Chapter Text
lenora hills, california was always normal for oswald. as normal as it would be for a 14-year-old ‘goth’ kid. his mom was pale, almost ghostly, and his dad had jet-black hair that stuck up everywhere, despite his attempts to trim it into control. oz inherited both of those traits, pale, dark haired, wide eyed and stuck out like a sore thumb. that’s why he was almost glad when jane byers showed up in school. angela’s sights had moved from oz to jane from the very first day she’d shown up.
he remembered it vividly.
the sunday the byers showed up started normally for oswald. up at 5am, bike to the store, collect newspapers, bike around the nearby neighbourhoods and deliver them, collect his cash, then back home. as he was pulling up to his house, he slowed, braking in front of the house that had sat empty for several months after the hargreeves family moved away.
it had a moving truck in the driveway.
he stared at it for a few moments, thumb idly pressing against the cold metal of his bike handles, before a boy stepped out of the front door. he was about oz’s age – lanky, holding himself in a way that suggested he was used to a harsh gaze on him. his eyes were red – he’d been crying. oz stared for a few moments before the boy’s gaze met his. he stiffened immediately, wiping his eyes almost furiously, grabbing a box and rushing back into the house. ‘jeez.’ oz muttered as he hopped off his bike, tossing it onto his front lawn and crossing the road, kicking loose rocks as he went. he bent down, picking up something that had fallen out the box the boy had hurried inside. it was a photo – one that had been torn in several places, then patched up again. it was clearly the boy in the middle, looking a lot younger, eyes wide, a big grin on his face as he posed with three other boys around a trophy. he didn’t realise the door had opened again as he was looking.
the picture was snatched out of his hand, and oz looked up to find the boy there again, cheeks burning red from embarrassment. ‘what are you doing?’ the boy asked, voice quiet. ‘sorry. you dropped this, so... i was going to give it back to you. chill.’ oz grumbled in return, pausing awkwardly as he tried to gauge what to say next. say something. ‘oh. i’m oswald... i live over the road, actually.’ he said, sticking his hand out awkwardly, fingers splaying. the boy just stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and quiet relief. oz’s wrist started aching from holding his hand out to him, wondering whether he should pull it back now. ‘i’m will.’ he thankfully shook oz’s hand with a clammy palm. ‘um, will byers. we just moved here from... hawkins, in indiana...’ confidence was creeping back in to the boy – will’s – voice as he seemed to realise oz wasn’t there to make fun of him. oz nodded, wracking his brain for something interesting to say. ‘oh, cool. i think.’ he said, and a smile quirked at the edge of will’s mouth. ‘it’s not that cool.’ he said, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, discomfort crossing his expression for the briefest moment.
a woman bustled out the door, stopping when she nearly ran into will, before she spotted oz, her face breaking into a kind smile. ‘oh! hello, sweetheart. i’m joyce byers.’ she said, holding out a hand for oz, who shook it enthusiastically. he could smell her hand lotion. ‘i’m oswald wilson. i live just over the road.’ he said, pointing at his house. he whipped his head back round when he spotted his dad stood on the doorstep, arms folded, waiting for oz to take the newspaper inside so he could read it with his morning coffee. ‘oh, oops..’ he raised a hand in apology, deciding to head back over to avoid making his dad more pissed off. ‘nice to meet you guys!’ he called as he turned, waving, running back to pick up his bike and grab the paper.
will byers had caught his attention the second he stepped out of his house that morning.
he seemed to be everywhere – in his math class, sitting the next table over with his sister at lunch, walking to the car after school... oz seemed to find him wherever he went. from his window, he could see the house across the street, see will in his own room, stood before an easel. he liked to paint, oz noted. he was there almost every day. oz was too far away to see the crease between his eyebrows, furrowed in concentration. but he could imagine it.
8 months passed.
oz grew – he shot up like a tree, his hair reaching his shoulders as if trying to match his upward growth. plus, he hated how it looked short. it was always much more manageable when it was longer, the messiness looking more deliberate that way. he had to throw out his whole wardrobe, nothing fit how tall he was now, riding up to his waist and straining at his shoulders, so he bought a bunch of band tees, even if his father complained about his music taste almost endlessly. it was getting harder to not be noticed by people who liked to make fun of him. this was a small town, and one with a fair few people there who hated when other people looked any different from them, acted any different from them. luckily for him, angela was still focusing on jane, which... oz did feel bad about. he knew one move to defend her and angela would snap her attention back to him. and he didn’t want that. he would rather move under the radar at school until the bullies matured enough to not care anymore.
will had changed too. he had broadened out, no longer lanky, now just tall and more solid, more like a boy his age was supposed to look, and it was getting harder to ignore him. like oz had been desperately trying to for the last eight months since will had shown up. math class was the worst of it. he was starting to actually fail it – failing math! he was good at math, so much so that he was thinking of going to college to do it. but now, with stupid will byers sat two rows in front, he wasn’t listening. wasn’t learning. he was just... looking. not that he noticed the way his back filled out the shirts he wore. or the way the sun hit his face from the window. no, oz didn’t think about that in math class. he couldn’t.
could he?
he knew what his father would think if he knew. if he was aware of the way oz thought about boys. about will. his father sat hunched by the radio, listening to a christian station that spewed nonsense about sin, about the bible, what ‘god wants’. that homosexuality is the worst thing for you to be, for your child to be. the thought made him nauseous, scared, skin prickling like electricity thrummed underneath. he felt it now, staring at the back of will’s neck, his father’s face showing disappointment in his mind. he tore his eyes away from will and looks at the near empty page in front of him.
he tugs his hair to keep his mind on track, and the bell blessedly rings. he stands, knocking over a few things in the process and quickly ducking to pick everything up, finger scraping tile as he panics, acutely aware of eyes pressing into him from all angles. don’t draw attention to yourself, a voice whispers in his head. ‘oh, hey, you dropped this.’ oz looks up, and will is there – right there, only inches away, holding a pencil. ‘thanks.’ oz manages to force out, taking it from will, praying his hands weren’t shaking too much for will to notice. his thumb brushes will’s finger, and it makes oz feel almost dizzy.
he shoves it in his bag and stands, will doing the same. ‘see you.’ oz blurts out, ducking past and walking quickly out the door, nearly bumping into will’s sister on the way. her face is blotchy from crying, eyebrows scowling, and she’s holding a diorama. he almost halts – this was presumably angela’s doing – taking a few awkward steps forwards as his brain tries to work out what he wants to do. he wants to say something, anything. so, he stumbles to a stop, taking a step back. ‘hey, you’re jane, right?’ he asks, tilting his head to the side. will walks up, stopping before jane. ‘oh, this is my sister.’ will says quickly, almost like he’s panicking too, and guilt twists in oz’s stomach. did he think oz was about to be a bully too? quickly, oz smiles at jane, and she blinks at him with glossy eyes. ‘i thought so. i’m oz, i live across the street...’ he said, holding out his hand to her, and when she just stares at it, he lets it drop to his side, fingers brushing the denim of his jeans. ‘um, you looked sad. i was just gonna ask if you were okay..?’ he asks quietly, and jane’s eyes soften slightly. ‘um... i’m alright. it’s just a tough day.’ she says, her voice gentle. will smiles beside her, a hand squeezing her forearm like he’s comforting her. ‘i think, um... i’m going to rink-o-mania tomorrow, if you wanted to join. since spring break starts tonight.’ oz said, eyes flicking to will for a moment, hope aching in his chest. he hopes it’s not obvious he’s mainly asking will to hang out with him, like he’s been wanting to ask for months. jane’s face lights up. ‘oh, really? perfect! my boyfriend’s coming to stay, he would love to go skating!’ she says, and she turns to will. ‘can we go?’
‘i can ask Jonathan...’ will replies, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. ‘he’ll say yes, he’s free tonight...’ jane replies, giving will her best puppydog eyes, and will seems to give in, sighing. ‘okay, fine...’ he said, and oz looks at him, mind racing. why did he react like that? his brain kicks into overdrive, and he feels his chest tighten.
doesn’t he want to hang out? am i being obvious?
the same fear aches in his chest again, and the walls feel tight, closing in. sinner. ‘uh, i have to go, but... 6pm, i’ll be there...’ he said, words rushed and almost breathless as he tries to play it off, waving a hand in goodbye before ducking into the crowd of people heading to outside for break, letting himself be carried away by the thrum of people.
the hot california air burned his throat as he inhaled, walking over to a bench that hugged the red brick of the school building and sitting down, running his fingers through his messy black hair, trying to get it to sit at least a little bit nicer than before, the motion calming. his breathing evened out slowly, his chest feeling less tight as he counted his breaths. in, out, in, out... just like the school councillor had told him to when he was at the worst of getting bullied, back in middle school. the ache faded, and the rest of the world faded back in, trickling back in like cracks in a dam. he was vaguely aware of shouting, a crash, commotion, and he looks up in time to see jane shout angela’s name and throw a hand out in front of her, like someone using the force in star wars. the scream that leaves her is almost guttural, like she’s forcing the anger out of her from within. obviously, nothing happens, and there’s an awful moment where everything is quiet, the calm before the storm, tension buzzing. and then everyone laughs, the sound filling the air. he can feel the vibrations from it in his shoes, the whole year pointing and laughing. jane stands in the centre of it all, her hair messy, cheeks flushed, tears in her eyes, looking horrified with herself, before scooping up her now-broken diorama and rushing away out of sight.
the laughter follows her.
oz’s gaze finds will as he stands there, looking hurt for his sister, before he turns and leaves too.