Chapter Text
June, 1988
After he finished Junior year, the quarry became Chance’s quiet refuge. A hollow carved in between the cliff’s stones where the weight of expectations couldn’t follow him, expectations that he knew he had put upon himself. Carefully chiseled, meticulously sharpened until the ends dug into his ribs with every exhale. Still, here, there was only wind, water, and the mercy of solitude. Here, there was no performance, no sharp edges bothering him at every attempt to be the boy he was supposed to, here, he had the option to just….be.
And tonight was no different, he had slipped away from his “friends” by telling them his mom didn’t want him out so much these days. If it was a lie…that was nobody’s business. The quarry never asked any questions.
He was walking his usual trek up the path, sneakers scuffing the gravel with every step, cold air grazing his skin in a way that felt like relief.
That was when he heard it.
The faint murmur of something threading through the dark. Music. Faint, tiny, stubbornly alive. As the cliff came into full view, so did the source of the music. A walkman. Will Byers' walkman to be specific. He sat at the edge, small and still against the vast stretch of horizon, bathed in moonlight. The silver light hit his pale skin, turned it luminous. The wind toyed with his hair, lifting it gently, and his head moved in quiet rhythm.
Chance’s brain, traitorous and unhelpful, had only one thought.
Ethereal.
And standing there, listening to nothing but his heartbeat and the music, he almost believed it.
Will Byers.
The name had been a quiet echo in Chance's thoughts since the spring of ‘86 when he finally saw him for the first time. It echoed in the quiet places of his mind, soft but persistent. He wouldn’t call it a crush, not really, because crushes imply feelings, imply having a connection, imply bright, careless things. This was quieter. Stranger. And they hadn’t even spoken. Not once.
Still.
Most days Will moved through Chance’s thoughts like a refrain he could not forget.
Not that he would ever show it.
Chance was aware of what people thought and said about Will, the quiet speculations, the sharpened glances, the way the whispers multiplied since he came back after that god forsaken earthquake, as if his presence itself was suspicious.
Chance didn’t believe them, not really.
Small towns are hungry; they feed on difference. He wasn’t born here, he hadn’t grown up suffocated by the same recycled judgements everyone here had. Once, his world had been bigger than this, bigger than back porches, and basketball courts, and the suffocating need to belong.
Wanting to belong can sharpen down your edges until you don’t recognize the shape of yourself anymore. It can turn softness into something sharp. Defensive. Performative.
Chance learned early that acceptance was a currency, and cruelty was sometimes the easiest way to pay for it. If he laughed first, no one would look too closely at him. If he aimed the joke outward, no one would think to turn it inward. If he echoed the right opinions, nodded at the right moments, kept his voice steady when certain words were thrown around like stones, he could stay safe.
Safe meant unseen.
Safe meant no one asking why his eyes lingered too long on the wrong things.
So he let his mouth shape agreements his heart did not hold. Let himself shrug when he should’ve spoken. Let silence do the work of complicity.
It wasn’t that he enjoyed it.
It was that he was afraid.
And fear, when left alone long enough, started to look like indifference.
Everyone else in that little group had always been fair game. Teasing them cost him nothing. Rolling his eyes, shoving shoulders, letting sarcasm bite just enough to earn a laugh…it was easy. They didn’t matter. They didn’t get close enough to bruise anything vital.
They were safe because they meant nothing.
But Will…
There was something about him that felt like standing at the edge of deep water at night. Not the loud, sunlit kind you jump into with your friends. The dark kind. The quiet kind. The kind where you can’t see the bottom and you’re not sure what’s looking back at you.
And that made him dangerous. So Chance didn’t.
He kept his distance instead.
Pretended he wasn’t interested in bothering Will like he was the others. Pretended Will was just another body in the hallway. Another name on a roster. Another face in the crowd.
But Chance was always aware of his presence.
Of the way Will’s hands hovered uncertainly when he spoke. Of the way his eyes, those impossible, searching eyes, seemed to be looking for something they didn’t expect to find.
Looking too long felt dangerous. Because looking too long might have meant noticing how gentle he was. And noticing might have meant caring.
And caring…
Caring would have cracked something open in him he had worked very hard to seal shut.
He could survive being disliked. He could survive being misunderstood.
He could not survive wanting.
Not like that.
Feeling too much might mean wanting something he couldn’t afford to want. Might mean realizing that the reason he never let the jokes turn toward Will wasn’t moral superiority, it was protectiveness. Might mean admitting that the reason he looked away first was because if he didn’t, he would be caught staring. And if he was caught staring, someone might ask why.
And if someone asked why…
He wasn’t ready to answer.
So he kept to the edges. Kept his voice easy. Kept his hands to himself.
He told himself he was being smart. But sometimes, when Will laughed softly at something someone else said, when he tucked his chin down in that shy way that made his hair fall into his eyes, Chance felt something pull in his chest so hard it almost hurt.
He wasn’t cruel to Will. Not because he was good, but because he already cared too much. And caring too much meant he was already closer to the water than he wanted to admit.
The song in the walkman shifted, a subtle change in rhythm. Chance startled slightly, realizing how long he’d been standing there, rooted to the earth by a boy who did not even know he was being watched. Will was still facing away, moonlight silvering his skin until he seemed carved from something gentler than bone.
And Chance, did something he had never done before.
For once, he chose something not out of fear.
Not out of belonging.
Not out of hiding.
For once, he let the fear be smaller than the wanting.
For the first time in his life, he chose for himself.
“Mind if I sit here?”
He pitched his voice just loud enough to carry over the music, a smile curving at his mouth like he wasn’t standing at the edge of something far more dangerous than a cliff.
Will startled, small, like a deer catching the snap of a twig, and immediately turns to look at whoever just spoke. When their eyes met, it took a moment for Chance to realize his breathing became uneven. It was such a simple thing. But Will was looking at him, fully, for the very first time. Not past him in a hallway. Not through him in a crowd. At him.
Those big eyes, wider than Chance expected, were layered. Alive. Shock flickered first, bright and quick. Then concern, a crease forming between his brows. Then something shifted, recalibrated. The fear smoothed into curiosity, into recognition, into something…unnamed.
Chance became consumed with how expressive those eyes were. Will hadn’t moved otherwise. Not a hand, not a shoulder, but Chance could almost read his train of thought just from looking into that hazel abyss. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, posture loose, as if this was easy, as if his pulse wasn't ricocheting against his ribs. His mind was simultaneously miles away and sharply focused on the beautiful boy in front of him. He didn’t move, he didn't look away, he just let Will stare.
And Will stared in a way that felt almost searching, that made Chance almost feel bare, like his chest was wide open for Will to explore. And something inside him shifted. With a dawning, breathless horror, he understood:
From this moment on, he will do unthinkable things, brave things, foolish things, just to keep those eyes on him.
“Uh… No, go ahead.” Will exhaled, voice soft but still lingering with surprise, “There’s plenty of space.” A smile tugged at Will’s mouth. Shy, but there.
“I’m Chance.” He said as he sat at careful distance, the name falling softer now, like the situation called for caution but still, less rehearsed.
He turned his body toward Will instead of the sprawling dark of the quarry yawning to his right. The horizon could wait. He stretched one leg out before him, bent the other so his arm could rest easily across his knee. He expected the usual tightening in his chest, the subtle performance of appearing at ease.
But there was no performance, he was simply…calm
“I know.” The reply came with a breath of laughter. Barely there, like wind passing through tall grass. “I’m Will.”
Will finally looked at him again, fully this time. The faint smile remained, small but steady, like something he was choosing to keep.
“I know.” Chance said, holding eye contact.
He meant it.
He meant it in the way you mean something when you’re trying to lay yourself down without armor.
And then he saw it.
It was small. Quick. A flicker across Will’s face like a cloud skimming over the sun. But Chance caught it. The brief tightening around his eyes, the almost-imperceptible hesitation. A question that didn’t get asked. A doubt that didn’t get voiced.
It wasn’t accusation. It was the reflex of someone who had learned that softness could be used against him. And it unsettled Chance more than he expected.
Because he recognized it. He recognized the origin of that look. He recognized the architecture of it. This town built it. The hallways. The locker rooms. The way certain words echo louder than others. The way laughter could turn sharp without warning.
Will didn’t invent that doubt.
Hawkins handed it to him.
And Chance, God, Chance has existed comfortably inside the machinery that made it.
He felt it then, sudden and sharp; the sickening realization that he might look like every other boy who ever smiled before turning cruel.
He didn’t want to be the reason for that shadow.
Didn’t want to be another name folded quietly into the list of reasons Will measured people before trusting them. Another almost-safe thing that turned out not to be.
He knew trust wasn’t given freely here. He knew Will had earned his caution.
Knew he had every reason to brace.
And the fact that Will was bracing, just a little, at him felt like a bruise blooming under Chance’s ribs. Because he had never wanted to hurt him. Not once.
He wanted to reach back through time and snatch every careless laugh out of the air before it landed. Wanted to unsay the things he didn’t challenge. Wanted to undo every silence that allowed rumors to grow teeth.
He wanted to step outside the version of himself this town recognized.
The wanting tangled in his chest, urgent and clumsy and too big for his ribs. He became so focused on fixing it, on proving something he couldn’t even articulate, that he forgot to soften himself. Forgot that honesty, when it’s sharp, can still cut.
And before he could filter it, before he could dress it up in something safer, it spilled out of him.
“Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?”
The words left him all in one breath, unguarded, unmeasured. They hung there between them, fragile and irreversible. Will’s lips parted slightly in surprise, and Chance felt the echo of what he’d just said. There it was. Out in the open. No taking it back. He didn’t want to take it back.
“I mean,” he pressed on, warmth rising in his chest, “they’re a beautiful color. And they’re so expressive…it’s kind of amazing.”
If he’s going to leap, he might as well fall properly.
Will didn’t speak right away, but the silence wasn’t cold. It was…blooming. A soft rose spread across his cheeks, dusting over his nose, staining his pale skin in something tender and unmistakable. Chance decided, boldly, hopefully, that this was a good sign. He held Will’s gaze steady and offered a smile that he hoped felt like an offering.
“No, I—” Will exhaled, almost laughing, “I can’t say I’ve heard that before.” A small, bewildered giggle slipped out. “But thank you. You—” He hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked up at Chance’s face. “You also have very nice eyes. They’re very intense.”
Chance huffed, a quiet, breathy sound.
“Nah. I just have a staring problem.”
He let his focus shift deliberately between Will’s eyes, left to right, slow enough to be noticed. Playful. Intentional.
This was dangerous. He knew it in the same instinctive way he knew when a storm is about to break. He should not have been sitting this close. Should not have been speaking like this. Should not have felt this steady while doing it. But he didn’t fear Will’s reaction. That’s the strangest part. There was something so gentle about him that even rejection felt like it would land softly. Like it wouldn’t bruise. That realization was its own kind of undoing.
Chance finally looked away, turning toward the dark stretch of water. The quarry laid quiet, silvered by moonlight, pretending it wasn’t holding its breath. He exhaled.
He could still feel it. Will’s gaze lingering against the side of his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. It took more restraint than he’d like to admit not to turn back and dive into those eyes again. Needing something to anchor himself, something ordinary, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The crinkle of cardboard sounded louder than it should in the hush between them.
“Do you mind if I…?”
The question dissolved as he slipped a cigarette between his lips. He patted his pockets, feigning distraction, grateful for something to look at besides Will’s mouth, Will’s hands, Will’s eyes. Empty. He muttered a curse under his breath.
A soft huff of laughter answered him.
click
A flame bloomed in front of him.
It was a cheap lighter, the plastic body smeared in dried paint. Greens and yellows and streaks of red layered over each other like small, careless constellations. When Chance lifted his eyes, he found Will already watching him.
The cigarette shifted slightly between Chance’s lips.
“You looked like you needed one,” Will said, mouth tilting into something almost coy, one shoulder rising in a shy shrug.
Chance didn’t reply. He leaned forward instead, lowering the tip of the cigarette to the waiting flame, holding Will’s gaze as if the hint itself was a current passing between them.
Will’s breath stuttered.
He swallowed.
His thumb flicked.
The flame bloomed.
Chance inhaled, cheeks hollowing, smoke filled his lungs as heat brushed his face. He could feel Will watching him, before he could do something truly insane, Chance pulled back abruptly, smoke curling from his mouth.
“You smoke?” he asked, faking disbelief.
Will huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” There was no bite in it.
“Nothing, nothing.” Chance lifted both brows and hands in surrender. “It’s just… surprising.”
Will rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Well, for your information, I do smoke.” He hesitated, the smile thinning. “Picked it up last winter. Not very proud of it.” He shrugged and looked at his hands.
The words fell heavier than the joke deserved.
His fingers began to toy with the lighter. Flipping it open and shut, thumb brushing the wheel without striking it. The motion felt restless. Distant.
Last winter.
Chance didn’t ask. But he saw the shadow thatd through Will’s expression. The way memory tightened his mouth just slightly. There were rooms inside him that Chance hadn't even glimpsed yet. Rooms with closed doors. Rooms that echoed.
And something in him ached to be let inside.
“Hey,” Chance said softly, voice lowered like it was meant only for the two of them. “I don’t judge.”
A beat.
“Unless you smoke Pall Malls.” He grimaced dramatically.
Will laughed, a real one this time, nose scrunching in a way that stole the breath clean from Chance’s lungs.
“No, I don’t smoke Pall Malls,” he said through giggles. “I just steal whatever my brother gets.” A pause. His mouth twisted faintly. “Or used to. He’s in New York now.”
The sigh that followed was quiet but weighted.
Chance nudged Will’s knee lightly with the toe of his sneaker.
“So what I’m hearing,” he said, smoke drifting lazily between them, “is that you need someone else to smuggle cigarettes for you?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, a crooked smirk playing at his mouth.
Will straightened slightly, mock seriousness settling over his features. “Oh? Are you offering?” His lips twitched, barely restrained.
“I am.” Chance bit his lower lip, considering him as if negotiating something far more valuable than tobacco. “Might cost you, though.” The side grin he gave was easy, but his pulse was anything but.
Because this didn’t feel like flirting for sport.
This felt like stepping onto thin ice and deciding not to look down.
“Cost me… what?” Will asked, uncertainty softening his grin, one brow knitting in confusion.
Chance shrugged, tapping his chin theatrically in thought. He heard the quiet puff of Will’s laughter and felt absurdly triumphant.
“Mmm. How about for every cigarette I get you…” He drew in a slow breath. “You let me ask you a question.”
“A question?” Will tilted his head, genuinely puzzled, the movement so unguarded it almost hurt Chance to look at.
“Yeah.” Chance forced himself not to retreat now. “I’m trying to get to know you, Byers.”
The last word landed without irony. Serious.
Will’s eyebrows lifted. “And… why would you want to do that?” He let out a small, uncertain laugh, but his eyes were wide.
“Call it… healthy curiosity.” Chance tilted his head in mirror. Then, before he could reconsider, he added, “I’ll even admit something to you. Right now.”
Will gestured for him to continue.
Chance snorted, straightened, pretended this was easy.
“I’ve been curious about you since you moved back.”
The honesty settled heavier than the smoke between them. He looked away, out toward the water, dark and endless, clearing his throat.
“You have this way of making me notice you. Everywhere you go.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Will choke on air.
Silence expanded. Fragile. Electric.
Chance held still inside it. This…might be the most dangerous thing he’d said yet.
“Why are you telling me this?” Will asked quietly. There was no accusation in it, only real curiosity. His eyes were open in a way that made lying impossible.
“Honestly?” Chance exhaled a thin laugh at himself. “I don’t even know.”
That was the terrifying part.
He hesitated, then added, with mock gravity that couldn’t quite hide the truth beneath it, “Just figured I would… take a chance.”
He delivered it as straight-faced as he could manage.
Will snorted, then dissolved into genuine laughter, shoulders shaking, head tipping back slightly.
“Smooth,” he managed between breaths.
And the sound of it, bright and unrestrained, felt like the first real victory Chance had ever earned.
That did it.
The tension, taut and trembling between them like a wire pulled too tight, finally snapped, dissolving into something warmer. Easier.
Will’s laughter lingered in the air long after it faded from his lips, and with it, his shoulders seemed to drop, his posture softening as though he’d quietly decided this was safe. Safe enough.
Chance let himself look then. Not in stolen glances. Not in fragments.
Fully.
Will’s blush never quite left him, that deep, persistent rose blooming across his cheeks whenever Chance held his gaze a second too long. It was the only betrayal of his awareness, the only sign that he felt it too…whatever it was.
They talked.
About nothing.
About everything.
Music first, tapes worn thin from replaying, songs that felt like secrets. Then school, teachers they liked, ones they didn’t. Bad cafeteria food. Comic books. The way the quarry looked in winter when the water edged with ice. Harmless things. Gentle things.
Questions slipped in, subtle as currents beneath still water. Answers followed, careful but honest. They circled deeper subjects without naming them, testing the shape of each other’s thoughts, mapping boundaries with quiet precision.
Nothing heavy, nothing urgent, just enough to test the waters without ever admitting they were doing exactly that. The hours slipped by unnoticed until Will shifted his wrist, glanced at his watch, and froze.
“It’s… midnight already?” he whispered, a hint of surprise threading through his words. “Shit,” he gasped, scrambling to his feet. “I have to go home now, or my mom will worry.”
Chance reacted instinctively, springing up behind him before thinking. His heart pounded. Half from the sudden movement, half from the sudden awareness that the night, so perfectly suspended, was ending.
“Let me drive you.”
“Oh no, it’s okay. I brought my bike with me,” Will said quickly, shaking his head.
“We can just put it in the back,” Chance insisted, searching for Will’s eyes. “Please?” His brows furrowed, earnest and open, the kind of expression that left no room for doubt. He truly meant it.
“Uh… okay, yeah.” Will cleared his throat, his smile small but sincere. “I mean, thank you. Really.”
Chance shrugged and gestured for Will to start walking. They moved together toward his car, the quiet stretching between them comfortably now, familiar even. Chance took the bike from Will and began placing it in the trunk. The night air hummed softly, and then Will broke the silence.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice tentative, suspicious. It was a question with weight, as if he expected the magic of the encounter by the quarry to stay there, far from the reach of the world.
“What do you mean?” Chance looked up, tilting his head. “The bike? Or—?”
“Everything, really.” Will shrugged, uneasy. His gaze dropped to the pavement for a moment. “I just… don’t get why you’re suddenly being so nice to me.”
Chance grinned, teasing. “Hey, I resent that. I’ve never been mean to you.”
Will just stared, deadpan.
“It’s true! You know that!” Chance said, shrugging.
“Well… you know what I mean,” Will huffed, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
“And I already told you,” Chance swallowed, stepped closer, and met Will’s eyes head-on. “I’m curious about you.”
The words hung in the air, soft and steady, and Chance held the gaze, letting them settle like smoke, letting Will see, really see, that he meant every syllable.
Will held Chance’s gaze, quiet and unhurried, processing the confession like he’s tasting it for the first time. Chance saw the subtle shift, the moment Will decided to accept it, and gave a small, triumphant side smile. He stepped around the car to unlock the passenger door, exaggerating the motion just enough to make a show of it. Will glanced at him and rolled his eyes with a smile, catching the playful theatrics, before sliding into the seat.
Chance closed the door and jogged lightly around to the driver’s side. The engine hummed to life, and the radio flickered on just as the first notes of “Danger Zone” cut through the night. Will quietly gave directions while Chance maneuvered the car, neither speaking beyond necessity, yet the silence felt easy, a shared rhythm, a space they were learning to inhabit together.
When “Footloose” began, Chance couldn't resist.
“Oh, I love this one,” he said, cranking the volume slightly and launching into the song, fully singing along.
Will’s eyes widened, lips parting into a half-smile, half-grin. He just watched, as Chance performed with reckless joy. At the next red light, Chance turned to look directly at Will, singing the next line:
Deep way down in your heart
You're burning, yearning for some…
Their eyes locked. Will was bathed in the red glow of the traffic light. Deep, incandescent, almost unreal. Chance swore for a moment that he was glimpsing an angel, a fragile shimmer of light in a world that was otherwise dark. He didn’t even realize what he’d sung until Will’s expression changed. Confusion mingling with something else, something bright. And then the light turned green, the moment shattered, and Chance turned back to drive.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavier, layered, a quiet that hummed with tension and electricity. Chance couldn’t explain why he felt unmoored, why he couldn’t seem to control the fluttering in his chest. He’d always been the one in control. Tonight, he wasn’t.
When “Hungry Eyes” started, Will broke the quiet, teasing lightly.
“Is that a mixtape of all movie soundtracks?”
Chance exhaled through his nose, smiling. “Yeah. I’m really into movies… and how they use songs to tell a story.”
Will’s grin is soft, genuine. “I like that. It’s just different to what I listen to.”
The car slowed as they approached Hopper's Cabin. Chance parked and turned to Will, meeting his gaze.
“Maybe we can teach each other about music sometime,” he said, gentle.
Will smiled, small, uncertain, but earnest. “Yeah… maybe.” Will stepped out, retrieved his bike, and paused one last time.
Chance’s head peeked out from the driver’s window, eyes locked on Will.
“Have a good night, Byers,” Chance said softly.
“Goodnight, Chance.”
The words lingered between them, warm and fragile, as Will walked away into the dark, leaving Chance with the hum of the engine and the quiet thrill of a night neither of them will forget.
────────────
“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” Will teased, not looking up when he said it. His pencil kept moving, soft and steady, as if the world began and ended in the lines he was shaping. As if the graphite line mattered more than the boy standing behind him with his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.
Chance’s chest tightened, and he felt it in the quiet swell of the night around him. The truth was ridiculous, stubborn, entirely his own: the moment he saw Will close the door to his house last night, he had made a silent decision. He would come to the quarry at the same hour tonight, to see if the world would bend just slightly, if the magic of yesterday could stretch into tonight, if Will would show up again.
So here he was. Nine o’clock. Night draped over the quarry like velvet, soft and heavy. And there was Will, reshaping Chance’s world without even trying. No headphones, no barrier, no excuse for Chance to linger unnoticed. No time to memorize the way the moon caught Will’s hair, the tilt of his head, the curve of his lips as he drew. Chance’s pulse quickened as he approached, the familiar crunch of gravel under his sneakers sounding impossibly loud in the stillness. The sight of Will already there, perched on the cliff, reshaping his entire sense of gravity, made him feel weightless and tethered all at once.
Chance let out a quiet laugh, his breath puffing in the cold night air, scattering like smoke over the rocks. “Hello to you too, Byers,” he said, sliding down to sit beside him.
Will’s pencil paused mid-stroke. For a heartbeat, his eyes flicked up. Cautious, curious, reserved.
And Chance felt that small shift like an arrow striking the air. He grinned, real and unguarded.
They hadn’t made plans. No time. No promise. Just the unspoken assumption that maybe, if one of them came back, maybe the other might too.
“You came back,” Will said.
It’s not surprise. Not exactly. More like he’s confirming something he wasn’t sure he could count on.
Chance shrugged, like it wasn’t the only thing he’d thought about all day. “Yeah. Figured I’d see if the view was still decent.”
Will snorted softly. “It’s rocks and water.”
“Yeah,” Chance said, watching him instead. “Guess that depends what you’re looking at.”
Will’s pencil slowed.
For a second, Chance thought maybe he’d pushed too far. But then Will said, quieter, “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Come back?”
Will nodded once.
The simple honesty of it hit him harder than it should. Chance leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, pretending to study the horizon while stealing glances at Will instead. The moonlight caught in his hair, turning it silver at the edges. It softened the angles of his face, made him look almost unreal, like he belonged more to the quiet than to the world they came from.
“I wasn’t sure you would either.”
Will closed his sketchbook halfway, thumb still tucked inside like he might need it as an exit. Chance had noticed that too, the way Will always left himself a door. The way he never fully relaxed, even when he was trying to.
“You don’t have to sit that close,” he said, not quite looking at him.
Chance froze. His chest dipped. “Oh. Sorry.”
“I didn’t mean—” Will shook his head quickly. “It’s fine. Just… most people don’t.”
Most people don’t.
Chance swallowed. “I’m not most people.”
Will glanced at him again at that, and something in his expression shifted. Not fully open. But less…guarded.
“Technically,” Chance said, forcing a grin back into place, “this is kind of my spot.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I don’t see your name carved into it.”
“I’m not that desperate.”
“You’re a jock,” Will said mildly. “Feels on brand.”
Chance let his grin spread, wide and unrestrained. For the first time, he allowed himself to savor the quiet thrill of the moment, the boy beside him, the rocks washed in silver, the water below holding the moon like an impossible mirror. His whole life, he had prided himself on control: on knowing exactly what he was doing, exactly how he was perceived, exactly how far to push and when to pull back. He liked being the one steering the conversation, the room, the version of himself he let people see.
But here, beside Will, something subtle and treacherous kept slipping through his fingers. His pulse ran ahead of his thoughts. His words arrived unfiltered. The careful balance he usually maintained felt useless against the quiet gravity of the boy next to him. The world had shifted without permission. And for once, he didn’t try to steady it. He didn’t want to.
“You’re different out here,” Will said after a moment.
“Different how?”
“Quieter.”
Chance let out a breath. “Maybe I don’t have to be loud out here.”
Will studied him like he was trying to decide whether that was true. “Why are you loud?” he asked, softly.
Chance laughed under his breath. “What is this, therapy?”
Will’s gaze dropped. “Forget it.”
“No—” Chance bumped his knee gently against Will’s. “I just… I don’t know. It’s easier, I guess. If you’re the loud one, people don’t look too hard.”
Will nodded once, eyes on the water. “You don’t seem like you’re trying to be loud right now.”
“I’m distracted.”
“By what?”
Chance didn’t answer right away.
By you. By the way you say things like they matter. By the way you don’t just laugh at me, you also just… listen. By the fact that this is only the second time we’ve talked and I already feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.
Instead, he said, softer, “By the company.”
Will’s ears turned red. He ducked his head, pretending to fix something on the page even though the pencil hadn’t moved.
“You’re ridiculous,” Will murmured, almost to himself.
“Ridiculous?” Chance leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if the night itself might overhear. “I prefer… charming.”
Will huffed softly, the sound half a laugh, half disbelief. “You definitely prefer yourself.”
“I just…” Chance rubbed the back of his neck. His heart was beating too hard for something this new. “I like talking to you. You don’t treat me like I’m just—” He gestured vaguely. “That.”
“The basketball guy?”
“Yeah.”
Will considered him. “You are the basketball guy.”
“Wow. Brutal.”
“But you’re not just that.” Will added, quick and quiet, like he didn’t want to leave it unsaid.
Chance could feel his own pulse in his throat, in his wrists, in the space between their shoulders.
“Careful, Byers,” he murmured, letting a teasing lilt slide back into his voice, a thin veil pulled carefully over something softer underneath. “You keep saying things like that, I might start to think you’re trying to figure me out.”
Will’s mouth curved, small and private, like the beginning of a secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell. “Maybe I just like puzzles.”
Chance huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh yeah? And what part of me is the puzzle?”
Will pretended to consider it, tapping the eraser of his pencil lightly against his lip. “The part that talks a lot,” he said mildly. “Usually means there’s something underneath it.”
Chance felt that land deeper than he expected. He kept his smile easy, but something in his chest shifted; exposed and wary. “You’re making a lot of assumptions for a guy who’s known me… what? Twenty-four hours?”
Will shrugged one shoulder, gaze drifting back to the water. “Observations aren’t assumptions.”
The water below shimmered, restless and dark, catching the moonlight in fractured ribbons. The rocks still held the day’s fading warmth, seeping gently through denim and skin. A breeze curled between them, carrying the scent of earth and water and something electric Chance couldn’t name.
He felt that pull again, quiet and magnetic. Fragile and bright, like the first flicker of dawn touching a sky that wasn’t sure it was ready for light.
For most of his life, Chance had treated moments like these like chess moves. Calculated. Measured. Safe. He knew how to tilt his head just right, how to let a grin do the heavy lifting, how to stay three steps ahead of anything that might threaten to get too close.
But here, beside Will, that instinct kept dissolving.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to steer the moment.
He just let it exist between them. Uncertain, dangerous, and very, very real.
Chance watched Will for a long beat, the pencil hovering mid-air as if even it were waiting. The moonlight carved soft lines along Will’s cheekbones, caught in his lashes, turning him into something almost unreal. Silver and shadow and quiet concentration. Chance had to physically stop himself from leaning closer, from brushing his shoulder against Will’s just to confirm he was solid.
“So,” Chance said eventually, nudging him lightly, needing to keep the moment from becoming too big too fast, “how long have you been coming out here? Before I so rudely invaded your rock.”
“A few weeks,” Will said. “It’s… easier to think here.”
“About what?” Chance asked gently.
Will hesitated. “Stuff.”
Chance smiled. “You’re really specific, you know that?”
“I don’t like saying things out loud,” Will replied. “Sometimes they feel more real if you do.”
Chance nodded slowly. He understood that too well.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”
Will glanced at him again, longer this time. Measuring. Softening.
“Why do you come here?” Will asked.
Chance thought about giving him something easy. Something smooth. Something that would keep this in the realm of harmless. Instead, he said the truth.
“Because it’s the only place I don’t feel like I have to be impressive.”
“And?” Will prompted quietly.
Chance’s chest felt too tight. Too full.
“And,” he admitted, heart thudding like it might give him away, “I was hoping you’d be here.”
There it was. Too honest. Too soon. But he didn’t take it back. Because it was terrifying how true it was. How much he already liked the quiet of Will. The softness. The way he spoke like every word had weight. The way sitting next to him made the world feel smaller and bigger at the same time.
The silence that followed wasn’t sharp. It was warm. Almost shy.
And somehow, without either of them noticing exactly when it happened, the conversation unfolded again, easy and unforced. They talked about music, about movies Chance swore were cinematic masterpieces and Will claimed were “objectively dramatic.” They debated whether villains were more interesting than heroes. And every time Will spoke, every time his voice softened when he described some imaginary landscape he wanted to draw someday, Chance felt something bloom warm and aching in his chest.
He watched the way Will’s hands moved when he described something, like he was shaping it in the air. He noticed the way his eyes lit up; not brightly, not loudly, but steadily, like candlelight. The way his voice gained confidence when he forgot to be self-conscious.
He caught himself memorizing details without meaning to; the cadence of Will’s voice when he got comfortable, the way he blinked slowly when he was thinking, the tiny crease between his brows when he disagreed with something but didn’t want to argue.
Time moved strangely at the quarry. The moon climbed higher. The air grew colder. Their shoulders brushed once, twice, neither of them moving away.
It wasn’t intense. It wasn’t overwhelming.
It was steady.
And when Will finally glanced down at his watch, his eyes widened. “Oh- it’s midnight.”
Chance blinked. Midnight already. How had three hours passed like that?
“I should go,” Will said, though he didn’t sound like he wanted to. “My mom’ll worry.”
Chance stood almost immediately, brushing dust from his jeans. “Let me drive you.”
Will looked up at him, hesitant but not dismissive this time. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Chance met his eyes, steady, unguarded in a way that surprised even him. “I want to.”
There was a pause. Not heavy, not dramatic. Just a quiet weighing of the moment.
“Okay.”
It was such a small word. Soft. Almost shy.
But it unraveled something in Chance’s chest all the same. He turned toward the path down the cliff, trying to act normal, trying not to let the stupid, hopeful grin take over his face.
They walked side by side toward the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath their shoes, the quarry slowly surrendering them back to the ordinary world. The moon hung high and indifferent above them, silver and watchful, as if it had witnessed the entire thing and would never tell.
Chance was hyperaware of everything. The slight brush of their sleeves, the rhythm of Will’s breathing, the way their shoulders nearly touched but didn’t quite. He could feel the gravity between them now. Not loud. Not explosive. Just steady. Persistent.
It scared him.
Not because it felt wrong, or, well, not because of that, but because it felt real.
He had spent years perfecting the art of being untouchable. Easy smile. Casual charm. Nothing that lingered long enough to threaten him. He knew how to talk without meaning it, how to walk away.
But tonight, he didn’t want to walk away.
He wanted to memorize the way Will tucked his hands into his sleeves when he was cold. The way he listened, really listened, like every word mattered. The way his quiet wasn’t empty, but full.
Will wasn’t loud like Chance. He didn’t fill space. He held it. And somehow that made Chance want to step carefully instead of storming in.
When they reached the car, Chance moved automatically, opening the trunk without thinking, reaching for Will’s bike like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You don’t have to do that,” Will said, gently.
Chance glanced at him. Will wasn’t resisting. Just watching him. Observing.
“I know,” Chance replied, softer than usual. “I like doing things I don’t have to.”
Will’s mouth twitched faintly at that. “That sounds suspicious.”
“Yeah?” Chance smirked lightly. “You think I have ulterior motives, Byers?”
Will didn’t answer right away. He just studied him. Open, attentive, eyes warm under the streetlight.
“Maybe,” he said finally. Not accusing. Just curious.
And there it was again. That careful way Will moved through conversations. He never assumed. He invited.
Chance shut the trunk a little harder than necessary, needing the sound to ground him.
Ulterior motives… Did he?
He wasn’t sure anymore.
At first, maybe. Curiosity. The thrill of the unexpected. The quiet boy who didn’t so much as glance at him before yesterday.
But somewhere between the teasing and the shared laughter and the way midnight arrived without asking permission, it had shifted.
Now it felt like… wanting.
Wanting to know what made Will quiet. Wanting to know what he thought about when he stared at the water. Wanting to be someone Will looked at the way he had tonight; focused, open, unguarded in brief flashes he probably didn’t even realize he was giving away.
They got into the car.
The engine hummed to life, low and steady, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The headlights cut a pale path through the dark streets of Hawkins. The radio stayed off this time. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was full, like both of them were holding something fragile between their hands and neither wanted to be the one to drop it.
Chance could feel Will beside him without even looking; aware of the heat of him, the quiet way he folded into the passenger seat like he was trying not to take up too much space. He didn’t understand how someone could be so careful and still take up all of his thoughts at once.
He stole a glance.
Will was already looking at him.
Not startled. Not embarrassed. Just… looking. There was something vulnerable in it. Something honest. The kind of look you weren’t supposed to hold too long in a small town like this. The kind that could mean too much if anyone else saw it.
Chance’s throat tightened. He looked back at the road before the weight of it could undo him.
“You’re quiet,” Will said after a moment.
Chance let out a soft breath. “Thought you liked quiet.”
“I do,” Will replied. A small pause. “But you’re not usually this kind.”
That almost made him laugh. He liked that Will thought he knew his kinds already. Like two conversations were enough to start mapping him out.
“What kind am I usually?” Chance asked.
“Confident,” Will said carefully. “Like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Chance’s fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. If only you knew.
“And now?” he asked.
Will hesitated. Just choosing his words the way he always did, like they mattered. “Now you seem like you’re thinking.”
I am. I’m thinking about how looking at you makes my chest feel too small. I’m thinking about how I’ve never had to be careful about this before, because I’ve never felt it like this before. I’m thinking about how in 1988 Hawkins, Indiana, boys like us don’t get to sit this close without consequences.
He swallowed.
“Dangerous habit,” he said lightly.
Will’s lips curved, small but genuine. “I don’t think so.”
Chance glanced at him, and really looked this time.
The passing streetlights brushed over Will’s face in intervals, gold and shadow, gold and shadow. Every flicker felt like a photograph he wanted to keep. The slope of his nose. The soft concentration in his eyes even when he wasn’t drawing. The way he looked like he was bracing for something and hoping for it at the same time.
It terrified him, how much he liked him already.
This was only the second time they’d talked.
He should not feel like this.
He shouldn’t be memorizing the way Will’s voice dipped when he got serious. Shouldn’t be cataloging the exact shade of brown in his eyes under red traffic lights. Shouldn’t be imagining what it would be like to reach across the console and lace their fingers together just to see if Will would pull away.
But he was.
They stopped at a red light.
Chance looked over again, and this time neither of them looked away.
The red glow from the signal washed over Will’s face, turning him into something almost unreal. Soft and bright and impossible to ignore. It painted his skin in warm light, caught in his lashes, made his eyes look darker and deeper.
Chance’s heart hammered so hard he was sure it was audible.
He wondered if Will felt it too. That sharp, quiet awareness. The understanding that this wasn’t just harmless. That if they leaned even an inch too far into it, there wouldn’t be a way to pretend it was nothing.
He’d grown up knowing the rules without anyone having to say them.
Don’t look too long. Don’t sit too close. Don’t let anyone see.
But right now, under that red light, he didn’t want to follow any of them.
The light turned green.
Chance broke eye contact first, heart hammering harder than he would ever admit. He forced his eyes back to the road, hands steady even though everything inside him felt anything but.
They pulled up outside Will’s house too quickly. Time had betrayed him again.
The porch light was on. A small, steady glow. Safe. Ordinary.
Will reached for the door, then paused. “Thanks. For the ride.”
“Anytime,” Chance said, automatically.
And meant it in a way that startled him.
Anytime. Every time. As long as you’ll let me.
Will stepped out, grabbing his bike from the trunk. Chance watched him through the windshield, watched the way he adjusted the strap on his backpack, the way he glanced toward the house like he was measuring how much time he had left. Before heading toward the porch, he turned back.
He looked at Chance. Open. Attentive. A little shy. Like he was memorizing him too.
Chance felt exposed in a way he’d never felt on a court, never felt in a locker room, never felt with anyone who had ever flirted back at him under fluorescent lights.
Because this wasn’t loud. This was quiet, and real, and terrifyingly gentle.
“See you tomorrow?” Will asked, voice careful, but there was something hopeful beneath it. Fragile. Like he was offering Chance the option to walk away if he wanted to.
Chance felt that dangerous brightness flare in his chest again.
Something that felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and choosing to step forward anyway.
“Yeah,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Will nodded once, a small smile lingering, private, almost secret. Before he turned and disappeared inside.
The door shut softly.
Chance stayed parked for a long moment after. The engine idled. The world was quiet. The porch light still glowed. He should have felt in control again. Back in his own space. Safe. Untouched. Instead, he felt changed.
Like something inside him had shifted into alignment without asking permission.
He rested his forehead briefly against the steering wheel and let out a slow breath.
It was reckless, how much he already cared. Reckless, how much he wanted to protect that look Will had given him. How much he wanted tomorrow to come faster.
Tomorrow came.
And then the day after that.
And the day after that.
Nine o’clock became a ritual. The quarry became theirs in a way neither of them claimed out loud. Gravel under sneakers. Moonlight on water. The familiar shape of Will already sitting there; or the quiet thrill of being the first to arrive and pretending he hadn’t checked the time three times on the way over.
Conversations layered themselves slowly. Movies turned into music. Music turned into stories. Stories turned into silences that didn’t need filling. Chance found himself talking more than he meant to. About his sister. About the way the city used to sound at night. About the things he missed and the things he didn’t. Will listened the way he always did; Fully. Open. Attentive. Like Chance wasn’t just noise in the background of someone else’s life. And sometimes, carefully, Will would offer pieces of himself too. Small ones. Precious ones. Thoughts he didn’t share too loudly. Dreams that sounded too big for a town like this.
They never named what was happening.
They never had to.
It lived in the space between their shoulders brushing. In the way Chance always offered a ride without asking if one was needed. In the way Will stopped pretending to be surprised when he showed up.
June slipped past them like water through open hands.
The air grew warmer. The days longer. The sun lingered stubbornly in the sky before surrendering to night.
And suddenly, impossibly, it was July 4th.
They were sitting at the quarry again, legs stretched out over the familiar edge, the water below reflecting streaks of orange and pink from a fading sunset. Somewhere in town, people were already gathering lawn chairs and coolers, preparing for fireworks and celebration and noise.
But here, it was still quiet.
The first distant pop echoed faintly across the trees, a test firework, too early.
Will glanced toward the horizon, eyes catching the last light of day. “They’ll probably start soon,” he said softly.
Chance nodded, but he wasn’t really thinking about the fireworks.
He was thinking about how easily June had rearranged him.
How this, sitting beside Will, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm through thin fabric, felt more like summer than any bonfire or crowded party ever could.
He was thinking about how something had begun without either of them daring to call it by its name. And as the sky darkened fully, as the first true firework bloomed in distant red over the trees, Chance didn’t look at the colors exploding overhead.
He looked at Will.
And wondered how something so quiet had managed to change everything.
────────────
Talking to Will felt… real.
Not performative. Not curated. Not the polished, easy version of himself that Chance handed out at school like candy. Real in a way that made his ribs feel too tight and his words heavier, like they actually meant something once they left his mouth.
It had been a long time since anything felt real.
Probably since before he moved here. To this town that smiled politely while quietly deciding who you were allowed to be. Jock. Popular. Loud. Easy. Finished product.
Will was the only person who didn’t seem to buy that version of him.
“Why did you move here?” Will asked gently.
They were still at the quarry, the water dark and endless below them. The night had settled deep now, cool air pressing close. Will’s voice wasn’t prying. It was careful. Curious in the way he always was, like he was offering Chance the space to answer, not demanding it.
Chance blinked. “What do you mean?”
Will shrugged lightly, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “I mean… this town’s basically everyone’s dream destination, right?” he added with the faintest hint of dry humor.
Chance let out a short laugh through his nose. “Yeah. Hawkins. Vacation capital of the Midwest.”
Will smiled, small and fleeting, but he didn’t look away. He waited.
That was the thing about him. He waited.
Chance swallowed.
“My dad died in ’85,” he said, before he could overthink it.
The words dropped between them, heavier than he intended.
Will’s expression shifted immediately. Not pity, not shock. Just attention. The kind that didn’t flinch.
“I’m sorry,” Will said quietly.
Chance nodded once. The quarry seemed quieter somehow, like even the water was listening.
“It was… sudden,” he continued, staring out at the dark surface below. “Heart thing. One day he was fine, next day…” He snapped his fingers softly. “Gone.”
He hated how flat his voice sounded. He’d told this story before. Teachers. Coaches. People who nodded and said the right things. But he’d never told it like this…without the armor.
“My mom tried to keep everything together,” He went on. “Big city. Big bills. Two kids. She thought… if we moved somewhere smaller, somewhere calmer…” He gave a humorless smile. “It’d be easier. Safer.”
Will’s jaw tightened slightly at that word. Safer.
“She wanted a place where my sister could ride her bike without worrying. Where I wouldn’t…” Chance trailed off. Wouldn’t what? Wouldn’t spiral. Wouldn’t break. Wouldn’t turn into the kind of kid who lost himself after losing his dad.
“She thought this town would give us space to breathe,” he finished quietly.
“And it didn’t?” Will asked.
There was no accusation in it. Just softness.
Chance shook his head slowly. “This place…” He hesitated, searching. “It decides things about you. Fast. You either fit in or you don’t. And if you fit in, you better not change.”
Will looked down at his hands. He understood that. Of course he did.
“I figured out pretty quickly what people wanted me to be,” Chance continued. Shrugged. “So I just… gave it to them.”
“The loud version,” Will said gently.
Chance glanced at him, surprised. “Yeah.”
There was no mockery in Will’s tone. No judgment. Just recognition.
“It’s easier,” Chance admitted. “If you’re what they expect, they don’t look any deeper.”
Will was quiet for a long moment. Then, softer than before, “That sounds lonely.”
The word hit harder than anything else had.
Chance let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
Silence settled between them; not empty, not awkward. Just full.
“And talking to you…” Chance hesitated, the confession hovering dangerously close to the surface. His instinct screamed at him to pivot, to joke, to deflect. But Will was watching him; open, steady, eyes warm in the moonlight.
“Talking to you feels…” He swallowed. “Real.”
The word felt too small, but it was the only one that fit.
Will’s breath caught, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t look away.
“More real than anything has in a long time,” Chance added, quieter now. “Probably since before we moved here.”
He hadn’t meant to say that much. He hadn’t meant to let Will see the edges of the grief he carried around like a second skin.
But Will didn’t recoil. He didn’t fill the space with platitudes.
He just stayed. He looked at Chance almost like what he had said was a reflection of his own thoughts.
“I’m glad,” Will said softly. “That it feels real.”
Their eyes held.
There was something fragile there. Something neither of them dared name.
Chance could see it in the way Will’s fingers tightened slightly on his sleeve. In the way he leaned just a fraction closer without realizing it. In the way his gaze softened when it rested on Chance’s face.
And Will could see it too, in the way Chance’s teasing had faded, replaced with something earnest and unguarded. In the way he wasn’t performing anymore.
They both felt it.
But neither of them said it.
Instead, Will offered a small, almost shy smile. “For what it’s worth… I don’t think you’re just the loud version.”
Chance’s throat tightened. “Yeah?”
Will nodded once. “I think you’re just… figuring it out.”
The quarry stretched wide and silent around them. The water shimmered faintly below, restless and dark.
Chance realized then that maybe this was what his mom had been hoping for when she moved them here. Not safety. Not quiet streets.
Connection.
And somehow, impossibly, he had found it sitting on a rock beside a boy who liked to draw and quiet and water that made it easier to think.
He bumped his shoulder lightly against Will’s. “Careful, Byers,” he murmured, a faint teasing edge returning to protect the tenderness underneath. “You keep talking like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”
Will’s lips curved, reserved but unmistakably warm. “Maybe I just like… honesty.”
It wasn’t a confession.
Not even close.
But it wasn’t nothing.
And for now, that was enough.
────────────
“I brought something for you.”
Will said it the second he sat down, like he was afraid if he waited too long he’ll lose the nerve.
Late August had started sharpening the air. Summer wasn’t gone yet, but it was thinning; the breeze cooler, the leaves at the edges just beginning to think about turning. The quarry felt different tonight. Smaller, somehow. Like it knew time was moving.
Chance looked at him, eyebrows lifting. “Oh yeah?”
Will pulled a cassette from the pocket of his jacket. Careful, almost ceremonial about it, and held it out without quite meeting Chance’s eyes. The plastic case caught the fading light. There’s handwriting on the strip of paper inside. Neat. Intentional.
Chance’s chest tightens.
“I—” Will cleared his throat. “You said you liked how movies use music to tell a story. So. I made one.” He shrugged like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t spend hours rewinding and rerecording and debating which songs meant too much. “It’s not all soundtracks.”
For a second, Chance just stared at it.
Then he laughed softly. Not at Will, but at the impossible symmetry of it. He reached into his own bag and pulled out a cassette case of his own.
“No way,” Will breathed.
“Way,” Chance said, holding it up between them. “Guess I had the same idea.”
They both pause, blinking at each other.
It hadn’t been planned. No conversation. No hint. Just the same instinct on the same day.
The air between them shifted. Not heavy, not dramatic. Just charged.
Will let out a quiet, disbelieving huff of a laugh. “That’s… weird.”
“Or,” Chance countered, a slow grin spreading, “it means we’re geniuses.”
Will rolled his eyes, but he’s smiling, really smiling. “Yeah. That must be it.”
They exchanged the tapes at the same time. Fingers brushing. Neither of them pulled away immediately.
Chance turned Will’s tape over in his hands. The title was written in small, careful letters. Nothing obvious. Nothing incriminating. But personal enough that it feels like being handed something fragile.
“You gonna tell me what’s in it?” Chance asked.
“No,” Will said quickly. Then, softer, “You have to listen.”
Chance nodded once. “Fair.”
A few crickets hummed in the brush behind them. The sky was deeper blue now, the first stars pricking through.
“School starts in a week,” Will said after a moment.
There was a slight change in his tone. The warmth cools by a degree.
“Yeah,” Chance replied. He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the darkening sky. “Senior year.”
Will pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. “It’s going to be… different.”
Chance knew what he meant.
The quarry was theirs. The late nights. The almost-confessions. The way they sat just a little too close.
School was hallways. Lockers. Eyes. Expectations.
“It might be easier,” Will said carefully, choosing each word, “if… we didn’t make this a big thing there.”
Chance’s jaw tightened slightly. Not in anger. Just in understanding.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Probably.”
Will glanced at him, quick and searching, as if bracing for disappointment.
Chance kept his tone light. “I mean, can you imagine? My friends would never….”
Will’s mouth twitched faintly, but his shoulders were still tense. “Yeah. Mine either.”
They both knew it’s not just about teasing.
It’s about questions neither of them are ready to answer. It’s about the way people look at you when they start connecting dots. It’s about how quickly a small town decides what you are.
“It doesn’t mean—” Will started, then stopped.
Chance turned toward him. “I know.”
It doesn’t mean this isn’t real.
It doesn’t mean they stop coming here.
It doesn’t mean anything has to end.
It just means it stays theirs. Private.
Will nodded slowly, relief flickering across his face. “Okay.”
Chance bumped his shoulder gently against Will’s. “Besides,” he added, softer now, “I kind of like that this is… separate.”
Will looked at him. Open. Attentive.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Chance shrugged, but there’s no teasing in it this time. “Feels like something that’s ours. Not… everyone else’s.”
Will studied him for a long moment, like he’s memorizing the sincerity there. Then he nodded again, more certain this time.
“Okay,” he repeated.
The wind lifted slightly, carrying the first real whisper of fall.
Will looked down at the cassette in his hand. “You realize,” he said lightly, “if this tape is bad, I’m judging you forever.”
Chance huffed. “You already judge me.”
“Only artistically.”
Will’s laugh was soft but full, and Chance felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest.
They didn’t say what this was.
They didn’t say what they felt .
But when their shoulders rest together as the night deepened, when neither of them moved away, the silence said enough.
────────────
It happened on a night that felt like all the others. Same quarry. Same dark water. Same quiet that had begun to feel like a promise. Late August pressed heavy in the air. Not quite summer, not quite fall. The kind of in-between that makes everything feel suspended.
They were talking about loss again. It had become easier to do that lately. Less like confession, more like shared language. Like they were tracing old scars with careful fingers, not to reopen them but to understand their shape. The ways grief hollows you out. The ways it doesn’t leave, it just rearranges the furniture inside your chest and asks you to live around it.
Chance had started to feel steady here.
Safe, even.
There was something sacred about the quarry at night. The water moving below them, the sky stretched wide and indifferent above. It made confession feel smaller. Manageable. Like anything said out loud would dissolve into the dark before it could harden into something permanent.
He had grown comfortable in that illusion.
Too comfortable.
He had let himself believe they were building toward something. Not recklessly. Not with declarations. But steadily. Quietly. The way you test ice with the toe of your boot before putting your full weight down.
He thought he felt Will stepping forward too. He never stopped to ask if Will was only standing still.
“Have you ever been in love before?” Will asked.
Before.
Before meant I’m not asking about this. Before meant we don’t have to talk about now. Before meant this doesn’t have to mean anything about us.
He swallowed the first answer that rises in his throat, the one that sounded too honest.
No. But I think I might be now.
Instead, he shrugged.
“No,” he said, voice even. “Can’t say I have.”
He forced a smirk. Kept it light. “You?”
Will exhaled.
It’s a small sound. Barely audible over the water.
“Yeah,” Will said. “I have.”
He didn’t look at Chance when he said it. He looked at the water instead, like he was watching the past drift across its surface.
The quarry didn’t change. The night didn’t fracture. The water keeps moving in its endless rhythm. But something in Chance’s chest tightened so suddenly it almost felt physical.
“It was… a long time,” Will continued. “Longer than I wanted it to be.”
Chance already knew.
He knew the shape of this story. Knew the silhouette of the name before it’s spoken.
“Mike.”
There it is.
The name landed softly. But it echoed.
Chance nodded once, like he expected this. Like he’s unaffected. He felt something collapse within him.
“I thought I was never going to get over it back then,” Will said. “It felt… huge. Like it defined me.”
Back then.
Chance missed that. He heard “huge”. He heard “defined me”. He didn’t fully register the distance wrapped around the words.
He listened as Will described how consuming it was. How he mistook intensity for inevitability. How loving Mike felt like gravity. Inescapable, defining. Each word pressed carefully against the fragile structure Chance had been building all summer.
“And then things changed,” Will said. “Not all at once. Just slowly.” He took a deep breath
“It took me a long time to realize I wasn’t waiting for him,” Will continued. “I was waiting for a version of him that didn’t exist.”
He said it gently. Definitively. But Chance heard the length of it. The magnitude it once had.
“I thought it was everything,” Will admitted. “For a while.”
For a while. Past tense. But the softness in his tone isn’t dismissive. It isn’t detached. It’s reflective in a way that still felt personal.
“I built a lot of myself around it,” he added. “Around what I thought it meant.”
Chance listened carefully.
He listened for ache, longing. For the sound of something unfinished.
Will didn’t sound wrecked, he didn’t sound heartbroken, he sounded thoughtful.
Chance kept his breathing steady. He felt it happen in real time, the rearranging of what this summer meant. Every late night at the quarry, every lingering glance, every almost-touch.
What if he wasn’t building something new?
What if he was just standing in the quiet aftershock of something unfinished?
He kept his voice light.
“So… you’re over it?”
Will hesitated. It was barely perceptible, but Chance felt it like a blade sliding between ribs.
“I’m… better,” Will said carefully. “It doesn’t hurt the same way.”
Better. Not over. Doesn’t hurt the same way. Not gone.
The air felt colder against Chance’s skin.
Inside, something small and hopeful folded in on itself.
Because suddenly it was so obvious.
Mike had history. Years. Shared childhood. Basement campaigns and bike rides and inside jokes layered over time like sedimentary rock. Mike had been first. Mike had been foundational. Mike had been the axis.
Chance had… a summer. A quarry. A handful of almost-kisses and quiet moments stolen from the dark. He felt naïve for thinking that could compete with years.
And the worst part was, he couldn’t even resent Will for it. Will never promised him forever. Never even promised him now. They’ve been circling something unnamed. Undefined. Something fragile enough that neither of them dared label it.
Chance was the one who let himself imagine forward.
Who started to picture winter not as something to endure alone, but alongside someone.
“You deserve that, though,” Chance heard himself say, voice steady but distant. “First love’s hard to shake.”
Will looked at him then.
Really looked.
There was something searching in his eyes. Something careful. Like he was waiting to see if Chance would pull away. Like he cared how this landed.
And that almost broke him more than the confession itself.
“Yeah,” Will said softly, he’s looking into Chance’s eyes like he’s asking him to see something. “It is.” A beat. “I kept thinking it was the biggest thing that would ever happen to me,” Will continued. “And then it… wasn’t.”
Chance nodded like he understood.
He didn’t notice the way Will’s body angled toward him now, not the water. Didn’t notice that when Will talked about the present, his voice steadied. Didn’t notice that there was no backward pull in him at all.
And inside his mind, doubt was blooming.
Because if he still carried Mike somewhere inside him…
Where did that leave Chance?
He didn’t want to be the rebound. Didn’t want to be the safe harbor while someone waited for the tide to turn. He didn’t want to be the consolation prize.
And yet,
If that’s what he was, he didn’t know if he had the strength to walk away anyway.
“You okay?” Will asked softly, nudging his shoulder.
That small, instinctive closeness hurts.
“Yeah,” Chance said.
Lie.
The truth was messier. The truth was that he would rather have half of Will than none of him at all. He would rather be the interim chapter than not be in the story.
He hated that about himself. Hated how quickly he recalibrated. How fast he lowered the bar. How easily he told himself he didn’t need to be first, didn’t need to be chosen completely, didn’t even need to matter the most.
He told himself he could endure this.
He was good at endurance.
If Will still loved Mike a little, quietly, in a way that flared up sometimes…
Chance could live with that.
“I don’t regret it,” Will said suddenly.
“Mike?” Chance asked automatically.
Will shook his head.
“No.” he said.
And then, softer, more deliberate,
“Any of it.” His eyes met Chance’s. A steady and certain current. The look felt more intentional than Chance’s brain could understand.
Not nostalgic. Not divided.
“You’re quiet,” Will murmured.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Chance huffed a soft laugh. “I’m extremely stable, actually.”
Will smiled. Fond and warm like he did now every time Chance made one of his jokes.
It should have steadied him.
Instead, it made his chest ache.
Because Chance, still haunted by the idea of being second, didn’t see the freedom in Will’s gaze.
He only saw the shadow of something that no longer had power.
And he didn’t realize he was the only one still giving it any.