Chapter Text
It's cold out. Snow clouds the distance, an oil painting from beyond the protective veil that is the airport arrivals. Will stands there stupidly, stiff as an arrow, holding onto his luggage like a lifeline. He wonders, almost, if he's been forgotten. Or that he somehow got the dates mixed up over the phone. He gazes down at his watch as the familiar sound of Jonathon's Ford Galaxie approaches. Croaks. Then squeals to a halt.
He leans forward, peers out through the open window just on the other side of him. Will ducks. Tilts his head for a better view.
“Traffic was crazy.” He says. “Sorry.”
Will is quick to forgive. His smile stretches far across his face. Even not having seen Jonathan in years, it feels like they're right back from where they left off.
“Where’s mom?” He asks.
“Working. She’ll be home tonight.”
Will loads his suitcase into the open trunk. Then slams it down, all rusty and old.
“Come here.” Will slips into the passenger seat. Jonathan's already pulling him over the center console, squishing his face hard into his chest. “I missed you, little shit. Act more excited to see me.”
Will laughs. The familiar, nostalgic scent of Jonathan's clothes bleed into his own in seconds. “I am!” His voice is muffled through the fabric of his brother's shirt.
When they pull away, Jonathan's reaching toward the back seat.
“Got you something.” He says. Smiles.
He's handed a box. Small, wrapped in glittery paper. Rough to the touch.
“Christmas isn't for, like, another five days.” Will is grabbing it nonetheless.
Jonathan shrugs. “I’m impatient.”
The paper tears. A cassette. A deep vermillion, a colour-blocked blue. “Is this their new album?” Wish in black text. Cure scribbled next to it. Will beams. Jonathan shrugs again. “Thanks. Seriously. Can we listen now?”
He's already peeling back the clear plastic.
“Of course.” Jonathan nods.
The cassette pops in, easily. Jonathan puts the car in drive. And they're off.
It's not his familiar home, Will understands, as they pull in. Snow crunching beneath their tires. All the memories of living at Ted and Karen's, so distant. Now at the forefront of his brain. He's relieved as he remembers his mom got a new house.
Jonathan is already helping Will with his bags. And Will realizes just then that the car has been off.
The smell hits him as they open the door. Musky and sweet. Like cookies and dusty books. He sighs. His nose thaws in the warmth.
“Mom has a room for you upstairs.” Jonathan says. “She decorated it. I helped her.”
And Will smiles, heaves his suitcase up and forward. Dragging it across the staircase, one step at a time. His room hits him like a million boxes shoved into a storage closet.
The memories, so detached from him now. Being in California. Like suddenly, he can smell the smog as he peers around. Gold catching every corner of every piece in his room. Glowing and bright from the window, where the curtains are drawn back.
He shoves his suitcase in the corner by his closet. Throws his backpack on his bed.
And when the sun sets too early and the cold gets just a bit colder, Joyce heaving herself through the door and kicking off her slush covered boots, she decides she's making soup. Something warm and creamy and hearty. Heats Will’s chest like a childhood memory. She bombards him with questions. How school's going. If he's made any friends. If he's met someone. The last question, he doesn't linger on.
“I- yes. Yeah. I've made some friends. Not like here. But it's nice.” Will laughs nervously. And Joyce, through her bout of excitement, pays no mind to his blatant avoidance on the topic of his love life.
Jonathan eyes him. He doesn't linger on that, either.
They spend the evening, sleepy and full, on the sofa. Where whatever Hallmark Christmas movie is airing plays on their television screen. The crackling of the fireplace just beside them, warm and enticing against whatever faces them from beyond the protection of their front door.
And Will feels at peace for the first time in what feels like forever. Really feels at peace.
Three years spent. Gone in the blink of an eye. Cooped up in his too small of an apartment or crouched over his copious amounts of school work.
Being away from here. From this. Getting used to all the noise. He almost forgot what the quiet sounded like.
Joyce is gathering their dishes in the sink as the movie comes to an end and Jonathan is standing over the sofa with his hands on his hips.
“Joyride?” He asks. He's tossing his keys. And it's only then, does Will's confusion dissipate.
He beams. “Really?”
Jonathan swings an arm around his shoulder as he stands. “Come on. Let's go before I change my mind.”
They open the door. The cold hits them like a brick wall. Will is slipping on his jacket.
“Be careful!” Joyce yells from the kitchen.
They're not driving for long, winding this way and that through their neighbourhood, bleeding into ones Will remembers as a kid. Bittersweet on his tongue.
Jonathan taps the wheel.
“Here, turn here.”
It's a small wooded area. Will’s brows furrow as he pulls the wheel to the right, then stops. Puts the car in park. Jonathan is already undoing his seatbelt. Confused, Will does the same.
“Where are we going?” He holds himself tight, pops his collar to shield his face.
Jonathan doesn't turn around as they begin walking. “It’s just down here.” He says.
And Will peers at his surroundings, teeth clattering, slush squishing beneath him as he descends into the woods. The stars twinkle above him, the crickets sing. It's all so familiar. So horribly nostalgic. Sends a pang of something unsavory in his gut.
“Here it is.”
Will looks ahead.
They stop at a small makeshift treehouse. Not quite a treehouse. A treehouse on the ground. Sticks and wood, rotted by weather. Old blankets and pillows draining from its entrance. Ratted and old and dirty. Will takes only a single step forward, holds himself tighter.
There's that terrifying reminiscence.
“What is this?” He asks. Jonathan is already crouching. Ducking to make it inside. Will follows, reluctantly, and sits on the foldout chair adjacent to his brother's.
He's fishing around inside his pocket.
“Found it.” He says simply. The topic doesn't dawdle. He's lighting a joint. “Here.” Will’s brows raise as Jonathan hands it over. “Have you smoked yet?”
“Uh,” he laughs nervously. Stares at the thing like a martian. “Yeah.” He says bashfully. “Just a few times.”
Jonathan laughs. “There’s no shame. You know me.”
And so Will inhales. Faster than he thinks his poor lungs can handle. Hits the back of his throat like a fighter jet and nearly coughs up an organ. Knocks his chest a few times with his fist.
“Easy there.” Jonathan says. Will is handing it back, wiping his eyes of the remnants left there. Tears pooling dangerously at the corners.
“How’s New York treating you?” Jonathan asks. Ashes modesty in the cupholder attached to the chair. “Really treating you?” Will swallows. His hand finds the back of his neck. “I don't want the bullshit answers you were giving mom.”
“Uh. Yeah. It's, um,” He pulls his hands down between his thighs and squeezes. Scans all the plywood. Bundled sticks stuck together with poorly hammered in nails. “It’s been good. Made some friends. Um,” He coughs a little. Shrugs. Can't meet Jonathan's eyes. “Met someone.” He glances up for only a moment.
Jonathan's smile is small but wry. “Knew it.” He says. “How is he?” He stretches forward to hand Will the joint. He’s met halfway.
“Um. He's really…sweet. And caring.” Will shrugs. Puffs. Once. Twice. Coughs. He laughs. Jonathan takes it from him.
“Do you think he's cute?” Jonathan smiles.
Will shrugs again. Holds himself nervously. “Yeah. He's…nice looking.”
“Doesn’t sound like you're very excited about him.” Jonathan chuckles.
And Will’s eyebrows crease in thought. He shakes his head. “No, no. I am. It's just- I don't know he's just not-” He huffs. His breath puffs out in a cloud of smoke. “He’s just…” His eyes search the space in front of him. Unable to reach out for the words floating right there. Dangerously taunting.
Jonathan clears his throat. Their eyes meet. “It’s just different.” He offers.
He looks up. Eyes becoming sort of enlightened in a way. His lips curl into a smile. Tucked and small. He nods once.
“Yeah. Different.”
-
When Will wakes in the morning, it's to the sweet scent of breakfast. Unintelligible chatter. The sun bleeding through his blinds and painting his already sun kissed skin a celestial gold. The air is warm on his flesh and he can see as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, that it's snowing.
He heads downstairs.
The dining room is filled. The sizzle of cold butter hitting the pan, the clatter of dishes as they fight over the last hashbrown.
“Oh.” He says. His eyes scan a room of familiar faces. “Hi.”
It's only silent for the single moment it takes everyone to realize he’s finally awake. A scatter of ’Will’’s. The screeching of chairs as everyone piles to crowd him by the staircase. A cluttered mix of little comments as they prod at his face and clothes and ears.
’Is that an earring?’
‘Woah, your hair!’
‘What happened to the bowl cut?’
“I didn't know you guys would be here.” Will laughs.
“We didn't think you’d be here, Mister New York City. Not until your mom gave us a call.” Max gives him a friendly shove.
Will waves her hand away. “Yeah, yeah.” He laughs. “C’mon, make room. I'm starving.”
He sits at the table. Scans each seat. Searching. With furrowed brows. Gut wrenching disappointment. A cavern where his heart should be. A pit in his stomach. He tries not to let it show as Joyce slides a pancake onto his plate and kisses his head.
“Morning, sweetie.” She whispers. Ruffles his hair.
“Mom, stop.” Will laughs.
He picks up the plate of bacon and plops some onto his plate.
“So,” Max drawls.
Will’s eyebrows shoot up curiously as he shovels the first bite of pancake into his mouth. A syrupy mess.
“Tell us everything, dude.” Lucas pipes.
Dustin's lips stretch. A sinister smile. “Have you gotten mugged yet?”.
Will snorts. “No.” Chews. Swallows. “What about you guys? You're off doing crap outside of this stupid place, too.”
“Yeah, but,” Max rolls her eyes. “We aren't going to some prissy art school in New York.”
“Whatever.” He laughs. “It’s been fine. I've been fine, I guess.”
“You guess?” Dustin laughs.
Will shakes his head. “I’ll bore you with the details later.” Still, a smile tugs at his lips.
Suddenly, the backdoor opens. The smell of smoke. Familiar and nostalgic. Will looks up. And his breath stays choked in his throat. He feels the room go quiet. Or maybe it's just him.
“Hey.” Mike smiles. Hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.
Will swallows hard. He can feel Jonathan boring his eyes into the side of his head.
“Hi.” He whispers.
Mike slips into the seat across from him and suddenly Will doesn't know where else to look but his own plate.
“Welcome back.” Mike says. Joyce is setting down a cup of orange juice in front of him.
“Yeah, thanks.” Will smiles. Glances up for only the moment he catches Mike smiling, too.
They enjoy their morning. Small talk that makes Will’s brains leak from his ears. In a good way. Being so far removed from the mundane hum of meaningless chatter. Hardly even has this with Carlton, except for the special occassion he's bored enough to be enlightened by Will’s life.
This is nice, he thinks. Really nice.
It doesn't take much. Lucas’ convincing. Joining the rest of the party to finish off their night at Mike's house. And so they bike there. Or at least try to, avoiding patches of black ice on the way. And it's the same. Different, but the same. Gathering with familiarity, under a new sense of freedom. They're adults now. A tough pill to swallow. But it dissipates some of the horrifying symptoms of growing up. Will thinks he prefers it this way, in some odd sense.
Mike’s basement is so much different than before. Will realizes this as they slope down the staircase.
“Is this your room now?” He asks. His eyes drink in all the parts of Mike's decor that feel so familiar. Arranged in such a way, it's reminiscent of his life before graduation. The walls are still covered. Posters taped meticulously to concrete.
He fights the urge to mention the painting as his eyes spot it, hanging there above Mike's desk. His chest tightens at the sight of it.
Mike shrugs, sort of embarrassed.
“He dropped out of college.” Max laughs. “His parents already turned his old room into a personal gym.”
Will blinks a little. Needle sharp static as Dustin turns on the TV. Mike stays silent. Bites at the inside of his cheek. Stares off at nothing. Will swallows down anything his brain conjures up on saying.
They watch a movie. Will had never heard of it. Some cheesy horror flick with poorly done practical effects. An interesting choice being so close to Christmas. And he'd like to say he feels cold, with Mike's heater turned on low and the concrete trapping the weather outside. But he's not cold. Not with everyone huddled on Mike's futon. Not with Mike pressed up against his side like this. His burning heat bleeding into Will’s arm. His thigh. His knuckles. He's quiet in their wake. Yearns for more in that silence.
The movie isn't very long. And Dustin is the first to leave. Says he has plans with his mom to go see Christmas lights. Max and Lucas, not far behind, as they have early plans in the morning with family. It's not long until the basement is silent again. Will swears he can hear the soft patter of snow hitting the small adjacent window.
“Do you need to go anytime soon?” It was the first thing Mike said the moment Lucas stepped through door, just at the top of the staircase. Suddenly it all felt so much warmer.
Will furrows his brows. “Uh, no. I-I can stay a little. If you want that.”
“Sure.” Mike's enthusiasm rings through even in such a monotonous response.
Will nods his head. A breath escapes him.
“Cool.” He says.
“Cool.” Mike replies.
And Will smiles a little. The futon shifts as he leans forward to pluck at Mike’s glasses.
“When did you get these?” He says.
“Oh, uh.” Mike visibly blushes. Touches them. A reminder of what Will might be suggesting. “Few years ago.”
“Looks good.” Will smiles.
Mike can't hold his smile back. Not completely.
He scans Will’s face. Jaw. Neck. Head. “Your hair looks good. Can't believe you actually decided to style it differently.”
“And you smoke now.” A quick retort. Perhaps to district from how pink his face must be.
Mike's lips part. Brows that furrow. “How can you tell?”
“I can smell it on you.” He laughs. “I have a chimney for a mom.”
“Oh.” Mike chuckles nervously. Scratches at his scalp. “I guess I've just been stressed these past few years. I thought things would get better. Guess not.” He's laughing again.
Will offers a tucked smile. “Is that why you dropped out?”
“Huh?”
“Your stress. Is that why you dropped out of college?”
Mike furrows his brows again. Deep in thought as he stares meaninglessly at the floor. His lips purse. Bities at his cheek. It hollows there like an empty cavern.
“I guess so. I don't know. I don't think school's for me. Makes me feel like a total failure.” He shrugs. Will can see his pointer finger messing with the cuticle on his thumb. “I’m not like you, ya know? All talented and cool.”
Will quirks a brow. An amused smile splitting his face. “I’m not all that cool. Or talented.” He says. Mike looks at him now. Will fights the urge to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Plus we aren't really that far off. I'm not sure how cut out I am for New York. Or school.”
Mike's face goes stern. Like he's thinking hard. His silence cues Will's understanding that he's being urged to continue.
“The people there are cool and all. I've made friends, but…” It's Will’s turn to stare off. His fingers play with one another in some nervous habit. “It’s not the same. They're not like you guys.”
Mike's face goes soft. His brows do that thing. Lips tug a gentle smile. Will smiles in return.
“It’s been lonely without you.” Mike’s quiet. “Well. Without everyone but- I don't know. I think I missed it when it was just you and I. Ya know, one on one time.”
Will’s smile grows. There's an unexplainable twinkle in Mike’s eyes as they stare at one another. “Yeah.” He says. Low and hushed.
“Yeah.” Mike says.
When the door to the basement opens, there's this small part of Will that feels like they're being exposed. That he's doing something he shouldn't be. His body turns, sudden and jerked to see Mrs. Wheeler just at the top.
“Dinner time, boys. Don't be long.”
Mike hardly has time to respond before she's shutting the door behind her. Will can hear him sigh. He turns to face him again.
“Do you wanna stay for dinner?” Mike's voice sounds pathetic. Hopeful. He bites at his cheek.
Will’s smile is soft. Sympathetic in a way.
“I totally would but I know my mom's gonna want me home.”
“No, yeah. Yeah, totally.” Mike's scrunching his face up. A weird thing he does when he's embarrassed.
Will scratches his scalp. The back of his neck. “I could stop by tomorrow.”
Mike's head whips up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Will smiles.
And so he does. After eating breakfast and stubbornly deciding what clothes he should wear. Jonathan lets him borrow the car. Reluctant at first. It doesn't take much begging on Will’s end for him to give in.
Mike is smoking out front when he pulls into his driveway.
“That’s a good look on you.” Will yells from the open window.
Mike is already jogging over. Flicks his cigarette. It sinks like a weight into the snow.
“Is that sarcasm?” He asks, leans his elbows on the sill.
Unfortunately, no. Will doesn't say it. He smiles instead. Mike smiles back. Scans Will’s face.
“Wanna go somewhere?” Will asks.
Mike glances back at his house, lingers there like he's really thinking about it. Cocks his head. Turns to Will again.
“Sure.” He smiles. “Wanna drink? I have some wine coolers in my mini fridge.” He gestures toward the basement with his thumb.
Will snorts. “I gotta drive. But…yeah, sure.”
Will isn't even deadset on a place. The only thing he can think of is where Jonathan took him on his first day back. But he's longing for Hawkins air. Longing for something that isn't filled with city smog.
So he parks the car in the exact spot he remembers from the days before and they both get out.
Mike is silent as they walk. As their shoes crunch on old snow. Slush and dirt kicked up along the way.
“Why are we, uh, coming here?” Mike asks nervously. The case of wine coolers dangles from two fingers. Swings back and forth with the motion of his arm.
Will smiles back at him. “Relax, Mike.” He laughs. “I'm not taking you out here to kill you.”
Mike just swallows. Nods once, curt.
“My brother found this thing.” He continues. “Reminds me of when I was a kid.”
And Mike says nothing. This nervous aura radiating from him like heat off the edge of a car.
They both approach it. The same uneven wood. The same poorly hammered in nails. The same rot. Only this time, a spotlight by the sun as it spills in through all the slits through the trees. Will gestures toward Mike as he ducks inside. Mike does the same.
The foldout chairs are in their designated spots. Sort of stiff from the cold. Will is first to sit. Mike follows, almost reluctantly.
He can't seem to meet Will’s eyes. His cheeks are tinted a shade pinker than usual. Perhaps from the weather.
“Cool, right?” Will smiles.
Mike offers a tucked grin. “Yeah, uh. Yeah, it's cool.” He clears his throat, digs into the front pocket of his pants. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.” Will says.
And so Mike pulls out a cigarette. Ignition of light casting across the protruding parts of his face. Smoke wafting around them. All puffy and off white. His hands shake as he slips the cigarette between two fingers.
“Cold out.” Will says. Rubs his hands together, huffs out hot breaths of air. Mike scoots his chair close. Until their elbows are touching.
“Cigarette might make you warmer.” He offers. Extends an arm, tempting Will with the gesture of his hand.
“Not sure how true that is.” Will laughs. He takes it anyway, only slightly hesitant. It slips between his lips and he's inhaling. Surprisingly smoother than he expected. Smoother than weed. He puffs a few more times before he's handing it back.
Their eyes stay locked as Mike takes a drag. “So,” He says slowly. “What’s up with the earring? If you don't mind me asking?”
The bottles clink as he slides two out from their packaging. Pops them open with the bottle opener attached to his wallet chain.
“Asking cause you only have one.”
Will turns visibly red. His fingertips leave feather light touches against his right ear.
“It’s, uh- it's nothing.”
Mike laughs. Extends a bottle to Will, who accepts gratefully. Nurses it, cold to the touch, between his sleeved hands.
“Well now I know it's something. C’mon, spill.”
Will inhales his bottom lip. Nibbles at the skin there. Takes a swig of strawberry daiquiri. His eyes can't seem to meet Mike's in some embarrassed fit. He shrugs again. Holds his hands tucked between his thighs. The bottle dangles past the chair by a few fingers.
“It’s just…code…for something.” He says. His voice is strangely quiet.
Mike's eyebrows crease in thought.
“Code?” He asks. “An earring is…code?” A laugh. “What, are you a spy?”
Will groans. “Ugh. Forget it, Mike.” His head turns the other way. This weird shame igniting his cheeks to a splintering heat.
“No!” Mike jumps. The fear he's made Will upset by some inappropriate reaction he's not quite recognized. “I'm really curious!”
Will groans. His right cheek hollows as he bites at it. “It’s just, like, so guys know I’m, like- I don't know…interested. In that way.”
Mike still looks confused. “Interested?”
Will gives him a look. Dumfounded. Almost desperate.
Mike’s face shoots up in surprise.
“Oh.” He says.
“Oh.” Will mocks.
“Well, does it, like…work?”
Will laughs. “I mean, yeah.” A shrug. “It works.”
Mike blinks. Eyebrows furrowed in thought. Another swig. Another drag. “So…you’ve, like…met guys…wearing that?”
Will laughs again. “Yeah. I've met guys wearing it.” He says it like it's obvious.
Mike’s brows crease. Then un-crease. A weird focusing thing he has a habit of doing. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle.
“Do you have a boyfriend, or something?”
“I mean.”Will goes pink. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” Mike's jaw clenches. Another swig. Another drag. The flick of his cigarette. Ash sprinkles downward and onto the dirt and snow. Onto the tattered, beaten blankets. Will suddenly notices all the old butts that litter the ground. “What’s his name?”
“Carlton.”
“You like him?” He isn't looking at Will. His brows are still pulled tight.
“Sure, I like him.”
“You guys kiss and stuff?”
Will pulls a face. Sort of amused. Mostly confused. He sips carefully on his drink.
“Yeah, Mike. We kiss and stuff.”
His jaw clenches again. “Right.”
“Is that a problem or something?”
“What? No!” Mike's head whips up. Brows pulled even tighter. He sounds defensive.
“You sound defensive.”
Mike's lips stretch into a grimace. “What? I don't sound defensive!”
Will holds his hands by his head, palms facing out. One interrupted by the bottle, where two fingers hold it steady.
“Alright.” He says, amused.
“I’m not being defensive.”
“Got it.”
Mike takes another drag. “I’m not.” Another swig.
“I said I got it.”
It's quiet. Will can hear the flutter of snow hitting the ground. The trees swaying, brushing out their hair from the dust. There's a weird swelling in his gut. A clench in his chest. Mike's swigging again. He's about to take a drag.
“Let me get another hit from that.” Will says. He extends his hand.
Mike looks up. Dead-faced for only the single moment it takes him to calm down. Or realize he's more embarrassed now than he is mad. A small, hesitant smile crosses his lips.
“Am I corrupting you, Byers?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Will says. “But, sure.”
He takes a drag, inhales, feels Mike’s saliva slick at the end. Tastes of bitter orange. His gut swirls at the thought. That he knows what the inside of Mike’s mouth tastes like. That Mike just might know the inside of his as well.
Will shuts down his brain. He thinks of Carlton. Of New York. He hands the cigarette back and takes a sip of his drink. Mike is already more than halfway done with his own.
“You know, being back here. It's like I'm already forgetting about my new life.” He cradles the bottle in both of his hands.
Mike looks over. Furrowed brows. His jaw tightens. Not in anger. Perhaps in thought. Will shrugs.
“I think I forgot how much I missed being here. I mean, sure. New York has bigger things. Bigger opportunities. Better stores, clubs-”
“Clubs?!” Mike laughs. Will laughs with him. “Maybe I haven't corrupted you as much as I thought.”
Will smiles thoughtfully. They look at one another. Really look.
“I just- I missed you guys.” His breath puffs out in smoke. “I missed you.”
Mike visibly swallows. Drinks from the bottle. Suckles down the last drop and is already fishing for another. The lid pops with a hiss. A sizzle that sounds awfully like barbecuing beef patties.
“I, uh…” He huffs out a smile. Plays with the lip of his drink. “I missed you, too, Will. I've seriously missed you.” He sighs. Almost exasperated. “It’s like without the distraction of college and everyone else…you take up my brain.” It's Will’s turn to furrow his brows. Mike's no longer looking at him. “I don't know…when I heard you were back, I got so scared. That…New York changed you. That you found new friends. Met new, better people. I was terrified of you forgetting about me.”
Will deflates. His shoulders sag. He turns his body toward Mike and their knees bump. Mike finally looks up. His eyes all glittery and wet.
“I could never forget about you, Mike. We've been best friends since we were five. You were my first crush.” He laughs. “Not to make it awkward.” Mike laughs with him. His cheeks burst like two cherries off the same stem. “And don't get me wrong, I love the rest of the party. They're just…they don't get me like you. They never have.”
Mike smiles small. Will can see the beginnings of tipsy in his eyes. Heavy and damp. A sopping wet rag.
“Yeah.” He says.
Will drives him home. He decides it's best to spend the rest of the day with his family. He tosses the bottle in the outside bin so he doesn't have to hear it from Jonathan that he drove with an open bottle in his car.
They eat dinner and Will goes to bed. Alone and cold. Staring at the ceiling fan. Thinking about all his what-ifs