Chapter Text
Quand la voiture se gare enfin devant la cabane Hopper-Byers, the sun floods the vast blue sky. Not a single cloud on the horizon threatens the light finally reclaimed after days of snow.
Will rubs his eyes, still sleepy from the long journey back to his hometown. Alone in the back seat, the boy is stretched out at full length, waking up from a nap. Squinting against the dazzling light, he sits up with difficulty, a groan escaping him.
« Nice hair, Will. »
The voice comes from the passenger seat. It’s Jonathan, his brother and travel companion from New York. His face half-hidden by the light, he looks teasing and amused. His light brown hair spills over the collar of his wool coat, wrapping around him like an Inuit.
« I slept well », he shot back, running a hand through his hair. « That stupid baby on the plane stole my sleep time, so I’m making up for it. »
« That “stupid baby” wasn’t making that much noise. It was far from our seats anyway. », Jonathan sighed, rolling his eyes.
Will opened his mouth wide in outrage.
« Stop defending it ! »
Joyce, her hands resting on the steering wheel, seems to regret having gone to pick up her two sons from the airport. Her hands leave the wheel and unbuckle her seatbelt, her eyes closed, lips pressed together as if trying to tune out the argument beside her.
« Boys. We’re expected inside, but by all means, take your time. »
The argument dies down, the brothers glaring at each other before finally reaching a truce as they lean back. Even though they both live in the same city, they don’t see each other often, busy with their studies and their different lives.
Finally, the Byers climb out of the car, Will opening the trunk to retrieve their suitcases. His is the largest, filled with clothes and sketchbooks. The Christmas season is always an opportunity to create beautiful paintings.
As they begin walking toward the door, it suddenly swings open. Hopper appears on the doorstep, a coffee mug in hand, his eyes sweeping over his family.
A gruff smile stretches across his lips as he walks over to meet them.
« Have a good trip ? »
Joyce rises onto her tiptoes, kissing Hopper like an old married couple. « Very good. Their flight was a little delayed, but it was fine. »
Hopper nods, satisfied, then turns toward the boys.
Without warning, he pulls them into a massive, awkward three-way hug.
The embrace lasts only a few seconds, but it’s strong enough to draw a slight groan from them.
« Hey Hop. », Will says, his voice muffled by the hug.
Finally, Hopper releases his grip.
« Come on, let’s get inside. Home sweet home, boys. »
Will smiles softly. He loves New York, his friends, his studies, the constant energy. He feels so lucky to have had that opportunity, to have been able to leave and move forward. New York has become his home. But never as much as Hawkins. Despite the trauma, the shadows that remain, it’s the town that saw him born. Yes. Home sweet home.
They step into the cabin, leaving behind the biting winter cold.
The door closes with a soft click, and warmth immediately envelops them. Will slowly removes his coat, his fingers still numb, while his eyes roam across the entryway.
Nothing has really changed.
The kitchen is the same, a Christmas calendar on the refrigerator. On the table rests a partially eaten Yule log cake, one square of chocolate missing. A few Christmas decorations have been added here and there: a garland above the television, a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room.
« Your rooms are ready », Joyce warns as she heads toward the refrigerator.
Will watches her turn a page on the calendar.
Saturday, December 20, 1990.
In five days, they will celebrate Christmas together. The entire group that survived the Upside Down. The thought draws a small smile from him; he can’t wait to see them again.
He spent a year and a half in New York, building a new life far from Hawkins. Manhattan is extraordinary. Alive, endless. With his friends, he feels as though he has already walked every street, visited every store, every lively bar and club, as if he wanted to experience everything without ever stopping.
He stayed in touch with his old life. His family sometimes came to visit Jonathan and him. They spent weekends all together in Jonathan’s spacious apartment in Queens, conversations drifting from one topic to another.
And then, he had been roommates with Max. During the first few months, they had both lived in apartments fairly close to each other. After the adjustment period, they pooled the money they had earned from their jobs and rented an apartment together.
Lots of laughter, lots of music. Living with Max was probably one of the best things he had in New York.
Lucas visited them often, traveling back and forth between Manhattan and Brooklyn.
So yes, he had stayed in touch with everyone.
Except one.
Mike.
Suddenly, two hands appear from behind him and cover his eyes.
A small cry of surprise escapes him, his shoulders instantly tensing.
Then they relax, recognizing the cold ring on one of the fingers that isn’t so unfamiliar after all.
« Guess who it is ! »
The feminine voice is cheerful, almost impatient. Behind him, Will catches the scent of lemon. It’s fresh, it’s gentle. Will knows and loves that smell. It reminds him of evening cuddles in light, soft sheets. It reminds him of safety.
For a second, he closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the familiar sensation.
« El », he finally whispers, with that relieved tone he always has when he says her name.
The name rolls off his tongue like something fragile, something he could have lost forever.
When he turns around, El is there, only inches away from him, her face illuminated by barely contained joy.
Her brown eyes are highlighted by green glitter placed at the outer corners, accentuated with mascara. Her full lips are tinted a sparkling red, bringing out the colors of Christmas against her warm complexion.
« Will ! I’m so happy to see you again ! How did you recognize me ? », she exclaimed, placing her hands on Will’s shoulders, as if she were about to tell him a secret.
For a moment, Will wonders if she really thinks she was difficult to recognize. As he is about to answer, he notices a small pimple on his sister’s nose. He squints, raising a finger to touch it.
« You’ve got a guest », he says in as serious a voice as he can manage.
El’s eyes widen, and she jumps back, her hands clamped over her nose, protecting the pimple from prying eyes.
« Don’t touch it ! », she yells. « His name is Leon ! Mom wants to pop him, but I think he looks natural. »
Will raises his eyebrows, both curious and amused by this personal philosophy.
El has always been like that. Her mantra: Mother Nature decides.
Somewhere, Will admires that. That way of not trying to control everything, of letting some things be what they are, without fighting them unnecessarily.
But he also knows she has changed. She has learned to decide. To choose when to stop enduring.
Will remembers a specific period, when she was around seventeen. She had caught a severe flu, remaining bedridden and burning with fever. Joyce kept insisting on giving her medicine, but El repeated that it was “natural,” that it would pass.
It had taken time to explain to her that not everything natural is necessarily harmless.
At the time, Will didn’t really understand her logic. This girl, who had spent so long deprived of choices, still wavered between instinct and learning how to exercise her own autonomy.
Today, he understands that relying on nature is precisely her choice. Because even freedom can be frightening sometimes.
Will smiles with quiet resignation.
« Alright. »
The twins are still standing in the middle of the main room. In the kitchen, Joyce is leaning against the counter, watching them with a maternal expression. Hopper is nowhere in sight, probably out in the shed tinkering with something or in his bedroom.
« El ! »
Will turns around, and his eyes land on Jonathan, who is closing his bedroom door with one hand.
A smile stretches across his lips, his head tilted slightly to one side as he walks toward her, his arms already open. El immediately understands and throws herself into his embrace.
Jonathan lifts her effortlessly, her feet briefly leaving the floor.
Both of them are smiling, a rare display of affection from Jonathan.
« How are you doing ? », Jonathan asks as he sets El back down.
Will doesn’t wait for the answer. He turns away, grabbing his suitcase as he goes.
Behind him, the voices continue. He isn’t really listening.
Every floorboard creaks beneath his feet, a comforting sound. It reminds him that he’s home.
He stops in front of his room and gently slides the door open. The room is fairly small. Unlit string lights decorate the tops of the green walls, giving the space a cozy atmosphere.
Will takes off his shoes and leaves them by the entrance, his feet sinking into the softness of the beige carpet.
The carpet gives slightly beneath his steps, cushioning each of his movements.
Will slowly walks into the room, taking it all in.
The drawers of his dresser are open, colorful clothes spilling out everywhere. Some socks have even slipped over the edge, scattering across the floor like autumn leaves.
The Will storm has passed through, just as it does every time he packs a suitcase. And as with every return home, now comes the cleanup.
Will kneels in the middle of the room, placing his suitcase in front of him.
The sound of the zipper opening breaks the silence of the bedroom.
Will pulls the two sides of the suitcase apart, revealing the mess he had hurriedly stuffed into it that very morning.
Half-folded clothes, several sketchbooks he brought back from New York because there was no room left in his apartment.
It’s often a topic of discussion with Max. She jokes that their apartment could practically become an art gallery with his twenty-six sketchbooks piled everywhere.
Will lets out a faint smile at the memory.
They had spent an entire Sunday afternoon sorting through them.
Will sat on the couch, flipping through the sketchbooks, making faces every time he spotted a flaw, criticizing his pencil strokes.
Max listened while sitting cross-legged on the rug. She checked the dates, separating them into old and recent piles, not allowing herself to be swayed in the slightest. Sometimes she would pause to take a sip of her homemade cocktail or to share the latest gossip with Will.
Eventually, she looked up at him, firm and unwavering.
« Fifteen. Not one less. »
Will lets out a quiet amused breath at the memory. He hadn’t had the courage to negotiate. One look from his friend had immediately made him abandon the idea.
The sketchbooks are there, tucked between clothes or simply resting on top.
Fifteen.
Exactly fifteen.
Will turns his head, looking for somewhere to put them. He reaches out, hesitates for a moment, then picks one up.
He stands with some difficulty, his eyes fixed on the brown cover as he walks toward his nightstand.
His fingers linger on the cover, recognizing the sketchbook without effort. He doesn’t need to check the date to know it’s the first sketchbook of his New York life.
Will opens it without thinking, driven by curiosity but also by fear of what he might see.
The first pages pass slowly before his eyes.
Detailed sketches, focused lines, ideas thrown onto paper. Every line is thoughtful and controlled, as though he were repeating what he had always done.
New York skyscrapers, Central Park, the university, strangers on the subway.
He sees himself arriving with his suitcase, his heart euphoric, unable to tell whether he was happy or completely lost.
Those first days had felt like a waking dream, an ocean of possibilities. He explored the city, found his footing in class, and let himself be carried by the constant motion around him.
The next few pages bear witness to it.
The lines begin to loosen.
They become freer, fearless.
His sketches are light and alive.
Perspectives break apart, lines spill over the edges, scenes fill with movement. The streets vibrate, silhouettes cross paths, colors take up more space.
He sees himself wandering without purpose, getting lost on purpose.
That was when he had felt the freest.
He no longer had a style to follow.
He was creating a new one.
But it was short-lived.
Little by little, hesitation sets in. Some lines are erased and redrawn, others pressed too heavily.
Too many things corrected. Nothing feels natural anymore, as though searching for something lost.
The pages empty out. They wither.
The drawings grow too large, invading the space instead of filling it.
They devour the sketchbook.
And perhaps Will himself.
He remembers that pain. It hadn’t left him for an entire month. He had been forced to live alongside it and watch it ruin him, powerless.
He didn’t feel like he belonged. He knew it.
He carried that stubborn conviction that he had cheated.
He stood among all those brilliant people who had fought to be here in New York.
And he was just... Will.
A thief.
Someone who had simply gotten lucky.
One evening, when he had Robin on the phone, he had broken down in tears. Just hearing her voice had made him crack.
He had told her all his doubts, and it had lifted an enormous weight from his shoulders. He missed home, and he felt like a stranger, but Robin had kept him from sinking.
The days that followed had been a roller coaster.
Ups and downs.
Will blinks.
He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there, motionless, turning the pages of his past.
The room is brighter now.
The sun streams through the window, high in the sky, slowly continuing its course.
The rays slip between the bare branches of the trees, painting shifting shapes across the carpet.
Will sits on his bed, the sketchbook still wide open in his hands. Across from him, his desk is strangely neat, the pencil holders lined up, everything appearing to be in its place.
The sound of a door opening echoes through the cabin.
His head turns toward the main room. Muffled voices filter through the walls. He doesn’t really pay attention to them.
He returns to the sketchbook.
His fingers turn another page.
But there is no drawing on this two-page spread.
A folded sheet of paper is tucked between the blank pages.
Will freezes.
The university library. A small armchair in the corner of a bookshelf aisle. The steady scratching of a pencil.
Will’s nose catches the scent of shampoo mingled with that of books.
His fingers almost tremble as he grabs the paper with one hand.
Unconsciously, he leaves the sketchbook resting on his lap, both hands now holding the simple sheet.
Its paper is yellowed white, like the page of an old book.
He had torn it from a completely blank page at the end of the novel Mike had given him before he left for New York.
He hadn’t wanted to read the book.
It had sounded too much like a farewell gift.
He had set it aside, never opening the first page.
And when he had hit rock bottom, he had read it.
Maybe to feel a little closer to what he had lost.
To the one he considered home.
The story was simple.
One magical boy.
One ordinary boy.
The boys were best friends.
But sometimes, they seemed like so much more.
At first, Will had thought it was a coincidence.
That Mike had given him the book without thinking.
Without any message or particular intention.
But the further he got into the novel, the harder that idea became to hold onto.
Some scenes felt familiar.
Too familiar.
He had the impression he had already lived through those silences, those glances.
Then, after a few chapters, there was no doubt left.
He had lived that love.
Someone could have believed the book had been written for him.
Several times, he had closed the novel, his heart beating too fast, his cheeks flushed red.
He had been so intrigued.
The story hypnotized him, as though drawn toward something he couldn’t explain.
But one question kept returning.
Had Mike recognized the story ?
Will carried that buried anger inside him, ready to emerge.
If Mike had truly understood it, then why give it to him, if not out of cruelty ?
Will had struggled so hard to rebuild himself and accept that it would never happen.
But apparently, Mike had no mercy.
Dangling in front of him what they could have been.
It was easy to imagine the two boys from the book: one with green eyes and brown hair, the other with dark curls and freckles scattered across a sharply featured face.
Strangely, a tiny thread of hope remained buried beneath that resentment.
A hidden message.
It was in the university library that he finished the novel.
A bitter taste had settled in his throat after turning the final page.
Because the two boys had confessed their love.
Their story would continue.
And Will had never been given that.
Anger or desire ?
Will didn’t understand what had driven him to pick up his pencil and tear out that page.
His fingers tremble.
His breathing quickens.
Before his eyes, the paladin stares back at him with dark eyes.
It’s only a drawing.
Simple pencil strokes.
Then why is Will’s heart racing ?
He was supposed to have moved on.
Yet he remains there, hypnotized by the portrait.
Will often criticizes his own work.
He is always searching for flaws, for what he should have done differently.
But for once, he finds nothing to correct.
The drawing is perfect.
Every detail, every line is precise, lifelike, even though Will hadn’t seen Mike in weeks.
He hadn’t even needed Tu as raison. En gardant strictement la forme du texte original, il ne faut pas ajouter de retours à la ligne supplémentaires. Je reprends en respectant exactement la mise en page, les paragraphes et les dialogues :
« ...a photograph. He knew Mike’s face by heart, after so many years spent watching him in silence.
The drawing shows him from the front, as though he were looking at him. Dark curls frame his face, falling slightly over his forehead without hiding it. His lips are slightly parted, giving the boy an innocent look. His face is angular, his features marked by visible maturity. His eyes are elongated at the outer corners, his pupils sparkling. They are gentle, in love.
Slowly, Will traces a finger over the few freckles scattered across the sketch’s cheekbones. He had always dreamed of them.
In a few hours, he will see him again. He is afraid of that moment when their eyes meet. What if Mike doesn’t recognize him ?
The door swings open suddenly, startling Will. He hastily folds the sheet and slips it back into the sketchbook.
Standing in the doorway, Eleven smiles at him, one hand still resting on the handle.
« Will ! » she exclaims. « We’re playing board games, are you coming ? »
Will blinks several times, as though abruptly pulled back to reality.
« Uh… yeah. I’m coming. »
El watches him for a few more seconds, seeming hesitant. Stray strands have escaped from her single brown braid, falling down her back and leaving her face unobstructed.
The light from outside softly illuminates her, creating a pale halo around her in the doorway.
« Are you okay ? »
Will makes a face at his sister’s question.
« Why wouldn’t I be ? », he asks.
El steps a little farther into the room, gently closing the door behind her. Her gaze briefly shifts to the sketchbook abandoned on the bed before returning to Will.
Without waiting for an answer, she sits down beside him on the mattress, causing the blanket to sink slightly beneath her weight.
« You know exactly what I’m talking about », she continues with a faint sigh. « How’s New York ? »
Will feels the corners of his lips curl upward. El had been the first person in the family he confided in.
She was also the one who suggested that he and Max move in together. Apparently, Max was still dealing with lingering effects from Vecna on her eyesight and needed a bit of help in everyday life. Lucas helped a lot, but he couldn’t always be there.
« Good. », Will answered honestly. Yes, he’s doing well. He’s doing so much better. « Any news from Kali ? »
His sister’s face seemed to light up again, as though her flame had suddenly been reignited.
« Yes ! », she exclaimed. « She’ll be back soon from her trip to England. »
Will’s eyes widened in surprise.
After Vecna’s downfall, Kali had stayed with the Hopper-Byers, adding herself almost naturally to this already blended family.
For Will and El, it hadn’t changed much. They were already used to being the youngest ones, the ones people protected.
But for Jonathan, it was different.
His entire life, Jonathan had carried adult responsibilities on his shoulders without ever being able to set them down. Then Kali arrived. And, for the first time, someone was older than him. Someone who looked after him too. He was no longer the eldest who had to sacrifice himself for his family.
Will doesn’t pretend to know exactly what Jonathan thinks. But there was no need to be inside his head to know that an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
A broad smile blooms across Will’s face at the thought of seeing Kali again. She had promised that she would visit him in New York when she returned from her “great introspective journey,” as she called it. Her main destination had been London, her hometown.
All of a sudden, Will’s eyes widen.
« Wait. »
He pauses, searching El’s face.
She stares back at him, eyes narrowed, a small smile at the corner of her lips, before giving a slight nod, confirming what he has just realized.
« She found her family ? », he asks, his voice slightly high-pitched, almost disbelieving.
El’s smile widens.
« Yes. »
Without thinking, Will grabs his sister’s cold hands in his own.
And the calm atmosphere shatters into pieces of joy.
They jump together on the bed, still holding hands, laughing without being able to stop.
« That’s amazing ! » exclaims Will, unable to hold back his smile.
« I know ! » replies Eleven with a laugh, her hands still clasping his.
The mattress bounces beneath their contagious excitement.
Someone knocks softly at the door, but Will can barely hear it. He’s too busy losing his mind with Eleven.
The door finally opens a few seconds later.
Jonathan pokes his head into the doorway, watching them jump on the bed with a mixture of amusement and surprise in his eyes.
« We’re still waiting for you. », he says in a mock-annoyed tone.
Will falls back onto the mattress with a breathless laugh.
His sparkling eyes fix on the ceiling, lost in the depths of his thoughts. In a few hours, he’ll be reunited with his friends. For now, he’s going to enjoy his family.
He exchanges a glance with El, already standing at the edge of the bed. Her eyes shine with mischief, sparks of competition dancing in her pupils.
« No cheating, you two, okay ? », Jonathan says sternly. He’s lost count of all the times Will’s and El’s powers have contributed to their victories.
Will bursts out laughing, the idea leaving his mind as quickly as it had appeared.
Strangely enough, they had remained even after Vecna’s death. Very weak, of course.
But the biggest surprise was the very nature of his powers.
He had inherited Vecna’s telepathy. Very useful.
Yet he practically never used it, as though it were forbidden. He understood all too well what it felt like to have your mind violated.
Anyway.
Very useful when playing a board game.
一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一
All these years later, and yet the facade of the Squawk hasn’t changed.
The colorful neon signs vibrate in the falling night, casting their reflections onto the thin layer of melting snow covering the ground.
Will remains motionless for a few seconds, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. His straight legs tremble faintly, the cold seeping through the comfortable fabric of his pants.
He can easily make out the muffled conversations and music coming from the building.
The boy notices movement beside him. He glances over and recognizes Jonathan. His brother looks at him with his brown eyes, a discreet glimmer of encouragement hidden in them.
He knows. He can feel Will’s fear.
Joyce and El are already making their way toward the entrance, huddled against each other to protect themselves from the biting cold.
Hopper walks just behind them, his hands shoved into the pockets of his gray jeans.
He turns toward Will and Jonathan before slowing slightly.
« Are you planning to camp out here or come inside someday ? » he grumbles.
Will lets out a quiet amused breath through his nose.
Jonathan gives him a small nudge with his shoulder.
« It’s going to be okay », he murmurs simply.
Will nods. His legs drag him forward through sheer force of will. The entrance steps are Will’s Everest. His arms swing freely in rhythm with his hips.
What is he so afraid of ?
An image suddenly imprints itself in his mind. A crowded airport. Yellow and purple flowers. A tense hug. The weight of the painting in his hand. Eyes avoiding his.
The light suddenly blinds him. Joyce’s hand is resting on the handle of the half-open glass door.
The warmth hits him immediately. Robin’s laughter reaches his ears, and Will realizes how much he had missed that warmth.
The Hopper-Byers family quickly enters the building. Snow falls onto the entrance rug as they shed their still-cold coats.
Will slips off his damp sneakers with the tips of his feet before awkwardly pushing them against the wall with the other shoes already piled there.
The warmth of the floor almost immediately seeps through his socks.
In the main room, everyone is there.
The shelves are overflowing with records, this time with a few Christmas decorations scattered among the vinyls and crooked stacks of books. A large table covered with appetizers, chips, and candy sits in the center of the room. There are only a few chairs, and the two large couches are positioned somewhat haphazardly.
Against the large bay window, the thick Christmas tree had obviously been decorated in a hurry. Its colorful lights blink lazily, reflecting against the glass behind it, where snow could be seen beginning to fall.
A few decorations hung awkwardly from the branches: paper stars, poorly cut gingerbread men, and even an old Darth Vader figurine someone had hung at the very top instead of the traditional star. Will would bet everything he owns that Dustin put it there.
« There they are ! »
Holly’s excited voice bursts out, catching Will by surprise.
Little by little, exclamations rise up as everyone welcomes the Hopper-Byers.
Apparently, they’re the last ones to arrive.
The first person to approach is Mrs. Wheeler. Her graying golden hair falls to her shoulders in neat, short curls. She gives Joyce a broad smile before warmly pulling her into a hug.
« Merry Christmas, Joyce », she whispers tenderly before stepping back.
Will watches the two older women. There has always been something about their relationship that he didn’t understand. Confusion always washed over him. Even when there were many people in the room, the way they looked at each other always seemed strange.
Intimate.
Karen greets the family one by one while the others begin gathering around.
« Well, well, Byers. »
Will turns his head toward the speaker.
Max looked different. Her blazing red hair was pinned up with a beautiful green hair clip. Black eyeshadow accentuated her blue eyes while a long light-gray sweater fell to mid-thigh.
Beside her stood Lucas, a glass of Coke in hand and a reindeer cap on his head.
Will burst out laughing.
« What’s so funny ? », Lucas asked, frowning, one hand in the pocket of his cargo pants.
Max, with a hand over her mouth, seemed to share Will’s amusement.
« Dude, who told you to wear that hat ? », Will choked out.
Before Lucas could answer, a voice rose behind them.
« I did. »
Dustin immediately appeared from between the couches carrying an enormous bowl of chips in his arms, looking extremely proud of himself.
« And personally », he declared, « I think Lucas is glowing. Hey, Will. »
Dustin immediately pulls Will into a brotherly hug, which Will returns with a smile.
« Good to see you, man. »
« You too. »
Barely separated, Lucas spoke in a much less friendly tone. He stared at Dustin’s curly hair with narrowed eyes.
« Dustin, I’m going to kill you. »
« Uh-oh. », cackled the main culprit.
« You said we’d match ! »
A picture begins to form in Will’s mind. Dustin raises an innocent eyebrow.
« I told you I had a matching one. I never said I’d wear it. »
The silence lasted a second.
Then Max burst out laughing. She moved a little farther away from Lucas, doubled over.
« Oh, that’s evil. », Will commented with a half-snort.
« Thank you », Dustin replied with an imaginary bow.
Lucas yanks off his cap in one furious motion. His tuft of black hair springs free, completely flattened by the hat. He shoots Dustin a murderous look, and Will can already tell revenge is coming.
Suddenly, a hand lands on his shoulder. He jumps at the contact.
A blond head pushes its way into his field of vision.
« Robin ! », Will exclaimed, turning his body to face her. He smiled broadly, happy to see his friend and mentor again. Will still remembered their Thanksgiving in New York. They had gone through every club and bar in Manhattan.
Robin’s hair was even shorter than usual now. A blonde bob framed her face, highlighting her rosy cheekbones. Her nose, narrow along the bridge and wider at the tip, was adorned with a discreet piercing.
Will lowered his gaze to the purple Dirty Dancing sweater she was wearing. He looked back up, amused.
« Dirty Dancing ? », he said. « Really ? »
Robin glanced down at her chest as well.
The sweater was a faded deep purple, as though it had already survived several winters. The movie’s logo was printed in the center, with the two characters performing the iconic lift stitched just below it. One sleeve was slightly longer than the other, and the collar slipped a little off her shoulder, giving her a careless look that suited her perfectly.
« Vickie forced me to watch the movie. In the end, I loved it and bought this. », she explained, pinching the fabric between her fingers.
Will nodded, completely understanding the situation. The same thing had happened to him, except nobody had forced him.
« Don’t worry, Robin. », Max cut in. Behind her, Lucas and Dustin were deep in conversation with Steve. His hair was shorter, and a beard was beginning to grow along his chin. He was handsome, as always. Will turned his head back toward his roommate, who was looking at him with a strange expression. One glance at Max’s mischievous look was enough for Will to know exactly what she was about to reveal.
« Mayfield, I swear to you that— »
« At least you don’t own a T-shirt with Patrick Swayze’s face on it. », she finished, on the verge of laughing. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was biting her lip as if trying to hold herself back.
Will closed his eyes in resignation.
It was his best-kept secret, one Max had discovered on a Friday morning when she came to wake him up. Usually, he would take the shirt off and hide it beneath his pillow before anyone could see it. But that time, Max had been faster.
Afterward, she promised not to tell anyone, but she took every opportunity to tease Will about the sharply featured face and brown hair of the man who literally covered the entire front of the shirt.
Robin burst out laughing and nudged Will with her elbow. Will scratched the back of his head shyly, far too embarrassed to respond.
Little by little, the Patrick Swayze topic finally faded away, much to Will’s relief. The conversation naturally broadened to other people and other stories.
Nancy had arrived in the meantime carrying a tray of cookies, offering them around while taking part in the conversations. Her brown hair was tied into a messy ponytail, and Will noticed a cookie crumb abandoned at the corner of her lips.
Before he could say anything, Jonathan practically rushed over and wiped the crumb away with the tip of his thumb. The gesture happened so quickly that everyone blinked.
Jonathan and Nancy still weren’t back together.
They didn’t get many opportunities to see each other, with Jonathan in New York and Nancy in Chicago. No one really knew what they thought or felt.
Will, however, knew.
He knew that beneath his indifferent exterior, Jonathan had never forgotten Nancy.
He missed her terribly.
The first time Will realized it had been in February. He had spent the evening at his brother’s apartment, just the two of them.
And Jonathan had been drinking.
Drinking a lot.
His sentences no longer made any sense, he was bright red, and he kept staring strangely at the ceiling.
Will sat beside him with a glass in hand, wondering whether he should give Jonathan some water and put him to bed.
« I miss her. », Jonathan had suddenly said. He had pulled his knees up against his chest, resting his head on them. His eyes stared ahead, lost in the distance, as though looking toward something invisible.
« Who ? », Will had asked, even though he already suspected the answer.
Jonathan turned his head toward him, perplexed.
« Nancy. Who else could I possibly love ? »
Of course.
Will didn’t really know what to do. He was definitely not the best person for romantic advice.
Still, he understood what it felt like to stay stuck on someone who had forgotten you.
That wasn’t his situation anymore, and that was precisely what made him so understanding.
Jonathan drew his legs even closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Will stared at him in surprise. He set his glass on the table and moved closer to his brother.
« She’s so beautiful and smart. », Jonathan said wistfully. He reached for his drink, but Will grabbed his wrist to stop him.
« I think that’s enough alcohol. », Will muttered as he stood up. He picked up both glasses and carried them to the small kitchen.
When Jonathan and Nancy had broken up in the Upside Down, Jonathan said it was for the best. They would focus on their studies and figure out who they were.
But in Jonathan’s mind, it had always been temporary.
A few months at most.
Two and a half years had passed.
Yet Jonathan and Nancy had never found their way back to each other.
Will had been almost as shocked by that as Jonathan himself.
He had always admired the couple they made.
They were his model.
His goal.
In his wildest dreams, he imagined himself with Mike, sitting across from Jonathan and Nancy in a restaurant. They talked about themselves, about their respective loves.
But he had never believed that the “perfect” couple would break apart.
Jonathan groaned, begging Will to give him back his drink.
Will ignored him. He put the glasses in the sink, glanced briefly at the sponge, and shook his head. There were more important things than doing the dishes.
As he stepped out of the kitchen, his nose twitched.
His eyebrows furrowed at the disgusting smell of alcohol and sweat. And vomit.
Will cursed and rushed toward his brother, curled up and sobbing, bent over the couch above his own vomit.
It was the first time Will had ever seen his older brother in such a state.
Now, it was the first time he had ever seen him this thoughtless and impulsive.
Slowly, Jonathan stepped back.
His widened eyes betrayed barely contained panic as his brain finally seemed to catch up with what his body had just done. His mouth opened and closed immediately afterward, like a fish underwater.
Will hated to admit it, but he felt embarrassed for Jonathan.
The silence of their small gathering was broken by a man’s voice, a voice Will had memorized long ago.
His eyes widened. His heart was beating so fast it might stop.
« It’s awfully quiet in here. »
He was on the verge of a heart attack from a voice alone.
Things were getting worse.
The Byers brothers were definitely cursed.
Max and Steve moved apart from each other, and Will found himself face to face with the eyes that haunted his days and nights.
This world is cruel. But it is also very beautiful.
Mike looked at him, eyes wide. Very quickly, his expression returned to normal. A small smile bloomed at the corner of his pink lips.
Will’s breath caught.
Mike was even more handsome than he remembered.
It was unfair.
His black hair was tied at the back of his head in a thick, messy ponytail. Several strands escaped, some falling against his temples.
His high cheekbones were more pronounced, gently sculpting his face whenever he turned his head. A constellation of freckles stretched across his nose and scattered over his cheeks. They were subtle from a distance, but impossible to ignore when you truly looked at him.
And Will was truly looking at him.
His brown eyes seemed almost black in the dim lighting. Still as expressive as ever. Mike had never known how to hide what he felt, and his eyes betrayed him before he even opened his mouth. His gaze held that particular softness that Will found in no one else.
He was wearing a simple white shirt. A heart had been crocheted onto his chest. Looking closer, Will noticed a crown above the red heart.
𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡
Will doesn't know how long he remained frozen, staring at the paladin's heart. Long enough for everything to flash before his eyes.
The back of a van, silent and reeking. Hands brushing against each other above a painting. A lie.
Will slowly lifts his gaze back to Mike's face.
« Hey Will »
This world is cruel. But it is also very beautiful.
And at that precise moment, with the lights of the room reflected in Mike's eyes, Will had the unpleasant feeling that he was looking at the living proof of that sentence.
一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一
𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹. 𝗗𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲 ?
𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗜 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝘆𝗲𝘀