Chapter Text
William Byers was always different.
Not really from a religious household- but more of a realistic family. A shitty dad, one who cared more about gas station beer rather than his sons. A brother whose man goal is to roll up and smoke dope, and a hard-working mum who always smelt of cigarettes and sweat.
Compared to his friends, Lucas, Dustin, Mike, Robin... Will was poor. Extremely, to that matter. When others were complaining about them not getting the latest iPhone, The Byers were worried if lights would be on that week. Will had a job, Jonathan had a job, and Mrs. Byers had two. But still, were somehow, dirt fucking poor.
I think the thing that really made Will different was the fact everyone knew he was gay. And somehow, this town was stuck in the eighties. Homophobic insults were shouted at him every day, and it only got worse. As he got older people began to look at him funny. Walk away from him in locker rooms, ignore his pleaes to be recognized, anything he did to be noticed.
Mike was... different surely. A rich kid, living in upper east Hawkins. The only son, so obviously he was a tad ignored. For a rich and prissy kid, he was surely edgy. Dark black curly hair that Will constantly helped him fix, pale skin, baggy clothes and hoodies. A stark contrast from Holly and Nancy, who both wore whatever was on style.
It was strange, the was Mike was.
Anyone you met would say Mike was a incel, a loser. And not a hot loser, more like a "Holy shit, this kid actually fucking sucks and is annoying as shit." kinda loser. You barley saw him at games, if he was at a party he was always fucked up, high on whatever quick thing could get him the most fucked. Out of all kids in Hawkins (besides the jocks) Mike wheeler had been the first kid most had seen shoot up.
The room was ungodly hazy and smelt of weed and cum, not a good combo for a sickly teenager like Robin or Will. If El was there she most likely would've thrown up instantly. Will's eyes were locked on Mike as he puffed on his blunt, rotating it in his bruised hands. The taller boy stuck the needle in than pressed until it was all relived. Mike bit his lip, that was the first time half of Hawkins saw a kid shoot up.
Not a pleasant memory for Will, nor Mike for that fact.
- - - - - -
Will stood next to robin, running a hand through his wavy brown short hair. He huffed on about something, a new insult, maybe a slur he had been called? But everything changed when Mike walked over.
See, the two had been friends since the first day of kindergarten. But the problem is that Will kinda (mostly) wishes they were more. Whenever Mike whispered his name, or used a different voice to address Will, his heart fluttered.
Robin hit Wills arm softly, getting him to look at the needy Mike, who somehow always looked like a kicked puppy.
"Hey, what's up?" Will asked softly, unconsciously touching the bruises on his knuckles.
"I need to talk after school, quick." Mike explained, rubbing the back of his neck with a lengthy arm. His face was unreadable, something blocking the usual "too much" of emotion Mike shared.