Chapter Text
"Mike! Come on! We’re going to be fossils by the time you're ready!"
Dustin pounded his fist against the Wheeler family bathroom door, the rhythmic thud echoing down the hallway.
Beside him, Lucas checked his watch with an exaggerated, heavy sigh, while Will just leaned back against the floral wallpaper, watching his friends with a quiet, fond amusement.
It was mid-summer in Hawkins, a month left until they start their junior year of high school. The one year anniversary of defeating Vecna was slowly approaching as well, effectively closing the book on the Upside Down for good.
For the first time in as long as Will could remember, life in Hawkins just felt… normal. The biggest crisis they faced these days wasn't monsters or military invasions, but Mike Wheeler always being twenty minutes late to everything.
"I’m coming, Jesus!" Mike’s muffled voice snapped from behind the wood. "You can’t rush perfection!"
"Perfection?" Lucas muttered. "He's putting on a ratty t-shirt and jeans. Same outfit he’s been wearing since the second grade."
Will let out a soft laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt surprisingly grounded nowadays— with Vecna and the mind flayer gone, a weight had lifted from his shoulder that Will did not even know he was carrying.
Things were chaotic at home, sure—living in Hopper’s newly renovated cabin with his mom, his brother, Hopper and El meant there was always a line for the bathroom and never enough hot water. But Will loved it. He loved the noise, the shared breakfasts, the feeling of a complete, if slightly mismatched, family.
And more than that, Will finally felt like he could breathe, free to be himself.
To be very honest, Will had thought his life would explode the moment he came out. It had been a terrifying band-aid to rip off, sitting there in the WSQK, announcing his sexuality like a press conference to everyone. But the aftermath had been a revelation. His family had wrapped him in nothing but love, and his friends had done exactly what he asked—still treating him like they normally did.
To be fair, he didn't talk about it much with the Party—the matters of his heart always feel too personal to openly share with anyone, especially after keeping it secret for so long. They were supportive, but teenage boys weren't exactly known for their nuanced emotional vocabulary when it came to boys liking boys.
But that was okay. He had Robin for that.
The bathroom door finally swung open, revealing Mike, keys jingling in his hand and looking exactly the same as he always did, albeit a little taller.
"See? Ready," Mike said defensively, pushing past Dustin. "Let's go before my dad asks us to do yard work.”
They stampeded down the stairs and spilled out into the crisp autumn air, piling into the beat-up, blue station wagon Mike had inherited when he finally got his license over the summer. Will slid into the back seat next to Dustin, the worn vinyl squeaking under him.
Mike paused with his hand on the driver's side door, shooting Will a lingering, pointed look through the open window. It was obvious he had expected Will to take shotgun—as if the place was reserved for him since it was closest to Mike. But Will just offered a small, casual wave, settling deeper into his side of the back seat instead.
Over the past few months, there had been a new, unspoken dynamic change between them—a subtle space created entirely by Will’s design.
After the final battle, things were very different. Life was better without any Upside Down madness, but the actions they took to achieve it still lingered. They had very nearly lost El to self-sacrifice. The moment Will had overheard her plan with Kali, he knew he needed to do something to prevent it.
His last act of defiance, before he helped defeat Vecna, was a gift to his sister. It had been difficult to use his connection to the hivemind on someone who wasn’t Henry. But he did it, finding El and desperately severing her tether to the Upside Down. He hadn’t known then that the action would cause El to lose her powers forever. But the guilt didn’t last long, because it was the very thing that led to the military finally leaving her alone. She was alive and well, which was all that mattered to them in the end.
And he had meant it in the WSQK when he said he wanted to move on from Mike. The long-winded “Things I Want To Do When I Start Dating In College” bucket list he'd written was proof enough. But it turned out that it was way harder in practice.
Mike was still with El, and although Will didn't really care for that fact anymore— it was an obstacle he needed help conquering. Seeing her with Mike in those initial months did kind of remind Will of a hurt he desperately wanted to move past. It helped that they had stopped being so touchy-feely together for some reason. Will wondered why that was, but to be honest, he didn't want to ask and risk becoming their relationship therapist again, so he kept his mouth shut. That physical distance between them helped.
But Will soon realized that wanting to move on from Mike and actually knowing how to do it were two entirely different things.
Naturally, he had gone to Robin for advice.
—“But how did you get over Tammy?”
“She just kinda… left the town and I never saw her again?”—
Only to discover that she was entirely useless when it came to that specific brand of romantic wisdom.
Surprisingly, it was Steve who helped Will see the correct way forward.
"You need to start setting boundaries in your mind with him, and then act on them all the time," Steve had told him, leaning over the post office counter. "Understand that being friends means treating him just like a friend, and nothing more."
Will wondered if that was what Steve had done to finally get over Nancy—afterall, he was friends with her and Jonathan even when the couple got back together.
So, Will had started putting up boundaries. Nothing mean or dramatic, just a conscious, steady distance. He was actively trying to be a normal friend, treating Mike exactly the same way he treated Lucas or Dustin. In practice, it meant little stuff like this—putting distance where he could and acting like it was normal.
It was incredibly hard at first. Orbiting Mike Wheeler had been Will’s default state for as long as he could remember; pulling away felt unnatural, like trying to write with his left hand. There was a constant, nagging muscle memory urging him to bridge the gap, to seek out that familiar validation.
But after a few weeks of forcing himself to step back, the anxiety faded, replaced by something that felt absolutely amazing: a wonderful lightness and relief. Living with unrequited feelings for Mike had been a unique brand of torture, and finally denouncing them bought a sense of comfort—probably something he had desperately craved in his subconscious for a long time.
It was incredibly freeing, but Mike clearly noticed the shift. There were moments like this one—confused glances, furrowed brows, a quiet hesitation—where Will could tell Mike was trying to map out the new dynamic, trying to figure out where the invisible line had been drawn and why things suddenly felt different.
Will tried not to feel too guilty about it, he was just doing what needed to be done.
Afterall, the advice was paired with an important piece of wisdom from Robin: If you keep clinging to a closed door, Will, you're never going to notice when a window opens.
She had been right, of course.
Will didn't know if he would have even noticed the lingering looks from the jock he'd met this summer—Chance Lawson—if he hadn't actively started removing Mike from that pedestal in his head.
Before Mike could dwell on their seating arrangement out loud again, Lucas happily slid into the front passenger seat instead, tossing his backpack at his feet. Blinking away whatever thought had been forming, Mike finally climbed in and cranked the engine, which sputtered in protest before roaring to life.
"Alright," he said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "We’re still meeting El and Max at Cerebro Hill, right?"
"Yeah," Lucas said, digging through his bag for a cassette tape. "Max said something about going to the arcade after."
"Wait," Will chimed in, leaning forward. "Can you drop me at the post office first?"
Mike paused halfway through shifting into drive, turning around in his seat to stare at Will.
"Why?" He asked, although everyone already knew the answer.
"I want to see Robin," Will said simply.
A loud collective groan made its presence through the group at his words.
Dustin twisted around, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Seriously, dude?"
Since the WSQK shut down, Steve and Robin had miraculously landed on their feet by taking up jobs as counter workers at the Hawkins Post Office. Watching the two of them try to navigate shipping rates, stamp collections, and angry elderly residents was the funniest thing Will had ever seen.
But more importantly, Robin’s counter had become Will's favorite safe haven.
He practically spends all of his free time with her nowadays. He loves listening to stories about her and Vickie, talking about things he'd like in a boyfriend, and dreaming out loud about the things he wanted to do when he finally got to experience love himself.
It was a different kind of freedom, an understanding that only she got.
Will had missed out on so much growing up just because he liked boys. While his friends had all their crush-conversations—ranting over girls when they were young and talking about it freely to each other—Will had stayed drowning in self-hatred and angst over experiencing attraction at all. He probably never would experience it the way Lucas, Dustin, and Mike did. He was still not that comfortable talking to anyone else about it, not even the Party, but being with Robin made him feel like he was catching up on all those lost years.
He loved how close he and Robin had become. Sometimes Vickie joined them, too, and it felt like the community he had longed for his entire life.
He doesn’t really know how to explain all this to the party though, or if they'd even really understand.
Thus, this reaction:
"You visit her, like, every single day, Byers," Lucas added. "Just skip this once. What if the girls get mad?"
Will waved them off. "As if you and Mike aren't gonna spend the first hour staring at their lips while Dustin tries to contact his summer school crush," he complained. "I'm sure I won't miss anything except being 7th wheel yet again."
Mike sputtered at that. "Hey, we’re not gonna ditch you for—"
"Excuse me!" Dustin cut in, highly offended. "Monica is my girlfriend now! We made it official last week."
"So you’ll definitely be busy radioing Texas then?" Will prompted with a knowing smirk.
"I—yes, but—" Dustin started.
"Great! So just let me go! I’ll meet you guys up at the hills later, I promise."
Mike rolled his eyes, putting the car back into drive and cruising down Maple Street. He sighed, relenting. "Fine.”
Ten minutes later, Mike pulled the station wagon to a stop against the curb of the brick post office building. Will didn't even wait for the car to fully stop before he was throwing the door open.
"Thanks, Mike! See you guys later!" Will called out, jogging up the concrete steps. He didn't look back, already buzzing with anticipation to tell Robin what had happened a few nights ago with Chance.
Inside the car, Dustin watched Will disappear through the glass double doors, his expression morphing into one of deep, exaggerated concern. He leaned over the center console, looking at Lucas, then at Mike.
"Guys," Dustin said seriously. "He’s not replacing us with Robin Buckley, is he?"
Mike rolled his eyes, shifting the car back into gear. "No, Dustin, don't be stupid."
But as he hit the gas and steered the station wagon toward the hills, Mike couldn't stop his eyes from flicking up to the rearview mirror. He watched the brick building recede into the distance—the place Will seemed to run to every chance he got lately, building a whole new world that they had no part in.
The dismissive edge in Mike's own voice began to ring hollow in his ears, leaving behind a sudden, quiet spike of panic as the post office disappeared from view.
And he thought: He's not replacing me, is he?
-
Will pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Hawkins Post Office, a brass bell jingling brightly above his head. Behind the main counter, wearing an oversized blue postal uniform, Robin Buckley immediately dropped a stack of Priority envelopes and threw her hands in the air.
"Byers!" she yelled, her face breaking into a massive, enthusiastic grin.
"Shhh!" an elderly woman at the neighboring P.O. boxes hissed, glaring at them over her reading glasses.
Robin winced dramatically, shrinking her shoulders, and Will clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh as he hurried up to her station. Robin grabbed her heavy ink stamper, forcefully thwack-ing it onto a customs form with way too much energy to pretend she was actually focusing on work.
She glanced up as he approached, a small smile breaking through her focused expression.
"Hey."
"Hey," Will said, shuffling up to her station and leaning his elbows against the cool laminate of the counter. “How’s it going?”
Robin sighed, pausing to heavily stamp a return-to-sender label on a manila folder. "Mrs. Higgins came in again today. Spent twenty solid minutes arguing with me about the new twenty-two-cent stamps. Apparently, the illustration of the wood duck is, and I quote, 'too aggressively postured for standard mail'."
Will snorted, resting his chin in his hand. "A wood duck?"
"An aggressive one, Will. Try to keep up." Robin dropped the folder into the bin with a dull thud, resting her forehead against a stack of Priority boxes. "Ugh. Kill me now."
"I know, it's brutal," Will chuckled, glancing back at a few elderly patrons quietly sorting through their mail. "Anyway... anything actually interesting happen?"
Robin’s eyes instantly lit up, the mundane misery of the post office vanishing from her face. "Oh, I finally got a reservation at Enzo's!"
"Wait, really?" Will smiled, standing up a little straighter. "For next Friday?"
"Yes!" Robin whispered, leaning over the counter so far her tie dangled near the tape dispenser. "It's a total surprise. I told Vickie we were just getting pizza at my place for our one-year, but I bought a new dress and everything. I am going to romance the absolute hell out of that girl."
"She’s going to love it, Robin.” Will bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling a surge of giddy happiness for her. “Seriously, that's amazing."
Robin beamed, looking immensely proud of herself, before her expression shifted. That familiar, mischievous gleam entered her eyes, and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively across the counter.
"Okay, your turn!” She grinned. “Tell me about your boy."
The tips of Will’s ears burned instantly. "I have no boy, Robin. I've told you this—"
"Yes, yes, of course," Robin waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. "Just a hot jock you secretly meet up with every single night. Totally normal, platonic behavior.”
"Hey!" Will protested, though the flush spreading up his neck completely betrayed him.
It wasn't a lie, exactly. It had started out entirely by accident with late-night walks near the hidden construction site. Will had just been trying to burn off the leftover, buzzing nerves that never seemed to fully leave his body after the Upside Down.
The abandoned Church sat just on the outskirts of Hawkins, half-lit and half-forgotten, a sprawling mess of torn-up asphalt and skeletal steel beams. It was peaceful in a way the rest of the town wasn’t. Chance Lawson had been out there for similar reasons, trying to clear his head from the suffocating guilt of his past—a heavy weight he couldn't seem to shake, even after spending exhausting, back-breaking hours volunteering with the post-disaster cleanup crews all summer.
The first night they bumped into each other, they had just exchanged awkward nods, keeping a wide distance. The second night, Chance had cleared his throat and asked if Will minded the company. By the third night, walking side-by-side through the rubble had simply become their routine.
Chance was genuinely funny, and completely different from what Will had expected a popular varsity athlete to be like.
As the summer stretched on, those late-night meetings became the anchor of Will's week. The tentative silences gave way to long, rambling conversations. Chance talked about the basketball team, his annoying but brilliant younger sister, and his absolute, unironic love for The Cure.
The first time Chance had brought up the band, Will had practically bounced on his heels, launching into a passionate, breathless breakdown of their entire discography. When Will finally realized he had been rambling for ten minutes straight, he had flushed scarlet and tried to stammer out an apology. But Chance had just stopped him, a soft, genuine smile playing on his lips, and shyly confessed that he thought it was cute.
Will’s brain had short-circuited on the spot.
Things had shifted after that night. Their hands started brushing as they walked—accidental at first, and then, undeniably, on purpose. Each time their knuckles grazed, it sent something sharp and electric straight through Will’s chest. Chance had a way of looking at him that made Will feel weightless. He treated Will with such deliberate, gentle care, but never once made him feel like he was fragile or broken. After the horrors of the past few years, it was a feeling Will hadn't known he desperately needed.
He swallowed now, his fingers nervously tracing a scratch on the laminate counter. “Okay, um… something might have happened…a few days ago.”
"Tell me, tell me!" Robin pressed immediately, abandoning her mail sorting entirely and planting her elbows on the counter.
Will let out a shaky breath. "We were out at the site, right?”
“As always,” she smirked.
Will rolled his eyes, continuing, “And I was sketching... just doodling in my notebook. I ended up drawing our hands. He had his Walkman on, playing some tape, and he leaned in to look at the page.”
“And?”
“He got really close, Robin,” Will murmured, his voice dropping. “Our faces were inches apart. We were just laughing about something stupid, but then he just... stopped. And looked at me.”
Robin’s eyes went wide. “Did he finally kiss you?! Will!”
"What? No! No!" Will sputtered, waving his hands defensively. "I just thought he—ugh. I freaked out and pulled away.”
Robin stared at him, appalled. "Why the hell would you do that?!"
"I don't know!"
"Okay! Well, what happened after?" she questioned, waving a hand impatiently.
Will groaned, dropping his forehead against the cool laminate edge of the counter. "Nothing. I, ugh—I've been avoiding the site ever since, kinda."
Robin gasped. "What!"
"I don't know, I freaked out! So I haven't gone in three days now," Will blurted out. "He’s still sending me notes in school, though."
Robin raised her eyebrows, leaning in closer. "Do you have them?"
Will nodded hesitantly. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out two small, folded scraps of paper and smoothed them out on the counter between them.
The first was written in a hasty, slanted scrawl:
missed you last night. site felt wrong without you. i drew you again to keep me company. do you like it?
- C
Underneath the handwriting was a scratchy, lopsided drawing of a bunny surrounded by tiny, crooked hearts.
The second note, written on lined binder paper, looked even more hurried:
Will? is everything okay? why weren't you there today too?
- C
Robin stared down at the scraps of paper, then looked up at Will like he had completely lost his mind. "Will… he’s clearly trying to talk to you! Why on earth are you avoiding him?"
Will shrugged defensively, crossing his arms and looking away.
Robin reached across the counter and poked his shoulder firmly, giving him an uncompromising, stern look: tell me.
Will let out a defeated sigh, his posture slumping as his voice shrank. "I just… there’s no way he’s like me, Robin. What if I’m reading this wrong again?"
The word again hung heavily between them.
Love had always been a sharp, terrifying insecurity for Will. His quiet feelings for Mike had only ever left him with a deep, lingering ache, and he was terrified of stepping into another situation that would end with his heart smashed on the floor. And despite how amazing Chance was now, there was still a protective, hesitant voice in the back of Will's mind.
Chance Lawson was the Vice Captain of the basketball team. He lived on the opposite side of the high school social food chain. He was friends with guys like Andy. Will just couldn't wrap his head around the idea that someone like Chance could be into guys—let alone be into Will.
Robin lightly slapped the counter with her palm, making Will jump. "Will, we’ve literally talked about this for weeks.”
He looks up at her.
“I admit, I was cautious at first too, but look at these notes!” she said, gesturing to paper below them, “Remember signals? He's giving you a literal parade of signals."
"But I’m still scared," Will admitted softly, his shoulders slumping as he stared down at Chance's handwriting on the counter.
Before last year, Will had assumed Chance Lawson would just fall into the standard Hawkins High bully role like the rest of the varsity crew. But maybe he should’ve known better. Even during the darkest days of the witch hunt—when the older jocks had viciously targeted Dustin in their misdirected, furious grief over Chrissy and Jason—Chance had always been the least involved. Will remembered Lucas saying Chance looked uncomfortable whenever things went too far, occasionally making awkward attempts to pull people back and de-escalate the anger.
He had been relatively powerless back then—just a freshman like them when everything went down. But things had changed when he became Vice Captain. Chance had set a different tone, and the rest of the jocks had shifted right along with him.
It helped that the town had finally gotten real answers, bringing a strange kind of closure to the fractured community. Once the military finally packed up and left, a strange wave of relief had settled over Hawkins. The government cover story—a secret experiment gone wrong at Hawkins Lab, resulting in a catastrophic chemical exposure that caused the earthquakes and the gruesome deaths—had become the accepted truth.
That narrative had finally cleared Eddie Munson’s name. Rewrite paperwork, planted evidence, and official statements had painted Eddie as a tragic casualty of the chemical leak alongside Chrissy, rather than a murderer. Will knew Dustin had fought tooth and nail with the military brass to get that specific detail locked in.
In the end, Hawkins was more relieved than apologetic.
The violent animosity toward the Hellfire Club faded into an uncomfortable, awkward sympathy. The jocks never officially apologized to Dustin—their pride was far too stubborn for that—but an unspoken agreement was reached: they left the party alone. The social hierarchy at school remained, cracked and fragile, but intact.
The environment was way better now, but the anxiety in Will’s gut still strayed.
"Hey. Earth to Will," Robin said gently, reaching across the counter to snap her fingers in front of his face.
She was giving him a knowing, empathetic look, having sniffed out his panic instantly. "Look, I get that it's scary. But don't you actually want this, Byers? Or is that bucket list of yours just for show?"
Will’s face burned hot. "It's for college, Robin!"
“Give it to me,” Robin demanded, extending an open palm.
“What?” He looked at her, bewildered.
“The list! I know you have it on you,” she said, snapping her fingers impatiently.
Will sighed, a deep blush crawling all the way to the tips of his ears. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a folded, slightly crumpled piece of notebook paper. Written across the top in neat, precise handwriting was the title: Things I Want To Do W̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶S̶t̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶D̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ In College.
He had written it one late night back in Febuary, after ranting for nearly an hour to Robin and Vickie about the summer of '85.
He’d been a little tipsy off cheap vodka Robin had snuck past her parents, and the alcohol had loosened his tongue. The summer his friends ditched him at every turn for girls, leaving him feeling stranded and invisible. Looking back, he understood now that they had just been stupid, clueless love-sick boys, and he had forgiven them long ago. But until that night, he hadn't realized how much unexpressed anger and grief he’d been holding inside—simply because he had never been allowed to talk about it, and his friends had never brought it up.
“And like, I know I’ll never have that!” he’d slurred back then, sitting on Robin's bedroom floor with tears pricking his eyes. “I know people like me rarely get to have it, but it still hurts the fucking same. I want all the stupid romantic shit, too. Why is it so unfair.”
Vickie had sat beside him, patting his knee with a warm, reassuring smile. “It doesn’t have to be like that forever, Will. There are places in big cities—university towns where you find so many people like us.”
“There are?” he blinked at the words.
Robin nodded, “Hubs and clubs just for queer people. And they’re big spots for artists, too. Believe me, you’re going to fit right in.”
“But that’s two years away,” Will sighed, staring down at his sneakers. “And that’s assuming I even get in with a scholarship.”
“You will!” Vickie had encouraged brightly. “And until then, you have time to prepare, let's make a bucket list!”
So they had. The crumpled paper held a detailed wishlist of everything he felt Hawkins had robbed him of. It was full of personal milestones:
- Wear clothes I actually choose myself.
- Style my hair differently.
- Maybe get my ear pierced.
- Go on a real date to the movies.
- Have my first kiss.
And more.
Now, Will placed the worn paper onto the laminate counter like a shield. "See? College. When I'm finally out of Hawkins and things are simpler."
"Things are never simpler, Will," Robin countered softly. She reached across the counter and slid the paper toward herself.
Will stared at her, stubborn. "But you said—"
“I know what I said! And yeah, you’ll probably have a million options in university too,” Robin interrupted, looking at him with a fond, crooked smile. “But I know how badly you want this now, so why wait? All the signals are right here, right now. He likes you, Will.”
Before Will could protest, Robin uncapped a red ballpoint pen from her breast pocket. With one swift, decisive stroke, she drew a thick red line straight through the last item on the page: Have my first kiss.
Will stared at the fresh red ink, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.
"Stop waiting to start living, Will. You deserve to be happy too." Robin said softly, tapping the cap of the pen against the counter.
Will looked from the crossed-out line up to Robin’s encouraging, unwavering smile. The terrifying anxiety was still there, buzzing faintly in his chest, but beneath it, that electric, weightless feeling Chance always gave him started to rise to the surface.
He took a slow, deep breath, carefully folding the paper back along its worn creases and slipping it into his pocket. He was terrified. But as he looked at Robin, he gave a small, resolute nod.
Guess he had a lot to think about.
-
Will made it up to the hill in under an hour, his sneakers crunching over twigs and dry autumn leaves as he crested the grassy rise.
"Finally!" Lucas called out from where he was stretched on a checkered picnic blanket, shielding his eyes against the late afternoon sun. "Look who decided to join the living!"
"Sorry," Will panted softly, catching his breath. "Lost track of time"
The atmosphere on the hill was comfortably chaotic. Dustin was sitting cross-legged near the edge of the slope, a goofy, satisfied grin plastered across his face that he wasn't even trying to hide. Will caught his eye and raised his eyebrows.
"Spoke with Monica?" Will asked, stepping over a stray cooler.
Dustin flushed, adjusting his hat, but the grin only widened. "She said the weather in Texas is terrible, but hearing my voice cleared it right up."
"Gross, Henderson," Max piped up from a nearby lawn chair, though her lips twitched into a smile as she launched a rolled-up candy wrapper straight at Dustin's head. Lucas immediately tried to intercept it, resulting in a flurry of playful swats and laughter as Max shoved him off the blanket.
A few feet away, Mike and Eleven sat side by side. A year ago, their proximity would have felt charged, heavy but there seemed to be a sort of awkwardness between them now—an unmistakable, quiet space. In the past, Will would have dissected every inch of that distance. But today, his eyes barely lingered on them.
Instead, he looked at the playful way Lucas and Max were teasing each other, bantering and play-fighting in the grass.
"Illegal move, Sinclair! That’s a two-minute penalty box for roughing!" Max laughed, shoving him back by his shoulders as Lucas scrambled onto his elbows, panting and grinning like a fool.
The sight made Will weirdly sad.
Watching the easy, effortless warmth between them—the kind of simple, unhidden affection —sent a sudden, aching wave of longing hitting him square in the chest.
God, he really, really missed Chance at this moment.
His mind immediately slipped back to past memories with him, returning to the moment he had been avoiding and agonizing over for days now.
.
.
.
The skeleton of the half-built church on the edge of town was quiet in a way the rest of Hawkins had never managed to be. The night air was crisp and smelled faintly of wet concrete, turned earth, and the sharp, cozy scent of tobacco smoke. For Will, this place had become a sanctuary—a soft, peaceful pocket of the world where the weight of the past year couldn't quite reach him.
Chance was leaning his back against a low concrete ledge, the orange ember of his Marlboro Red pulsing softly in the shadows. Draped around his neck, his Walkman's foam headphones were turned up just enough for the tinny, synthy beat of a song recognized to leak out into the cool night. Will sat a few feet away on an overturned wooden crate, his knees pulled up, charcoal pencil moving in smooth, rhythmic strokes across his sketchbook.
Chance was quietly humming along to the song, his head tapping against the concrete, before he softly sang out a line under his breath.
Will paused, his pencil hovering just above the paper, and looked up with a stare. "Are you listening to Madonna?"
Chance blinked, taking a quick drag from his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of gray smoke into the dark. "Yeah," he admitted softly, before holding a finger to his lips. "Shh, don't tell anyone, though."
Will let out a startled laugh, shaking his head. "Sure."
"It’ll be like our dirty little secret," Chance said. He paused, looking around at where they were—at Will’s legs casually resting near his lap, at the vast, silent midnight sky stretched above them. "Well, our second one, I guess."
Will grinned, leaning forward. "I can’t believe the Vice Captain of Hawkins High unironically listens to Madonna. What would the town say?"
"Oh, the horror!" Chance gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "They’d lose their marbles and declare me the Antichrist!"
Will snorted at that, his eyes twinkling. "Been there, done that. Zero out of ten experience, would not recommend."
Chance stared at Will for a beat, processing the dark joke, before he burst out into a sudden, booming laugh. "Holy shit, Will—"
Will smiled at the sound, laughing right along with him as the joke hung in the night air. As the laughter slowly settled, Chance’s expression softened
"My sister introduced me," he said quietly. "I think Madonna's a visionary, honestly. The production on Like a Virgin is unmatched," Chance defended smoothly, though a sheepish, crooked grin split his face. He nudged Will’s knee affectionately with his sneaker. "Try blasting it on high volume after two hours of suicide drills."
Will snorted, returning to his page with a light, easy feeling settling in his chest. "Yeah, you'll never see me doing that."
It was so easy with Chance. There were no heavy expectations, no terrifying monsters, no lingering pity in anyone's eyes. Just soft music, night air, and a boy who didn't care about playing the tough-guy act when it was just the two of them.
A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, filled only by the whisper of charcoal against paper and the distant chirp of crickets. Then, without a word of warning, Chance leaned in closer, bringing the faint heat of his shoulder against Will's.
"What're you drawing over there anyway?" Chance asked, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to peek over Will's arm.
Will instinctively snapped the sketchbook shut, pressing it flat against his chest. "Nothing. Mind your own business."
Chance smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the dim moonlight. "Is it me?"
Even though it was—a quick, rough study of the sharp, slender lines of Chance's hands lit by the cigarette ember—Will wasn't about to admit that.
"No," Will shot back, his heart doing an involuntary flip. "Self-obsessed much, Lawson?"
Chance let out a dramatic, wounded sigh. "Oh, wow. So we’re back to second-name basis now? I thought we’d made progress."
"Yep," Will said, holding back a smile as he tapped his pencil against the sketchbook cover. "You’ve officially been demoted due to bad behavior."
"Oh?"
"Mhmm," Will hummed.
"So I'm a student to be disciplined now," Chance teased softly.
"Yup," Will said. "I’m a very tough teacher. Unfortunate for you."
Chance looked at him, his eyes darkening for a fraction of a second. "But surely there's something I can do?" he replied softly.
Then he dropped his cigarette to the concrete, crushing the cherry under the heel of his shoe, and shifted closer—so close that Will could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of mint and tobacco on his breath.
He leaned down until his face was mere inches from Will's, his dark eyes sparkling with a playful, dangerous light. "If I'm a good boy, will Mr. Byers forgive me?"
The easy air between them instantly went electric. The temperature seemed to spike ten degrees. Chance’s hand reached out, his warm, slightly calloused fingers coming to rest directly over Will’s hand where it clutched the sketchbook.
Will’s chest seized. He froze, trapped in the spell of Chance's gaze as it slowly flicked down, lingering deliberately on Will’s lips before rising back up to meet his eyes. Will licked his own lips, tracking the other other boys' gaze.
The moment felt huge—heavy, terrifying, and dizzying all at once. But the voice in his head would not stop screaming hide, hide, hide at him. The instinct to protect himself was older and louder. Fear slammed into him like a freight train—the terror of putting his heart on the line, of misreading this, of getting broken all over again.
Before Chance could bridge the tiny gap between them, Will's brain short-circuited.
"Nope," Will blurted out, his voice squeaking a little higher than usual. He abruptly yanked himself back, pulling away. Scrambling to lighten the stifling mood, he blurted, "I’m a sincere teacher, can't be bribed."
For a split second, a flash of genuine disappointment flickered across Chance’s face—a quiet dip of his shoulders, a slight furrow in his brow. But almost as quickly as it appeared, Chance smoothed it over, offering a relaxed, easygoing smile to keep from making Will feel uncomfortable.
"Fine," Chance joked lightheartedly, sitting back and dusting off his hands. "If you won't show me, I’ll just draw my own picture."
Will swallowed hard, his pulse still hammering violently against his ribs, but the relief of Chance keeping things light allowed him to breathe again.
"What would you even draw?" he smiled, just as Chance reached over, snagged a stray piece of paper and a pencil from Will’s bag, and began scribbling aggressively.
"You," Chance declared proudly.
He bent over the page, leaning his tongue out between his teeth in intense, exaggerated concentration as he scribbled wildly. Will watched him, a slow warmth blooming beneath the leftover anxiety in his chest.
Not even a minute later, he stood up straight again.
"Done," Chance announced, turning the paper around with a flourish.
Will leaned in to look, and stared at the page.
It was a terribly cute, wobbly, lopsided bunny with giant ears, surrounded by a swarm of uneven, floating hearts. A sudden, loud laugh burst out of Will’s chest.
"That's... that's how I look to you?" he gasped, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye.
"Yup," Chance grinned, nudging Will’s shoulder with his own. "Almost Identical."
Will shook his head, holding the ridiculous drawing in his hands, his heart still buzzing from how close they had come—and how safe he felt anyway. They didn't mention the near-kiss for the rest of the night, letting Madonna's music and stupid jokes carry them through the darkness until it was time to head home.
.
.
.
The memory dissolved as a loud burst of laughter snapped Will back to the present.
Beside him, Max was still wheezing, and Lucas was aggressively wiping grass off his knees while Mike stared blankly into the distance.
Will looked at them—at the easy, unburdened ways his friends moved through the world, at the simple joy of being young and in love. A year ago, watching them would have made him pull inward, shrinking into the background, convinced that that kind of happiness was something reserved for everyone except him.
But watching them now, the ache in his chest wasn't a bitter or hurt. It was just a deep, undeniable longing. He wanted that— he didn't want to spend the rest of his high school life pining over someone again.
Robin’s words from earlier that afternoon cut through the static of his lingering insecurities, loud and crystal clear: "Stop waiting to start living, Will. You deserve to be happy, too."
He genuinely liked Chance. There are…signs that he likes Will too. Robin was right, why is he stopping himself from taking something he really wants? He was tired of running. Chance wasn't Mike. He showed up over and over again, making space for Will without asking, simply because he wanted to. Chance was sitting in a half-built church in the cold everyday, holding Will’s hands, sending him notes and waiting for him. He was choosing Will, openly and without hesitation.
Something inside Will shifted—a quiet, decisive click of a lock falling open. Will took a slow, deep breath of the cool afternoon air, a steady resolve settling into his bones.
He was done letting fear dictate his life. He was going to go to the site soon, and he was going to talk to Chance. For once, he was ready to let himself be chosen.