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August 27th, 1979
Will can feel himself shaking when Jonathan finally gets home. Today, they get to hang out. Just to get school supplies, but still. It’s been god knows how long since Jonathan had gotten his new, (not exactly legal), job. So, when he hears the lock of the front door click he can’t help but rush to it.
Jonathan is stable. Solid. His voice is low and tired, his shoulders hunched, eyes sad, too old for his face- but at least he’s consistent.
“Hey Will! How was your day?”
Will is only eight, and he knows what eight year olds are supposed to know, so he pretends he doesn’t hear the forced concern, the saccharine quality of his tone. He knows his brother is tired, and realistically, couldn’t care less. But he bothered to ask, so Will plays his game.
“Good! I hung out with Mike, ‘n Dustin and Lucas!”
Good was an overstatement. “Dustin and Lucas,” was a straight-up lie. In reality, he had gone to the Wheeler’s house, dragging Mike out to poke at minnows in a nearby creek. He had felt warm, and good and safe, for once. In a way that he knows is wrong, but isn’t sure why.
It was all so perfect- until they ran into Troy. Nothing happened. Besides Troy calling them queer in a way all too much like Lonnie. Besides Mike running away without saying goodbye.
Jonathan, unfortunately, seems to notice the discomfort seeping into his voice.
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm.” He thinks another lie would put the final crack in his facade.
They end up making it to the store, picking out the cheapest items, but Jonathan insists on getting Will some nice colored pencils. He tries to protest, he doesn’t need some colorful sticks that cost a day’s shift at Jonathan’s job.
“C’mon Will. This is your thing, it’s fine, really.”
Despite his arguments they end up getting the pencils. It makes Will feel sick. Sick for lying, because the least he could offer his brother is the truth.
He speaks up on the walk home, voice meek, sore from silence.
“Jonathan- is it weird to hang out with Mike so much?”
His brother seems to deliberately ignore the subtext by responding,
“Why would it be weird? You’re friends.”
“Other people seem to think it’s weird.”
Jonathan grimaces at this, before softening his expression for a response.
“Who told you that?”
Will knows, realistically, Jonathan wouldn’t be mad. He knows that Lonnie had thrown the same words at Jonathan before Will was old enough to understand what they meant. But he can’t help the nerves rising in his gut.
“Nobody. Just some kid.”
“Well. The kid sounds lonely to me. Nothing wrong with having friends, bud.”
The word “friends” comes out slightly emphasized. In a way that lets Will know that Jonathan knows that it’s not just “friendship.”
It wasn’t exactly all he had hoped for, but then again, Will doesn’t know what he was hoping for in the first place. He doesn’t even know why he feels the way he does when he looks at Mike. Nervous and afraid, disgusted, but for the first time, seen.
So he simply nods. He can settle with that for now.
February 14th, 1981
When Jonathan calls him out for breakfast, it takes Will about 20 minutes to come out. Not because he’s tired, despite the fact that he’s been up since 5 am. But because he wanted to add the finishing touches on his valentine. A painting, small, and relatively simple, but it took him about a week.
It’s for a friend. A friend, just a friend. Because Will isn’t- he just isn’t. It doesn’t matter that most girls don’t make valentines for boys they like, or vice versa. It doesn’t matter that even if they do, they don’t spend nearly as much time on it as Will did. And it doesn’t matter that even if Will says it’s for a friend, even if he really believed it, because other people wouldn’t.
He’s nine years old, almost ten, which is too old to give a valentine to another boy. Too old to give a valentine to Mike Wheeler.
And the idea of it stirs him up so bad he can’t even eat the breakfast his brother made. Twitching and thinking he should never have painted it in the first place.
But his brother is disgustingly perceptive, and unfortunately, kind enough to actually pry into his life.
“Hey Will, you good?”
And by this point, he knows better than to lie. He’d rather tell Jonathan than let him find out. And he’d definitely rather Jonathan know than his mom.
“I made a valentine for someone.”
Jonathan doesn’t make him say the hard part, thank god.
“Is it for Mike?”
Will simply nods, and as Jonathan pulls him into a hug, he frantically says,
“Asafriend-” All in one breath.
Jonathan pulls away and smiles. Sort of sad, but not hostile.
“I never said it wasn’t. But, if it wasn’t just as a friend, that would be fine with me. You know that, right?”
Will isn’t exactly shocked. Jonathan is perfect. Sometimes he hates how perfect he is, and then hates himself for hating his stupid perfect brother. But if he knew, if he really knew, there’s no way he wouldn’t be disgusted.
So he’s not shocked by the constant reassurance. He is shocked by his next admission.
It’s slow, and quiet. Afraid, but solid. Jonathan is always solid.
“When I was ten, I kissed a boy. Eric Campbell. In a bathroom stall. I’m not saying how I felt is how you feel now, but if it is, it’s okay.”
He doesn't go into detail. Maybe he will someday, if Will asks. But a question would be confession. Proof that he’s sick in the head. And the healthy still look down on the diseased, no matter the number of them.
So Will nods. And he takes a bite of his toast.
He gives the valentine to Mike out of school, when nobody else is around. He gets one back, shockingly enough. Store bought, but it has a lollipop attached. And a hug, one that lasts around ten seconds. Longer than “friends” usually do. Neither of them bring it up, but Will beams on the bike ride home. And Jonathan smiles, for real this time, when he sees the look on his face.
April 12th, 1984
It makes him sick. The constant giggling, smiling at each other across the table. It’s not that he hates Jane. In fact, he probably likes her more than Mike at this point. She’s kind, creative, and pretty. She’s actually interested in Will’s art, and likes listening to him talk. So he doesn’t hate her. He’s not allowed. And it’s stupid, it really is, to be so jealous of someone taking something that was never his.
But still, the moment she called him, so excited he could hear her smile through the phone, to tell him about her new boyfriend, it took all of his willpower to not hang up the phone right there.
He’s accepted it at this point. The fact that all these years later, his father ended up being right.
That he really is sick in the head. But god, he wishes that he wasn’t. That he could love a girl.
That maybe, for once in his life, something could be easy.
And he wishes that his little pathetic breakdown didn’t happen on his brother’s day off. Crying desperately in the living room is bad enough, but to be seen? Significantly worse.
The door opens, and in comes Jonathan. He expects comfort, a “what’s wrong?” But nothing comes. Under all his relief he’s actually a bit offended, because I thought you cared about me, or some other nonsense.
Instead, Jonathan just asks him if he wants to tag along as he takes pictures. And he needs the distraction, so he says yes. They walk through the woods, silent, stopping every few minutes so his brother can capture a bird, or an oddly shaped tree.
It reminds him too much of when he was younger, too much of a time before girls mattered, and before he can even think about it, hot tears start rolling down his face.
He’s quiet. Quiet in a learned way. A way taught from years of hiding under the bed, not coming out until Jonathan says it’s safe, with a hoarse voice. Quiet because quiet keeps you from getting hurt.
So it takes Jonathan a minute to even notice the fact that he’s crying. And when he does, it’s something Will isn’t even sure of, because all he did was grab his hand.
He doesn’t notice that Jonathan is taking him to the mall until they get there. He follows, wordlessly, as he’s dragged to the ice cream shop.
“What do you want?”
Will doesn’t feel alive enough to answer. He just shrugs. So Jonathan gets him a sundae.
When he finally thinks he’s stopped crying, the moment they sit down, Jonathan hits him with,
“I heard about Jane and Mike.”
He sobs into his ice cream as his brother mutters vague apologies he can’t make out. He cries the whole way home, and not once does Jonathan tell him to stop. That boys don’t cry.
By nightfall he’s exhausted. Voice spent on tears, body trembling. But he feels slightly better. He has someone to look out for him. Someone who knows, and doesn’t hate him.
July 4th, 1984
He runs through the fair as fast as he can. Colors blur around him, the smell of popcorn, cotton candy, vomit. Everything is so bright and he feels giddy and terrified, and all he wants is quiet.
So he looks for the one person who can give him quiet.
He’s supposed to be taking pictures for a local newspaper. A one-time gig, good for a few bucks and free drinks. Free drinks. It’s on food service. He navigates between drunken teenagers and screaming children to get to the food court. He squints, listens for the familiar shutter of a camera, until he finds him by the soda machine.
Jonathan, beaming at.. Steve. Steve? Steve Harrington?
It shocks him badly enough to consider the possibility that this might all be a dream. But then he thinks of the past thirty minutes, and decides he’d rather it was reality. So he walks up to his brother.
“God, Harrington, you really think that’ll-”
He cuts himself off the moment he sees Will, red faced and teary eyed. He waves Steve off immediately, and Will finds himself, once again, cursing his stupid, perfect, brother.
“Will- are you alright?”
“IKISSEDHIM-” It comes out louder than he meant it to, but everyone in town knows he’s queer anyways. Besides, he doubts anyone could hear him over the fireworks.
“Well- he kissed me, actually-”
Jonathan cuts him off, but a grin rests on his face, like he knows the answer before he even asks the question.
“Who kissed you?”
He knows. He knows and he’s playing this out just to torture Will.
“Mike.” He whispers back.
Then Jonathan smiles, earnest, no longer teasing.
“That’s great Will. You’ve been pining after him for so long it was getting tiring.”
“Hey, that’s an overstatement-”
“So why are you not with him?”
Right. The reason he ran in the first place. They were in a dark corner of the fair, somewhere Mike had dragged him. “A good spot for the first fireworks-” he said. And it was. Explosions of light and color littered the sky, but all he could really pay attention to was Mike. He was so beautiful, lit up by the yellows and blues of the blooming fire. And he nearly said it, but Mike beat him to the sentiment, closing his lips as soon as they opened.
The kiss was soft. Sweet too, probably because of the cotton candy they shared earlier. It was so perfect. Well, except for the fact that Will, rather unfortunately, felt the need to throw up. He blurted it out, and ran.
He never actually emptied his guts, since the farther he got, the more he realised that his nausea came from nerves, and not bad fries.
“I messed up.” It’s meek. He’s not used to being the one who makes mistakes. Mike is supposed to be the instigator, not Will. Will doesn’t say things like, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
But Jonathan just nods. Says it’s okay. Doesn’t pry, or make him uncomfortable. He just takes Will’s hand and asks him to lead the way to Mike. He picks out a balloon, red and heart shaped, right before they reach the spot. And before Will can ask him what the plan is, he’s already gone.
Right. Now here comes the hard part. He sneaks up behind him, taps him on the shoulder.
Apologizes before Mike even has the chance to speak.
When he doesn’t respond, Will is almost convinced that he’s made things worse. That is, until he pulls him in for another kiss.
August 9th, 1984
The night before, Will was woken up the same way he had been woken up for the past month. The tapping of someone at his bedroom window, a quiet mutter of it’s unlocked. The slow slide of glass, and careful footsteps lowered onto his floor. Soft black hair and the smell of soap his family can’t afford.
Tonight, however, he knows the noise won’t come. Mike had been caught, and grounded. Just for a week. But still- Will wanted to keep the routine. It was nice. Safe.
So when Jonathan opens his window, confused as to why he just heard what sounded like his kid brother falling on his ass into some bushes in the middle of the night, Will loses his hopes of normalcy.
But when Jonathan lets him back in through the front door, he just sits Will down. No shoving him back to bed, even though he’s clearly exhausted. Just a question. Not even that.
“Why?”
It’s so little, and yet, just enough. “Why are you sneaking out,” doesn’t need to be said, which Will suspects is mainly because Jonathan already knows why.
Well. No point in lying now. “I was going to go see Mike.”
Jonathan stares for a second. Not surprised, just processing. Then he stands up and grabs Will’s hand. Now it’s Will’s turn to ask, “Why?”
And Jonathan just shrugs like it makes perfect sense.
“I’m not going to let you walk to his house in the middle of the night, alone. I’ll just drive you.”
The car ride is relatively silent. Both brothers still drunk off sleep, neither much interested in making conversation. But curiosity gets the best of everyone eventually. Even Jonathan Byers.
“So. Are you gonna go through his window? Or the front door?”
Will scoffs, “Window, obviously. I’m offended that you think I’m dumb enough to go through the front door.”
“Well, you’re dumb enough that you’re going over to see him in the middle of the night, even though you were already going to see him tomorrow anyways.”
Will flushes at that because he’s right. There’s no comeback for him to make.
“It’s fine. Just be careful. The best way to get on the Wheeler’s roof is to climb up the drain pipe.”
Now; that’s surprising. Because Will knows damn well that Jonathan is not sneaking into Nancy Wheeler’s room. As close as they are, he doesn’t like her in that way. So who told him-
“Have you been hanging around Steve lately?”
Now it’s Jonathan’s turn to flush, embarrassed. Muttering something about, “He’s actually not that bad-” And Will is kind enough to not point out that anyone who has eyes for men has had a crush on Steve Harrington at one point or another. Himself included.
He also doesn’t point out the fact that he’s pretty damn sure that whatever Jonathan’s weird fixation is, is reciprocated. So he just nods.
He waves goodbye when they get to the house. He climbs the drain pipe, more effective than he thought, and wow, Steve really does have experience being the perfect rom-com star.
And for the first time that summer, Mike is woken up by tapping on his window. Listening to soft footsteps hopping to his carpeted floors. Not opening his eyes, but still knowing who it is. Knowing the smell of leftover cigarette smoke from Joyce, and cheap laundry detergent.
December 27th, 1985
It’s been years since Lonnie left for good. But still, when Will hears shuffling in the hallway, a small part of him expects the smell of alcohol, or a loud voice; a raised hand. So when he’s up at 3 am to get water, and he hears noise, he flinches. He tells himself it’s nothing. It’s an old house. It makes noises. It’s not anyone.
Then the house coughs, and he can’t stop his head from whipping around to see-
Steve? Well. At least Steve isn’t dangerous. Wait no. What?
He blinks, rubs his eyes, pinches his leg. But no, Steve Harrington is still there. Half awake, covered in hickies, and stepping out of Jonathan’s room.
And it shouldn’t be that surprising, because his brother has always had interesting taste in men, to say the least. But still. “King Steve” hanging out with Jonathan “Creep” Byers was still odd to him. And that’s not even acknowledging the fact that “hanging out” is an understatement.
Steve takes a minute to realize where he is. Then another to realize Will is staring at him. Then he immediately turns red and darts back into Jonathan’s room.
And before Will can sigh, push it away, despite curiosity, and go back to bed, Jonathan steps out.
He looks like a mess. Neck bruised, hair messed up, (worse than usual), and covered in sweat.
And he mutters, awkward and almost- afraid? No- before asking, “Please tell me you didn’t see or hear any of that.”
And that just makes Will laugh. “I was asleep, thank god.” He pauses for a beat. Then, “Steve? Really?”
And Jonathan grimaces before nodding.
“Jesus, your neck. Was he trying to eat you?”
“Ha ha, real funny.”
“Sure. Y’know, mom’s gonna be pissed when she sees you.”
And the mention of their mom seems to activate Jonathan’s sense of shame like a sleeper agent, because he immediately shoots up before groaning.
“Aw fuck- you’re right. Shit-”
And Will just laughs, because he can’t remember the last time he saw Jonathan this nervous over something that didn’t actually matter. Stuff like your mom being mad at you for having your boyfriend over; not working overtime to pay the bills at sixteen.
And maybe his perfect brother isn’t so perfect after all. Maybe he’s nervous, and actually wrong sometimes. Maybe he’s human.
But perfect doesn’t matter, because he’s his brother. And if Will gets a chance to give back a fraction of the help he’s gotten over the years, he’s going to take it.
“I’ll help you cover it up.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow. We can go get some makeup before mom wakes up.”
And Jonathan smiles, and lets himself slip back into half-asleep dreaminess. He turns back into his room, shoulders untensed, muttering a quiet,“Thanks.”
And the moment is so perfect that Will can’t help himself.
“Oh. And Jonathan?”
“What?”
“I’m gonna make fun of you for this for at least the next month.”