Chapter Text
The smell of freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate hit Will all at once as soon as he stepped into the Wheeler house.
From the kitchen, he heard the soft sound of Christmas music. He recognized the catchy tune of Jingle Bell Rock, and smiled to himself as he caught the tail end of Mrs. Wheeler humming along.
Will waved up at Nancy who just made her way down the stairs as he gently stomped his soaking boots on the carpet, careful not to trail snow inside.
Mrs. Wheeler's head popped around the corner, presumably from the sound of the door being opened and then closed.
“Oh Will!” She had a bright smile, “So nice to see you sweetheart.”
Will smiled back, responding with a soft, “Hi, Mrs. Wheeler. ”
She wiped her floury hands on her green and red striped apron as he shrugged his coat off and onto the small hook beside the door.
“Mike and Richie are downstairs in the basement if you’d like to join them.”
Will looked up from where he was working on the laces to his boots, confused.
“Richie?”
Mrs. Wheeler noticed his unsureness.
“Yes, Richie’s my nephew. He’s visiting from Maine for Christmas break.”
Will nodded, though he still felt a little clueless. How come he’d never heard of this ‘Richie’?
As if she heard his thoughts, she added with a small smile, “Mike didn’t know until yesterday that he’d be staying. It was a rather..quick decision.”
Will smiled back, understanding.
Although he was a little curious on why it had been such a quick decision for him to stay, especially since Christmas day was coming up so soon.
But Will wasn’t nosy—never had been. So he didn’t ask.
Mrs. Wheeler excused herself to go tend to her cookies, and Nancy joined, giving a small “See you later,” to Will as she passed.
Will made his way to the basement door.
He could already hear voices from downstairs. It sounded like Mike and someone else. That must be Richie.
Will slowly opened it, the voices becoming a little louder without the blockage.
Making his way down, he saw the shoulder of Mike's navy sweater, and as he got closer he realized he had his left arm out in a dramatic gesture.
Reaching the bottom he finally saw the two figures fully.
“Oh Michael.” The mystery voice cooed, “Why must you be so difficult?”
Mike scoffed, “What–I’m not being difficult Richie.”
“Oh but you are, you–” The voice abruptly stopped, his eyes flicking to Will from across the room.
Will paused, his mouth going slightly slack as he took in the boy sprawled across the couch.
His legs—far too long for the furniture—were spread out, taking up more than half the space. One knee was hiked up, the angle sharp enough that Will could make out the jut of his patella even from across the room. He was tall. Taller than Mike, Will thought.
A bag of chips sat in one hand, crumbs already scattered across Mrs. Wheeler’s nice blanket, while the other waved Mike’s copy of Batman 348 around like a prop.
When Will focused on his face, the first thing he noticed were the coke-bottle glasses, slightly too big, magnifying sharp eyes behind them. Freckles dotted his cheeks and spilled over the bridge of his nose, trailing down his neck too, now that Will looked closer.
His eyebrows were neat—almost groomed—and there was a small birthmark above his left one that looked, oddly enough, like a rabbit. His jaw was sharp, cheekbones hollow in a way that felt structural rather than unhealthy.
And then there were his lips—cracked, dry, and very clearly in need of chap-stick.
Will had some. Strawberry-flavoured, which would surely put Lonnie in a coma if he ever saw him with it.
What finally snapped Will out of it, though, was the resemblance.
He glanced between the boy and Mike, back and forth, a strange feeling settling in his chest. It was like looking at Mike through a funhouse mirror—similar, but louder somehow. Like a version turned up too high.
The awkward silence was quickly broken.
“Ah, I see you’ve noticed how well our clone machine worked.”
Taken aback, Will focused on the owner of the voice, his eyebrows raised a little.
The other boy looked almost pleased catching him off guard, a small grin on his face.
From the corner of his eye he saw Mike looking surprised to see him there, as if he wasn’t the one to invite him to sleep over.
“You see, when I was born, my parents liked me so much they wanted a second version.” The mysterious boy—Richie, began to wave his hands as he spoke.
“So in I went to the ol’ clone machine.” He smiled, devilishly, showing off his teeth. “But when the clone came out with a fucked-up sense of style and a painfully boring personality, they shipped him off to the buttfuck of Hawkins, Indiana, to live with my aunt and uncle.”
Richie was obviously talking about Mike, as his thumb was jutted over to him when personifying this clone.
Mike sputtered, “Screw you Richie.”
Then under his breath, although everyone could hear, he added a small, “I’m obviously the one who got cloned.”
Richie raised his chip bag hand and put it up to his ear, his voice suddenly too kind, “What’s that sweetheart?”
Mike scoffed, raising his own hand to flip him off.
Will tried to hold in his laugh, he really did, but seeing Mike so pissed off for something so silly had him letting out a loud snort.
He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth.
Mike's head snapped to his direction.
“Hey! That wasn’t even funny.” Mike crossed his arms, looking down at his friend.
Will sheepishly removed his hand, giving the latter an awkward smile. He was about to respond but a voice carried over him.
“Of course he found it funny. I can tell this–” He raised his hand, which had apparently dropped the comic book, in a gesture towards Will, who quickly caught on.
“Will.” He supplied.
Richie smiled. “I can tell this Will has good taste.”
Will couldn't help but smile back, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck from the attention.
“Yeah whatever man.” Mike uncrossed his arms and plopped on the small cushioned seat to the left of the couch.
Will just stood awkwardly by the bottom of the stairs, realizing Mike hadn’t really introduced them or anything, even though they knew each other's names.
Richie scoffed, raising himself from the couch and over to where Will stood.
He backed up a little when he was right in front of his face, which Richie smiled at.
Will noticed he was much taller than Mike—towering over him, really.
“Not gonna hurt ya. Just came to introduce myself. Since someone—” He turned his head back to Mike, “Doesn’t know how to do it himself.”
Will heard Mike make an annoyed sound from behind him.
Richie turned back.
“Richie Tozier, at your service—honorary jokester, part-time philosopher, and your go-to for deep talks or light conversation. Pick your poison and I’m your man.”
He stuck his hand out, and Will looked down.
It seems his lips aren’t the only thing that need some moisture—his hands look like they haven’t been introduced to lotion a day in his life. Will also had some in his overnight bag, which he had unfortunately left upstairs by the door.
Will quickly realized he had only been staring at the hand and took his own out to shake.
The inside of his hands seemed much smoother and warm. Maybe the dryness on the backside is from the cold? It is the middle of Winter so it makes sense.
Will cleared his throat a little, not trusting his pubescent voice not to embarrass him.
“Will. Will Byers…at your service?”
He cringed. That did not sound as natural as when Richie said it.
Richie’s grin only seemed to widen at that.
He put on this rather good rendition of a British accent, voice raised slightly higher.
“Ah nice to meet you my fellow gentlemen. Who knew my boring cousin had cool friends.”
Will heard a “fuck off” by the couch, but he could barely pay attention with Richie’s hand still conjoined with his.
Richie smiled down at their hands, “You planning to let go?”
Will’s eyes turned to saucers, quickly dropping them and rubbing the sweat on his light wash jeans.
Richie chuckled, then began to turn away from the boy and back over to the couch.
When he sat down and realized Will hadn’t moved an inch, he tilted his head in a ‘well wait are you waiting for’ gesture that had him quickly follow.
Unsure of where to sit, he placed himself opposite Mike on the other chair.
Richie clasped his hands together, spreading himself out again. “So, how are you two planning to wow the big Rich this Christmas break?”
Mike crossed his arms again and rolled his eyes. “Entertain yourself Richie, we're not your maids.”
Richie just ignored him and turned over to Will.
“William? What would you have us do on this lovely, freezing day?”
Will barely got a chance to even think of a response.
“He doesn’t like being called William.”
Richie seemed unimpressed, barely turning his head to his cousin, “Did William tell you that?”
Mike scrunched his face. “No but I’m his best friend. I would know that he only lets his mom call him that.”
Richie tsked, eyes back to Will now. “Well, what’s the verdict?”
Will felt heat creep up his cheeks, his fingers fiddling with the loose string from the cushion.
“Uh–well, I don’t...I don’t mind.”
“Ha!” Richie spun back to Mike as he clapped his hands, “See Wheeler.”
Will wished the couch would eat him alive.
After a lot of back and forth bickering—or more Richie trying to get a reaction out of Mike while Will watched, amused—the three finally decided on playing a board game (that wasn’t D&D because “that’s a loser game” - Richie).
“Is your friend-group not called the losers club? Mike asked, setting up the Monopoly game. “Is that not your whole brand?”
Richie nodded, a hand on his chin, “Yes. I suppose.” He shot a grin at Will.
“The only difference with us is that we’re losers by choice. You were just born dorky.”
Will again, couldn’t help the light chuckle he let out. Richie seemed pleased his joke landed, adding a small punch to Mike's shoulder that made him scowl.
Once the game was set up—Richie as the top hat character, Mike the car, and Will the dog, they were set.
Will was on money duty, a pile of each bill stacked neatly to his left.
He’d volunteered for it without really thinking, but now that he had it, he found himself taking the job very seriously. Maybe a little too seriously. It was easier to focus on something concrete—paper, numbers, neat rows—than on the way the room felt louder with Richie in it.
He lined the bills up by value, smoothing out the corners with his thumb, counting twice before handing anything over. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until Richie noticed.
“Well would you look at that,” Richie leaned back into the couch, craning his neck to see the neat stacks. “We’ve got ourselves a professional. You ever thought about a career in finance, William?”
Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes, mostly because Mike beat him to it.
“I said don’t call him that.”
Richie blinked, faux-innocent. “What? It’s his name.”
Will cleared his throat, heat creeping up his neck as he slid a stack of ones toward Mike. “It’s—it’s fine. Just call me Will.”
Richie’s eyebrows lifted, pleased. “Will it is.” He said it slowly, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth.
Mike rolled the dice harder than necessary.
The game kept going like that.
Every time Will handed out money, Richie had something to say—about how careful he was, how focused he looked, how seriously he took it. Will tried not to react, but each comment landed anyway, settling somewhere warm and uncomfortable in his chest.
“You’re weirdly good at this,” Richie said at one point, taking his rent with a grin. “Like… responsible good. Kinda hot.”
Will’s brain stalled. He’d never been called that.
Mike choked, eyes staying on the bills in his hands. “Can you not flirt with my—”
He stopped himself so abruptly it made Will’s stomach twist.
With his what?
Richie tilted his head. “Your… what, Wheeler?”
Will stared down at the board, his ears burning. “You owe twenty more,” he muttered, pointing to the square.
Richie laughed, clearly pleased, and slid the extra bill over. “See? He keeps me honest.”
Mike crossed his arms, finally looking back up. “It’s Monopoly.”
“And yet,” Richie shrugged, his eyes flicking back to Will, “I trust him with my money.”
Will didn’t look up, but felt his eyes on him anyways.
A few turns later, he landed on one of Richie’s properties and froze.
“Oh,” he said quietly, counting his bills again even though he already knew. “I… don’t think I can afford that.”
Richie leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Tell you what,” he said easily. “I’ll cut you a deal.”
Will didn’t have time to answer.
“No.”
Mike’s voice was sharp enough to make Will flinch.
Both boys looked at him.
“No?” Richie echoed.
“No deals,” Mike said. “That’s not how the game works.”
Will’s fingers tightened around the bills. He hated moments like this—when the air shifted and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself.
Richie stared at Mike for a second before grinning wide. “Wow. You’re really intense about fake money, huh?”
Will counted out what he had, hands steady even though his chest felt tight, and placed the bills in front of Richie. “It’s okay. I’ll just pay.”
Richie took them, his fingers brushing Will’s for half a second too long.
It made Will’s breath hitch, just barely.
He didn’t look at Mike. He didn’t need to. He could feel the tension radiating off him anyway, thick and uncomfortable.
Will focused on straightening the remaining bills in his pile.
The game kept going.
But something about it felt different now.
By the end of the night, Will was curled up in his sleeping bag on Mike’s floor, staring at the ceiling and very unsuccessfully trying to get a certain glasses-wearing boy out of his head.
The Monopoly game had gone on like that right up until dinner—Richie making offhand comments that made the hairs on the back of Will’s neck stand up, or accidentally brushing their hands together whenever they both reached for the money or the popcorn bowl Mrs. Wheeler brought down halfway through the game.
Will didn’t really know how he felt about him.
Well—no. That wasn’t entirely true.
He could admit that Richie was handsome. There was something about his sharp cheekbones and long limbs that did something strange to Will’s chest. And he definitely didn’t mind looking at him, even if he seemed to get caught every single time.
His thoughts drifted back to earlier—the feel of Richie’s hand in his, warm and steady, the way his smirk widened when he realized Will hadn’t let go right away.
Will sank deeper into his pillow, letting out a quiet groan.
He didn’t want to think about what any of it meant.
Richie was loud. Eccentric. The kind of person who said things just to get a reaction. Maybe the comments were jokes, nothing more than that. Still… Will couldn’t think of a single time he’d ever called one of his friends hot as a joke.
Whatever. Richie was weird anyway.
Will rolled onto his side, facing the far wall of Mike’s room, and finally let sleep pull him under—though the warmth of someone else’s hand lingered far longer than he wanted it to.