Chapter Text
Will sits alone, which he always does, because he’s that one weird, emo, gay kid. No one wants to sit with him, no one would ever think of it, which is historically consistent and unsurprising. He’s not even emo - he’s goth - but no one would care if he wanted to correct them. No one in Hawkins gives a shit.
His pasta gurgles a wet sound as he turns it over with his fork. He’s not hungry, which also is a usual occurrence for when he’s at school. That’s where his name roams the halls, slurs among insults are thrown from mouth to mouth, and his locker gets defaced about every two days. Safe to say, he doesn’t see himself eating at school for as far as the eye can see.
The funniest - well, not exactly - part is that he doesn’t even eat in the cafeteria. God knows whose table he would accidentally end up at, whose food would be thrown in his hair, and who wouldn’t be able to stop staring. That’s why he sits in the art room.
Most of the time he paints instead of eating, or simply doodles in his sketchbook. The one he’s currently working in is almost full, so packed with trash and stickers that litter his drawings that it barely closes. Today though, he somehow can’t convince himself to create. Instead he sits on the floor beside his easel, stuffed between tables and chairs, walkman blaring.
Should I stay or should I go now?
The Clash is comforting, although fails to fully wipe the tears from his eyes. His eyes are puffy and red, and Will doesn't know why he’s crying, which is a poor lie, he simply doesn’t know how to get himself to stop.
A groan claws at his throat, one stupid and humiliating, one that would tell everyone in the world that he’s crying. Thankfully he doesn’t let it sound, stuffing it back with the tears poking behind his eyes.
It’s so stupid. He shouldn’t be crying, boys don’t cry, but he can’t help himself. His mom always knew him as sensitive, even when all anyone else called him was a fag. Even Lonnie knew before anyone else did, he saw right through Will at just his core, and then everyone around him started to notice too. That’s why kids shy away from him, why they rip up his clothes and homework. That’s why they have always done so, and don’t seem to ever stop.
Today wasn’t different. When he’d arrived at school, Jane in tow, he’d at least been having a decent morning.
His makeup turned out okay, eyeliner big and bulky, and so did his hair. The bowl cut - although much shorter than when he was a child - still clung to his mothers tastes, and that’s how she continued to cut it. Now he could style it how he wanted, fluffed up and grungey, sticking out every which way, which is exactly how it looks today, to Will’s pleasure. His arms got stacked with bracelets, and he’s wearing his favorite coat.
Today was never going to be good, but at least it could’ve been decent. Will was an idiot to dream.
First was the writing on his locker. No matter how many hours he spent after school scrubbing it off with shitty wipes, the vandalism always returned. Eventually he gave up, but the graffiti didn’t. The Zombie Boy written in big letters was always there among other ones, but one was new today.
Faggot Byers!
It didn’t hurt as much as it should’ve. Of course, it still hurt, but only as a casual annoyance. Not like someone called him a highly offensive slur, but rather it was as if they’d simply pinched him - it wasn’t like he didn’t hear it every day. Will supposed he’d gotten used to it.
The real pain started when Jason caught him lingering at it, staring like the creep Will was, with no visible reaction. A shove to the metal of the lockers sure got him.
Jason laughed, snappy and barking. “Hey, zombie boy, something wrong?” His hands, large and calloused, dug into Will’s face, flattening his previously well done hair, holding him in place.
It’s not like Will isn’t a big guy that could potentially fight back, because yes he’s tall with broad shoulders and vague muscles, but he would never know how to use said attributes. Besides, that’s not who Will is, and never has been, and the basketball jocks could still pummel him to oblivion. Will is not a fighter, he cowers, which in his book is definitely worse.
Will rolled his eyes. “No.” Is all he answered with, because if he got smart like he wanted to this would only end worse.
“Lets see what we have here,” Jason started, and the sound of Will's backpack opening snapped him out of their usual bully and bullied routine, “A diary? Let's see what you’ve written, Byers.”
Will had debated fighting back as soon as he heard the zipper of his bag, because Jason doesn’t usually do that, and normally there’s nothing to hide. It didn’t even click at first that there would be something to hide until a diary is mentioned, because Will doesn’t have a diary. Rather, he owns a sketchbook.
“H- hey!” He ducked out of Jason’s grip, clawing at his book from the much taller, much stronger jerk in front of him. “That’s not-!”
One of the basketball guys Will failed to recognize - he never remembers them, they all blend into one - grabbed him by the collar, yanking him out of reach from Jason as he began to flip through Will’s sketchbook.
Will wouldn’t normally care, if not that this was a different sketchbook than normal. Others had drawings of family and observations, but this one was secret. This one was for Will’s eyes only, and his stomach churned at the sight of Jason of all people nearing the exact page he was thinking of.
The damage was already done. Will had barely even fought him off, like it didn’t matter that the asshole of all assholes had his hands on a glimpse into his mind.
Jason couldn’t hold back a fit of laughter as he showed off the subject of his facial disgust. “God, you’re such a freak!” He snarled, and along came the circle of his lackeys and their giggling.
He was so dead. “Is that Mike Wheeler? That emo kid?” One of them asked, and Will plastered his face to the floor.
“Holy shit!” Jason exclaimed it as if he’d had the breakthrough of the century. “Is that you’re boyfriend, Byers? Two little queers in love?”
Breathing growing quick and rapid, Will had gulped a swallow of spit. He’d been caught red handed doodling Michael Wheeler, the guy who definitely isn’t gay and definitely doesn’t give two fucks about Will’s existence. Jason was sure of it, and wasn’t completely wrong to think Will liked Mike, except for the fact that if asked Mike probably couldn’t tell Will apart from another random kid at their school.
Now, sobbing in the corner of the art room, it seems the whole world knows, and it’s possible Mike has already heard through the grape vine about what a creep the gay kid is. How he’s been preying on him, doodling his face and staring at him in the hallways. That everyone thinks they’re boyfriends now, and that Will has effectively taken a shit on Mike’s reputation.
So he cries. Not only about that, but maybe a lot about how he only strives for his day to be quiet, because there are bullies, and gossip, and writing on his locker that never goes away. It never even is just alright, because everyone hates Will almost as much as he hates himself.
So yeah, he sits alone at lunch.
Should I stay or should I go now?
Lunch will be over soon, he realizes, and his next class is - just his luck - not art. So Will rubs off any remnants of running makeup, turns down the drowning music, and gathers his stuff. He throws his pasta away just to be safe, just so his mom doesn’t go about knowing he doesn’t eat, when he sure as hell doesn’t. She just can’t know that, or else he will most certainly start feeling guilty about it. Which he doesn’t need on top of everything else.
He keeps his head down when he walks the hallways, as empty as they are with everyone still lingering in the cafeteria, because who knows who could be around the corner. Who knows who could be staring with disdain, or making snarky remarks at his expense.
That person around the corner just so happens to be Michael Wheeler.
Will bounces back as they collide, headphones falling lopsided from his ears. “S- sorry!” he rushes, until he notices spiked bracelets and a black band tee, and has the overwhelming urge to sprint full speed the other direction. Just his luck, he has realized before his vision even tries to find his face that Will has just bumped into the beginnings of his anxieties.
Mike seems a little surprised to see him too, pausing just as Will does. It’s most likely that he’s heard of what Jason found that morning, and he’s absolutely terrified to be face to face with the stalker-gay-freak kid.
Will decides for some unknown reason to continue. “Sorry, I- I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He tries to wipe the blotches of red from his eyes, which only makes it more obvious that he was just crying.
“No!” Mike exclaims, and that’s shocking. His face twists a little, more like he said that too loud than that he’s staring at a kid he hates. It should be relieving, but it only further confirms that Mike is just a genuinely nice guy who has no clue who Will is. Mike clears his throat. “No, it’s not- don’t worry about it.” He rubs at his neck sheepishly, flashing Will that kind, sunny smile that he thought would only be directed at him in his dreams.
As always he looks so gorgeous that Will has to turn away. He can’t dare look at Mike for longer than a second, and risk thinking the very bad thoughts, and fantasies of Michael Wheeler that he tends to have when he looks at him and his long, dark waves of hair for too long.
The bell rings out, signaling the start of passing period, and his one chance of ever actually speaking to Mike has been destined to be fleeting.
“C’mon, Mike, we’ve got to get to class.” His friend comments, pulling Mike away from the awkward air. He just saved Mike from another moment with Will, most definitely sure of what a weirdo he is.
So Will continues to class, the thump in his chest only intensifying as he begs himself to cut it out.
———
He waits for Jane outside of her English class. They walk home together everyday, because as much as Will would rather bike, Jane still refuses to learn how to ride one. And of course they don’t have their own car - Will doesn’t even have a license - so walking it is.
“Hi.” She greets him, waving goodbye to her friends as they part ways. Jane is fairly popular, although not in a rude kind of way, she’s well known for being nice. Will is well known for being a freak.
“Hey.” He replies, and she squints a little at his face, obviously noticing the lack of eyeliner that was there this morning. He can tell that she knows, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows he doesn’t need that.
Luckily, they don’t run into anyone Will wouldn’t want to on the way out of the school. A few people bump shoulders with him, probably on purpose, but other than that they make it out okay.
That is until, “Will?” Jane calls, and even from his gaze stuck to his feet he knows what is coming. “I heard, um, what happened. This morning.”
There it is. He can’t play dumb, or else she will explain in detail what she’s heard, so Will is forced to acknowledge it. “Oh. Okay.” He’s urged to say something snarky, something rude, but of course he can’t. Jane never deserves that, so he doesn’t. Those are reserved for himself.
“I am sorry.” Is all she says, because what else can she say? The damage is already done. “I can talk to my friend, he is on the team, and he can get them to stop-,”
She’s offered this before. “No, Jane, it’s alright.” Every time, Will says the same. Whoever her friend is would surely only make it worse, and definitely doesn’t care about Will’s bullying. Judging from him being on the team he’d probably just join in. “It’s alright.”
“It is not.” She insists like always, and kicks a rock down the sidewalk. She’s more angry about his treatment than himself, which is kind of her, but that’s just who she is. She lifts his gaze. “It is never okay. They do not get to say those things, and- and be mean to you.”
He doesn’t have an answer for that one. They do get to be mean to him, and they always have, and that’s how it always will be. It’s like a food chain where Will stays stuck at the bottom.
To Will’s relief, she drops it. “I like your shirt.” She starts instead, saying the same she said this morning at breakfast.
“You said that.” He chuckles around his words, because Jane is one of the only people that can do so. She brightens a shitty day like a flashing star.
“I know.” She smiles with all of her teeth. “But I do. That is the band you showed me, right?”
The Cure is the band she references, the one plastered on his top, so he nods. “Yeah, the one you kind of liked.”
She giggles, remembering her half smile that really said she was trying her best to enjoy their music. “Yes, that is it.”
His walkman still blares, half of his headphones brushed off so he can hear her, the other staying stuck over his ear.
We are entranced, spellbound.
His music taste is sort of all over the place, but besides the goth stuff is mostly what his older brother showed to him at a young age. It seems like his responsibility to take over Jonathan’s job and introduce Jane now, although she’s much more into pop, which is fitting.
Just as he said, she’s like a ray of sunshine. She pins her hair back with cutesy hairclips, she wears his mom’s old jewelry, and wears floral patterned dresses like every day. Just as he’s thinking about her, she flashes him another grin that curls her eyes.
“Hey, Will.” She says, and he finds her rosy cheeks. “I know you may not want to, but if you do I would like you to come meet my friends tonight.”
Okay, that’s a big ask. As mentioned Jane has a good amount of friends so this could be literally anyone, and possibly people that already hate him and Jane just doesn't know it. She has friends over sometimes, girls that giggle over magazines and music with her, girls that ignore him completely. Who’s to say they actually want to meet him of all people?
Before he can answer, she reassures him. “They are very nice. Your kind of people, I think.” That’s saying a lot, because Will’s kind of people caps at his family. “They want to meet you, and said I should invite you.”
“I- I don’t know, Jane.” He mumbles, looking away as she deflates.
“They have a band, and are practicing tonight.” She keeps going, keeps trying to finally get him out of the house. “A very cool band. One you would like, and when I said that they told me you should come. They really want you to, Will.”
This is such a stretch, and Will is sure of it. Who in their right mind wants to meet Will Byers, Hawkins resident freak? As much as they agree to never lie to one another, Will is sure Jane is dramaticizing the truth.
He looks back up, and she’s bursting with hope that he will, for once, do something with her. Admittedly wants to, so very badly, but there's a weight hanging over him that churns in his belly and tells him that there’s no way this could go well.
It’s for Jane.
“I- I- fine.” He agrees, pushing the word out of his mouth before he can back out.
Eyes glittering, her jaw falls flat, like she’s blown away that he’s actually doing this. Will is shocked himself. “Really?” She asks like he isn’t serious.
He huffs a laugh, grip tightening on the straps of his backpack. “Yes, really. I guess I’ll go.” Just the look of unbelievable excitement flutters a happiness in his heart.
Unfortunately the mere thought of getting out of bed tonight, brushing aside his pencil and drawings to go hang out with Jane’s friends ceases that feeling, and replaces it with choking anxiety. He will do it, of course he will, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to enjoy it.
She starts rambling about her day, going on and on about the little stuff that has made her life enjoyable, and that’s enough for him. Just seeing her joy makes him cave to do something he would never do otherwise.