Chapter Text
Will stood outside Hawkins High by the bikes and let out a deep, long-awaited exhale.
“Wait, Will is going to enrol back in? With us?” Mike questioned as he unintentionally dropped his fork, but his tone, in a way, sounded rather disbelieving.
Joyce, with a soft expression, turned to Karen and then to Will, “Well, Mike, you don’t expect him to stay at home uneducated and behind, do you?”
After the magnitude 7.6 “earthquake” that left Hawkins plastered with metal, the mysterious air pollution causing mandatory check-ups, Vecna’s disappearance, everything being monitored by the government, and lives lost, the Byers sought shelter under the Wheelers’ roof. They've all volunteered at shelters together, especially at Hawkins High School’s gymnasium, and it doesn't quite feel right to resume classes but here they are.
Mike shrunk.
“Well— I… just didn’t think it would…”
Will scoffed at Mike in amusement. Seriously, ever since they moved in with the Wheelers, Mike has been acting strange. Will’s happy that their friendship sort of revived itself naturally, somehow, but there was always something off about how Mike talked about Will like some… like how Joyce would but a tiny bit more protective. Like he was twelve all over again.
“It’ll be fine,” Will reassured the mouth-gapping Mike to his left.
“But…” Mike leaned closer to whisper in his ear, “I don’t think they’ve… entirely forgotten about ‘Zombie Boy,’ Will. You just came back, and I don’t want you to immediately feel… you know?”
The feel of Mike’s light breath on his ear, then blowing to his neck sent chills down his nervous system as if each part of his body could feel the same thing.
“Then I’ll get a haircut. They’ll never find out who I was,” Will said with little to no emotion and turned his head back to his plate, shoving food in his mouth.
Will understood how Mike felt about sending him back to Hawkins High School. He was a bit caught off guard as well when his mom had told him a few weeks ago, but just as Joyce had said, ‘You don’t expect him to stay at home uneducated and behind, do you?’
Holly chimed in with a smack of her book to the table, “We could go supply shopping together! I need to buy more paint anyway.”
Holly is a sweet girl.
Will adjusted his backpack that was half on and shoved his hand into his hair, consciously swooping and scrunching at the freshly cut locks. The bowl cut is gone and has been replaced with a shaggy type cut. It was the same length but now with soft layers that made his hair slightly wavy and tousled with a loose fringe that rested over and covered his forehead with an effortless look. The sides framed his face, and the back was long but not long enough to stray away. It was far from neat if you really looked at it, but that’s its charm! Or so he thought. He was originally joking about cutting his hair before school, but the night prior, when he laid down on his bed, face turned to the school bag on the floor, it just felt right to shatter the bowl. So he reached under his bed to grab a male-directed magazine and turned the pages till he was satisfied with the haircut he saw.
Yeah, it was too late for a trim at the barbers, but he could do just as good with kitchen scissors and bent over the sink, right? He draws, sketches—how hard could it be?
Will continued to play with the front of his hair, super self-conscious, but he remembered how proud he was last night in the mirror, supported by its weak bathroom glow. He needed to be fresh. Fresh in a way that got people’s attention for the right things. Confidence-boosting things. He told himself that last year, the year before, and ever since he could remember, and he would most definitely, most certainly, start off fresh this year.
He was nervous. He hasn’t seen anyone else other than Ted since he woke up because Joyce was long gone with El and Hopper, Mike had to bring Holly to elementary school, and god knows where Karen, Jonathan, and Nancy were. Ted only gave an approving nod at the new haircut. Sure. That was surely enough. If Ted liked it, maybe it proved something. Will wasn’t sure what, but it felt relieving that Ted may have liked one thing about him.
He remembers the night almost 4 years ago when he overheard Ted telling Mike This is your final sleepover with Will. Not Dustin, not Lucas, not the party as a whole, but with Will.
With one last tug at the back of his hair, Will walked up the steps to campus with the most try-hard nonchalant demeanour, which is what Dustin would’ve said if he saw him now.
Stepping in sent a chill through his body, as if a fan were right in front of him. He looked around to notice that nothing really changed that much. The walls and lockers were painted the same since middle school, jocks still walked around in green and yellow letterman jackets, girls in cute dresses and colours whispered loudly to each other, and everyone just minded their own business. Will let out a little breath of relief when no one seemed to look his direction—
BANG.
Will had accidentally slammed the door shut with an echoing clank, forgetting that he wasn’t at Lenora High, where their doors had Pneumatic Door Closers attached to the back handles. Luckily, Will didn’t jump or yell.
God, if you exist up there, or Zeus, or Bowie, or whoever—please end my misery. Strike me down right now. Quick and painless.
He was ready to hear laughter, but the group of girls nearby just looked him up and down and gave genuine smiles and giggles. One of them, eyes not leaving Will’s structure, whispered to the girl beside her who parted her lips slightly into an open-mouthed grin:
They’re making fun of me, is all Will could imagine, so he pushed himself to start walking. It’s the only reason she, all of them, we’re staring. He just stepped into school and he already drew so much attention that he wanted to melt into the ground like ice. He tried to slouch but there was just this weird voice telling him to keep his chin up and to stand up straight. So he did; one hand grabbing onto the bottom part of his backpack strap, the other moving from his pocket and up to comb his hair awkwardly, and his back straighter than a ruler. I probably look like a douche right now. I need to stop. But he stood straight anyway. The last time he’ll listen to that voice, really.
He walked to his assigned locker, biting his tongue inside his mouth. He was so nervous, but his voice kept insisting on keeping his “stable” composure stable. Will could feel eyes, everywhere—all whispering some things that sound like they weren’t supposed to be aimed at him but most definitely were.
“Who’s that?” said a girl.
“Eye candy alert, Bev,” giggled another.
“He looks… familiar,” stated a guy
But one whisper whispered louder than the others flowing into his ears.
“Whoa… when did he get hot?” asked a guy, respectfully.
Clearly a lie.
Okay, Will had to get to his locker. Right. Now.
Did they recognise him? What the hell was all of that? If he had shut the door properly and quietly, would they have still reacted this way, perhaps less intensely or with fewer stares and comments?
Will caught himself walking at an obviously faster pace with sharp turns the moment he hit the corners, when he noticed a sharp-featured, curly dark-haired boy in all black that snapped him out of his trance. But there was something a tad bit different. His curls were more defined, and he had bags under his eyes. Maybe he spent all night trying to do something different with his hair the same way Will cut his, ending in a sleepless night.
Mike, he thought. So he called.
“Mike!” Will raised a hand as he yelled loud enough for Mike to hear, but quiet enough to blend in with the chatter of the students.
But Mike didn’t even spare a reaction and kept walking in the opposite direction from Will.
Will felt a betrayed stab, and a dragging feeling of burden when he realised he might have to call out again to get Mike’s attention.
“Mike!” It was a bit louder and prolonged, in hopes of getting Mike to turn around, sparing him another awkward moment.
But Mike disappeared into the corner.
Will let out a sound of pure dread. Not talking now meant they’d have to catch up at lunch because, to Will’s dismay, he shared no classes with Mike or Lucas. He was unsure about Dustin, though. Dustin hasn’t picked up his walkie when they got their schedules mailed in. Just his luck. Great.
Will walked into his first class, excited and giddy, because who wouldn’t be overjoyed to have their favourite subject, Science, as their first period on Monday morning? Who cares if he doesn’t know the teachers yet? He has a good feeling about this.
Will now hates Science.
He’s sitting there at his desk while the teacher simply keeps reading. Sir. What’s-his-name is just reading, not actually teaching. And who starts the lesson right on the first day back? No orientation, no syllabus handed out—nothing. It takes him back to his first year at Lenora. His first day at Lenora High School. They weren’t perfect, but they at least tried to make newcomers feel welcome. Maybe it was just how California was, everything seemed brighter, way more colourful. Super orange.
He looked to his left—an empty desk.
When Will looked at the seating chart arranged by random, with last names on squares indicating desks, a name piqued his interest, a name that he could hardly pronounce was supposed to be there to his left, but they weren't. Weird. Missing the first day?
He repeated the surname over and over because it was just so foreign.
Pav… something.
Second period, English, started, and he could finally calm down a bit because Mrs Moore actually introduced herself properly and gave time for everyone to go around the classroom to get to know each other.
Not before general introductions, of course.
He sat down on the desk temporarily labelled with a sticky note as “William B.” and loomed his arms over the desk, stretching them out.
Mrs Moored clapped her hands together, “Let’s get started, left to right, then right to left.”
She started calling out their names in order, starting with their first and ending with their last name, and Will didn’t really pay much attention. There was a girl up front with a The Cure t-shirt, but by vibe that Will could just sense, she had zero clue what The Cure could be and probably chose it because it was a nice purple.
The introductions neared him, and Will realised he didn’t take into account that he had to introduce himself somehow. He can’t exactly give the normal “state your name and a fun fact about yourself” introduction because, maybe, they’ll remember who Zombie Boy or who Fairy was.
He started to shake in his seat, counting all the countless reactions. He’s back, they would say. Deep down, he had hope. This was high school, not middle school, yet that was barely enough to steady his thoughts. Mike mentioned that they got bullied by being in Hell Fire in one of the many (three) letters he sent. The shaking didn’t get any better. Maybe he could continue this fake persona of being tough like earlier? At this point, he started to vibrate until he heard a tone of uncertainty in his teacher's voice.
“Boris Pavli.. Pah— uhm, Boris!” She snapped out of her conscious tone, skipping the last name.
Boris.
Will turned to the seat to his right, again, empty. Could Boris be the foreign name in Science? With wide eyes, he leaned over just a bit closer to the right to look at the sticky note on top of the table.
“Boris P.”
Will raised a brow. Two classes in a row with this guy, and for some reason, Will feels the need to know who Boris is. Aside from the foreign name, Will felt something up with this guy. Or girl. Who knows, maybe Boris is a girl—
“William Byers?”
Yeah, Iamtotallygoingtodie.
His muscles tensed the longer he took to answer, feeling like a robot trying to stand up from his seat. Will didn’t meet the teacher's eyes or anyone’s eyes for the matter; he just stared at the spaces between heads. How did he do this back at Lenora? He remembers his introduction being okay-ish, not bringing any unwanted attention or glares.
“Uhm, Hi, yeah— no, just Will is fine.” Will doesn’t see anything, but he could feel their eyes again, the same way he was being observed in the halls.
“Uh, I came in from Cali; Lenora, California only a few months ago, so… yeah.” Came in? Cali? Oh my god, shut up, Will.
“Welcome, Will,” Mrs Moore smiled softly. She must be thinking what a shame it must be to move in at a horrible time. “Moving on—“
“Miss! I have a question for Will,” raised a girl, who was looking into Will’s eyes, painfully. Will could only hold a breath for the worst. With a nod from Mrs Moore, she continued, “Is your tan natural?”
Will scrunched his nose at the odd question. His body suddenly relaxed a bit because what the hell? Out of every question—How’s life in California? What colour do you like? Why Hawkins— she asks about his tan? Does he even have one?
Looking down at his arms, he sniffled at the realisation. He did get a tan. His skin used to be as pale as Mike's, but now it's sun-kissed, a nice honey-glazed colour. California was hot, so staying pale was almost impossible.
“Uh, yeah, I guess it is,” Will said with discernment, putting his arms down and making eye contact with the girl who looked like she would take zero interest in him from the way her hair curled to how her eyeshadow displayed colours of blue, but she did. Seeing the way she looked at him, he shook out of it and immediately sat down.
“Welcome back, Will,” she grinned with a smooth voice, indicating she was satisfied with his response, for some reason.
Welcome back.
The periods after swept by fast, orientation and all, right, Sir. What’s-his-name?
It was lunch and Will could finally take a proper breath after walking on eggs shells the entire day, because in the previous year, the idea of sitting at a table with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas dug a hole of nostalgia in Will, and he couldn’t be more excited to feel that again for the first time in a year since the summer of 1985. He could feel the bright smile start to ache the moment he walked into the large cafeteria that was filling up with students of all kinds.
Will decided to wait near the entryway in hopes of catching one of his friends walking by or gathering around a lunch table. El learned the hard way that sitting alone is dangerous to the soul.
He stood by the water station a few feet away from the door, downing cups of water like it was alcohol at a senior’s party. He wasn’t feeling well. With the eyes that are peering into his soul—he doesn’t know why, but he feels like the majority of his organs were out of his control and out of his body, like they weren’t there. He was missing something, and that feeling grew worse as the day went on and realisation hit that he was in the same area where he was at his lowest, almost back to square one. The only thing that would complete his year is if someone called him an infectious queer for just being him.
People passed by, some taking a long, questionable look at him, like they were in disbelief that he was there, like he wasn’t supposed to.
Well, he is gay, but they didn’t know that. All that they knew was that he was “weaker” and “smaller” than everyone else. Suddenly, he’s a fag deserving of nothing. They called him names and slurs before he even knew himself.
Looking back to those times, Will can’t help but drown his thoughts out with water. Water heals.
But as he raises another cup, he sees in his peripheral vision a boy with dark curls walk past him on the left, brushing his shoulder against Will’s, and he immediately chokes on his water.
He reeked of smoke.
Will’s heart seemed to slow down, each beat sounding like standing ear-to-ear with a bass drum. So he quickly wiped his head, looking for a figure the same shape as the boy’s silhouette, eyes darting around the space in front of him, and he didn’t know why he was so quick to find who he assumed to be Mike. He hasn’t talked to him all day, and he guesses that maybe he needs to let out his frustrations silently by listening to Mike’s own, like always. When Will had a lot to say, Mike could tell enough for both of them. That was how it was. Finding Mike as soon as possible is what felt right—they were Mike and Will, Will and Mike, attached by the hip.
The beating got louder and faster when he spotted Mike’s handsome side view. There he is, curls flowing into place at his sides, and he loves the new look. Did he use Nancy’s product? His hair was so curly, defined–shiny. Like he could run his hair through them and there would not be a single tangle. Will took up the view; a boy who, despite standing amidst a sea of bright colours and lively patterns, stood out. His entire black outfit brought out his snow-white skin, creating a striking contrast that drew immediate attention—well, Will’s immediate attention, at least.
Mike kept on walking, not showing any acknowledgement of Will’s presence, and Will took that as a sign to toss the half-empty paper cup into the trash, to, after a moment of admiration, catch up to Mike, whose demeanour felt so off.
Mike has never mentioned wanting to dress up… grunge-like. In fact, Mike mentioned that he was “weird but not that kind of weird.” Will, as he tailed the boy, thought it looked great on him. The (hopefully unintentional) eye bags suit his new look, making his face look more ethereally pale.
Seeing that Mike had no signs of stopping, Will, without thinking entirely straight, nervously reached out and hand and began to walk faster, letting out a soft “Mike!” as he neared. His heart rate increased to speeds he couldn’t imagine, seeing how close he was to grabbing his hand—no, shoulder. Had Mike grown? He’s lankier and taller, different stride than usual. Mike walked like he didn’t belong, like always, but this sense of individuality felt different, like he was wrong.
With one last shaky breath, Will lightly laid his hand on Mike’s shoulder to stop him from moving, but not grabby enough to feel violating. The moment Will made contact, the crowd seemed to disappear, fading into the background of his heart beating loud and reverberating, how he always felt with Mike.
As Mike turned around to face him with wide, questioning eyes, Will sighed in relief, finally gaining his attention.
“Mike! Hey,” Will greeted as his hand fell from Mike’s shoulder, voice relaxed as it could be after having practised for years around Mike. “I saw you in the hallway earlier this morning, but you ignored me. I—I mean, you didn't hear me when I called out your name. What's with the new look anyway? I don't have any classes with Dustin or Lucas, and all I could think about was—” his accidental rambling was brought to a halt.
“Hold it, American,” Mike cut off Will with a weird… Slavic(?) accent and dragged a pointer finger pressed to Will’s lips.
Will’s heart jumped out of his chest. The soft but calloused finger on his lips felt so comforting and just right. The accent echoed in his ears, not wanting to let go of that voice just yet. It was a beautiful voice on Mike—
“My name is not Mike. I’m assuming you mean Mike Wheeler, no?” Not-Mike said with a smirk at the end as his finger moved up to poke at Will’s forehead multiple times.
Will blinked in confusion, the words processing at one mile per hour. It’s not that the accent was hard to understand, but the fact that Mike was saying that he wasn’t Mike. It’s so clearly Mike! Mike, right there in front of him in the flesh. It was Mike.
“…Mike?” He could only whisper-ask, even after what was said.
“Nyet,” Not-Mike huffed, as if that could explain everything.
Will stared as Not-Mike took a step back, eyebrow raised with amusement, like he was looking at a lost puppy and it honestly felt patronising to Will. And Not-Mike, noticing Will, who was still, mouth parted, and head tilted, chuckled and spoke up, Slavic accent clear and deep as day.
“Poor American. My name is not Mike Wheeler, but Bo—“
“Will!”
Explanation cut off, Not-Mike tilted over to look past Will’s head, which was the direction of the loud voice. Will followed his gaze to see Mike(?) running towards them with urgency and a bit of worry on his face. He was the same as the last time Will saw him, skin still pale but not as pale as Not-Mike, hair curly but not as curly as Not-Mike, and in his normal attire: Black jeans, a blue polo jacket, and worn-out Converse that were beyond worn out.
Seeing Mike treading towards them in what seemed to be slow motion, Will’s mind began to spin. “Mike?” He spoke, dazed and even more confused.
When Mike caught up to them, he immediately began speaking like he always did. “Will! We were looking for you this morning out by the entrance, but the bell rang before we could find you. Do you have any classes with Dustin?”
Will felt relief seeing normal Mike, the Mike he knew, talking to him, but he couldn’t help but turn his head back to the carbon copy behind him.
There was a pause of silence before a grumble came out of Mike’s mouth, like how he sounded every time Hopper told them about the Three Inches Rule or when Max had a smart comeback that Mike couldn’t beat.
“Boris,” he greeted with a hint of… frustration?
Hearing the name, Will’s eyes grew wide, and his head snapped to Mike, then to Boris. The boy who was supposedly absent for the first day of classes, the boy whose name intrigued Will’s interest to the point of daydreaming about what Boris could’ve possibly looked like, and Will honestly imagined something more… foreign. Maybe he expected a taller and platinum blond man with tough features—not Mike.
“Ah! Wheeler, my friend!” Boris walked past him to pat Mike on the back, a sight Will would—with much guilt—cherish forever. Whatever joyous expression Boris had on his face as he turned his head to Mike, Mike had the opposite, as if a fly had landed on his nose. “Apologies, sincerely, but your friend, I’m assuming, thought that I were you. Hah! Funny, yes?”
Mike had ROLLED his eyes at Boris and, with a sarcastic tone, “Yeah, thanks.” He shrugged Boris off his shoulder to face Will, and his tone changed completely. “Anyway, Will, let’s go claim a table for the party before the cafeteria fills—“
“Will? Short for William, no?” Boris had turned his attention to Will, putting the spotlight on him.
He quickly replied, still confused. Will anyone explain? “Well— yeah. Uhm, we actually share first and second period,” Will looked away.
“Really!” Boris smiled and turned to Mike, “Michael, introduce me to your friend!” he insisted.
Mike looked like he wanted to groan, but buried it anyway with a silent sigh. With an annoyed expression, he turned to Will. “Will, this is Boris.”
“Boris Pavlikovsky,” Boris interjected.
“He’s,” Mike emphasised, offended at being interrupted, “sort of my cousin.”
“Moved last year.”
Boris was an exceptional kind of beauty. A man that God—or whoever made him—took sweet time with, as if each of his features was meticulously hand sculpted by an artist that Will surely had to thank for bringing a man like this to his eyes. He was undeniably gorgeous. Standing beside Mike, Boris was tall and more out there with his lively curls and striking eyes. His open-mouthed smirk suited him so perfectly that it seemed he was fully aware of how good he looked, almost as if he enjoyed knowing it. He looked so much like Mike. Was it wrong to think that way? Probably. Still, Boris appeared more refreshed, more vibrant compared to Mike. Will found himself needing to adjust to Boris’s distinct features despite their nearly identical appearance.
“C-cool,” Will spat out after realising that he was taking too long to reply, “yeah, cool.”
Mike shot a short, unbelieving glare at Will as if to say, “What’s so cool about this guy?” And quickly turned back with his mouth open, about to say something most likely negative until a familiar voice accompanied the sound of two pairs of footsteps.
“It sucks, Dustin! There is no such thing as visiting TOO much! I just wanna see—“ Lucas was flapping his arms until both Lucas and Dustin were only a few feet away from the three of them. “Oh! Hey guys!”
“There you two are,” Dustin smiled and walked faster with Lucas trailing him. “Oh, hey, Boris!”
“Hey, Dusty,” Boris greeted back as Lucas gave a nod of acknowledgement towards him.
Will blinked at the interaction, confused why they weren’t confused.
They continued to greet each other, and Boris huffed knowing that it was time for him to leave.
“Thank you, Michael. For introducing me to your not-so-little friend,” Boris grinned, but didn’t face Mike at all, instead his entire body and eyes were facing Will intently.
Mike looked like he wanted to die and blame it all on Boris.
Boris began to walk away, only after making a noise of delight as he stepped forward into Will’s personal space, eyes peering down. Will froze under his gaze like looking into Medusa’s eyes, feeling goosebumps at the back of his neck.
It didn’t help when a cold hand brushed through his hair in swift but intimate motion, from the front of his bangs to the top of his head, not immediately taking his hand off.
“I’ll see you, yeah?” Boris almost whispered, almost sotto voce to Will, who could only hear the blood running through his cheeks as Boris continued to ruffle.
The feeling of lanky fingers against his scalp, in between sections of hair, the soft touching from a male, a cute one, felt like fireworks exploding in a box. He gets reminded of the time when his mom fixed his hair for what felt like hours before the snowball back then.
“Will! Sit still!” is what she said to little him in a scolding voice, but with the happiest and proudest expression on her face.
But the small moment of comfort ended quickly.
Boris left with a “Skoro uvidimsya!” and he faded into the crowd, Will’s head subconsciously following his figure till he disappeared somewhere.
Will felt corny. Boris didn’t even do that much, and his heart ached hard as if he’d been hit straight in the chest by an arrow—Cupid’s arrow.
So what? Will has had other tiny crushes. It’s just another one of those friendships that will never reach more than best friends. It will never reach more than best friends.
The breaking truth causes Will to turn to Mike on instinct, pained to see his soft face.
But Mike, Dustin, and Lucas all shared the same wide-eyed, realising expression, staring straight at Will.
“You cut your hair!?” The three yelled in unison.