Chapter Text
Painting was always an escape for Will.
Even if it was as something as menial as a few brush strokes, it was like he could transport himself to another world. A world of anything he could possibly imagine: wizards and magic. Colours. Sunny roads. Spaceships. Hope.
Art always managed to do that for him: allowed him to slip away inside of his own head. To slip away when real life seemed too much to handle.
That’s why, these days, he found himself spending most of his time behind an easel. Even whilst he was in school, he’d spend most of his free time in his art class. Away from the party.
No one would talk to him when he was in there - not really. Apart from his painstakingly boring teacher and the occasional, brief conversations with his classmates. In all honesty, he preferred it that way.
It was like that in California, too: he was always the outsider, always the same Zombie Boy, no matter how hard he’d try to change it.
It had been two months since they’d killed Vecna and closed the Upside Down for good. Two months since El had expended the last of her powers. Two months since they’d all almost been killed.
“That’s fantastic, Will. Really fantastic. You’ve captured the shadows perfectly.”
The hand holding his paintbrush stilled as he glanced up, meeting an unsettlingly enthusiastic gaze. Will smiled: small. Awkward. He never did know how to take compliments, even if they were about something that mattered a lot to him.
“Thanks, Mrs. Mac.” Responded Will, stiffly, before his eyes flickered back to his canvas.
Two outstretched hands cradling an overflowing golden chalice were beginning to take shape. Ever the perfectionist, he was dissatisfied with the results already.
It was the fall of ‘87 and Will had never felt more like an outsider. A nobody.
Hawkins High seemed alight on a Friday afternoon, like it always did. Everyone was excited to go home - or to a party, or a basketball game - whatever normal kids did, anyway. Will never saw the appeal in such anticipation.
Tonight, however, he did.
Tonight, the party was meeting for a last-minute, impromptu sleepover - courtesy of Dustin, who came up with the idea just yesterday. Mike had immediately offered his basement and, just like that, it was a date.
Everyone agreed to the sleepover unanimously. Spending time together was basically essential nowadays: what with the aftermath of The Gate’s closing and the shock everyone still felt. Max had just started walking again, too - although she still relied on her wheelchair most of the time.
For the first time in a long time, the party had actually felt like a party. Like they had each other’s backs. Like they just faced the end of the world and made it out alive through the other end.
There was a rare spring in Will’s step as he walked through the congested hallways, cradling his still-wet canvas in his arms, being careful not smudge any of the paint. Finishing it before the sleepover tonight wasn’t ideal but, apparently, Mrs. Mac had signed him up to some art show, and he needed exhibits.
Thankfully, Mike had offered to drive him home, so he didn’t have to somehow get on his bike and carry his painting at the same time.
The exit doors approached closer and closer as Will kept walking, weaving in and out of crowds of cliques and catty girls.
“Hey, go long! Go long!”
He was almost there, almost, until…
“Overhead! Over-“
He felt the impact of the football before he heard the laughs. It made his arm give out, and - before he could react - his painting was falling to the floor.
Face down.
It seemed like the entire corridor stood still: conversations stopped, heads turned. And then laughs resounded.
Will looked to the source of disruption, only to find two boys who, he recalled, were on the football team. They were looking - laughing - at him, too, muttering out half-assed apologies before grabbing their football and walking on, brushing past Will carelessly.
It was then that he turned to his painting. The painting that he had worked hours on.
Crouching down, his heart sunk as he lifted the canvas up to reveal his ruined work: gold and navy paint smudged everywhere, a sizeable imprint of it on the hallway floor. He watched, frozen, as kids walked past, looking down at him and muttering amongst themselves. Giggling. Pointing.
Zombie Boy.
He stayed there, frozen, until it seemed as if the whole high school had cleared out, leaving Will alone, devastated.
“Will? You okay, man? What’s taking you so long in here…”
The voice made him look up from his position on the floor. Mike’s concern was palpable, what with the briskness to his step and the way his eyebrows furrowed in on themselves.
Will’s eyes widened at the sight of him. He automatically got the urge to shake himself, stand up and act like nothing happened.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m… fine. My- my painting got knocked over, that’s all.” He responded, trying to remain casual but being betrayed by the disappointment in his own voice.
Mike’s face fell as soon as he saw the face-down canvas. He rushed over to it immediately, grimacing as he saw the state of its ruin.
“Oh, shit…” He sighed, cringing. Will must’ve looked a certain way, or something, because then Mike’s demeanour shifted immediately.
His expression hardened. “What happened?” He asked: all serious, now. Jaw set. Protective. Like he always got when he thought Will was in trouble.
It was Will’s turn to sigh. He stood up, reaching for his canvas and shaking his head. “Nothing. Just some… jerks. With a football. It’s not a big deal.” He muttered, before turning towards the school’s exit.
Mike stood up as well, looking at Will in bewilderment. “Jerks? Someone did this to you?”
Will didn’t respond. He was walking towards the school’s doors, determined to get out of there and just go home. See if he could salvage his painting.
He’d had enough of being everyone else’s problem.
Mike’s rushed footsteps followed after him.
“Hey, hey…”
The hand on Will’s shoulder made him stop in his tracks. His heart jolted like it did every time Mike laid a hand on him. He turned around, looked up, only to be met with kind eyes. Eyes he knew like the back of his hand.
The eyes that always seemed to linger in the back of his mind.
“Talk to me. What happened?” Mike repeated gently. Insisting.
Will looked down at his feet. The hand at his shoulder burned.
He couldn’t decide if he wanted to brush it off or have it stay there forever, making an imprint onto his skin.
The grip on his canvas loosened and he sighed, relenting.
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
…
“And then… they didn’t even say sorry. Or anything at all, actually. Just pushed past me to grab their stupid football.” Will retold, tucked up under a warm blanket, mug of hot cocoa in hand.
The rest of the party listened intently, gathered around the couch Will was sat on. He felt oddly like a bard from D&D, telling some sort of grand fairytale.
Dustin was beside him on the couch, chin resting in his palm attentively. Max and Lucas had coined the other couch, with Lucas lying on Max’s shoulder whilst they shared the other blanket - despite Mike enforcing a strict no PDA rule. El was sitting cross-legged on the floor - she preferred it that way, for some reason - and Mike beside her, back leaning against Will’s couch.
“Assholes.” Dustin spat, shaking his head. Ever since Hellfire ended, he’d had a particular disliking to that genre of person. Popular. Notorious within the very small community of Hawkins High.
Max made a noise of agreement from the other side of the basement. “Yeah. Assholes.” She concurred. “Y’know, Will, they probably couldn’t say anything. I’d be surprised if they had even a basic grasp of the English language-“
The party all shared a laugh at that - apart from Lucas, who nudged Max’s side and said something about not all jocks being that bad.
“Do you think you’ll manage to fix the painting?” Came El’s curious voice from below him. She looked really concerned: she always did when Will was upset.
He sighed, both hands moving to grasp his hot cocoa. He thought about how long it took him to mix the perfect shade of gold paint, how he spent ages trying to get the shape of the chalice just right…
“I’ll probably have to start again.” He admitted sadly.
The rest of the party looked on at him with sympathy. He got a few words of encouragement, saying how talented he was, that he’d recreate it again with no problem, and that Mrs. Mac’s art show should be a piece of cake…
It wasn’t long before things moved on. They were all tucked up watching a movie - some Sci-Fi flick that Steve had let Dustin borrow.
Will tried to relax - he did - but he couldn’t shake a particularly restless feeling. He could still remember the way those girls looked at him as they walked past him on the floor: knocked over. Pathetic. Alone.
He didn’t notice that he’d zoned out - staring at one particular spot on the floor, unblinking - until Mike nudged gently at his arm.
You okay? He mouthed silently.
Will shifted slightly under his blanket, before nodding with a tight-lipped smile. Hopefully, it was enough to be believable. He didn’t want to distract Mike from the movie.
Mike’s eyes lingered on him for a minute: concerned. Skeptical. Like he was trying to see through Will; see through the facade he was putting on so dismissively. That was until something exciting flickered on the TV screen, tearing his gaze away. Leaving Will alone again.
It was a couple of hours later when, one by one, everyone started drifting off to sleep. The static of the TV stayed on; a little bit of white noise - little bit of light - made the dark seem less foreboding. Less like the memories they all wanted to forget.
Will was the last one to sleep. He always was - always had been, ever since him and the boys were all kids. Now, years later, when sleep finally came over him, it was plagued with horrors. The type of horrors that would make Will shiver when he remembered them the following morning, hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Tonight, it was one of those nightmares that had him suddenly awake: eyes wide open, his chest painfully tight.
The floor of Castle Byers was damp and horribly cold, even with his jacket on. He twitched and spasmed as he shivered feverishly, muttering The Clash lyrics under his breath like salvation.
He looked around the room as he tried desperately to suck down air into his lungs, his breaths laboured and wheezing.
A screech - the same screech he heard almost every night - rattled the planks of wood on the walls, threatening to leave them to splinters. He was about to get up: to turn and run out and never look back, until the door slammed open.
He knew how this ended. It was the Demo. There for him. There to take him to Vecna, to steal his life away.
Only, this time…
His eyes snapped up to the door, vision blurry, only to find himself looking back at him. Eyes blazing, hands clenched into fists. He was the monster. He was the monster…
Will rushed out of the basement without another thought, stumbling up the stairs as his throat seized up.
…
The Wheeler’s lawn was pristine. Pristine enough to see the moon’s reflection on the water droplets scattered on the grass, still fresh from the sprinkler. Will leaned against the front porch’s fence, staring blankly at the quiet cul-de-sac that it overlooked.
The fresh air always managed to calm him down. Brought him back into reality. The air in the Upside Down was never this clean.
He didn’t know what time it was: probably some ungodly hour which meant that it wasn’t worth him trying to get back to sleep. He may as well stay up now; instead of waking up everyone else in the basement by walking back down those creaky stairs.
He was lost in his own thoughts for what seemed like forever; until he heard the front door open and close quietly behind him. He turned around, surprised that someone else would be awake at such a time. However, when he saw who it was, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest:
Mike walked across the front porch and stood next to him wordlessly, leaning against the fence, mirroring Will’s position.
For a long while they were silent. Comfortably so. Enjoying the stillness of the night; basking in what had surmounted to be a lifetime of mutual understanding. Not needing words to explain themselves.
Mike’s voice was light when he eventually spoke up:
“How are you not freezing out here?”
He likes it cold.
Will replied in a mumble. “…used to it, I guess.”
Mike made a short hum in response, before things were silent again. Will felt himself zoning out again, fixated on a tree in the distance, until he felt Mike’s shoulder bump against his lightly.
“How bad was it this time?” He asked, his voice lowering to a careful murmur. His head was turned to face Will, his face suddenly so close that Will could see the individual freckles on it.
Will allowed himself to look for just a fleeting moment, until he pried his eyes away. “The same.” He admitted quietly.
Mike nodded, arms crossing over themselves in a hugging motion to keep himself warm. “It get you?”
Will was silent.
He pictured his own eyes, wide and frightening, staring down at him in disgust. In fear.
His hands curled into fists.
“Something like that.” He whispered finally.
Mike’s brows furrowed. He looked at Will with a mixture of confusion and worry. “What do you mean?”
Will’s stomach furled unpleasantly and he looked away, fear seizing him. His nightmares were concerning enough, but this one? He didn’t want to know what it meant.
He swallowed thickly. “It’s… nothing. Don’t worry.”
“Will.”
The tone of Mike’s voice made him turn around again. It was probing, insistent - but in a way that Will couldn’t refuse, even if he tried. In that soft, quiet way that Will found himself replaying in his mind late at night.
“You can talk to me.”
There was a beat of silence. Will’s heart stuttered in its rhythm.
“You can always talk to me. About anything.”
Not about anything.
Sighing heavily, Will tried to gather his thoughts. His head felt like a mess: a sea of interlocked memories, flashes of that nightmare still replaying in the background.
“I…” He began, his throat feeling tight again. He glanced at Mike, who was just looking at him. With all the patience in the world. Waiting.
He took a deep breath.
“I…I was in Castle Byers. Like normal. It was cold, and wet…” He started, heart thumping in his chest as he recalled the image. “Then I heard the noise. The noise the Demo makes before it chases me. But…”
His gaze flitted to Mike’s again, who only nodded encouragingly, eyes impossibly soft.
“It… wasn’t the Demo this time, Mike, it was…” His voice broke. “Me?”
Mike’s face contorted. Will’s stomach churned with nausea.
“And… and I don’t know what that’s meant to mean! And, I… I just want this all to be fucking over, just…”
He hadn’t notice his breaths turning heavier until Mike’s hand was at his back, steady and warm. Like a lifeline.
“Shh, shh… You’re okay. You’re here now, Will. You’re back, it’s okay…” Came Mike’s voice: steadying him, telling him to breathe. His hand rubbed at Will’s back soothingly.
Slowly, his breaths evened out. Arm braced against the fence, holding him up, he began to get to grips with himself.
He took a few deep breaths in, hand on his chest. Steady. Stabilising.
“Hey.” Mike spoke then, his hands now coming up to grasp Will’s shoulders.
Will’s eyes widened a fraction, head still a little fuzzy.
“You don’t have to know what it means, yeah? Hell, it might not mean anything.”
Will let out a light scoff, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. Mike mirrored it, the moonlight catching on the side of his face beautifully.
“I’m serious. Stop overthinking. Okay?”
Will responded with a barely-there nod, only for Mike to shake him jerkily by shoulders. Will let out a small yelp, smile widening.
“Okay?” Mike repeated expectantly, looking at Will with a teasing grin.
“Okay, okay. Jeez.” Will chuckled, rolling his eyes.
There was a pause when Mike’s next words seemed to die in his throat, because he just stared at Will. Stared at Will with so much affection in his eyes. Said nothing.
The feeling that Will got in that very moment could override any other nightmare he would ever have. He wanted to paint it, somehow. Capture it on a canvas forever.
His heart leapt up in his throat as Mike stepped closer, the wooden planks of the Wheeler’s front porch squeaking under his feet.
His hands lingered on Will’s shoulders, unmoving. Will’s hands felt limp at his sides.
“Crazy together, right?” Mike whispered into the night.
And Will’s heart soared.
“Crazy together.”
The front door opened with an unpleasant squeak, the clattering of its shutting making both Mike and Will jump.
“Mike? What are you doing out here?“
The sound of Eleven’s voice was like a needle to a bubble, popping whatever blanket of warmth was around the two of them.
Mike stepped back from Will a bit too suddenly, hands quickly detaching themselves off of his shoulders. The coldness that followed made Will want to shrink in place.
“Oh.” He responded, voice oddly strained as he looked over at El awkwardly. “Just checking in on Will. Getting some fresh air, that’s all.”
Eleven looked between Will and Mike confusedly, before her eyes lingered on Will. Her expression softened. “Oh. Are you alright, Will? Another bad dream?”
Will bristled. Cleared his throat. “Y…Yeah. I’m okay now, though. Thanks.” He stammered awkwardly.
Still not convinced, Eleven simply smiled supportively and nodded. “Okay, well… are you coming back down, Mike? You can’t stay out here all night.”
She looked at Mike expectantly. Like a girlfriend would look at a boyfriend, Will supposed. Normally.
So why did it make Will feel so suddenly cold?
Mike nodded in response, before hurrying over to El. Without hesitation.
He spared Will a fleeting glance.
“Will you, um… be alright out here? On your own?” He asked hesitantly, something inscrutable in his eyes.
Will’s heart seemed to drop. On his own. Just when he was beginning to think maybe be was done with being alone.
His mind fought with him: he couldn’t ask anyone for anything else. Not after all the trouble he’s caused. The trouble he’s caused for everyone.
Especially Mike.
He mustered up the best smile he could manage and gave the couple a sure nod.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” He reassured shortly, his voice wavering just a tad. “You guys have fun.”
Eleven smiled back, but Mike… looked reluctant. Like he was this close to changing his mind. Staying with Will.
Until… he grabbed El’s hand and reached for the door.
“Night, Will.” He spoke, his voice oddly flat.
Eleven bade him a cheerful goodnight, before they shut the door, leaving Will alone. To his own devices. To those nagging, awful thoughts that couldn’t even seem to leave his mind, even if he tried. And he’d tried.
It was in that quiet, lonely darkness when Will thought that the Upside Down didn’t seem too bad anymore.
…
Music was always an escape for Will.
Music was the one thing that kept him going when he was trapped in the Upside Down. What comforted him in the aftermath. Music was the thing that brought him and Jonathan closer together when Lonnie was near leaving.
And then they figured out that music could actually save someone’s life - could defeat Vecna. It was then that Will the Wise knew that magic was real.
This music, though? It was magic’s antithesis.
Sat in the passenger seat of Mike’s car, Will was looking out the window, trying desperately to ignore whatever emotionless drab Mike had playing over the stereo.
“How can you listen to this stuff?” He mumbled, giving Mike an incredulous glance.
Mike scoffed, eyes still on the road. “What? It’s catchy!” He insisted, eyes still on the road as he took the next left towards the school.
“Catchy…” Will replied mockingly, causing Mike to roll his eyes. Will cracked a smile.
“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that bullshit. This is way better than that garbage you and Jonathan like-“
“Hey!”
“-what is it? Talking Faces, or whatever-“
“Talking Heads, Mike.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” He responded, waving a hand dismissively. Will’s smile widened at the way his lips pursed in disgust. “Phil Collins is way better.”
Will just looked at him then, scandalised. He’d definitely be telling Jonathan about this later.
He shook his head, in disbelief, turning back to look out of the window.
“El likes this sort of stuff, too. Can’t believe you put her on it.” He scoffed.
“I didn’t really put her on it. She got it off the radio,” Mike explained defensively. “I just… encouraged it.”
Will rolled his eyes. He really should’ve shown El his music first whilst he had the chance. “How are things between you guys, anyway?” He then asked, trying to make conversation but regretting his choice of words immediately.
Mike instantly went silent - which Will knew was a bad sign. He could see the way Mike’s jaw clenched, how his hands tightened on the steering wheel. They must’ve argued at some point between now and the sleepover.
That should’ve been a bad thing, surely, but Will found himself taking a sort of sick satisfaction in it.
Mike huffed unpleasantly. “Fine, I guess. She was just… on my ass again last night. Wouldn’t leave me alone.”
The car stopped at a red light as Will shot Mike a confused glance. Mike didn’t look back.
“Why?” He asked curiously.
Mike looked down. “A lot of stuff. She thinks I don’t love her - still - because we don’t spend enough time together, I guess?”
Will inwardly scoffed.
“She just she thinks we’re spending too much time with the party. Instead of as a couple, I mean.”
Will’s expression faltered. For some reason, that had something inside him twisting: something deep-seated and ugly.
“Oh.” He reacted, brows furrowing. The light then turned green and they drove on, nearing the school. “I… do you agree?”
Mike gave another frustrated huff, before shrugging dismissively. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know anymore. Maybe.”
Spending too much time with the party. Will mulled that over in his head: analysing it, picking it apart. Was spending time with your friends such a bad thing?
Will then realised that statement was so incredibly ironic, because it used to be the other way around:
It was the summer of ‘85. Starcourt had just opened and The Gate had just been closed for the first time. Dustin was away at camp, but the party were still having the summer of their lives - albeit without him.
Will remembered it fondly. It was one of the only summers in his life where he’d felt normal. Normal enough to hang out with his friends and not be worried about the world ending. Normal enough to not feel like a freak for once.
It was the summer of ‘85 and they were going to the theatre in Starcourt for the first time. Will remembered being so excited he could barely sleep the night before. The only ever theatre he’d been to up until this point was the old, beat-up one on Hawkins High Street.
They had found their seats, grabbed their popcorn and everything - when one of them realised that Mike and El were late. It was the first day that that sort of thing had happened.
It happened plenty of times after that. That seemed to be the common denominator of the summer of ‘85. It was like both of them had discovered kissing for the first time.
Present-tense Will inwardly grimaced. He never liked to the think about Mike and El like that for too long. It had something angry and green festering inside of him: something he hated acknowledging unless he had to.
They’d spent an hour at that theatre - an hour into whatever movie they were seeing - when Mike and El crept in. Giggling. Holding hands. Giving out half-assed apologies.
The whole of the party were disappointed, but Will just remembered being mad. So mad that he couldn’t look at either of them for the rest of the day.
The whole summer seemed to carry on like that. Being stood up and disappointed. He’d never felt further away from his best friend in his whole life.
And, honestly?
Things hadn’t really been the same since.
California had just made it worse, too.
They weren’t really as close anymore: not like when they were kids. They didn’t finish each other’s sentences or play make-believe like they used to.
Sure, things weren’t necessarily bad, but… their friendship just wasn’t the same anymore.
Which hurt. It hurt because Will yearned. Yearned so childishly for a connection like that again. A connection where he could just be himself - with no pretences, no expectations. A connection with Mike.
A connection, and…
“Hey, Will? We’re here, man. You zoned out for a sec.”
Will shook himself, suddenly flustered. “Oh. Yeah, sorry…”
He ignored the awful, gnawing feeling in his stomach - something akin to a tremendous guilt - and simply smiled awkwardly.
He mumbled something about being tired before getting out and grabbing his bag from the trunk. He ran a hand down his face, sighing. Mike got out of the car, too, following Will into school.
“Hey, are you, uh…” He began.
Mike glanced at him.
“My- my art show. On Thursday. Are you still coming?”
Mike’s brows furrowed. “‘Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” He scoffed, like it was obvious. “Isn’t the whole party coming?”
Something in Will relaxed. Of course he was still coming. It was alright.
“Yeah. Yeah, I just… wanted to check.” He responded quietly.
Mike made an absentminded hum.
Walking through the doors of Hawkins High, they headed down the corridor and towards their first class. Things had fallen quiet. Will found himself clutching his backpack a little tighter.
Mike must’ve noticed, since he nudged Will gently. “Hey. I’m excited to see it.” He murmured, breaking the silence.
“You are?”
“Yeah, man! I mean, I love your art. It’s awesome,” Mike went on. “That last one you did, with the castle, and stuff? It was cool as fuck.”
Will laughed a little, embarrassed, as he felt his cheeks reddening. “Mike…”
“I’m being serious! Seriously, Will. This art show is gonna be fucking sick. Trust me.”
Will scoffed, pushing him through the doors of their classroom.
…
The day of the art show came by worryingly fast. Thankfully, Will had managed to get his works done on time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t stressed.
Things had to be perfect. He was one of the very few people in Hawkins High chosen for this show - plus, it seemed like his entire family were coming. Well, his mom, Hop, Jonathan, El… and the party.
So, yeah. His entire family.
He’d just finished setting up his exhibition - which filled an empty classroom - when he heard the familiar cooing of his mom’s voice.
“Will!” She gasped, walking in through the door and gaping at the artwork scattered around the room. “This, wh- this is incredible!”
Jonathan and Hop filtered in behind her, leaving Will to stand there awkwardly as they took it all in.
“I… thanks.” He responded quietly, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.
In all fairness, he was really proud of his exhibition. It was made up of all his best pieces that he’d done in the last couple of months: most of them watercolour, a few acrylic, even some sketches from his notebook as well.
“Seriously, kid. Wow.” Hop chimed in, eyes catching on a large canvas towards the back of the room, where Will had painted a watercolour piece of a knight, clad in full medieval armour. “This is what you’ve been holed up in your room doing these past few months?”
Will huffed a laugh. “I mean, I guess, yeah-“
“Look at this one!” Joyce gasped, pointing to another canvas, this time of an archer on horseback. “Oh, Will. Honey, this is amazing. We’re so proud of you.”
Will, overwhelmed, only blushed. Sat himself down atop an empty desk. “Thanks, mom.”
Joyce then came over and embraced him, kissing his temple repeatedly, causing him to made a protesting noise and pull away.
“Picture! You need a picture! Jonathan?” She then declared, turning to Jonathan who, to Will’s dismay, was wearing his camera around his neck.
“Oh, you’re kidding.” Will deadpanned, looking to Jonathan for help.
His brother merely shrugged. “Sorry, dude. Duty calls.” He agreed slyly, smirking as he readied up the camera.
Joyce then spent about five minutes telling him exactly where to stand, where to put his arms, how to smile-
“Relax your face, honey! Oh, and scooch over to the left, you’re blocking that canvas-“
“Arms by your sides. Wait, no. On your hips. That’s better.” Jonathan chimed in, squinting through the camera lense.
“Kill me.” Will muttered under his breath, earning a quiet snort from Hopper. Joyce gave him a pointed stare.
The camera’s flash made him squint. He’d definitely just ruined that photo, but at least it was over. Just as Jonathan was bugging him to take another one, he heard stampeding footsteps approach the classroom door.
“Byers!” Dustin hollered, seemingly announcing the party’s arrival. They came hurrying in one by one, jaws hanging open as they caught sights of Will’s art.
Hop muttered something under his breath and Jonathan barked a laugh as they quickly filtered out of the room, along with Joyce. Leaving Will alone with his friends.
Choruses of holy shit and you painted this? ensued, causing Will to smile so much his cheeks hurt.
In all the excitement, however, one thing stuck out to him. Well, two things.
Mike and El weren’t there.
Face falling, he slid off the desk, heading over to the rest of the party.
“Guys. Where are El and Mike?” He asked, confused. He tried to ignore the incoming sense of dread he felt, of betrayal.
“Oh. I dunno. They said they were gonna head over by themselves at some point. We haven’t seen them.” Dustin provided, shrugging.
They must’ve sensed Will’s dismay, his panic, because Max set a gentle hand on his arm.
“Hey. It’s alright, they’ll probably be here in just a second. Maybe Mike’s getting gas, or something.” She reassured kindly, giving Will a hopeful smile.
Will exhaled shortly. He nodded, agreeing with Max. Wanting to agree with Max. He just… couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
“Oh my God. How long did it take you to do this, man?” Exclaimed Lucas, pulling Will out of his spiral. He was gesturing towards a particularly intricate sketch of a hand holding a dagger, ripped straight out of Will’s sketchbook.
“Oh, like… an hour, I think?”
“Bullshit. That did not take you an hour!” Dustin protested, causing Will to splutter and argue back weakly. Max chimed in, and then they were all talking over each other wildly.
It wasn’t long before he was pulled into some easy, mindless conversation, mostly about how long it took him to pain different things, what inspired him…
The sun was setting outside, and yet Mike and El were nowhere to be seen.
…
It had been over two hours since the beginning of the exhibition when Mike showed up. The rest of the party had left, understandably so, leaving Will alone. Waiting.
He’d just begun cleaning up when he heard the door open behind him with a silent creak.
Mike walked in quietly, shutting it behind him. He looked pale - paler than usual - like he’d just seen a ghost.
He took a shaky inward breath. “Will, I-“
Will let out a long, tired sigh and turned away, irritation already roaring to life inside of him. He busied himself by stacking his canvases.
Mike faltered behind him, hesitating. “Look. I’m sorry, man, okay? I just… lost track of time.”
Will froze.
“Lost track of time?” He repeated slowly, turning around to face Mike incredulously.
Mike’s eyes widened in what looked like panic, seemingly regretting his choice of words immediately. “No, I- Not like that, I mean-“
He sighed, his hands coming up to fist in his own hair. He was clearly growing flustered, apologetic. He looked at Will despondently.
“I just… I couldn’t just get up and leave. We were having a really great time, and El really wanted me to stay-“
Will’s heart sunk so far it might as well have hit the floor. So he was with El.
Silent, Will stayed turned around so that his back was facing Mike. He couldn’t look at him. Not now.
Mile continued on, trying to salvage whatever excuse this was. “Remember what I told you? In the car? She’s been on my ass for ages, saying how we need to spend time together-“
“On the night of my art show?” Will spoke up in a quiet mumble, voice cutting through the thick air, cutting Mike off.
Mike was appropriately silent. Uncomfortably so. Will felt like he was suffocating, or halfway there in throwing himself out of the window and running.
Mike hesitated, swallowing thickly. “I… Yeah.”
Will’s heart shattered a fraction. Sunk even deeper, somehow.
“It just so happened to be tonight, yeah. But, I… the-the rest of the party were there, right? And your family?”
But I wanted you there.
The words were on the tip of Will’s tongue, but he felt too frozen to say anything. Like if he did say anything, it wouldn’t come out in the way he wanted it too. Or at all.
Noticing Will’s blatant silence, Mike inched forward, footsteps echoing in the quiet classroom.
“Will. Talk to me, man. I’m really sorry-“
“It’s fine, Mike.” Will’s voice was shaky when he forced the words out, bitter yet somehow still calm. Hanging on by a thread. He turned around, giving Mike the best smile he could right then. “I’m glad you and El had a nice time.”
Mike’s face fell. “Will…”
He cut Mike off. “I wanna be on my own right now,” He muttered, throat constricting. “So can you just go? Please?”
It was Mike’s turn to look hurt, now. Like he’d been stabbed. Relenting, his arms fell to his sides, limp. He looked at Will, an inscrutable glint in his eye, before he reluctantly turned on his heel and left.
As soon as the door shut, Will let out a shaky exhale. His head fell forward, resting in his hands as he began to spiral uselessly.
He’d been with El. The whole time. Was it just an impromptu hang out? Or…
Had he been planning it the whole time? Lying to Will by saying he’d show up?
Will’s heart shattered by another fraction. So much for friends don’t lie.
He imagined Mike and El - in the back of Mike’s car, or something - without a care in the fucking world. Watching the minutes tick by, knowing they’d miss Will’s exhibition, but not even giving a shit anyway.
Not wanting to cry, Will numbly began stacking his canvases again, gently taking his sketches off of the walls. He had no idea how he’d carry all of this home, maybe he’d call Jonathan…
“Excuse me? Mrs. Mac needs everyone to clear out in the next ten minutes or so.”
The unfamiliar voice made Will jump. He instantly was pulled out of his own head, reality sobering him up a little.
He turned around, only to be met with a face he vaguely recognised.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. I’m just cleaning up. I won’t be long.” He responded with a tight-lipped smile, his voice a little hoarse.
“That’s fine, there’s no rush or anythi- oh wow.”
Will turned around, confused as to why the guy would cut himself off so suddenly. His heart skipped a beat, however, when he saw him gaping at the remaining artwork on the walls in, what looked like, complete awe.
He vaguely pointed to the few remaining canvases on the walls, before glancing back down at Will, incredulous. “These are your works?”
Will blushed. “I… yeah. They’re mine.”
The guy only smiled as he stepped further into the room, beginning to walk around and admire the pieces around him. Will stopped cleaning up, his heart beating oddly fast as he just stood there and watched him.
He’d seen the guy around before, but only in passing. He was Will’s age - a junior, as well, he figured. As a silence fell between the two of them, Will managed to get a good look at him:
He looked like the type of person Jonathan would try to be friends with, but fail miserably. His floor-length jacket caught Will’s eye immediately, a nice black leather material. His hair was shaggy and all messed up and holy shit, was that eyeliner?
“Will Byers, right? You’re in my art class.” He suddenly stated, causing Will to look away quickly and clear his throat.
“That’s me.” He responded with a slight stammer, choked and awkward as hell.
The guy turned around and smiled at him. The look in his eyes made Will’s heart race again. “I thought I recognised you. I’m Marcus.”
Marcus.
Will opened his mouth to respond, but Marcus cut him off as he stepped closer to examine a pile of Will’s sketches. “I really like the theme you’ve got going here. Inspired by the Hobbit, or something?”
“I, uh…” Will stammered, eyes stuck on the contours of Marcus’ face, the way his hands flitted so gently through those precious sketches. Nervous, Will swallowed his pride and stuttered: “D-Dungeons and Dragons, actually.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.”
Will blinked. He would’ve expected Marcus to laugh, or give him a backhanded comment, or something. Everyone knew you were weird for liking D&D, especially since the whole Hellfire fiasco last year. He remembered the boys telling him all about it almost as soon as he got back from California.
But Marcus just… accepted it. Seemed cool with it, even.
Will cleared his throat. “You, um, got your own exhibition?”
Marcus smiled to himself, still fixated on Will’s sketches. “Yeah. I’ve just cleared it up, though. You’d be welcome to see it otherwise.” He then glanced up at Will, a playful glint in his eyes. “It would’ve been cool to have a prodigy critique my work."
Prodigy?
Will felt himself blushing again, so much so that he scoffed awkwardly and looked down at his shoes. He didn’t quite know how to stand, either, so he just crossed his legs and leaned back against the desk behind him.
“I- Come on, I’m hardly a prodigy.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re the best artist I’ve ever seen. No doubt about that.”
Now Will really didn’t know what to say. Hell, he’d just met this guy.
He looked up at Marcus, only to be met with an intense, quiet stare. The kind that made Will’s stomach flip.
“…thank you.” He responded quietly.
Marcus’ smile widened and he looked away.
“C’mon, Da Vinci. Let me help you clean up.”
And so he did.
It wasn’t long before Will’s things were stacked neatly into piles, ready to be transported into Jonathan’s car.
“You got a lift home?” Marcus asked, just before he left. And it was just that one simple gesture that had Will blushing again.
“Um… yeah. My brother’s bringing his car.”
Marcus nodded. “Good. Didn’t want to leave you stranded, or anything.”
Will huffed a laugh, looking down at his shoes once more. Marcus then fell silent, and when Will looked up he was giving him one of those stares again.
“I’ll see you around, Will Byers.”
It was only when Jonathan was driving him home that he realised, suddenly, that he wasn’t even thinking about Mike anymore.