Chapter Text
In the heat of the moment, neither one of the distressed couple noticed the lanky teen standing behind a shrub conveniently planted next to the driveway.
Will shuttered in the rain, jerking his head toward the abrupt movement beside him. From behind the bush, a boy no older than Will awkwardly stepped forward, deploying a small pink umbrella.
The boy smiled cheesily, extending his hand towards Will.
“We don’t want you getting a cold now, do we bowl cut?” He said through his tight smile, the kind that tug on your cheeks after a while.
Will was completely taken aback, astonishment taking over his face. Mike glanced between Will and the intruder, before giving the new face a harsh glare. Though, the glare did not reach the new figure as his eyes briefly met with Will’s. Will’s face quickly became a red flush of embarrassment, and goosebumps rose on the back of his neck. Tears clung to his face as he stood there stunned.
Will’s head whipped around to find Mike staring adamantly at the boy who looked an awful lot like him. His fingers grazed over his neck, sifting through his drenched hair. Mike snarled.
“You had all day to get here, and you chose now!?” Mike shouted at him, excessively waving his hands around like he was swatting at the rain.
“God, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your conversation with your..”—he paused, turning back to examine Will again—“Boyfriend.” he finished, smirking at Mike’s reddened face.
Mike exasperatedly shouted back, “He’s not my boyfriend!” before the teen could get another word in.
“Oh, really? More for me.” the teen responded, taking a peak over at Will. He advanced quickly towards Will, adamantly sticking his hand out.
“Hiya bowl cut, I’m Richie. You can call me Rich, Tozier, or yours.” He whispered, winking at Will. Will’s face grew hot and red. Even if Mike couldn’t hear Richie’s low whisper from over there, he could definitely see Will’s flushed face.
Mike’s tangled hair flew back in the wind, the strong gusts challenging Richie’s umbrella. Richie, trying not to show he was physically struggling against the wind, grasped on to the handle of the umbrella with plentiful desperation.
His efforts strew into vain, as the umbrella slipped out of his tired palm. Richie’s hands would have to ask for forgiveness later, as as quick as the umbrella flew out of his reach, he was off. His hands swatted around in the air for some hope of reaching the already long-gone cover. Richie sighed in defeat, hunched over and glancing back at Mike.
“His fault.” He muttered, turning to Will. He jabbed his thumb over towards Mike’s direction, appearing unamused. It took Richie a moment to realize he wasn't staring at Will—he wasn't staring at anyone, actually.
Will, in the stir of the moment, took off on his bike. All Richie could see was his blurred figure riding off into the distance.
His mouth hung agape, eyes panning over to Mike.
“Okay that was definitely your fault.”
“Was not, dickhead!” Mike shouts back in defense. Their fight was none of Richie’s business. Mike snarled at him, Richie's snark face spreading into a short grin.
“Well, guess I'm already in the lead then.” Richie calls out, before turning to the Wheeler’s soaked pathway. He slams the door on Mike, leaving Mike to stand alone in the rain.
[In the background, “Here comes the rain again” (1983) by Eurythmics plays softly from Mike’s room]
His brows furrow in annoyance as he sweeps up his tossed-aside jacket. He really could have used that out there. Mike flung himself through the door, dreading the thought of running into Richie again—yet how is he supposed to avoid him if Richie’s staying in his house all summer? Were his parents that sick of him?
Meanwhile, Richie sprawled himself across the Wheeler’s stiff couch.
With his head tilted all the way back, his glasses slid further up his nose—that was unreasonably irritated—and he tossed them aside. They slid off the couch and onto the floor with a soft thud.
He hated it here, to be honest. It had only been an hour at the Wheeler’s and he was already sick of it. It was unfortunately suffocating to the point that Richie had no idea how Mike and the rest of the family even lived here.
A smile crept onto his smug face.
That boy, the one with the soft, batting eyelashes—he was special. Richie hadn't seen anybody like him. The way his hair fell neatly around his neck, the small shrug of his shoulders, the beauty mark above his lip—it was intoxicating. Richie was intoxicated. His soft features had engulfed him in only a passing moment, and by the time he noticed he was already entranced.
Richie already knew he was different.
He had sort of always had a thing for a guy his age, but he doubted it would ever be reciprocated. They had made fun of him for it—for being, unexplainably, queer.
He’d never felt the same attraction towards a female classmate, or any female at all. There was no way for him to just ‘get over’ it—the feeling had been with him for ages before he even faced it.
His acceptance had never become public, and he kept his realization to himself.
He could never look at girls the same way he looked at his best friend.
Richie draped his wrist across his forehead dramatically, internally fawning over the boy Mike had fought with in the rain.
The boy just looked so…hurt. That was the only way to put it. Richie nodded his head, deeming Mike had definitely screwed up. Probably his fault, anyway.
Richie scrunched his nose, looking up at the blurred ceiling fan. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a strident cough. His head perked up off the couch’s arm rest, and found Karen Wheeler standing by a counter in the kitchen. Her arm covered her mouth defensively, refusing to go back down for the next few seconds.
“Oh, hey Mrs. Wheeler.” He began, groaning as he stood up. “You should drink some water.”
“Yes, thank you, Richie.” She replied, half rolling her eyes. “I was just going to ask—have you talked with Mike yet? He’s supposed to be letting you join in with his friends to play.” She turns to him, flashing a worried expression. He didn't necessarily want to hang out with Wheeler of all people—but if there was a chance to see that boy again, he was in.
“No, I haven't seen him yet. Maybe he just doesn't want to come down and say hi to his sweet little cousin. How cruel.” He lies, wielding the same puppy-dog-eyed his cousin had shown to the one he is infatuated with. He glances behind Karen to see Ted in the other room. He grunt, panning over to Karen again.
“Sorry, sweetie. I’ll call him down so you boys can talk.” she replies, shouting up the stairs for Mike.
There was a slight rustle of movement upstairs, before Mike walked down; Walkie-Talkie in hand. He pushed the antenna down, noticing the presence of Richie. He shot Richie a glare, before turning to his mom with a confused look.
“Okay, you two can talk. I'm running to the store, and your dad is running out too-” she points at Mike “-Don’t cause any trouble, and let Richie join you, Mike.” she calls out, gathering her stuff. Her keys lightly clink against each other before she is already halfway out the door. The slamming of the door leads to an uncomfortable pause in the growing silence surrounding them. Richie glanced over at Mike, unamused.
“Sooooooo, Wheeler..” Richie starts, testing the waters. He gives a small raise of a brow as he bends over to rest on the counter.
“Don’t start.” Mike cuts through before Richie can open his mouth again.
“Who was that?”
“Just a friend.”
“He seemed pretty fond of you. Looks like you realllyyyyy got him good.” Richie taunts, waving his hands.
Mike, aggravated, shoves into Richie.
“Woah, chill dickhead. Who was he? Be for real.”
“Will,” He stutters, “my friend.” Mike finally chokes out.
“Will? That's pretty cute.” Richie states, smirking at something in the distance. Mike doesn't need to follow Richie's eyes to know he had found Will’s drawing of himself and Mike in some sort of costume hanging on the fridge.
“The hell?” Mike mutters. He watches as Richie walks over to the drawing and scans over the words.
“Will Byers. Well, Will Byers, what’s with the costumes? Nerd convention?” Richie sparks up, his face expressionless.
“Actually, it’s our D&D characters.” Mike corrects, furrowing his brow.
“Actually, I don't care. When will I get to meet these famous Byers? He was the one you dramatically fought with in the rain, right? Very romantic of you Wheeler.” He remarks.
“Stop bringing it up, dipshit.” Mike snaps back, tension rising between them. “And—soon.” He turns his head to the side. “The Party’s going out to Starcourt mall tomorrow.”
“The Party?”
“Yeah. Me, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Max, and El.”
“Sounds like a group full of nerds and crackheads. Guess I'm stuck with you losers for the summer. Of course. Fuck this shit.” He groaned.