Chapter Text
Winter was beginning to unclench her wicked, clawed fingers from the little town of Hawkins, Indiana. Frozen dew could still be spotted upon freshly-mowed lawns in the young hours of the day, and mom-and-pop stores opened late and closed early. But the highs were beginning to close in on 50°, and the chance of skidding your bike wheels on black ice was decreasing; though it hadn't yet reached zero.
Will swerved around one such patch of black ice on the bumpy road, swearing as his backpack jostled and something fell out of the side pocket. He set his jaw and kept pumping his legs, standing up a couple of inches off of the bike seat. His bike—Jonathan's old Huffy—was getting way too small for him, but it did the job of getting Will from point A to point B.
Point B, in this case, was Maple Street. For a while, Will's friends had been biking over to his place first thing in the morning so they could all head to school together, but it had made him feel kind of weird. Weird in the sense that he felt guilty that his friends had to wake up early, and weird in the sense that it felt like he was being seen as weak and incapable of taking care of himself, or something. It wasn't like he had to be escorted to school, or anything; in fact, Will was older than Lucas, Dustin, and Mike, despite what his stature might tell you. If anything, he should be escorting them.
Pulling up between Mike and Lucas' house, Will gave their front yards a wide berth to avoid the chilling spray of the sprinklers. He rang his bell a couple of times, squinting up through the streetlights to spot a Mike-shaped silhouette turning his bedroom light off. Will rang his bell some more.
"Coming!" Mike shouted, audible even through his closed front door and several yards of green, green grass. Will was a little bit impressed.
The spotless front door slammed open, and Will winced as it banged against the doorstop. Mike shut it with his foot, scuffing the paint with untied Converse. Mike had definitely woken up like, ten minutes ago, if his uncombed hair, wrinkled shirt, and not-quite-awake squint were anything to go by. Will thought that it was a little bit charming; it reminded him of waking up with popcorn in his teeth and a crick in his back after sleeping over at the Wheelers'.
Will rang his bell one more time, which Mike flinched at. Will grinned, and Mike gave him a good-natured glare. "Good morning," Will snickered, openly laughing at Mike's state. "Just wake up?"
"Don't even," Mike huffed, dragging his bike over from where it was propped up against his garage door. He slung a leg over the seat, fiddling with the headlight. "I had a—I dreamt that I woke up, and that I got ready, and then I actually woke up. And I—" he huffed again, dragging a hand down his face. "I literally asked Nancy if she could just, like, bang on my door before she leaves, since she leaves earlier than me, right? And she didn't. It would take two seconds, seriously."
"Uh-huh," nodded Will, blinking his eyes to adjust as the streetlights shut off. It was 7:00, then. "I've had those dreams before. They're weird."
"Yeah," Mike mumbled, flattening his hair down. Without his permission, Will's fingers twitched, and he averted his gaze towards Lucas' house. None of the lights seemed to be on.
Backing up closer to Lucas' yard, Will jingled his bell some more, calling out, "Lucas! You up?"
Thud, thud, crash, a nasally yell, a barely-deeper nasally yell. The door banged open in a manner comedically similar to how Mike had done it, down to Lucas slamming it shut with his shoe. The door reopened; Erica, Lucas' little sister, was levelling him with a frankly terrifying face.
"Mom said you were going to take me to school," Erica said, matter-of-fact. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. Lucas groaned, throwing his hands up.
"You have your own bike, Erica. Plus, you start, like, an hour later! Take yourself!"
Mike and Will exchanged amused looks. Erica tutted, gesturing toward something inside of the Sinclair's household. "You know I have to bring my project to school today. The one on tectonic plates?"
Lucas glanced over toward Mike and Will for the first time that morning, his expression a painting of the word despair. Will laughed into his hand. "We can just meet you at lunch," he offered, to which Lucas sighed and nodded.
"Yeah, I guess. She—Erica, you could just, like, balance it on your handlebars or something," Lucas fought back weakly, but Will could see that it was somewhat of a lost cause. He mouthed, 'let's go', to Mike, who nodded and yelled a goodbye in Lucas' direction.
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"I'm so excited for Marriott's," Mike said, for the billionth time. Will wasn't much of a fan of Mr. Ritter's teaching—he spoke dully without inflection, a jarring juxtaposition to Mr. Clarke, who they'd had just last period—but he was at least pretending to pay attention.
"Me too," Will whispered, not taking his eyes away from the board. He really was excited; he'd never been to an amusement park, or stayed overnight at a hotel, or rode a real bus.
Mr. Ritter was scratching down the distance formula with a piece of nubby white chalk. Wincing at the noise, Will copied it into his notes, erasing a little sketch of Spider-Man swinging between the lines to make room.
Mike tapped his desk with the eraser of his pencil, and Will thought he could feel that he was being stared at. It wasn't an uncommon feeling; sometimes it was paranoia, sometimes it was bullies, sometimes it was wishful thinking. He glanced over towards Mike, whose eyes were on the board. Wishful thinking, it was.
"Now, if the first coordinate is (7,6)," Mr. Ritter began, and Will zoned right out.
See, Will wasn't a particularly dull kid. He would even consider himself to be smarter than a lot of his peers; he got all A's and B's, he possessed a lot of real-world skills, he'd landed 3rd place in last year's science fair when he wasn't even that into science, and he knew Morse code. With intelligence, unfortunately, came awareness; awareness of how he was being perceived, of who he was perceiving, of how he was perceiving them.
What Will was getting at was that he was gay.
Gay, with a big, fat, capital, G. It'd taken him a while to get past the denial, past praying to a God he didn't particularly believe in, past trying and failing to get that spark from Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface, when he'd really been looking at Al Pacino. He'd excused himself at the bubble bath scene, his red face accompanied by a confused, guilty, 'Lonnie-was-right' pit in his stomach.
What was even more difficult than coming to that eventual, reluctant acceptance, was Mike.
Mike was like a terrible, no-fun rollercoaster. Will hadn't ever actually been on one, so it was kind of a bad comparison, but it was on the brain at the moment so it was the comparison he was using. Mike was like a sucky rollercoaster in the sense that he gave Will hope, then stamped it out, then gave him hope again, and then stamped it out again. It was exhausting, and Will knew, realistically, that the 'hope' was nothing—it was wishful thinking, again—but he just couldn't help himself.
It was the knowledge that, even if Mike did somehow, miraculously, like him, that it would be a bad thing, that kept Will from doing anything stupid. It would mess up the friend group; it would open them both up to relentless bullying; it would probably eventually ruin their friendship, even. But all of that was forgotten when Mike looked at him like that, with his big, dark eyes, and his open mouth, and his lips that were redder than Mrs. Wheeler's with lipstick.
"Will? The answer?" Mr. Ritter ground out impatiently, tapping the board. Will jerked his face away from where he'd been—oh, jeez, he was staring at Mike, who was staring back at him with a confused expression—to look at the board.
"Umm," Will began, squinting at the chalkboard. His face felt warm. It read: the square root of (7-3) squared plus (6-4) squared. 4 squared was 16, 2 squared was 4, the square root of 20 was...
"Uh, the square root of 20?"
"Are you asking me, or are you telling me?"
Will held in a sigh. "The... square root of 20."
"Correct," Mr. Ritter said, turning his stout body back to the board. Will looked back over at Mike, who was looking at Will, who averted his gaze. There was that silly hope again.
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"And then she had me go all the way back cause she forgot her lunchbox," Lucas grit out, angrily jabbing his plastic spoon into his Jell-O pudding. A little glob landed on the lunch table. "I hope she fails that project."
Will laughed into the palm of one hand, the other clenching the Wonder Bread and ham sandwich Mom had packed for him. He took a bite, swallowing down the too-soft bread and too-salty meat.
"You poor thing," Max fake-commiserated, patting Lucas on the shoulder. Lucas glared at her, shoveling a bite of pudding into his face. She giggled and knocked her forehead against his. The words 'cute' and 'gross' came to mind.
"Gross," Mike said, the mind-reader that he was.
"You're just jealous," Lucas stuck his tongue out. His face then turned contemplative, which was never a very good expression to see on Lucas. "Soo... what's up with El?"
Mike sat up a little straighter in Will's peripheral. Will felt his heart squeeze.
He recalled the Snow Ball, the memories soft and fuzzy like cotton balls; dancing with a cute girl; stepping on her shoes; laughing; her sweet-smelling perfume; still not feeling that spark. He recalled, too, a less-fuzzy memory of Mike kissing El on the lips. It was more like a razorblade, than a cotton ball; it was sharp, and hard, and it was less than pleasant to think about.
"Yeah, what is up with El?" Will echoed Lucas, leaning over to rest his chin on his hand. He might have a... thing... for Mike, but that wasn't going to stop him from teasing him about his (hopefully-not-but-probably-since-he-kissed-her) crush. Mike gave him a comically betrayed look.
With an awkward cough, Mike poked at his own Jell-O. "Uhm. I don't really know. I've been going over to Hopper's place to see her, you know?" His eyebrows did a funny little dance. "Cause we kissed and everything at the Snow Ball, and, I don't know, I kind of assumed that meant we were together."
Max tutted. "You have to ask, numb-nuts."
Mike threw his arms up, an inch away from grazing Will. "Well, yeah, I know that now. But, uh, so. She told Hopper about it, and so the first time I went over, he pulled me aside." He gulped. "And he was all like, 'stay away from her, she isn't ready for that stuff'... which, like, wow. She can make her own decisions. Talk about a helicopter parent."
Will exchanged a look with Dustin, who'd been busy doing his math homework the whole lunch. Dustin set his pen down with a dubious look towards Mike. "No offense, dude, but he's kind of right. I don't think she really knows the difference between, uh, family love and dating love."
"Well—well, we'd have to ask her, wouldn't we?" He glanced toward Max, who leveled Mike with an unimpressed look.
"That's not what I meant and you know it." She ran a hand through her curly ginger hair, which Lucas watched with a funny look. They were pretty cute. "Just give it time, and let her approach you. It's like a... stray cat situation, you know?"
"She's not a stray cat," Mike huffed, heatedly shoveling Jell-O into his mouth. It was a little funny, up until some caught on the side of his mouth, and Will wanted to wipe it away, and there he was, looking at his lips again.
"So," coughed Will, setting his half-eaten sandwich atop his lunchbox. "Who's excited for the trip?"
The mood immediately lifted, and Mike knocked his knee against Will's as a little thank you. Will just barely kept himself from flinching, and, selfishly, he knocked Mike's knee right back.
"I'm so excited," Dustin grinned, exposing his freakishly white teeth. "Oh, man. I can't believe it's tomorrow. I haven't even started packing yet."
"Me neither," Lucas said, tapping the table. His eyes were alight. "But I'm so ready. Getting out of Hawkins? Two days without Erica? And Marriott's? And staying at an actual hotel, overnight?" He sighed happily, leaning into Max's space.
Will glanced over toward Mike. The hotel situation was two same-sex kids to a room; naturally, they'd landed on Mike and Will, and Lucas and Dustin, and then Max was rooming with the ice cream girl (Mindy Novak). Equal parts excitement and terror were churning Will's stomach. Sleeping over at his house was one thing; sharing a hotel room was a whole other evil. Throwing the words 'hotel' and 'room' and 'Mike' to the back of his mind, where they clattered and spun like coins before falling still, Will refocused on his sandwich.
"Yeah," Will agreed with Lucas, taking a bite. "And, um. Thanks again, guys, for helping pitch in so I could go." It was a little embarrassing to acknowledge his family's financial situation, but he really was thankful. He was beyond elated to get out of Hawkins, even if just for two days.
"Quit thanking us," Dustin fake-scowled, nudging Will's shoulder with his own. "You've said thank you, like, a billion times."
"I'm gonna keep saying it," said Will, matter-of-fact. Just then, the lunch bell rang, setting off a sudden mad dash to sling backpacks on shoulders and throw away half-eaten lunches.