Chapter Text
Chapter Song: All The Small Things
June 21, 1985 — Friday
4:12 p.m.
They’d all been at the quarry since noon.
Not swimming, just hovering around the edge of it, shoes kicked off, toes digging into warm dirt while the sun baked the rocks smooth beneath them. Dustin was throwing stones and counting skips—well, Lucas timed him with one of his father's old watches, which he insisted was still accurate—but definitely wasn't. And Mike kept absentmindedly rocking his bike back and forth beside him, restless, fidgety. Like he was waiting for something to interrupt the day—or maybe he was just trying to outrun whatever anxious spiral his brain had latched onto this time.
Will though? Well, he was lying a little apart from the rest of them, half in the grass, half on some large stone, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds roll past.
Summer had started like this every year—bright, suspended, and endless. The kind of day that felt like it might go on forever if no one moved, but that was never how it worked in actuality…
“Okay,” Dustin scrambled to his feet. “Last one to the water has to stuff my socks in their mouth.”
“Literally no one agreed to that.” Mike protested. But it didn't matter, Dustin was already running.
7:07 p.m.
Around seven-ish, they biked back toward town, shirts clinging to their backs, quarry water dripping onto cracked asphalt, laughter trailing behind them.
Will pedaled slower than the rest, letting the distance stretch between him and the group. He looked around, taking in the glow summer seemed to leave on everything it touched—the tall, kelly green grass, two birds circling each other in the abyss of blue overhead that didn't have a cloud in sight, chirping loudly and freely. He liked the sound of his bike chain clicking. It was something steady, familiar, something that didn’t change just because summer had started.
7:45 p.m.
They were only a few yards from the Wheeler house when it happened. Lucas had just said something about Dustin nearly drowning in the mere six feet of quarry water, and Mike barked out a laugh before immediately choking on it. It was as if the sound had caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
His front tire jerked sideways as his bike wobbled dangerously beneath him—for a second, it looked like he might crash—But instead, Mike slammed both of his sneakers against the pavement, causing the rubber to scrape harshly against the road as he skidded to a stop. Gravel crackled under his tires, stirring up a brief cloud of dust. His shoulders went tight beneath his damp T-shirt, and the laughter disappeared from his face so fast…it was almost unsettling.
“Dude,” Dustin yelped, swerving his own bike past Mike, barely missing him. “What the hell?”
But Mike didn’t answer. Will slowed instinctively, watching him stare ahead toward his house at the end of the street. Not looking nervous exactly. It was something else for sure…He was bracing—bracing as if something was waiting there for him.
“My cousin’s here.” Mike sighed.
Will coasted to a stop beside him without thinking. “Your cousin?”
“Yeah, he showed up this morning.”
Lucas frowned. “Since when do you have cousins?”
“I’ve always had cousins, Dumbass. Everyone has cousins.”
“Then why have we never heard about them?”
Mike exhaled sharply. “Because he’s annoying.”
Dustin perked up. “How annoying?”
Mike shot him a look. “Like… a lot.”
Will shifted his grip on the handlebars. “...Where’s he from?”
“Derry, Maine.”
Dustin blinked. “Maine isn’t real.”
“It’s real,” Mike said. “Unfortunately.”
There was something about the way he said it—flat, irritated, already tired— it set Will on edge.
“And,” Mike added, like it physically hurt to say it, “he’s staying with me.”
Dustin let out a low whistle. “Damnnn.”
It was right then, in that moment, that Will felt it—that subtle tilt. Like the day had shifted off its axis without asking anybody's permission first. Summer already felt fragile as it was, and that was without Mike’s cousin visiting, which inevitably meant noise, disruption, and things changing without warning.
Great, awesome.
They continued biking toward the Wheeler house as the evening slowly folded in around them. Cicadas screamed from the trees, loud enough to fill the silence between conversations, while the sinking sun washed the neighborhood in thick gold light. Shadows stretched long across the pavement beneath their tires.
The closer they got, the more Will felt it—that strange prickle under his skin, like the day was tipping toward something irreversible. Whatever it was, it just made summer start changing shape.
He heard a voice before they reached the carport. Not just talking, dominating the space. It spilled out through the open front door, loud and fast, overlapping with Karen Wheeler’s polite laughter. Whoever it was didn’t pause for responses, just barreled forward like the words were chasing him.
“Here we go…” Mike grumbled.
A sharp laugh rang out, bright and confident, cutting through the warm evening air. And something in Will’s chest tightened before he could stop it. It was… strange.
Mike’s cousin, huh? The thought settled awkwardly in his stomach.
They dropped their bikes into the grass beside the driveway, wheels clattering softly against each other. Will wiped his damp palms against his shorts, then followed the others toward the open front door.
8:00 p.m.
“…and I’m just saying, Mrs. Wheeler, if this town has even one cursed sewer or possessed mascot situation, I deserve a warning label.”
Karen laughed. “Richie—”
“—because emotionally, I am not prepared to commit to that kind of trauma twice.”
Will stepped into the living room, and at first… his brain completely stalled. He saw Mike’s couch, Mike’s lamp, Mike’s house, exactly the way it always was. Then the boy turned, and for one dizzy, stomach-dropping second, he thought it was Mike.
The boy wore the same face, the same hair, the same familiar frame that had lived in Will’s mind for years, quiet and aching.
It felt as if the world had tilted. But then the boy smiled. And it was wrong.
Too easy, too wide, he relaxed instead of stiffening, with one arm hooked over the back of the couch, body loose and unapologetic. He was sporting flip-flops, a tank top that showed too much skin, and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like he hadn’t bothered to finish getting dressed, not to mention the huge glasses that sat crooked on his nose.
This wasn’t Mike. Oh no, this was someone else entirely, wearing Mike’s face.
“Oh.”
The boy’s eyes landed on Will and stayed there. They didn’t skim past him the way people’s usually did, didn’t flick away after a second. They stopped, sharp with interest. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well,” his voice was warm and amused. “Hello there.”
Mike stepped forward immediately. “Richie.”
Richie glanced toward him. “Wow. You say my name as if I owe you money.”
Mike ignored that. “This is Will, Lucas, and Dustin.”
“Dustin?” Richie repeated, pointing. “Phenomenal. Ten out of ten name.”
Dustin grinned. “Thanks.”
Then Richie’s attention snapped right back to Will. He adjusted his glasses, quick and unconscious, like he’d forgotten he was wearing them. “So you’re Will… Okay, cool, I get it now.”
“Get what?” He asked, before he could stop himself.
Richie’s eyes flicked over him, not lingering, but thorough. “Why Mikey boy is being so incredibly weird.”
Mike choked. “I am not—”
Richie leaned towards Mike a little. “Relax, sweetie. I’m kidding… mostly.” Then, without missing a beat, “Also, wow. Is it hot in here, or is it just—”
“Richie.” Mrs. Wheeler said sharply.
He held up his hands. “—the summer weather. Obviously. Jesus, Karen.”
Heat crept up the back of Will’s neck, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “You… talk a lot.”
The room went quiet for half a second. Then Richie laughed—bright, delighted, and completely unbothered. Like Will had said exactly the right thing. “Oh my God,” he grinned widely behind his big frames. “He’s mean. I think I’m in love.”
Will’s stomach flipped so suddenly that it caught him off guard. Heat rushed into his face, and he looked away immediately, focusing hard on the floor instead of Richie’s stupidly amused smile.
Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we go outside? Please.”
Mrs. Wheeler clapped her hands together as if she were rescuing the situation. “Yes. Outside. Richie, shoes—”
“Chill, they’re optional.”
8:27 p.m.
The backyard smelled like fresh grass clippings, humid air, and the lingering smoke from the Thomsons' grill a few houses down. The last of the sunlight stretched gold across the yard, as dragonflies danced between dandelion stems sporadically.
Richie kicked off his flip-flops near the back steps and immediately dropped backward into the grass like gravity only applied to other people. His Hawaiian shirt spread out beneath him, and his glasses caught the orange glow of sunset in a mildly blind way as he squinted up at the sky. “So,” he dragged out the word dramatically, “Hawkins, Indiana.” He turned his head slowly, surveying the quiet neighborhood like he expected something terrible to crawl out of it. “This place is aggressively peaceful.”
Lucas snorted and dropped down into the grass nearby. “Okay, sure. What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Richie said, propping himself up on his elbows, “this town looks like it would smile at you while hiding at least three dead bodies.”
Dustin barked out a laugh, nearly choking on it as he dropped down beside Lucas in the grass, still grinning to himself.
Will lingered standing for another moment before finally lowering himself onto the lawn a few feet away from Richie. He drew one knee up loosely toward his chest, resting his chin against it as the warm evening air pressed against his skin.
Richie seemed to notice him immediately. His eyes flicked toward Will, slower this time, lingering with open curiosity instead of a passing glance, as if he was trying to figure him out. His posture, his expressions, the careful way he held himself apart from everyone else without meaning to. Then, almost unconsciously, Richie shifted a little closer through the grass.
“So,” he said lightly, glancing between the others before settling back on Will, “you guys always this quiet, or is that just him?”
Will shrugged, aiming for indifference even as a blush crept steadily into his face, the same way it had done several times today. “You’re…a lot.”
Richie grinned instantly, like that was exactly the answer he’d been hoping for. “That’s what your mom said when I—”
Before Richie could finish the joke, Mike dropped down into the grass directly between them, hard enough to flatten the dry blades beneath him. The interruption felt deliberate.
“He’s staying here all summer,” Mike said flatly. The words hung over them like a warning instead of a statement. But Richie didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He spread his arms out across the lawn like he was presenting himself to the group. “Lucky you.”
Mike shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “I am not lucky.”
8:55 p.m.
The sun dipped lower behind the tree line as they continued to chat and laugh. Will watched Richie talk with his hands, watched the way he leaned into space like he wasn’t afraid of taking it. His glasses, open shirt, and confidence. Seeing that face—Mike’s face, move so freely, look at him so…openly, made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite understand.
Richie caught him looking and smiled, not stupidly wide like earlier. This time it was smaller, more Intent.
“Yeah,” Richie said in a softer voice, “definitely staying all summer.”
Will nearly choked on his own spit like a loser in that moment, and immediately averted his eyes, like the eye contact itself had burned him. He tried to focus on the grass instead, on the dry blades bending beneath his hands, on literally anything that wasn’t Richie looking at him like that. As if he had already decided Will was worth paying attention to—It made his stomach twist in a way he couldn’t identify. But as the sky burned orange above them, he realized one thing.
Somewhere between the quarry and the backyard, the day had changed. And he had the sinking feeling that this summer, this loud, bright, impossible summer, was going to leave marks.