling of the hair at Derek’s nape underneath his fingertips – before Derek finally pulls back, breathing heavily. “Alright,” he whispers, then kisses Will again, much more chaste than all the others. “Backseat, then.” 

He’s pulling away and gone before Will really registers what’s happening, but the sound of the driver’s door slamming shut shocks his wits back into him, and he blinks several times, shaking his head once. Derek is rounding the front of the car to Will’s side, briefly illuminated in the shine of the headlights, and there exists a reprieve – five, maybe ten seconds at most – where Will has time to really think about what’s about to happen, free from the influence Derek’s mouth on his. 

But Will’s door is opening before Will can really start to consider it, and then Derek is right there, and Will’s body vetoes anything his brain might come up with the moment Derek steps back into his space. His hands come up to Derek’s face, bringing him back in, and they’re kissing and they’re kissing still and then Derek’s hands are on his hips, pulling him forward, inch by inch, until he’s sliding off the seat, nearly falling out of the car.

“Geez,” Will says through a laugh, clinging to Derek’s shirt at his shoulders as he helps steer Will towards the ground, holding him steady until Will can find his footing. Once Will does, free from the danger of actually falling flat on his face, Derek is pressing back into him, pinning him against the doorframe with another bruising kiss, almost relentless.

There have been times where this kind of intensity has scared Will a little, where he’s gotten lost in the kiss in a bad way, where there has been so much to react to that he stops reacting at all, frozen, worrying about Derek’s hands and what they were doing and where they were going next. It hasn’t been much of an issue until recently: their ill-fated Prom night, a thorn that’s still present in his side no matter how many times Will has sworn up and down that he’s removed it. 

Derek had been tipsy, the result of frequent trips abandoning Will to sneak alcohol with his friends all night, and that alone meant they were already well on their way to a tiff by the time Will had shoved Derek off of him – the hotel room key and mild groping had only been the final straw, the last offense in a string of many. The way Will sees it, the night would have ended the same even if Derek had kept his hands to himself; the alcohol was the root of the problem, not how far Derek had tried to go. 

The thought of that night makes him recoil on any good day, gets him properly upset on bad ones, but now, in this moment, it’s more unwelcome than ever. It was over a month ago, he tells himself as Derek’s lips break from his, pulling back just enough to maneuver Will out of the way, walking him a few steps backwards. He was drunk, Will continues to reason, leaning against the side of the car as Derek steps away from him completely, pushing the passenger door shut with a satisfying thunk before backing Will into the cool metal. As Derek kisses him again, their lips slotting together in a messy stack, Will tries not to think very much at all – in fact, as Derek spins them around, blindly reaching for the handle of the rear door, the only thing Will is experiencing is conviction – relief, even – that he wants this just as badly as Derek does. 

Derek finally manages to wrench the car door open, a feat that would be more impressive if it weren’t immediately followed by his attempt to detangle himself from Will, which he is far less successful at. He laughs into Will’s mouth, a little muffled, and then forcibly separates them, keeping Will at bay with a firm grip on his waist. “Backseat, remember?” he asks cheekily, nodding his head towards the backseat in question. 

Will licks his lips again – marvels, a little, at how swollen they feel already, the dull buzz that’s taken over in Derek’s absence. “Right,” Will says, laughing too. He looks past Derek’s shoulder into the car, the rear cabin lights illuminating the open expanse of the backseat bench. A nervous tingle spreads through him at the idea of what’s to come, what this much more space leads to, but he doesn’t let it rule him – I want this, he reminds himself again, squeezing both of Derek’s arms before he’s detangling himself, aiming for the open doorway. I want this, too. 

It’s a little clumsy, the way he hoists himself up into the car and slides across the backseat, but he hardly has time to care about it – Derek is right behind him, doing the same, his movements barely any more coordinated. “Hi,” he says the moment the door closes behind him, low and a little breathy, and Will’s heart lurches again. He scoots across the seat, crowding into Will’s space and cupping his cheek with one hand. Will tamps down the urge to pull away, forcing himself to stay put as the interior light begins to dim and Derek presses their foreheads together. 

“Hi,” Will starts to say in return, the word cushioned by a timorous laugh before being smothered entirely by Derek’s lips on his. It’s a shift from the way they were kissing just a few moments ago, and exactly what Will needs – these are the kind of kisses that Will likes best, the ones that are soft, sweet, easy. They’re the kind of kisses that don’t come with expectations of more, unhurried and just-because, ones that settle his anxiety rather than contribute to it. When Derek kisses him like this, it reminds Will of why he loves him so much – it’s the same feeling that he gets late at night, past when he probably should have already been asleep, whispering into the phone in the dark; the same feeling that he’d get when they would meet up in the hallway between classes, pinkies linked until they had to go their separate ways; and it’s the feeling he got sitting next to Derek in Drawing III last semester, when Derek had complimented his art, had asked him about his interests, had let Will reach over whenever he wanted and doodle on the page corners of his school-issued sketchbook and thought Will was cute for it. 

It’s the same feeling, too, that he’s gotten a million times over tonight, as Derek led him by the hand down memory lane – and the same feeling he’s getting now, being here in the backseat, with Derek practically on top of him, kissing him the way he is. Affection and attraction course through him in tandem, and it’s Will who deepens the kiss, who pulls Derek closer, who pushes back up into him, who has had the sudden and pressing realization that even a millimeter of space between them is a distance too far.

Derek responds zealously, letting Will tug and pull on him without protest, matching Will’s pace without pushing it any further. That’s good, Will thinks, that he learned from Prom, that the version of him that existed that night is a one-time visitor, eons removed from the Derek that’s kissing him now. Will feels safe, respected, like there are no expectations of him, that Derek is just as happy as Will is to live in the moment, see where it takes them and go from there, and–

Will is into it. He is so, so into it – the way that they’ve kissed for so long that his mouth has nearly gone numb with it, the feeling of Derek’s hair between Will’s fingers, the steady beat of his pulse under Will’s thumb. He likes that Derek is bigger than him, that he’s caging Will in, that every time Will shifts to give him more space, Derek surges forward to take it. There’s something intoxicating in the sound of their breaths mingling, of their lips sticking together, of the low thrum of the music still playing from the media center, nearly forgotten in the midst of it all. Will is so into it that it’s starting to hurt, because having Derek this close – wanting him this much – reminds him of just how little time Will has left to have him. 

The thought is unwelcome, and he reaches up, wrapping his arms fully around Derek’s neck, pushing forward just as he’s pulling Derek down, almost like he’s trying to smother the idea between them. Derek makes a surprised but pleased noise right into Will’s mouth, a hum that gets lost somewhere in Will’s fervent kisses. “Will,” he manages through a muffled laugh, but that’s swallowed, too, and whatever it is that he was going to say evidently doesn’t matter very much, because he doesn’t try again.

He does try something else: his hands, which had been planted firmly on either side of Will on the seat, come up to rest on Will’s waist, slipping underneath the cover of his own jacket easily. Will makes a noise, now – it’s not a protest, like it has been before, and Derek hums again, a curious sound. 

“Okay?” he pants, but Will is hardly focused on it, too caught up in the wet sound their lips made as they separated, how warm Derek’s breath is where it fans out over his face. Will blinks, tries to formulate an answer to Derek’s question, and then promptly realizes he doesn’t even know what Derek asked in the first place. It probably doesn’t matter much, he thinks, as he pulls Derek back down – but maybe it does, because Derek is laughing again, and Will frowns. Derek turns his head, kissing the downturned corner of Will’s mouth, and then squeezes Will’s waist pointedly. “This okay?” he asks again. 

“Oh,” Will says. It comes out so loud, out of place in the atmosphere they’ve manufactured, and Derek laughs for a third time. Will laughs too, feeling a little silly, and tries to really, actually center on what Derek asked him this time. As if to help guide him there, one of Derek’s thumbs moves, stroking Will’s side over his shirt, and oh, indeed, that’s what Derek is asking – if it’s okay, for his hands to be where they are. Will takes a moment to consider it – Derek’s hands are warm, felt even through the cotton of Will’s t-shirt, and as stationary as they are, it’s innocent enough. Comfortable, even. “Yeah,” Will says finally, making an effort to speak a little quieter, but he sounds certain enough to his own ears – hopefully Derek hears it, too. 

“Yeah?” he asks anyway, and that’s very kind of him, to double check, but the pause is making Will think again, and he’s over it.

“Yeah,” Will says again. He tugs on Derek’s neck again, trying to pull him closer. “Kiss me.” 

Derek does exactly that, initiating another slow start, kissing him sweetly. But Will is over that, too – again, it’s good that Derek is being careful, mindful of the lines Will drew in the sand weeks ago, and Will should be glad for it. He listened, and he cares, and he’s trying not to make Will uncomfortable. It’s not his fault that he’s missing the point, that Will would rather push the limits of what he’s comfortable with physically to avoid having the conversation he knows they have to have tonight, that he would rather have regrets than the answer he doesn’t want to a question he’s too afraid to ask. 

There’s no way for Derek to figure all of this out without Will telling him, and Will is very happy with not telling him, and so they keep kissing, inching further and further into uncharted territory with every passing moment. Derek’s hands stay where they are – mostly, at least, only moving to slip under Will’s shirt completely, all warm palms on the bare skin of Will’s hips. It feels nice enough, not nearly as scary as he imagined, and after a minute of allowing himself to be wound up about it, he does relax, melting back into Derek’s kiss. His own hands slide back down to cup either side of Derek’s neck, his fingertips barely brushing the hair at his nape, and he starts to adjust the way he’s sitting, his legs parting to let Derek settle between them–

“Sorry,” Will squeaks out, breaking the kiss abruptly, because his knee brushed against Derek’s crotch and oh, oh – this is what happens when things get heated like they have been, like Will has been pushing for. It’s not – it’s not bad, per say, and it’s not Derek’s fault – it’s actively Will’s, even, a natural response to a series of events that Will happily initiated – it’s just– surprising, is all. It’s surprising, and Will’s a little caught off guard, and he’s more surprised and more caught off guard when he realizes that Derek’s not the only one, that Will–

Is way in over his head.

“Don’t be,” Derek breathes out, and Will swallows thickly, mortified at his own body’s reaction to events that he very much orchestrated. One of Derek’s hands disappears from Will’s waist, and it’s not until his fingers have already circled around Will’s wrist that Will realizes what’s happening, and in a dazed stupor, he lets it – he lets Derek guide his hand down, lets him put it right where Will shied away from. “I liked it.” 

That much is clear. “Oh,” Will manages, frozen. He has no idea what to do, unjustly shocked into paralysis from having the consequences of his own actions pressed against his palm. 

“If this is something that you want,” Derek continues quietly, speaking into Will’s neck, mouth dragging wetly along his skin. It’s almost enough to send Will further into sensory overload than he already is, and he swallows again, his mouth unbearably dry. “Don’t overthink it.”

“I do,” Will responds hastily, and he’s not sure if he’s telling the truth, but he’s not convinced he’s lying, either. “I just–” 

Derek places a quick kiss to Will’s jaw. “What is it?” he asks. 

Will takes a moment to assess the situation. Derek doesn’t necessarily sound mad or frustrated or disappointed – he’s truly asking, seeking Will’s answer, seemingly ready for whatever it may be. Will has a choice, here: to finish what he started, or to be honest to himself – to Derek – about what he really wants. Both options are equally scary, but one is easier than the other – he’s already halfway there, anyway. He’d just have to– 

Will pulls his hand away. 

“Can we talk for a second?” he asks, feeling very small. 

Derek is still for a moment, too quiet, face still tucked into the nook where Will’s neck meets his shoulder. With each passing second of no response, each exhale that hits his skin without any words attached, Will feels his heart creep further and further up his throat, choking him from the inside out. His nails dig into Derek’s nape, an anxious, unintentional flex of fingers, and that’s what seems to ignite something within Derek, what finally pulls a reply out of him. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, then presses his forehead into Will’s collarbone. He inhales, sharp and deep, and breathes out through his nose. “Yeah,” he repeats, shoulders sagging, voice hard. Will shrinks back against the door just as Derek begins to pull away, unintentionally widening the space between them further. Despite it being exactly what Will asked for, it suddenly feels like too much, like Derek has already crossed state lines without him. He watches on high alert as Derek sits back in his own seat, restless, adjusting and then readjusting how he’s sitting. Will feels his face burn at the implications of Derek’s inability to get comfortable. He turns away, but he can still see Derek shift several more times out of the corner of his eye, catches the movement of Derek tugging at and readjusting the hem of his shirt. Finally settled, Derek continues, tone still clipped, “We can talk.”

Will should be glad – Derek is giving him what he wants. He has been this whole time – has let Will tug and pull him along in one direction, and now, yanked in the opposite, is still following along. He’s right to be annoyed at the switch up, the abruptness at which Will changed his mind. It’s understandable, expected, well within reason, but hearing it in Derek’s voice, seeing it on his face – Will is frozen, ice forming over every word in his head and trapping them in place.

All things considered, Derek is doing a good job of being patient, but Will can tell it’s deteriorating quickly: he’s chewing at the inside of his cheek, his expression stony, one of his hands clenched into a fist in his lap. Internally, Will starts to scramble – would it be best to be straightforward, ask him flat out? Should he beat around the bush, work up to it, phrase it in an indirect way? Or should he really get to the bottom of it, the burning question that’s at the root of it all: I know you love me, but is it enough? 

Say it, Will tells himself. Say something, rip off the bandaid. They don’t have all night; they don’t even have all summer. There’s no time to waste, a deadline that won’t wait around for Will to accept that it’s coming. He needs to say something. He needs to say it now. 

“Will?” Derek says. Will doesn’t know what his face looks like, but whatever Derek sees there is clearly enough to tug on Derek’s heart strings, at least a little, because he sighs again, his entire body falling with it. Will watches as his features smooth out, softening all around, and then Derek is leaning forward, taking both of Will’s shaking hands in his own and squeezing his fingers reassuringly. “You wanted to talk?” 

Will looks down at their hands in his lap, biting his lip. He had been so happy, the first time they’d held hands – beyond the simple novelty of having a boyfriend for the first time, of wanting something and actually getting it, of it feeling nice to have his palm flush against someone else’s, their fingers intertwined – it was also the message that it sent, loud and clear: that Will was someone desirable, someone worthy of pursuing, of showing off in public. And Will, who’d had his first kiss in the woods where no one was around to see, who’d been the reason his dad finally walked out on them, who’d cried on the bleachers during the end of summer dance his second year at camp, utterly alone — it was nice to be wanted for once, for someone to be open and brazen about the fact that they did.

Derek wanted him then. He does now, too. Will has to believe that.

“I was just wondering,” he starts, and even that, the lead-in, feels so heavy on his tongue. “Can you tell me what the plan is?” 

It’s quiet for a beat. “The plan?” Derek questions.

Will nods. He still hasn’t found the courage to look up at Derek. He swallows again. “After today, I mean,” he clarifies.

“The plan,” Derek parrots again. “Like, our schedule for the rest of the summer?”

It’s not quite there, but close enough to send another ripple through his chest. “I– yeah, that, I guess,” Will says, shaking one hand free. He brings it to join the other, still holding one of Derek’s, and starts absentmindedly playing with his fingers, searching for a reason to continue avoiding Derek’s eyes. “But I mean, like– after the summer.” 

Another pause, more dreadful than the last. “The plan is that I go to school,” Derek responds. He says it slowly, carefully, almost like he’s worried that Will doesn’t understand.

Will understands it very well, but doesn’t call Derek out on it – he just nods again, turning Derek’s hand over in his lap. 

“And me?” he finally asks, tracing the lines in Derek’s palm. 

“You stay here,” Derek answers without hesitation, and that’s almost worse than the delayed responses – how quickly he had the answer prepared, the way the words were queued up, ready to go. Will nods for a third time, biting back his next question until he’s certain that it won’t wobble on the way out, blinking fast in an effort to drive away the tears that have already started to well. 

He licks his lips. Takes another deep breath. Spreads Derek’s fingers apart, runs his thumb over a callus at the base of his pinky. When he speaks again, it’s hoarse, nearly a whisper. “And us?” 

“I…” Derek trails off, and this interlude is the most unbearable of the three, an answer to all of Will’s questions without having to say anything at all. Derek does say something – finishes his sentence off with a tired, “I don’t know, Will,” – but they’re not words of comfort, and they both know it.

“Well, like,” Will starts, tugging Derek’s hand closer, like that will do anything to prevent his inevitable departure – from Hawkins, from the state, from Will. “Can we figure it out, then?”

The hand that isn’t trapped between Will’s comes up to rest gently on his knee. Will stares at it, knowing exactly what it means. Suddenly, he no longer likes cliches.

“We can, yeah,” Derek says after another beat. 

Will finally looks up at him, and he was right to be afraid – it’s in Derek’s eyes, the way he’s looking at Will, the furrow in his brows. The hand on his knee, burning through his jeans. Despite it all, the clear message that’s been sent without having to be said aloud, Will pushes forward. “Why are you saying it like that?” he demands without any bite.

“Like what?” Derek asks.

“Like you’ve already figured it out without me,” Will says. 

“I haven’t,” Derek rushes to say. Will opens his mouth to protest, but Derek beats him to it, rubbing his thumb along the side of Will’s knee in a desperate, soothing motion. “Honestly, Will, I haven’t,” he insists. “I just–” He shrugs, nothing more than a slight movement in one shoulder. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it, is all.” 

Will stares at him. “You haven’t really thought about it?” he repeats.

“I mean.” He stops and shrugs again, his mouth straightening out into a thin, sheepish line. “Not really,” he finishes, far too honest.

“We’ve been together for half a year,” Will says. “What the fuck do you mean you haven’t really thought about it?” 

Derek at least has the decency to look somewhat apologetic. “I mean that I haven’t really thought about it, Will.” 

“I have,” Will says. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this to himself – he’s already gotten his answer ten times over in the last three minutes, knows where this conversation is headed without having to fight his way through the treacherous path of it, but he can’t stop, already tumbling forward. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Have you?” Derek asks evenly. 

“Yes,” Will snaps, and he doesn’t mean to, but the fact that Derek is so calm about this is putting him more on edge, on the precipice of a freefall that he knows will end in a crash landing. “Of course I have,” he continues, still harsh. “Why haven’t you?” 

Derek sighs, like the idea of telling Will that he never even considered making an attempt at long distance is a burden to him. “Will–”

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Will interrupts. “Why haven’t–” But he stops himself, shoving Derek’s hand off his lap and pressing his fingers into his eyes. “We’ve been apart for weeks,” he says. “We’re going to be apart for the rest of the summer,” he continues, voice rising, “and you’re going to school and I’m staying, and you–” He cuts off again, frustrated that the right words aren’t coming, that he’s getting more and more worked up and Derek is just sitting there, stoically taking it all. Will takes a deep breath and pulls his hands away from his face, trying to calm down. “I’m about to lose you, one way or the other,” he continues, marginally calmer but still audibly upset. “I don’t want to feel like the only way that the other doesn’t happen is if I…” He gestures towards Derek’s lap, averting his eyes the moment they make the mistake of drifting there. “You know.”  

Derek nods, his jaw tense. “Okay,” he says simply, and Will wants to scream, to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, demand an emotion out of him that isn’t resignation. “I’m sorry that you feel like that,” Derek continues, and he does sound genuinely sorry, and it doesn’t make Will feel any better at all. “I don’t want you to feel like that, but I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations, either.” 

Will blinks, and the first tear spills over, clinging to his lower lash like a lifeline. “What unrealistic expectations?” he asks quietly.

“Look,” Derek starts, and historically, from Will’s experience – when a sentence starts with a look or a listen, he’s not going to like the rest of it. “I love you a lot,” Derek continues, as if this softens the blow at all. “I do, really, and I have had so much fun with you.” He squeezes Will’s knee. “It’s just– I’m going to South Carolina at the end of the summer, and that’s a long ways away from Indiana, and I don’t…” He shrugs again, shaking his head, as if to say, what do you want me to do? “Long distance is a lot, is all I’m saying.” 

Will bites his lip. “Too much to even try?”

Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

“Okay,” Will says flatly. More tears follow the first, running hot down his cheeks, and he looks away, his vision blurring faster than he can keep up with. “Yeah.”

“Will, come on,” Derek says, soft but stern. His hand moves from Will’s knee to his bicep, thumb smoothing over the strip of skin that’s exposed between the end of his t-shirt and the start of his borrowed hoodie sleeve, now hanging half off his arm. “Don’t be upset.”

Will shakes him off, pressing back into the door as hard as he can. “It’s a little late for that,” he says, miraculously steady despite the circumstances. There is a part of him that wishes he could listen, that his first instinct wouldn’t be to argue, because when it comes down to it, it’s not bad advice: he doesn’t want to be upset. He doesn’t want to be sitting where he is now, miserably attempting and failing to put more space between them while staring down the back of the driver’s seat so that he doesn’t have to meet Derek’s eyes. He doesn’t want to be digging his nails into his palms and biting the inside of his cheek, both futile attempts at distracting him from the way that his throat is aching with the pressure of keeping more tears at bay. He doesn’t want to be crying at all, emotional over a choice that he knew was an option all along. When it really, truly comes down to it, he shouldn’t be this upset. The writing was on the wall. He’d seen it; he’d planned for it; he’d been ready.

He’s not sure which hurts worse – the sting of the break up, or the cold realization of the fact that he wasn’t actually ready for this outcome the way he thought he was.

“I didn’t want to have this conversation tonight,” Derek says quietly. 

Will’s head whips back to face him. “What,” he says, one syllable split into two as his voice finally cracks, “so you were going to see how far you could get just kicking the can down the road?” 

“I was trying to make sure we ended on a good note,” Derek replies. There is an edge to his voice now, sharper than Will’s ever heard it, and the bubble surrounding their evening finally bursts, the reality of the situation flooding in. This whole thing was never about Derek being romantic on a nostalgic whim – it was always about going through the motions, giving them one last good day before putting them to rest. Will thinks he’s actually going to be sick. “I’d still like that.” 

“Sure,” Will manages, blinking wetly. “Whatever.”

“Will, hey,” Derek says, all soft again, but Will doesn’t trust it anymore. “Hey,” he continues, grabbing Will’s shoulder and giving him a little shake. “Are you serious about this?” he asks, leaning forward, tilting his head into Will’s line of sight. “You actually wanted to do long distance?”

Will isn’t quite sure what Derek’s case is, but the fact that he sounds so surprised at the concept of Will wanting to stay together certainly isn’t helping it. “I don’t know if I did,” he snaps, still not looking at him. “I just–” He inhales shakily, breath stuttering on its way in. “I guess I thought it would be up for discussion, at least.” 

“Now?” Derek asks. 

“Yes, now,” Will snaps again, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It doesn’t do much good. “Trust me, I’m very aware of how much of an idiot that makes me—“

Derek makes a sympathetic noise. “You’re not an idiot,” he insists. 

Will barks out a laugh, finally turning back to face him. “Feeling like a pretty big idiot, Der,” he sniffs, gesturing to his own face, at the tears that won’t stop coming. 

“Stop that,” Derek says. His brows are furrowed, his lips curled into a frown, like he has the right to be sad about Will’s heart breaking in front of him when he’s the one who did the breaking. In an act of continued obtuseness, both of his hands come up to cup Will’s face, thumbs working on wiping the tears away. “You’re not—“

“I am,” Will interrupts, shoving Derek’s hands away. Derek immediately sits back, deflating, whatever fight he was pretending to have fleeing at the first sign of resistance. “Clearly I am,” Will continues bitterly. “I’m an idiot for thinking it was an option, I’m an idiot for thinking we’d talk about it, I’m an idiot for crying right now when you don’t even care–“

“That’s not fair,” Derek says, speaking over him. “I do care, I just–“

Evidently can’t find the right words to say, because he cuts himself off, shaking his head. Will waits for him to finish, a display of patience that’s more than Derek deserves, but all he does is flounder, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything at all, and Will’s had it. “Go on,” he says, practically sneering, and he’s never talked to Derek like this – has never talked to anyone like this – but it feels good, the way it rips out of him. “You just what?” 

“I just don’t get why you’re this upset,” Derek replies, and it turns out that he’s had these words ready all along, too – he just didn’t want to say them until he absolutely had to. “Like – I just thought that we were on the same page about this,” he goes on, gesturing between them, the this in question. “These last few months have been great – so great, I mean that, and I love you so much. It’s just… the logistics aren’t there.” He shrugs. “They never have been.” 

Will just stares at him, shocked into a momentary silence, desperately trying to grapple with the last twenty seconds and the words that filled them. There’s so much to be upset over that he doesn’t know which to focus on – the fact that the conversation Will thought they were going to have never even crossed Derek’s mind, the fact that they’ve been on wildly different pages this entire time, or the fact that, through it all, Derek had actually sounded sincere. That he really doesn’t understand why Will is so upset, that he really did think that they had a mutual agreement, that he really does love Will so much. There’s no way to decide on which part is the worst, all of them equally awful in their own unique ways. 

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Will finally manages. 

“Have you even really thought about it?” Derek responds, ignoring Will's question in favor of asking his own, more interested in twisting the knife instead of pulling it out. “How far of a distance it is, how little we’d see each other, how much it would suck for both of us?” 

“Jesus Christ, Derek,” Will replies, sniffing again. “I get it.”

“Do you, though?” Derek asks coolly. His expression is eerily blank, all traces of sympathy smoothed away. “I’m talking, like, three, maybe four times over the next year. You graduate, we get another quarter of a summer together because you’re here and I’m home, and then what? Are you even thinking of applying for any schools anywhere near South Carolina?” 

“Okay,” Will cuts in loudly. “Alright, I get it–” 

“We’d be long distance for another three years, at least,” Derek continues, as if he’d never been interrupted at all. “Barely seeing each other, spending all this money when we do, and for what?” A bitter sound escapes him, barely resembling a laugh, and Will flinches. “To break up anyway when we realize that we’ve built lives in two completely different cities? Is that what you want?” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Will says. “No, it’s not.”

“So you get it, then–”

“Yeah, I fucking get it,” Will bites back. He’s getting worked up again, any ground he’s gained in calming himself down lost to Derek and the deep cut of his flippant tone. “I fucking got it thirty seconds ago,” he goes on. “You don’t have to keep rubbing it in, be so–” 

“Realistic?” Derek interjects.

“Mean, Derek,” Will says, and on cue, his voice splits again, buckling under the pressure. “You’re being mean.” 

Derek slumps against the seat, crossing his arms. “Well, it’s not like being nice is getting me anywhere,” he mutters.

“Sorry for not wanting to go to second base with you after finding out you were going to dump me at the end of the summer,” Will snaps. “For future reference, that’s kind of a mood killer.” 

Derek scoffs. “Let’s be real here, Will – I could have proposed to you tonight, and you still wouldn’t have gone through with it.” He shakes his head. “I could have gotten rose petals, candles, a hotel room…” He trails off pointedly, and Will thinks of the room key that Derek slipped him at Prom, the smell of alcohol on his breath when he’d whispered by Will’s ear, “I got us a room,” words slurring together in a drunken string. “And that’s fine, you know,” Derek continues, though it’s clearly not. “If that’s not what you want, then fine. But at least be honest about it. Don’t lead me on because you’re too afraid of telling me the truth.” 

“And if I am honest about it,” Will ventures, “If I didn’t bring up the long distance thing – if I told you that I don’t know if I’m ready to go there and that I don’t know when I will be, then what?” It could be passed off as a hypothetical question, but it’s really not. He really does want an answer, and it is – mostly – really how he feels. He can’t deny that there were versions of him that wanted to try – versions of him that were afraid of what would happen if he didn’t, versions who weren’t repulsed at the idea of it, probably even a version of him that would have gone through with something if their conversation had gone differently – but ultimately, the version of him that’s sitting before Derek now is the only one who made it to this reality, and that version can’t believe he ever trusted Derek enough to even consider it. “Would you have dumped me tonight instead of in August?” 

He expects there to be an instant answer, a quick rebuttal or even an interruption like there has been almost every other time he’s spoken in the last ten minutes. There’s not, though – this time, it’s just Derek blinking quick, biting the inside of his cheek again, visibly flustered and visibly mad about it, because Will unmistakably hit the nail right on its head.

That silence is louder than anything Derek could say, but he tries anyway. “I–what the hell are you talking about?” he asks, but his voice has pitched up half an octave, just as damning as the startled flush that appears on his cheeks, his neck, creeping up from the collar of his shirt. “Do you really think that little of me?” 

It’s not an answer.

“Am I wrong?” Will demands. 

It wouldn’t be hard to save face here, Will thinks. Even if they do break up – and at this point, Will doesn’t foresee a scenario in which their relationship makes it out of this car in tact – it’d be easy for Derek to give him this, a white lie small enough and quick enough to patch up this wound before they bleed out from it. One word, one syllable, one lie – he’s not asking for much. Just something to get him to sleep tonight, reassurance that he hasn’t spent the last five months wasting his time, that Derek meant it every time he told Will that he loved him. That he loves him enough, still, to lie to him in this moment, convince him that this hasn’t been the goal all along.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Will presses, his voice shaking. But Derek stays quiet, and all the answers Will needs live in that silence, in the expression on his face, in the way he won’t meet Will’s eyes, looking past him. Will shifts, forcing himself into Derek’s line of vision, because if this is how it’s going to end, Derek deserves to look at what he’s done. “Tell me that I’m wrong,” Will repeats. 

“Will,” Derek starts, leaning forward, reaching for Will’s hands where they’re knotted together in his lap, nails biting into his skin. 

But Will recoils, shoving Derek’s hands away from him as he presses his back into the door, as far away from Derek as he can possibly get in the confines of the backseat. “Tell me,” he orders again through tears, dignity be damned. “Say it.” 

Derek squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t say anything. 

“Cool,” Will says, and he doesn’t even care that his voice breaks again, doesn’t look at Derek to see what his reaction is. His hand slips the first time he grabs for the door handle, blurry vision impacting his depth perception, but he’s successful on his next try, pushing the door open with more force than necessary and stumbling out of the car, feet nearly slipping on the gravel of the ground below. He doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t know where he could possibly go when he’s this far from camp and there’s no one else parked in the overlook lot at this time of night, but none of it matters: he just needs to get away, put space between himself and this person he thought he knew, who, despite everything – he still loves, so much that it hurts.

“Will,” he hears from behind him, but he doesn’t stop, walking towards the guardrail that oversees the ravine ahead, an endless sea of black stretching out towards the horizon but no means of escape. He feels so stupid – for walking in the wrong direction, towards the scenic view the sign on the road promises and not the road itself, for thinking that tonight was going to play out differently than Prom night, for dating Derek in the first place, for thinking that someone doing the bare minimum of being open about their attraction to him could shape itself into a worthwhile replacement for the genuine connection he’s been running from for years.

“Will, babe, come on,” Derek tries again, and Will has nowhere else to go, and his face is hot with tears and his throat aches and he’s an idiot all the way through. “Will,” Derek says, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing Will to face him. “Come on,” he says again, softer now, but Will shakes off his touch anyway. “Let’s go back to the car, and–”

“You’ll drive me home?” Will interrupts.

“Not yet,” Derek says. “Would you please listen?” 

“I’ve been listening,” Will responds. His voice still wavers, and he rubs at his leaking eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, frustrated – and then, when he remembers that it’s not even his, shrugs it off in disgust, pushing the crumpled heap of it into Derek’s chest. “You’ve made it very clear that you’re going to break up with me by the end of the summer regardless of what I say or do.” He shrugs, a wild, flailing movement. “So what more is there to say or do, then? You seem to have really thought this through.” 

Derek sighs. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“I don’t think I know anything,” Will says.

It would be a lot better if he didn’t, if the revelation that Derek only wanted him for one thing was a surprise rather than a truth that he’s been running from for the past few weeks. But he did know – deep down, under a crumbling shield of hope and ideas of the future, Will thinks he knew all along.

“Yes, you do,” Derek replies, annoyed again. “You’re twisting my words and getting all fired up and upset because you need someone else to be the bad guy.”

“I’m not twisting your words or saying anything that you didn’t already admit to,” Will says. The wind picks up, stronger this close to the water, and he tucks his arms around his torso, regretting not bringing a jacket of his own. “Your ultimatum was to sleep with you and get dumped at the end of the summer or get dumped now,” he continues. “I pick getting dumped now. Sorry that it’s not the choice you wanted me to make.” 

“I’m not trying–” Derek starts, but abruptly cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, tossing his sweatshirt over his shoulder. One hand moves to rest on his hip while the other comes up to his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm down, and then says, without opening his eyes, “Look. We’re both heated right now–” 

Will scoffs. “You think?” he asks.

“Yes,” Derek says evenly. “Clearly.” Another sigh, and then he’s looking at Will again, both hands on his hips now. “Come on,” he says, jerking his head back in the direction of his car, still running, rear door still wide open. “We can talk this out. That’s what you wanted, yeah? To talk about it?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Will spits. The full potency of his glare is probably diluted by his tears, but it seems to be effective anyway, because Derek raises his hands placatingly. 

“Let’s just get back in the car, okay?” he’s saying, taking a careful step forward. “I’ll drive you back and we can talk through it on the way–” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Will says definitively.

“Babe–”

“Don’t call me that,” Will interrupts again.

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek, clearly trying to think of what to say without hurting his case even more. “Will,” he tries again, and when Will doesn’t cut him off for a third time, continues, defeated. “Get in the car, please.” 

Will is freezing cold, upset beyond comprehension or belief, and has no idea how he’d manage to get back to Camp Whiteman without Derek being the one to take him there – but he is also hard-headed, stubborn to a fault, and the instinct to argue and rebuke has him speaking before he’s even had the chance to think it through. 

“No,” he says.

“Come on, Will.” 

“No,” Will repeats.

“We don’t even have to talk,” Derek tries. “I’ll just drive.” 

Will just stares at him, squinting, trying to determine whether or not he’s serious. The thing is, Will wants to go home, more than anything – he doesn’t want to be here, cold and wanted in all the wrong ways. He wants to be back in his bunk, his own space in a very shared cabin, curled up under the covers and licking at his wounds in peace. He wants to cry, really, properly cry, and take solace in the fact that his mom is in her own cabin just across the trail, that she’d be more than happy to let him sleep in her bed, far away from the wandering eyes of too-curious cabinmates. He wants to brush his teeth and take a shower and block Derek’s number in his phone, out of sight and out of mind and off of Will’s skin. 

He also knows this: it’s hard to do any of that if he doesn’t take this olive branch first.

Derek has proven several times this evening that his capacity to be annoying is never-ending, so Will doesn’t necessarily trust that the silent car ride that Derek is promising is going to come to fruition, but the basics remain the same: it is a ride, and he needs one to be able to get back to camp and start on everything else. The fifteen minutes it takes to get there are going to be grueling while he’s living in them, but he just has to get through those fifteen minutes, and then he’ll be free. 

He takes a step forward, opens his mouth to accept the offer, but Derek, who apparently reached the end of his rope the last time Will pushed him off, beats him to the punch. 

“Or,” he starts, already starting to walk backwards towards his car, “you can have one of your stupid fucking friends pick you up if you want to be difficult about it.”

The smart thing to do would be to bite his tongue, to swallow his pride, and secure himself a ride home. He has already come to the conclusion that Derek is his only means of getting back to camp – it’d be dangerously stupid to engage, rise to the bait, say something that pisses Derek off enough to leave him here. 

“Maybe I will,” he snaps instead. 

“Yeah?” Derek asks, one last chance to back out. 

But Will, already feeling pretty stupid, doesn’t take it. “Yeah,” he calls out, because Derek is – oh, he’s almost at his car now. 

“Awesome,” Derek calls back, flashing him two thumbs up. He slams the rear door shut, and in the same movement, opens the driver’s side, chucks his discarded hoodie into the cabin of the car with so much aggression that Will flinches, stops dead in his tracks where he’d been practically chasing Derek off. “I’m sure Mark would love to give you a ride–” 

“For the eightieth time, it’s Mike,” Will says, forgetting to be scared in the face of exasperation instead. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, anyway?” 

Derek gives him a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve got everything else figured out, don’t you? I’m sure you can figure that one out, too – you’ll have the time.”

Will flounders for a moment, truly at a loss for words – but Derek is stepping up into the driver’s seat, and in the face of everything else, Will can’t bear to let him have the last word. Not like this. 

“Fuck off,” he says, and tries to sound as mean as possible. 

“Fucking gladly,” Derek says, and then he’s in his seat and that door is slamming shut, loud and sudden and final. Will doesn’t flinch this time, but he does step forward, calls out a name that Derek can’t hear anyway, and makes a hand gesture that Derek certainly can see, but chooses to ignore.

For a single, drawn out moment, it all feels so good – the echo of the door’s abrupt close, the halting, jerking movements of Derek’s car as he maneuvers out of the spot he’d parked in, the way the gravel kicks up as he peels out of the lot, too fast, tires squealing the moment they hit the asphalt of the main road. Will stands there and watches it all and then watches him leave, too, and when he can’t see him at all anymore, when Derek and the overpriced horse he rode in on have disappeared down the road, out of sight, it feels like he’s won. 

It still feels good in the moment that follows, and then still, as that moment turns over and folds into the next – victory is sweet, isn’t it? He got what he wanted, the break up that he’s spent the last however many weeks worrying about, the same one that he chose tonight, willingly and completely aware of what he was doing. It feels good to get your way, and even better when it comes at the cost of someone else not getting theirs. It’s good. He has every right to feel happy about it, to relish in the afterglow of a battle hard-fought, a win hard-earned.

But Will’s heart is pounding, loud enough to hear it in his ears, hard enough to feel it in the tips of his fingers. It takes hold of his vision, a vibrant red – his anger and his hurt and the afterimage of tail lights against the dark of the night making his eyes burn and his throat start to ache again, and that’s precisely when it stops feeling good. Instead, it starts feeling like exactly what it is: that he won a fight that he never wanted to have, that he let his emotions get the best of him, that he just got dumped in every sense of the word, left behind without a way of getting home and without any idea, really, of where home even is. 

He takes two steps towards the road, propelled forward by the anxiety that’s beginning to swell in his chest, almost suffocating. He tries to stop himself from getting worked up, because panicking in this situation won’t do him any good. Yes, he’s alone in a place he doesn’t know, but if he had to be stranded anywhere, this is a pretty good place to be – a wide, open space that’s easily identifiable on a map, off the main road, and well-lit. He’s been going to camp for the better part of his adolescence now, has all the survival instincts bestowed upon him by years-worth of Wilderness Weeks and Steve showing him how to tie knots and start a fire and distinguish between berries that are poisonous and ones that are safe to eat. He won’t be here long enough to use any of that knowledge, but he has it, and it’s enough for him to get his bearings, kickstart some sense into his brain and get to work on a solution.

Thankfully, his phone is tucked safely into the pocket of his jeans and not somewhere in Derek’s car, so his first order of business is to pull up his maps app and see just how far he is from Camp Whiteman. He doesn’t want to walk, especially in the dark, but if it spares him the mortifying experience of having to call someone to come get him, he’ll take it – but that idea is immediately dashed when Apple maps politely calculates that the walk from here back to Camp would take two hours and thirty-one minutes. Despite the complete and utter lack of logic behind it, he really does give it a good-faith effort: two hours and thirty-one minutes is actually a pretty small price to pay for his dignity, but it also opens Will up to many more horrifying possibilities – like getting mauled by a bear, or getting hit by a car, or attacked by mosquitos and dying of malaria before he even makes it into town. 

He could call his mom, or Hopper, and they would come get him, no questions asked. Okay, there would probably be several questions asked, but that’s not the important part – what matters is that he’d be able to save face, pick and choose the parts of the story to share, and get total sympathy about the whole thing. They might think it, but they’d never dare call him out for being enough of an idiot to date Derek in the first place. Really, the only thing he’d have to worry about is calling off the troops – prevent his mom from calling Derek’s mom, prevent Hopper from calling up his old cop friends and asking them to arrest Derek as a bit, limit their involvement in the whole thing to get out of this as unscathed as possible. No part of this is ideal, but it’s as good as he’s going to get.

The issue with this plan is that his mom and Hop aren’t even at Camp – they’re back in Hawkins for the evening, the other trusted adults employed at Camp Whiteman holding down the fort until they return. His mom had gotten a last-minute call from the shelter to come in and help with a case that needed a quick turnaround, and Hop had tagged along for support, knowing better than to leave her by herself after a shelter shift. They should be back in the morning, but tonight, Will doesn’t even know if his mom is home yet – and if she is, he doesn’t want to make her drive all the way out here, unload his problems onto her when she just got off from fixing problems far bigger than Will’s. Especially since she’d do it, no complaints. 

So his parents are out. Dustin does have a car, but a quick look on life360 shows that El is still at the theater, and there’s no way their triple feature is going to be finished any time soon. He can’t call Lucas without tipping off other associated parties, and Mike doesn’t have a license – not that it matters, even if he did. Mike is the absolute last person Will would call, no matter what Derek seems to think. 

Which leaves Max – Max, who has a license and a car. Max, who has recently decided she doesn’t like Derek, and did a piss-poor job of hiding it earlier. Max, his best friend, who will probably say I told you so first and ask questions never. That Max. 

She answers on the first ring.

“Hey,” she says, and there’s noise in the background – probably from a movie – that makes Will feel infinitely worse, a feat he didn’t realize was possible until this very moment. “What’s up?” 

“Hi,” Will says, tucking his free arm tighter around his torso. His voice sounds rough, wrecked in the way it does when he’s been crying, and he takes a moment to clear his throat before he continues. “Um” –a pause, long enough that he hears her take a breath to say something else and has to rush the rest of his sentence to beat her to it– “Do you think you can come get me?” 

“Wh–” she starts, but stops before she even finishes the word. Will thinks she might ask to clarify what he said at all, since his word vomit didn’t resemble coherent English, but she seems to have gotten it, because she adds, “Right now?” 

“Yes,” Will answers. He looks down, kicks at a loose rock and watches it bounce away from him. “Please.” 

There’s no response for a moment – not to him, anyway. “Hold on,” she says, and then her next comment is to whoever she’s with – most likely Lucas, but maybe Mike, too, which makes him feel a little nauseous – “Pause it,” she instructs, sounding farther away, probably holding her phone to her chest. The background noise cuts off – there’s some rustling – and then she’s back, clear as day. “Sorry,” she says, and then, “is Derek not driving you home?” 

He should have taken the time to rehearse what he was going to say – phrase it just the right way, say it out loud enough times that he gets desensitized to it, that the words themselves stop sounding real. Derek and I broke up, Derek and I broke up, Derek and I broke up – it could have been easy if he’d tried it. It could have been weightless – bored, even – a statement so nonchalant that he may as well have been commenting on the weather.

But he didn’t do that, so when he starts with, “Well,” his voice is already shaking before he can get the actual important part of the sentence out, the words scraping him raw before they’re even out. “Derek and I just broke up, so.” His voice cracks on broke, taking the word as an instruction without considering the context of it in his sentence. 

It’s quiet for a long minute. And then, just when Will thinks maybe he was lucky enough for the call to disconnect before Max heard anything, a response comes through:

“Oh, shit.” 

It’s better than I told you so, so Will can work with it. “He, um” –a brief pause to clear his throat, try to swallow the tears before they spill again– “He left me here–” 

His voice cracks again, sending a tear cascading down his cheek with it, and a second and a third and then Max is saying, already pissed, “He left–what?” More tears, more than he can count, because it’s one thing for this – for the break up, for Derek leaving him there – to be true, but it’s another entirely for someone else to say it back to him, hear it from someone’s mouth other than his own. “What do you mean he fucking left you?” 

Will means to respond right away, but a sob steals the words from his mouth and his breath, too, so overwhelming and sudden that his head starts swimming and his chest aches with it, tender and too real. The reality of his situation hits him again – that he came out here with someone he loved, someone he trusted, and it landed him here, alone and cold and crying so hard that he can’t even breathe. He pulls the phone away from his ear and finally manages to inhale with his face turned in the opposite direction, hoping that, if Max can hear it, it’s muted. 

“It’s a long story,” he finally says when he’s able to – what feels like minutes later – swallowing in an effort to clear any more tears. “Can you just,” he starts, but has to stop to wipe his nose where it’s dripping, disgusting and embarrassing, all down his upper lip. “Can you come get me? Please?” 

“Jesus, Will,” Max says, not unkindly. “Yeah, of course I can. I’ll leave right now. Where are you?” 

“I don’t–” He’s cut off by another cry, not really knowing where he is or because Max has agreed to come get him, he’s not sure. “Sorry. It’s some sort of scenic overlook. It’s – I don’t know how far it is.” He does not offer the time Apple maps quoted him for a time estimate, because it, and the fact that Will forgot to look up the driving distance, is entirely unhelpful. 

“You’re fine,” Max is saying, and Will can hear more rustling on the other end. “Send me a pin and I’ll be there.” 

“Thank you,” Will says, probably more pathetically than he has ever said anything in his entire life. He lowers the phone from his ear again and turns the speaker on before navigating to his message thread with Max and sending the requested pin. “I’m sorry,” he adds, “I know you guys were–”

“Will,” she interrupts, “don’t even worry about it.” 

He can feel his face contorting into something ugly, the way it does when he needs to cry, but doesn’t want to. “Okay,” he says, embarrassingly wobbly. 

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Max informs him. “Do you want me to stay on the line?” 

Will shakes his head, remembering probably a beat too late that she can’t see him. “No,” he says. “No, that’s okay.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks. There’s talking in the background, words Will can’t make out, and then – “Thank you,” Max adds, further away, a little stilted, and it takes Will a moment to realize that she’s not speaking to him. “Sorry,” she continues, directly into the receiver, clearly aimed at Will again. A louder noise – the sound of a door opening, and then, in contrast, a quiet, “Drive safe,” follows, clearly from Lucas. It’s for Max – it shouldn’t have any effect on Will, not directed at him in the slightest – but his chest splits at the words anyways, the casual intimacy a stark reminder of what he’s just lost. Keys are jingling together, a car door is being opened, the familiar, steady tones of Max’s car sounding through the receiver before the turn of the engine cuts them off – it all serves as a soundtrack to Will’s shame, his guilt, his heartbreak. 

“I can stay on the line, Will, really,” Max is saying, cutting through it all. “I don’t mind.” 

“It’s okay,” Will says again. He brings his fist to his mouth, like if he presses his lips to his knuckles hard enough, it’ll somehow contain all the emotions stirring inside him. “Drive safe,” he adds, muffled against his own skin, because he cares that she does, doesn’t need to be her boyfriend to say as much. 

“I will,” she promises. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“See you soon,” Will echoes. He stands there unmoving, phone held to his ear, until he hears the call disconnect. It does, and lowers his phone, frozen to the spot. He was so sure he’d cry the moment they hung up, the pressure of everything he was bottling too much to bear – but instead of bursting out of him, it drains, exhausted from feeling so much so intently in such a short amount of time. 

He looks around, blankly taking in his surroundings. The lot is open, empty, the street beyond it quiet. Crickets are chirping. The wind blows, the trees rustling with it, every hair on the back of Will’s neck raising, spreading all down his arms. He turns, gravel shifting beneath his feet, and stares out at the treeline.

It’s funny how suddenly things can change – the quickness with which nightfall conceals the view from the overlook, how fast a romantic comedy can turn into a tragedy, the way an entire relationship can fall apart in the span of twenty minutes if you just try hard enough. Will has whiplash from it all. An hour ago, he was watching the sunset with Derek, wishing the day would never end; now, it has, and all Will wishes is that it would have ended sooner. 

He wanders towards a picnic table, one of several scattered close to the guard rail overlooking the quarry. If he’s going to be here a while, he might as well sit, so he does, climbing up onto the tabletop and planting his feet on the bench, hunched over. His head drops, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, wishing again that he’d brought a jacket of his own – Max is probably already driving, so it’s likely no use, but maybe she hasn’t even made it off the grounds yet. Maybe, if he texts her fast enough, calls her back, she can double back and grab something from his cabin to bring him, a sweatshirt or blanket or something–

His message app is already open before he thinks better of it, and he does think better of it the moment he taps into his thread with Max – she’s already going out of her way to come get him, halted her evening to do so; to ask her of anything more would be so unbelievably selfish. Shame bubbles up inside him again, and he goes to swipe up, close the app completely, when he sees a message from Max that he missed, sitting right above the location pin he just sent her:

i’m sorry

Will frowns, sniffling. Did she text him while they were on the phone? It’s not necessarily surprising – it wouldn’t be the first time Max resorted to texting to express something sincere, much better at getting her feelings across through written word if not action – but it is a little weird. She’d been unabashedly candid during their entire call, no hiccups or hesitation from her end, and the message isn’t even that heartfelt. It’s kind, of course, and it provides Will with the shred of comfort that it’s meant to, but it’s not anything she couldn’t say out loud. It’s basically the standard response to a break up, a commonplace condolence for the loss of a relationship.

And then he sees it, the time that sits next to the heading of Today: 3:24pm. But that doesn’t make sense, not when–

His heart drops, sinking like a stone. 

It has nothing to do with the break up at all – she sent it just after Derek picked him up this afternoon, probably before they’d even made it off of camp grounds. It’s an apology for the way she had acted, how harsh she’d been before Derek had even done anything wrong. Will had seen it in her eyes as Lucas escorted her away, the regret and guilt that weighed on her face before she’d turned around. In all honesty, that had been enough – he knew that she was sorry without her having to say it. If his relationship with Derek had made it through the night, he probably would have let it slide.

Will locks his phone, sets it on the table beside him. He stares at his own knees, tries to forget the heat of Derek’s touch through the denim of his jeans. His right hand comes up to join his left, fingers interlocking on his nape. He curls in on himself, blinks fast amidst rapidly blurring vision, lets out a noise that he is glad no one else is around to hear, and he waits. 

☼☼☼

Fifteen minutes later, headlights are cutting through the night again, though this time, they’re pointed towards Will, not away. For a moment, he worries that it’s Derek, back to apologize – it wouldn’t do much to salvage the shreds of their relationship, and Will would still probably wait it out for Max to get there, interested to see what her reaction would be – but the headlights are too close to the ground to be Derek’s car. 

Of course it’s Max. He’s the one who called her after all, pulled her away from her plans with Lucas and Mike because he’s an idiot who didn’t have the foresight to see that something like this could happen. Still, the last part of him that was hopeful Derek might come back for him finally gives in, lays itself to rest with every other pipe dream Will has had dashed tonight.

Max’s car pulls up in front of the picnic table he’s turned into his pathetic little perch. The headlights blind him for a moment, and he lifts his hand to shield his eyes until the nose of the car is turned away from him, parked and waiting. After his eyes have adjusted to the dark again, he peers into the passenger window, where Max is already looking back at him. 

She raises her hand in a sheepish wave. Will mimics the motion, and then drops to the ground to get into the car.

He’s done a moderately good job of calming down while he’s been waiting – the tears finally stopped coming, and every trace of the fact that they’d ever been there at all have been wiped away by the collar and sleeves of his t-shirt. If he hadn’t already cried on the phone to her, he’s pretty sure that he could convince Max that he wasn’t even upset – just annoyed, miffed at the inconvenience.

But her door is opening, and she’s stepping out, her head popping up over the roof of the car, and that – the idea of staying here any longer than he has to, the wrench that halts his metaphorical getaway car – is what breaks him again. “Hey,” she’s saying, and she’s moving half a step towards him, and Will’s throat is itching, a swell of tears threatening to overwhelm him again. “Are–” 

“Can we just go, please?” he interrupts. It comes out in cracking, splintered bursts, panicked and upset. “Please,” he adds, “I don’t–” 

“Okay,” Max says gently. “Of course.” She’d stopped in her tracks the moment he cut her off, and now she regards him carefully, the width of her car separating them. Will tugs at the door handle on his side, but it’s still locked, and a frustrated noise punches out of him, a sniffle following suit. “Sorry,” she says, reaching down to press a button on her door handle, and the second that Will hears the lock shift, he’s pulling the door open and into him clumsily. He practically stumbles into the car, shaking the entire cabin with the force at which he drops into the seat. Max follows in a far more respectable manner, the soft close of her door a jarring contrast to the way Will slams his shut. 

It’s quiet for a moment. The engine hums. A melody he distantly recognizes trickles out of the speakers at a low volume. Max is looking at him. Will won’t look at her. His heart is drumming fast in his ears, his thoughts racing, new ones forming with each thud that resonates in his head. 

Can she see it on him? Can she tell without him having to say a word? How Will almost went through with it – how he really might have, if Derek’s answer had been different. Does she know that Will was ready to give everything to a boy who never had any intention of staying? A boy would have left regardless, no matter what Will did and how far he went? Is she just as embarrassed about it as he is, or did she see this coming – knew that this was always going to be the outcome, that it was always going to be like this: Max, knowing better, and Will, blindsided by his own naivety. 

His hands are shaking, trembling in his lap. Max reaches forward, adjusting the temperature dial as far as it will go. Another knob turned, and then there’s a blast of warm air hitting him. He blinks, and his face is wet again.

“Please don’t say I told you so,” he blurts suddenly. It surprises them both – no hi, no thank you, no I’m sorry that you had to come all the way out here – just an accusation that she doesn’t deserve, a premature reaction to words that haven’t even come. He reaches behind him, fumbling for his seatbelt, purposely making noise to distract from the shock of his outburst, muffling the words that are still tumbling out of him somehow. “I know that you didn’t like him, that you probably knew something like this was going to happen, but I just–” 

“Will,” she interrupts calmly. He’s glad she did – he doesn’t want to know what else he was going to say, and he’s already started to rile himself up again, purposely tugging and pulling at the very thread he’s been using to try and stitch himself back together for the past half hour. He stops what he’s doing, halfway unraveled. The seatbelt bounces back into its place by the door, the metal part of it smacking into the window along the way. He flinches at the sound, and then, at what Max follows up with. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

Max is so, so many things: she’s quick as a whip by default and feisty when provoked, the fiercest defender he knows. She’s a little rough around the edges, playfully mean sometimes and actually mean at others, but she’s not cruel, and never has been; the apology sitting in their message thread is proof of it – how she hates apologizing, but did anyway, the very moment she realized she was in the wrong. The fact that he’s sitting in her car right now, that she dropped everything and came all this way for him, is indisputable evidence of just how much she cares. Maybe the thought was something that popped into her head – I told you so, or some variation of it – but she would never dare say it out loud. Not when Will is upset like this, and not even if he wasn’t.

“I know,” Will says, because he does, and really, he did the whole time. “I know you wouldn’t,” he repeats, guilt joining the other dozen rotten feelings that make him feel like he’s decaying from the inside out. He grabs for the seatbelt again, a calmer, slower movement, but he doesn’t pull it over him just yet. “I’m really stupid,” he adds as an afterthought. It’s not what he meant to say, but it’s true nonetheless.

“Will,” Max repeats. And that’s all it takes, really – just his name, the sad way in which she says it. He turns away instantly, covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle the cry that follows, curling in on himself in the process. The next thing he knows, there’s a gentle presence between his shoulder blades – her hand – and there’s nothing he could possibly do to stop the sound that comes out of him before it’s already there, taking up all the space between them. “You’re not stupid,” she says, solemn but insistent. “You’re not.”

The other thing about Max is this: she’s not a hugger, and never has been. She doesn’t shy away from physical affection – she’ll link her arm with his while they walk, throw her legs across his lap when they’re on the couch together, has no problem grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him around as she pleases, and has been known to let her hand linger there even after she’s dragged him from point A to point B. Will can probably count on one hand the amount of times they’ve hugged, and can use one finger to count the amount of times that she’s been the one to initiate it when they have. 

But she’s pulling on him now, gripping him by the arm and heaving him towards her, colliding into a none-crushing hug. The angle is awkward, the center console in the way, but Will presses into it anyway, clutching at her shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” Max says, right by his ear, and Will cries harder, shaking with it. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

Will doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but it’s long enough that the awkward position they’re in is starting to hurt more than it’s helping, long enough that the moment he begins to draw back with a deep, shuddering breath is the moment he gets upset all over again, because if Derek was going to double back for him, there’s no question about it: he would have done so by now. 

“Alright?” Max asks quietly, her hands sliding down his shoulders and staying there, gripping at his arms. She clearly isn’t seeking an answer – it’s right there, streaming down Will’s face – but he nods anyway, wiping at his eyes for what feels like the thousandth time this evening. Max lets go of him for a moment to reach past him. There’s a click, then several somethings clattering together. Soft rustling, a slam and another click, and then Max is pulling back, holding up a wad of brown paper napkins in her fist. “Here,” she offers, gently pushing them into his hand. “For you.”

They won’t do anything to soothe the sore skin beneath his eyes – they’ll actually probably make it worse, texturally wrong all around, but it’s the thought that counts. “Thank you,” he says, and she drops the lot of them into his open hand – all except one, which she uses to dab underneath her own eyes. Will’s brows furrow, confused, until it clicks that she’s crying, too, so upset at seeing Will upset that she couldn’t keep her composure. “Max,” he manages thickly, a squeak of a single syllable.

A watery laugh escapes her. “Don’t ever say that I’m not an empath,” she warns with a sniff. She lowers her fidgeting hands to her lap, twisting and tearing at the napkin, and she turns her face away from him, eyes wandering to the backseat. “Oh,” she’s saying suddenly, and then she’s reaching forward again, coming back with a ball of crumpled fabric that she once again holds out to Will. “This is for you, too.” 

She knows him so well. Will, who is already crying, wants to cry.

He accepts the hoodie and immediately pulls it on, grateful to have something more than his t-shirt. “Thank you,” he says, pulling the sleeves over his hands, and then, realizing that it’s the first time he’s said that since Max has arrived– “Seriously, thank you,” he repeats. “I don’t know what I would have–” 

“Don’t,” Max says. She doesn’t need to elaborate – it encompasses every possible way that his sentence could end, and she sniffs again, wiping her hands on her leggings. “Enough emotion for the year, I think,” she adds jokingly, turning to sit in her seat properly and then buckling her seatbelt. Hands on the steering wheel, she glances back at him with a sad smile, eyes flitting pointedly to Will’s empty buckle. “Let’s go home, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Will says, and fastens his seatbelt before she can say anything about it. “Yeah, okay.”

☼☼☼

For what is probably the first time in Camp Whiteman’s long and fated history – not that Will was there for most of it – the Counselor’s Cabin is completely empty when they return. 

This is good for several reasons: for starters, they have the TV all to themselves, which means  free reign on movie selection without anyone trying to stake a claim otherwise. It also means they have full and exclusive access to the fridge for comfort snack purposes, first dibs on the best of the knit blankets that are strewn over almost every seating option in the room, and zero witnesses for the third coming of the most pathetic snot fest to ever grace the camp grounds – and as the star of said snot fest, Will doesn’t need to have been witness to Camp Whiteman’s long and fated history to know that. 

“Sit,” Max instructs, gently pushing Will into the nearest couch cushion. Will goes without argument or complaint, falling into the sofa just as pathetically as he has done everything else this evening. At least he’s consistent. “Okay,” she continues, hovering for a moment. Will blinks up wetly at her, and she nods. “Right, tissues.”

She turns towards the supply closet next to the television in a flurry of movement, all red hair and determination, disappearing into the closet and reemerging a moment later with two boxes of tissues stacked on top of each other. Proactive. In her other hand, she’s typing out a message on the screen, presumably hitting send on whatever it is before slipping her phone back into her pocket and holding one of the tissue boxes out to him. 

“Thank you,” Will says stuffily, accepting the box and tearing at the perforated part of the cardboard. Max plucks the piece from his hand before he can even begin to flounder about what to do with it, and he works on wiggling the tissues out of the box and into the new opening while she discards the trash. 

“You’re welcome,” she says, swiping the remote from the couch. The TV blinks to life, and she navigates through various streaming apps before finding the one she’s looking for. As the screen turns purple and a loading wheel appears under the app logo, she glances back over her shoulder at him, her eyes darting quickly to the arm of the couch and then back. “Is he still blowing your phone up?”

Sometime on the drive home Will’s phone had started ringing: Derek, realizing forty minutes too late that it was in poor taste to abandon anyone in a dark, unknown area without any means of getting home, even if that person is your ex-boyfriend. It’d started with one call, and then, when Will hadn’t answered, a second and a third. There’d been a gap of time between the third call and the first text, but almost no time at all between the first text and the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. After that, Will lost count – he’s since silenced his phone and put it on do not disturb, but every time he swipes up on his lock screen, checks the notifications he’s missed, there’s a new one waiting for him. 

“Probably not,” he says, eyeing his phone wearily where it sits on the arm of the couch, silent only because he made it be. He shrugs. “I don’t think I really care.” 

“Good,” Max says instantly, though her expression turns sheepish the moment it’s out of her mouth. “I mean – you can care,” she backtracks hastily, touching the tip of the remote to her lips and eyeing him wearily. “It’s completely, totally okay if you care.” 

It’s a nice gesture of unwavering support for however he feels, but he is quite frankly too spent to actually process how he feels. “Wow,” he says instead of commenting on the matter. “Very empathetic of you.” 

She follows his lead, cracking a small smile. “Thank you for not forgetting,” she says as she turns back around, pressing the remote a few times as she sorts through the menu to select the search bar. Two letters in – T-O – and a host of titles spring up, filling the negative space. Abandoning her typing efforts, the selection box lands on the first of the recommended options: My Neighbor Totoro. “This okay?” 

Will nods. It’s his ultimate go-to comfort film, one he’s watched with Jonathan more times than he can count, a permanent place on their Christmas break line-up despite having nothing to do with the holidays at all. The movie starts to play, the familiar sound of the opening credits rolling out, and then Max is cutting the lights, dropping next to him on the couch. She pulls a nearby blanket over her legs, and then grabs a throw pillow, tucking it against her side.

“Come here,” she says, patting the pillow. Will doesn’t need to be told twice – he reaches for the closest blanket and wraps it around himself before he’s teetering over, landing against the pillow and Max’s thigh beneath it with a soft thud. As he shifts, getting comfortable, her hand drops to his head, her fingers threading into his hair. “Don’t think about it,” she instructs quietly, scratching at his scalp. “Just watch.”

Like most things, it’s easier said than done. He tries to pay attention, let the comfort film of it all actually comfort him, but the downside of watching a movie that you’ve seen a hundred times is that you can afford to allow your mind to wander. When the exterior door behind them opens sometime later, the glow from the television is the only light in the room, which is good, because that means whoever it is can’t see the fact that he’s crying again, quietly sniffling. He lifts his head from his pillow to glance back, and to his horror, sees Mike standing in the doorway, one hand still on the knob – and then, less to his horror, Lucas right behind him, poking his head into the room. His first instinct is caught between wiping his tears away and hiding his face completely, which leads to a decision paralysis that prevents him from doing either of those things, which means inadvertently putting the vulnerability of his emotional state on full display. 

“Oh, Will,” Lucas says softly, and it doesn’t help – it only makes it worse, brings the tears out faster, and Max turns to the open door just as he turns towards her, hiding his face several moments too late.

“Guys,” she says to the two of them, her tone harsher than he’s heard it be towards Lucas in months, and then, quieter, to Will– “Do you want me to kick them out?” 

Will doesn’t trust his voice to not embarrass him further, so he just shakes his head, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Max looks at him wearily, looks back up at Mike and Lucas for a long, drawn-out moment, then back to him. “Okay,” she says, running her thumb along his temple. She makes a motion towards Mike and Lucas – likely something that can be translated to sit down and shut up – but Will doesn’t dare turn around, still rubbing at his eyes furiously, willing the tears to stop coming. 

There’s some awkward shuffling, and then the sound of the door shutting closed, the latch clicking into place. 

“I’m really sorry, man,” Lucas says quietly as he rounds the couch to come sit on Max’s other side, but he makes a show of not looking in Will’s direction, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground the entire way. From behind him, another voice – Mike – so quiet that he might not have heard if he weren’t already expecting something to be said. “For you,” he says, and Will turns his head just in time to see Mike gently place a pint of ice cream on the couch arm, right next to Will’s face-down phone. 

Their eyes meet. Will’s never really sure what to expect when it comes to Mike these days – part of that is that he always seems to be wrong when he tries, so he’s mostly stopped trying at all. The other half is that Will knows he hurt Mike not that long ago in a very real, very deep way, and if it were him, he’s not sure he would have recovered enough to still be in the same room as him, let alone maintain a quasi-friendship by proxy. If Mike had done to Will what Will’s done to Mike, Will would have laughed at him, not gone out to buy Mike’s favorite flavor of ice cream, preferred brand and all. He would have told Mike that it serves him right, that he got what he deserved, that this is how it was always going to end, and he probably would have been right for it. 

Mike doesn’t do that – hasn’t done anything like it, really, for the last few months, save for the disastrous birthday party that had followed Will’s own disastrous birthday party two weeks before. He hovers for a moment, looming at the end of the couch, before finally taking a jerking step forward. “Um,” he whispers, looking between Will and the ice cream pint. “If you want it,” he adds, awkwardly tapping the lid twice. He looks like he might say something else, but seems to decide better of it, shoving his hands into his pockets hastily dropping into the armchair next to the couch. He doesn’t look back at Will, resolutely focused on the movie that’s already halfway through. 

Will glances at the ice cream, then back to Mike. Every regret he’s had since December hits him all at once in a vicious wave. Max’s fingers pass through his hair, and he turns his face back into the pillow, clamping a hand over his mouth.

When he starts to cry again, his entire body trembling with it, Will’s not entirely sure that it has anything to do with Derek.

☼☼☼