Chapter Text
Hawkins in the winter feels like a land suspended in time. The streets are quiet and empty and a blanket of snow smooths over the town’s old scars, hiding the cracks in its facade. Everything looks peaceful in a way that seems rehearsed; an act to persuade others that nothing has happened, and nothing ever will.
As Will steps out of the car, the cold bites at his skin with its spindly fingers, and he feels raw and exposed. Before his first breath even has time to fully form in the air, something (or, rather, someone) is barrelling into him, nearly sending him sprawling in the snow. “Will! I missed you!”
Just like that, the world starts to move again.
“You couldn’t wait one minute until I reached the front door?” Will wheezes as El pulls back a fraction, her hands clamped on his shoulders.
“Oh Will, I have so much to tell you! Joyce is trying to teach me how to embroider and it’s awful! I did learn some new recipes, though— I made rhubarb pie! Hop says it is really good! We also started learning about statistics in class, and it is really interesting!”
“El, Will, come inside! You’ll both catch a cold!” Joyce’s voice calls from the front door, where she’s watching them with a fond smile. El’s touch is warm and familiar, and Will sinks into it with a sigh.
“I missed you too, El. I missed all you guys.”
El continues to ramble as Will stows his bag and trails into the kitchen, where the house has already begun to smell of something sweet and comforting— butter, warm spices, and herbs. Dusk has come quickly, the darkness settling outside as Joyce moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, stirring the food on the stove and setting the table (she’s taken out the good plates, in honour of them all being home).
Jonathan appears behind Will and El, “Anything we can help with, Mom?”
“Well, since you’re asking! If you could just bring in an extra chair from out back. We’re one short in here,” Joyce says as she straightens, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the stove. Her eyes twinkle as she takes in the three of them standing at the doorway, “Oh, I’m so happy to have all my kids here for the winter. I missed seeing you together.”
Jonathan ruffles both Will and El’s hair, much to the latter's discontent, before going to fetch the chair. The table is set for five, and it still takes Will by surprise to see it. To see everyone sitting at this table, healthy and alive. His family. He takes the chair Jonathan brings in, a little shorter than the rest, and El climbs into the one next to him, swinging her legs.
“I helped,” she announces proudly, gesturing at the spread on the table.
At the head of the table, Hopper grins at her, “You mean you watched as Joyce and I cooked.”
“I stirred! And I tasted,” El counters before tacking on, as though it was the least impressive part, “And I made the pie.”
“That you did,” Joyce says placatingly, “Wait till you try it, Will, El has really improved since her Eggo days.”
Their conversation is slow and comfortable. El talks about her classes at the community college, Hopper asks questions about Will’s first semester, Joyce gives advice. Here and there Will adds a comment and answers a question, nodding along when he thinks it’s appropriate. The conversation is slow and comfortable, sure, but Will feels his body hum with a restless energy.
Even though he laughs at the right moments, being back in Hawkins makes his shoulders stay tense, as though he is bracing for something unnamed. There’s comfort in the presence of old habits here, but something about it makes him speak a little too fast, prepare himself to get up and run back to New York. Except… his fork pauses in midair as he remembers the fiasco he faced before leaving New York.
A knee presses against his under the table, and he turns to see Jonathan looking at him quizzically. Will simply shakes his head, nudging him back as an appeasement and bringing the fork to his mouth just as El redirects the conversation to him,
“Also, Will, Dustin wants us to come over to his house tomorrow. He says he wants to ‘get the band back together’ and has a lot of new movies for us to watch.”
Will just looks at her for a second. Get the band back together. That would mean that everyone would be there. That would mean that—
“As long as you’re back at a reasonable time,” Hopper looks pointedly at Will, “And I don’t care what odd times you’re running around in New York. Here, you’ll follow the rules of the house.”
“I don’t see you enforcing any curfew for Jonathan,” Will retaliates, which Hopper chooses to ignore.
“He’s tried,” Jonathan laughs as Joyce brings the pie, still steaming, from the oven, “and quickly realised I’m not worth the effort.”
Hopper flicks a bit of whipped cream in Jonathan’s direction, to which Joyce lets out a fond reprimand. El laughs raucously, already reaching out her fork for dessert before it’s been set down. They fall into the familiar rhythm of being a family, and Will tries to push down his restlessness. For now, in Hopper’s cabin, he’s safe, secluded.
The next afternoon, Will pulls his coat snugly around his body as he steps out into the quiet. Dinner the previous night had been nice, and as El had clambered into his bed after lights were out to tell him about the new comic Max had shown her, he had finally felt some of the tension dissipate from his bones.
Though he still buzzes with excitement at the thought of seeing his friends again, the familiar tightness in his chest has returned. The snow crunches under his boots and he stops for a second, daring to acknowledge the thought that had been plaguing him since El had told him their plans: Mike’s going to be there.
“Don’t be stupid,” he murmurs to himself, because obviously Mike was going to be there. “Just… act normal. It’s a normal night.” He exhales slowly, his lips already chapped from the cold, “Just friends hanging out.”
“Ready?” El bounds out from the door behind him.
“Please be careful on the roads, and say hello to the kids from me!” Joyce yells out in goodbye as they mount their bikes, and Will smiles a little,
“Of course, let’s see what movies Dustin has in store for us.”
When they finally reach Dustin’s house, Will has to pry his numb fingers from the bike handles. El is shivering so intensely as they throw their bikes onto the lawn that he crosses over and pulls her under his arm, trying to rub warmth into her arms. “Maybe we should have asked Jonathan to drive us,” she says through chattering teeth, and Will huffs out a laugh.
The door flies open to reveal Dustin, his face alight with a grin so bright it’s almost blinding. “Byers! He returns!”
El immediately pushes past him to get to the warmth and safety of the house, while Will is engulfed in a hug. “I missed you too, Dustin,” he manages to get out, though Dustin seems to be doing his best to suffocate him. “How’s MIT?”
“Dude, let’s not talk about school right now, everyone’s waiting for you!” Dustin drags him inside, barely giving Will the time to take off his shoes before he’s ushering him toward the living room. Sounds of laughter, chatter, and the familiar chaos of the group greet him and, as he turns the corner, there they all are. El is already making herself comfortable by squeezing between the armrest of the couch and Max, who is teasing Lucas about something. They all look up as Will appears, but Will’s eyes immediately lock on one person and his heart lurches.
Mike is already looking at him. He’s seated on the floor in front of the couch, close enough to the fireplace that his dark eyes flicker against the light of the flame. His hair is longer than Will remembers, barely contained curls tumbling over his forehead like a waterfall. The air feels thick and much, much too warm.
It’s just Mike. Your best friend, Mike. Your best friend Mike who you’ve barely talked to in the months since you got a boyfriend even though you swear nothing has changed between you two. That Mike. Will fights through the dryness in his throat and the clawing urge to bolt, dragging his gaze away. “Hey,” he forces out, and Dustin is pushing him toward the couches.
“Will the Wise!” Lucas shouts, nearly spilling his popcorn as he pulls Will down into a hug. Will can see Mike smiling up at him from his position on the floor, “Man, you look amazing! I guess a change in scenery did you good!”
“Thanks Lucas,” Will says shyly, and he hears a faint voice from below him,
“You do look good,” Mike agrees quietly, and Will stares for a second, a knot tightening in his stomach. He just smiled in response.
The opening credits of some movie is already playing on the TV, and Dustin pulls Will’s arm to get him to sit down between him and Mike on the floor. “Get over here, man, you’re missing the best part!”
“Dustin, the movie has just started,” Will rolls his eyes. His voice is lighter than he feels, especially as his knees brush against Mike’s. He tries to pretend that his breath doesn’t hitch, that he doesn’t feel like an electric current just shot up his leg where their bodies touched. Of course he had to be seated right here, sandwiched between Dustin and Mike, packed so tightly that he could hear Mike’s breathing if he listened. Not that he’s doing that, of course.
“What movie are we even watching?” Max asks, leaning forward to pass a can of beer to Will, who takes it quickly, grateful to be given something to do with his hands.
“Honey, I Shrunk the Kids,” Dustin replies seriously around a mouthful of popcorn. It’s snowing again, and Will can see as the snowflakes whirl and dance against the frosted windows. “It’s new.”
Within half-an-hour, nobody (apart from El) is really watching whatever Rick Moranis is murmuring on the TV. Rather, Dustin is in the middle of a rant about his finals week and, when it seems like he isn’t about to pause anytime soon, Max chucks a throw pillow at him in order to get him to stop for a breath. Will laughs at their antics; he’s a few beers in and there’s a pleasant buzzing in his brain that prevents all his heavy, painful thoughts from rearing their ugly heads.
“It’s funny,” El giggles, her eyes bright as she watches the shrunken children dodge towering blades of grass on the TV, “They’re very small.”
“Well, that’s kind of the point,” Lucas replies. “They’re shrunk.”
Finally pulled away from his rant, Dustin rounds on Will, “So, Will! How is, um… what’s-his-name?” He snaps his fingers as he tries to remember, “Cameron? Carson?”
“Carlton,” Will corrects, an air of dejection creeping into his voice. He immediately sees how everyone leans forward, barely hiding their curiosity. Blood-thirsty sharks, he thinks with amusement.
Will had never explicitly shown any romantic interests growing up, so when the Party had visited him in the early weeks of their semesters at university, he had been excited to tell them about the boy he had already met and was interested in. When he did tell them, it might as well have been the same as dropping a bomb on them.
They had pelted him with questions and teasing comments: It’s about time! Where did you meet? What’s he like? Does he know about… everything? Will had answered them all, keeping his voice light, excited even (the answer to the last question was a resounding no). This was normal, he was happy. He hadn’t looked at Mike at first, even though he hadn’t heard the boy say anything after his admission. It was dangerous, he knew, to look at him. To be drawn into his orbit.
He always was anyway. He glanced up and, when he did, Mike had been staring at him, his face carefully blank. A beat had passed, before a small smile graced Mike’s lips, “That’s cool, Will. I’m happy for you.”
And that was that. Cool. I’m happy for you.
Will remembers thinking, maybe irrationally, that Mike hadn’t asked him a single question that night. He let it go because… well… why shouldn’t he? It didn't mean anything.
Now, he thanks the beer for loosening his chest, because he knows that, if he were fully sober, this question might have sent him spiralling. He stares at the label on the now-warm can in his hands, tracing over the edges with his thumb. Finally, he exhales, “We… broke it off. It just… it wasn’t working out.”
Next to him, Mike shifts slightly, so that their shoulders are pressing against each other. The pressure is barely there, but it’s enough for Will to feel the weight of his attention. He looks over for a second and Mike is watching him silently, his face unreadable. Just like he did then.
“Shit man, I’m sorry,” Dustin says, with a rare bout of sincerity, “Breakups suck.”
He feels El scoot closer behind him, her hand coming down warm on his shoulder. “Will, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It just didn’t come up, I guess,” Will brings his hand up to rest on top of hers, “I’m fine, really! It was totally mutual and I’m good.” His voice is steady, just as he had practiced. Good.
“Well, it’s a good thing we have a shit-ton of beer,” Lucas announces, “Because the best solution to a breakup is to get drunk!”
Max elbows him harshly in the ribs, though Lucas is unaffected by her random acts of violence. “Welcome back to the singles club, bud,” Dustin says, raising his beer for a toast. Max and Lucas look at each other smugly.
“Wow. Thanks for the support, guys,” Will laughs despite himself, lifting his can to clink against Dustin’s. Next to him, Mike reaches across with his soda to join their cheers.
“To the singles club,” he says softly, and he’s really close. Too close. Their fingers bump against each other for a split second before they’re pulling their drinks back. Will clumsily brings the beer to his lips and takes a swig that’s maybe too large, but… cut him some slack. He needs it. Mike nudges his can lightly against Will’s, leaning in so that only Will can hear, “I’m glad you’re back.”
Will is surprised the beer can doesn’t crumple under his palms with how tightly he’s gripping it. He swallows, “Yeah. Me too.”
The movie plays on and they order a pizza. Will lets himself laugh— really laugh— as Mike complains about the single piece of pineapple that managed to sneak onto his slice, to which El simply recites the same thing she always does when they have this debate: Try before you deny! Outside, Hawkins is still frozen and motionless, but inside, Will’s body is thrumming and warm next to the crackle of the fireplace, next to Mike. He lets his shoulders loosen and his body rest. Just for tonight.
By the time the credits roll, the fire is sinking low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room, softening the edges like a vignette. Almost like they’re in a memory. Dustin is half-asleep against Will. Max and Lucas are slumped with their heads against each other, whispering and giggling over something private only to the two of them. Will’s eyes are heavy, and as he blinks at the screen, he realises he’s missed the last ten minutes of the movie entirely. He hopes the children were returned to their rightful size.
“Well,” Dustin says eventually, sitting upright, “That was—”
“Scientific,” El finishes, nodding solemnly.
Will feels, more than hears, Mike’s low chuckle from next to him. Their shoulders are pressed closer together than they had been when the movie started, and Will decides he needs to get away.
“I think it’s time we should be heading back,” he stands up quickly, if only to get away from the tantalising warmth of Mike’s presence. He immediately stumbles over the leftovers of pizza and popcorn strewn across the carpet.
“Woah there, sailor,” Lucas separates himself from Max to grab Will’s arm and help him regain his balance, “You’re planning to bike home like this?”
“I’m not drunk,” Will responds, because he’s not.
“I didn’t say you were,” Lucas smirks, “but it’s like 30 degrees out and pitch dark. How about I drive you and El home?”
“Actually!” El pipes up from where she’s curled into the blankets, squeezed into the corner of the couch, “Max and I were thinking of having a sleepover at her place.”
“Thanks for letting me know in advance,” Will replies dryly, met with the oh-so-innocent smiles of El and Max.
Lucas shrugs, “Well, I was planning on driving Max home anyway, what’s one extra person.”
“Lucas,” Will pushes away from his grip, “I’m not going to make you drive all over Hawkins just to drop us all off, I’ll be fine.”
“I can drive you.” Will freezes at the sound of Mike’s voice, his eyes snapping up to meet the latter’s. He knows he’s flushing a bright red, and he hopes it can be attributed to the heat of the room.
“Sounds good,” Lucas nods like it’s decided, “I’ll drop off Max and El, and you can drop off Will.”
Will’s head is a dizzying whirlwind of thoughts, none of which he can fully grasp. He should refuse— say that he’ll walk, he’ll call Jonathan to pick him up, he’ll figure it out. No words come out as he opens his mouth to reply, and he instead settles for nodding dumbly. Damn him. Mike blinks up at him with a small smile, blissfully oblivious to his inner turmoil. Will swears he feels one of his eyes twitch.
Jackets rustle as everyone prepares to leave, and their laughter echoes through the house, easy and tired. Will is the first to step outside, the cold hitting him like a wall of ice and sobering him up almost immediately. Mike is still pulling on his boots inside, arguing with Dustin about some plot hole in the movie.
He feels something inside of him twitch, a rabbit preparing to bolt. Maybe if he got on his cycle and sped off before anyone realised. He doesn’t notice Max siddle up beside him until she sways into him, huddling close so that their arms are pressed together. When he looks over, she offers him the pack of cigarettes retrieved from her coat pocket, “To warm up.”
Will takes one gratefully, leaning closer to Max to let her light it. The lighter flares, briefly illuminating their faces. For a second Max’s hair catches the light, untamed and fierce like embers stirred to life, before she shields the flame. When the cigarette blazes to life, Will puts it to his lips and inhales deeply. It feels almost ritualistic, the burn after that first drag. It’s sharp and grounding, cauterising a wound deep within him.
“So what really happened between you and Carton?” Max asks quietly as she lights her own, the picture of indifference. “I can tell, you know, that something is bothering you.”
Will’s first instinct is to deny it, but the drinks have whittled the edges of the hard truth into something a little less frightening. They’re standing with their backs toward the others, and Will watches their shared clouds of smoke, indistinguishable from their breaths, dance with the snowflakes. He glances back for a second, where everyone is still hovering by the doorway, absorbed in their conversation. Only El looks over for a second, curiosity in her eyes. “I thought I was hiding it pretty well.”
“About as well as you hid your hatred for Carton.”
“His name’s Carlton. And I did not hate him,” Will frowns and he blows out a puff of smoke directly into her face, “I don’t hate him.”
Max hums, unconvinced, then doubles down, “Then, what really happened?”
Will rolls the cigarette between his fingers. “We just had a fight. I mean, we were fighting a lot by the end. Over little things. I think it just snowballed into a bigger issue we couldn’t ignore anymore.”
“I never really understood why you dated him in the first place,” Max turns to him, watching the ashes hiss against the snow as she flicks her cigarette, the glow of the cinders swallowed whole, “I mean, when I visited, it kind of felt like I was watching a play. You two played the part of boyfriends well, but it didn’t feel real to me.”
Max continues, “Even when you’d tell us about him, I always got the impression that you were talking to us about some prize you’d won. Like you had something to prove to us. I’m just… not sure what you were trying to prove.”
“I’m feeling a little cornered here, Maxine.” He meant it to sound teasing, like a joke. Instead, it comes out accusatory. As though there’s something to be accused of.
Will exhales slowly, deliberately, and watches the smoke curl from his mouth in pale ribbons, dissolving into the night. Then, he admits, quietly, “Maybe it was just nice to be seen, in that way. Maybe I wanted to prove I could be… wanted like that.”
“Oh, Will.” While he knows Max isn’t the type to provide ignorant platitudes, he can’t make himself look at her. To his relief, the others choose this time to finish their argument and approach the two of them, breaking the smokescreen he and Max had found themselves behind. Will drops his cigarette on the ground and steps on it, the warmth immediately stolen from his fingertips, just as Mike comes to stand next to him. “Are you ready to leave?”
Will just nods, his heart fluttering anxiously in anticipation. Max is still watching him, and he sees her knowing gaze drift to Mike. She knows. She knows exactly what he was trying to prove. To whom. Between getting in a car with Mike and being scrutinised by Max, Will wishes there was the secret third option of burying himself and suffocating in the snow.
They cycle through their goodbyes, lingering in the cold for last second comments and jokes until their noses are pink and their lips are so numb that Dustin has to announce, “Guys, stop stalling. We’ll meet up again before we leave. Now go home before we all freeze to death out here.”
As El gives Will one last hug, he sees that Mike is already holding the passenger door open for him. Trudging toward the car feels like being led to the gallows.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Mike comments casually, as Will climbs in. Will doesn’t have the time to respond, though, because Mike shuts the door behind him to cross over to the driver’s side. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Mike adds as gets in and starts the car, “that you smoke. You looked kind of cool.”
Cool. I’m happy for you.
“Cool?” Will raises his eyebrow.
Mike shrugs, “I guess it just surprised me. You’ve changed a lot since the summer.”
Will doesn’t reply as Mike pulls out of the driveway, instead looking down at where his hands are clenched into fists on his lap. Maybe he had changed, maybe he hadn’t changed enough.
They’re silent for the first few minutes of the drive. The snow is falling again— thicker this time— blurring the lights from the streetlights into a golden haze. Will listens to the steady beat of the windshield wipers as they arc across the glass, tries to tether himself to the sound and let it stabilise his heartbeat. The warmth of the beer has fully dissipated, leaving him clear-headed and painfully aware of the small space between him and Mike.
“I’m sorry, by the way.” Mike says suddenly, startling Will out of his brooding, “About Carlton.” For a second, Will looks at Mike in surprise. Mike had never really acknowledged Will’s boyfriend’s (well, ex-boyfriend) existence in conversations, even when Will brought him up. He had certainly never been the first to bring up Carlton’s name. The name sounds wrong from Mike’s mouth. Maybe that’s why the words feel bigger than they actually are, like they hold so much weight.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” Will gives the same answer he’s rehearsed over and over again. It still sounds false. He then adds with a small smile, trying to ease the charged air, “Though I have to admit that seeing Max and Lucas right now made me physically sick.”
Mike takes the line he throws and barks a laugh, “Yeah well, that part never gets easier.” He throws Will a lopsided grin that makes his heart stutter, “Maybe the secret to a happy relationship is to break up every two days like they do.”
“You have to keep it exciting somehow.” Will wiggles his eyebrows in Mike’s direction.
Mike fixes his eyes on the road again, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel and a slight smile still playing on his lips. To anyone else, it might look normal, relaxed even, but Will can tell something is off. He catches the way Mike’s knuckles are white from gripping the wheel a little too tightly, the way the muscles near his jaw flex as though he’s clenching his teeth. With Mike, Will can always tell.
“I can feel you staring at me, you know.” Shit.
Will averts his eyes quickly, trying to calm the nervous scampering of his heart. “Um, sorry! You just… look a little tense.”
Mike glances at him sidelong, and his fingers continue drumming against the steering wheel. Finally, he lets out a sigh, his next words laced with hesitance, “It’s just… he didn’t do anything bad to you, right? He didn’t hurt you? I saw you and Max talking, it looked serious.”
He didn’t do anything bad? Will laughs immediately, though there’s no humour behind it this time. “No Mike, he didn’t do anything bad. If anything, he was too good for me.”
“Nobody is too good for you,” Mike’s response is immediate this time, almost like a reflex. Like it’s a given. A nonnegotiable fact. Another nonnegotiable fact: Will feels like he’s about to throw up. “You deserve everything.”
“I’m not sure I can believe that.” Will laughs, but it’s thin and strained. Mike doesn’t say anything, so Will finds himself compelled to continue, “I think I just wasn’t ready for the relationship.”
It’s the most he can admit to Mike. To himself. Because to admit anything else, to admit that there might be another reason for why they broke up—
“I get it,” Mike says, and Will is glad for the interruption to the dangerous direction of his thoughts, “I mean… it happens. Sometimes you hang onto a relationship because you think it’s supposed to be right. Until you realise that it’s not what you thought it was… or because it’s not what you’re looking for.”
He rubs his thumb against the steering wheel, and Will watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”
Mike’s words settle between them like the snow, heavy and quiet. There is a strange ache in Will’s chest, like he’s been hollowed out and everything inside him has been left in fragments. He feels like he’s being pushed to the edge, about to face something he’s been trying to avoid for years.
When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, “Yeah, I think I juumped into a relationship as soon as I had the opportunity because I just wanted to be ready. I kept waiting for it to feel different. But it never did.”
The car slows as they near Hopper’s cabin, and this time, Mike doesn’t respond. The quiet that sits between them feels expectant, as though waiting patiently for someone to shatter it. Will knows he isn’t brave enough to take that leap.
The cabin comes into view, and Mike turns the engine off. The sudden absence of any sound feels unnatural and, for a moment, neither of them moves. Time has stalled, and the world holds its breath. Then, Will pushes the door open and steps out, the snow crunching under his boots and breaking the spell. Mike steps out after him and Will wonders if he should tell him not to bother, but he can’t make himself speak. Instead, he forces his legs to move, forces one foot in front of the other until he reaches the porch.
He can hear Mike behind him, his footsteps careful. Will reaches for the door handle and hesitates. He feels like if he looks back, Mike will disappear as if he never was. He knows he should say something, though. So he turns, meaning to thank Mike for the ride. He can be casual. He can say something safe.
Mike’s closer than he expected. Barely a foot separates them and their breaths escape their lips in small crystalline puffs, visible in the air in between them and curling up towards the sky. They stand facing one another, frozen, while the moonlight hangs between them, shimmering against the quiet space where words should be. The world is hushed and pale around them. Will can’t help it, his gaze dips to where Mike’s lips bloom a rich scarlet from the bite of the winter winds.
“Will?” Mike starts to say. And if Will doesn’t leave now, he knows he’s going to do something reckless. Something he can’t come back from.
He doesn’t wait to hear the end of Mike’s sentence. On impulse, or maybe it’s instinct, he leans in to press his mouth to Mike’s cheek. It’s brief, a sharp twinge that branches from the whisper of a kiss. It echoes against Will’s lips as he pulls back, meeting Mike’s surprised stare with his own.
“Thank you, Mike.” He reaches to brush his fingers against Mike’s cheek, as though wiping the kiss away. Mike fingers twitch at his sides, as though he’s about to reach out for Will. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Will’s part. Whatever it is, he doesn’t wait to find out. He opens the door and slips inside without another word, leaving Mike on the porch.
Will presses his back to the door as the warmth of the house engulfs him, listening as the engine starts outside. His lips and cheeks burn. From the cold, probably. Hopefully.
Mike’s car pulls away, and all that’s left are the windchimes (courtesy of El) that tinkle glaringly loud in the dead quiet of the night.