Chapter Text
Will Byers learned early that graphite covers a sketchbook much easier than it covers the smell of burning bridges.
It was the reason why he still struggled as he got out of bed in the morning, why he still shook opening the door to his apartment, and why he had to triple-check to make sure he locked the door.
He makes sure he’s extra quiet to not wake anybody else in the complex, understanding that it’s too early for noise.
The hallway outside was barren, the smell of something rotting in the walls constantly there, although nobody is quite sure why. A single light catches Will’s eye as he wrestles on his jacket while he flings the door open.
The sound of dull footsteps hit the floor as he makes his way down the stairs. He waves past a neighbor, mumuring a small, “good morning,” before walking across to the door. He quietly opens it, making sure to lock it again before he leaves.
He steps out into the cold, breezy morning, waking him up instantly as he takes a deep breath of fresh air. It’s nice, much cooler than what it would normally be at this time of day.
The fog spans across the horizon, the lights cornering each street still on in the early hours of the morning.
He walks down the street, looking left and right constantly, uneasy in the quietness of the morning.
There is a low thrum in his ears from a nearby car revving its engine. It speeds by, but he doesn’t bat an eye.
Will works at From the Ground Up, his campus’ coffee shop that opens up at the bright n’ fresh hour of five o’clock in the morning. He doesn’t mind working there, really. Good hours, decent pay, but it’s overall mundane.
There’s a small pause as he turns the corner onto the campus, taking the same oath he always does, passing the same trees, same benches, same everything.
Along with being early enough, Will usually gets stuck with opening the shop. It’s not hard, necessarily, it’s just not something anybody wants to do, including him.
He only knows one other person who works there, and that is his close friend Chance Lawson. Chance was sweet, but he and Will have had some rough times back in high school…
Alas, they do work together and Chance has apologized a ludicrous amount of times until Will finally accepted his apologies. Even still, Chance still apologizes once in a while, his guilty conscience clearly still present.
In their junior year, Chance actually moved in with Will, as they were both struggling to afford their own respective housing situations, and since then the pair have remained close friends, at least in Will’s eyes.
Back to the present, Will turns his key to the door, forcing it open and flicking on the lights. They flicker on, a bright, cafeteria white that Will has to squint at every morning.
Even though no coffee had been made in hours, the scent of espresso filled his nose as he walked behind the counter and as he began to clean up the shop.
He usually attempts to clean up quickly so he can curl up in the back with his sketchbook, and fortunately today his attempt worked out.
Recently, though, those minutes alone have faded quickly and eventually become meaningless. Will has no muse, no spark in his life that makes him excited to sketch. His once vibrant watercolors have shifted into simple graphite or ink sketches of fun customers on the back of receipts.
His life followed a similar fashion, a smudge on the side of his hand, no ending, no beginning, and uniformity all around.
Will has always been a hopeless romantic, but at this point, all he wants is friends. And plus, there’s no reason why he would ever need a partner, especially at this point in his life.
He had left Indiana to go to college, mostly because he couldn’t stand his small town. Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely loves his mother, Joyce, and has a great relationship with his brother.
That town was just too suffocating for him. He was frequently bullied, beat down on, and just over surprised by his community.
After he moved away from his life in a small town in Indiana, he longed for connection.
He never clicked with anybody though, and instead chose his days quietly listening to music and sketching or working on his projects for his art portfolio.
Will never regretted moving away. Although he does still miss his family, he could not get out faster. Moving was one of the best things he has ever done.
The highlights of his day are when he is able to make latte art, one of his few joys, or when his older brother, Jonathan, would give him a surprise visit.
Jonathan was busy with his own photography, and so Will could not see him everyday, and yet he still had hope as the days cascaded.
Today was one of those days, in fact.
After he curled up with his sketchbook, he turned the bright neon sign on, opening the café. He waits for the customers to flow in, dealing with the 7:00am rush, cleaning all the machines, and eventually taking his break.
On said break, Will would usually sit in the back of the break room, twiddling his thumbs or wasting time.
But today, since Jonathan came, he pulls a seat up next to his brother, smiling and giving a small wave as he slides Jonathan his drink and takes one of his own.
“Hey, kiddo,” Jonathan starts, taking a sip. His eyes still had that perpetual darkness under them, making him look like he hasn’t slept in years. “You look exhausted. Have you been getting adjusted to this place? I know it’s been hard for you.”
Will gives a tight smile of his own, hoping Jonathan doesn’t notice the edges of it not fully reaching his eyes. “Of course, although I still do triple-check my locks, as always.”
Jonathan’s sharp eyes bore through Will’s soft ones. Jonathan may not have always been present, but he sure saw right through his brother, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sleeping at all? Or has the coffee shop completely absorbed your life?”
“I’m fine, Jonathan. It’s really not a big deal,” he lies. “It’s morning shifts. Me and Chance have a.. system.”
Technically, they do. They usually alternate opening, but that doesn’t make up for how uneasy he is all the time.
“Chance.. the one who moved into your dorm? He’s still paying rent, not giving you a hard time, right?”
Will nods, but decides he does not want to continue the conversation past this.
Since Jonathan has been so passionate about his photography lately, he decides that’s the next best subject other than his mundane life. “So, how is your photography portfolio developing?”
This time, Jonathan releases a full smile. He always gets excited talking about his photos. He pulls out his messenger bag, fumbling with a few photos as he explains to Will the significance they have and how they all fit together like a puzzle.
Will’s eyes catch on a particular one— a breathtaking view from inside a narrow tunnel. The sun shines brilliantly, and there’s a small child in the background, holding a balloon. It radiates joy and belonging. Will has to pry his eyes back to Jonathan to prevent himself from getting wrapped up in the photos.
When he’s done, Jonathan looks at his watch. “I’m sorry Will, I have to go. My classes are starting soon, and I really don’t want to be late for this one. Or, well, any at all. But especially this one.”
As Jonathan turns to leave, Will mutters a small goodbye. The door swings open, but not before Jonathan adds, “Will, you’ve still got that look. Don’t think I didn’t notice. The look where you’re physically here, but mentally…not.” He shakes his head, and he shuts the door softly. The bell rings.
Will goes to clean up the coffee cups, ignoring Jonathan’s small comment. What does he know? Especially in their teenage years, Jonathan wasn’t always there for Will. He was always too wrapped up in his own drama.
Of course, he is right. Will technically escaped from Indiana, but he hadn’t escaped the feeling that he was a ghost tracing the edges of somebody else’s life. Constantly waiting, waiting for a spark that may never come.
As he picks up Jonathan’s cup, he notices a fresh $20 bill underneath it. Jonathan loves doing little things like that, and Will looks forward to them, even if he insists Jonathan should keep the money.
Will’s break soon ends after that, and he has to get back in time for the lunchtime rush.
Chance is running the counter, and when Will clicks back in, they lapse into a comfortable silence, orbiting around each other as one takes orders and the other makes them.
“So, how’s your day?” Chance starts, beginning to wash all of the different mugs and cleaning down the machines.
Will glances over to him, but continues filling the orders they have. “It’s just fine. The same as always.”
Will does not really enjoy talking to Chance, small talk being his weakness.
He doesn’t have to see Chance to know that he nods. “How is that watercolor project you’ve been working on going?”
Silence.
To be quite honest, Will has not had the time nor energy to put effort into his project.
So, naturally, he lies.
“Just fine.”
Chance finally takes the hint, understanding that Will isn’t up for his questioning.
Will lets out a deep sigh, finally relaxing. He finishes the order, and lets himself lapse back into his routine.
The coffee shop progressively gets more and more busy, the quiet music being filled with chattering, mugs clinking, and people taking sips as they work on whatever busies them at the moment.
It’s just another day, and for Will, it feels like it’s never going to be over. Like usual, he grabs a receipt, sketching a coffee machine on the back, but it lacks spirit or any creative liberties.
When it finally starts to cool down, into the afternoon slump, Will hears the bell above the door ringing, signaling the entrance of a new customer.
Will hears the person walk up to the counter, but since it’s Chance’s turn to handle the customers, he simply returns to sketching.
“Uh-Hey! Can I please get a- uh- medium black coffee for me, and a.. what’s this called? Oh! A fettuccine? No, I mean a- frappuccino! Yes, a large frappuccino for my roommate. Sorry. Um. Please?”
He hears Chance plug the order in, and only then is when Will lifts his eyes.
The sight of dark, slightly wavy black hair, and the most handsome face he had ever seen fills his gaze.
They make eye contact, but Will quickly lowers his gaze.
Had he imagined it, or did the man’s cheeks get slightly redder?
Will’s hand twitches against the receipt, and suddenly, he knows what-or who- he’ll be drawing next.
His eyes don’t move from where they were on the page, but the coffee machine is long gone. His pencil hovers slightly above the page, almost like his brain is attempting to catch up, processing the sharp, messy angles of the stranger standing a few feet away.
“Okay, one medium black coffee and one large frappuccino,” Chance says, “that’ll be seven-fifty. What should the name be on the cup?”
“Oh, um, Mike,” the stranger replies. He sounds utterly exhausted, a slight rasp slipping through his voice. “Sorry, my roommate, Lucas, always insists on trying these crazy drinks when he’s cramming for midterms, and if he doesn’t get what he wants, he threatens to kick me out of my dorm and move in with his girlfriend.” He lets out a soft chuckle, tapping his fingers against the counter.
He seems uneasy, glancing around constantly.
Chance says Will’s name, a signal that he should probably start doing his job and stop sitting around. This forces him to snap out of it, his drawing temporarily forgotten as he scrambles to grab the cups and get to work.
Mike. His name’s Mike.
His mind echoes the name over and over, and he desperately hopes the steam from the machines conceal his bright red face.
He pours the black coffee, and eventually makes the frappuccino.
When pouring the dark chocolate on top, he pauses for a moment.
Should he make an actual design, or should he just swirl it back and forth?
He knows exactly what he is going to do before he thinks it through. He drizzles the chocolate, then looks down.
It’s a small heart.
As he slides them back to hand them to Mike, he notices his hands are shaking a little more than they usually do this late in the day.
Some part of him is looking forward to working again, to see this mysterious man again.
“Medium black coffee and a large frappuccino for.. Mike?” He makes his voice as stable as he can, giving Mike a small smile as he passes the cups.
Will attempts to avoid his eyes, but, sadly, he can’t resist.
Mike looks up from his wallet, and his eyes snap instantly to Will’s. There’s a brief moment where neither of them moves, the cups frozen in time.
There’s something so captivating about Mike’s piercing eyes, almost like he’s analyzing every little fiber of Will’s being.
He has high arched eyebrows which show every emotion running on his face, and yet Will cannot single out any of them.
Then, Mike moves. “Thank you,” he says, his hands caressing against Will’s as he pulls the cups. His eyes glance down onto the frappuccino, where the small heart sits on top of the whipped cream. “Wow, this is awesome. Thanks..” He pauses, his eyes narrowing at Will’s name tag, “Will.”
A shiver is sent right down Will’s sign. The uniformity of his life cracks right down the seams.
“Anytime.” A real, genuine smile tugs at Will’s lips, finally reaching his doe eyes.
What just happened?
Mike turns on his heels, the bell chiming once again as Will’s beautiful stranger fades from his life. He watches him through the glass as he turns the corner, and once he finally does, his eyes slip back to his drawing on the receipt.
He stares at the messy graphite sketch. There’s a spark in his eyes as he presses the receipt into his chest, a dazed smile across his face.
“Earth to Will,” Chance’s voice breaks through the quiet, a teasing smile on his face as he taps the counter. “You’re looking at that door like you expect it to grow wings.”
Will hums slightly, murmuring, “Just.. thinking.” His cheeks are still warm.
He slips the receipt into his pocket.
Chance doesn’t push, but the smirk on his face speaks volumes.
Will turns back to the coffee machine, his hand tracing the receipt in his pocket.
For the first time since he left Indiana, the silence of the slump didn’t feel heavy and hollow. Instead, it felt like a promise that something might finally change for Will.
__________
Later that day, his shift is finally over. He still feels a bit giddy from his interaction with Mike earlier, fumbling with his words like a fool, or tripping over air.
Whenever Will thinks of his name, he can’t help but smile again. There’s something in his name that makes him cheerful and brings the life back into him.
It’s weird… he’s never met Mike before this, never even seen him around the campus, and yet he instantly feels connected to him. He wonders if he lives on campus or somewhere else.
Even though they’ve only shared like two words and were both blubbering, sputtering messes.
Or, at least Will was.
He is done for.
As he takes the path back to his own apartment, everything on his shoulders feels lighter. He even lets out a little hum as he pushes the door open once more.
He’s so glad he doesn’t have any classes today, as he is utterly spent and needs to catch up on his sleep.
He isn’t shocked to see that Chance isn’t home yet, as his shift ended a few hours before Will’s, but he usually stays for longer to clean up or just waste time with his basketball friends.
Chance barely spends any time at his actual apartment, only the bare minimum to eat or sleep before he goes onto doing something else.
The massive canvas in the center of his room stares back at him, the final piece of the puzzle he’s been working on for months.
The thought of sleep instantly blurs into sharp focus on the painting.
He grabs out his pallets and his two sacred brushes, beginning to paint a familiar face. He wipes his brush across the canvas, mixing the perfect colors.
In the background, he decides to play the Cure, needing music to help fuel his artwork. Music is the way to a person’s heart after all, right?
“Why Can’t I Be You” begins to play, and Will falls into a flow state.
He begins to paint Mike, his hand itching as he grabs out the receipt for a reference.
The receipt is crinkled, and so he slowly unfolds it. Tracing the edge of the receipt, Will turns back to the canvas, sketching out the outlines so he can begin painting.
Will paints for hours, lulled into a state of gentle relaxation that he hasn’t achieved in years.
When Chance comes home, he barely even notices, continuing to paint. His door is shut, music blaring in his ears, which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a light tapping on his shoulder.
He pushes his headphones down, his hand clutching his heart until he realizes it’s only Chance.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were so busy painting you couldn’t even notice me.” Chance gasps out, with an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds on, but the guilty smile on his face tells Will everything he needs to know.
Will finally focuses, turning to what he’s painted.
It’s a stunning portrait of Mike, painted in black and white. There’s only one thing wrong with it.
Mike’s eyes. Will can’t replicate the deep brown that makes his heart flutter.
Chance peeks over his shoulder, analyzing the painting.
Will attempts to cover the painting up, body blocking it, but it’s too late. Chance already saw, in close, up front detail exactly who he was painting.
“Dude, is that the guy from the coffee shop? Oh my god, Will’s in love!”
If Will didn’t know better, he would have thought that Chance sounded.. jealous.
Nevermind.
Chance lightly pushes Will to the side, getting a good look at the painting. “This is good, Byers.”
Will shakes his head, brushing both the compliment and the accusation off. “It’s nothing, really. I just haven’t been able to paint in a while and I figured he’d be a good subject.” His voice shakes a bit at the end.
“Yeah, okay, and pigs are flying right outside our very own apartment. I call bull. C’mon, tell me what’s really going on. We’re roommates! And plus, it looks wonderful. I wouldn’t judge you! At least, not anymore.”
“Okay. Fine. Maybe I am painting him, but there’s no way I have a crush on him! If anything, we’d be friends. I don’t even know if he likes men like that, and I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
Another lie. His hopes are through the roof, but yet again, it really isn’t any of Chance’s business.
Chance nods, looking at the clock. Will’s eyes follow his, and he realizes it’s been four hours since he started painting. His stomach growls hungrily, and his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
Most nights, Will throws something together, but Chance can see the pure level of focus in his eyes.
“Want me to order in tonight? Clearly you’re too focused on being madly in love with the coffee shop boy to be able to make us some food tonight.”
Will scoffs. “I am not!”
Chance’s eyes bore into Will’s, and he lets out a dramatic sigh. He doesn’t really feel like cooking, and wants to finish the painting.
And so, they both eventually settle on the Chinese place across the street.
Chance dips out of Will’s room, understanding that he needs the space to work. Will truly doesn’t care what he does, as long as he pays rent on time and doesn’t make a mess of his place.
He focuses his eyes back to his painting yet again, studying it for a few moments.
He repaints Mike’s eyes over and over again. Each time there’s something off, they look too flat, they’re not the right color, or something that isn’t perfect.
In a fit of rage, Will slams down his pallette, rubbing his hands harshly against his eyes. Paint splatters on his smock and the drape he has on the floor.
“Why can’t I get you right..?” He whispers, a question for himself.
He lets out a harsh huff, his brows furrowing. He can’t stand to see his own work any longer.
In one quick move, he picks up the canvas, snapping the hard wood over his knee. He then drops the two pieces of canvas, a loud ringing in his ears.
The silence is devastating. His hands are completely covered in the wet paint, and it’s splattered all over him.
Mike’s face broke right down the middle.
Will slaps himself. Why would he waste a perfectly good canvas on drawing some random customer?
He’ll try again another day, he just needs a break. One that doesn’t include thinking about coffee at all. It was his first time truly painting something that enthused him in a long while.
Before this, he couldn’t manage to even use color. He had no hope, he was essentially seeing the world in black and white.
Pen and paper were his go to, or messy charcoal on a white page. Other than that, his watercolors and acrylics had been collecting dust in his art supplies drawer.
Chance knocks on his door, and this time Will hears it. He opens it, being met with his box of Chinese food.
Taking the food, he shuts the door again, thanking Chance before curling up on his bed. He has general education class homework to finish up anyways, and art isn’t his biggest cause for concern.
He studies into the late night, before he realizes he has to open again the next day.
Will stands up, leaving his room and going into Chance’s. He finds Chance getting ready to go out.
Shocking. Chance was always at some rager, even when he had to wake up the next day.
“Goodbye, enjoy your party. I’m going to bed. Please don’t be too loud coming home, you know I have to open tomorrow,” Will pleads. It wasn’t uncommon for Chance to come barreling through the door, drunk out of his mind.
Chance nods, and Will turns on his heels, brushing his teeth.
As he stares at himself in the mirror, he can’t help but wonder if Mike’s coming back the next day. He secretly hopes he does.
Before he falls asleep, his eyes slip back over to the broken pieces of the painting.
To Will, it’s insane that he’s head over heels after saying a total of ten words to this man. He just can’t get Mike out of his mind, an itch that needs to be scratched.
He can’t help but wonder if Mike had felt the same thing when he looked at him, that electric shock that jolted Will from his head to his toes.
He denies that. There’s no way that he would have ever felt the same feelings back. It’s dumb love. Even if he did like him back, there’s no way it would work out.
For heaven’s sake, Will doesn’t even know his last name!
Maybe he couldn’t get the painting right, not being able to capture his essence, but he could try again tomorrow.
Will couldn’t capture anything of Mike’s, but Mike let Will have something infinitely more important.
Hope.