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New York, 1992, Spring
The wind is bitter and cold as it slices across Will Byers’ decorated cheek. He taps his foot against the hardwood floor impatiently, though he refuses to let the emotion show on his face.
It rained yesterday, and the day before that. New York City isn’t used to rain, at least not in the West-Coast style of downpour they’d received.
It brought Will’s mood down, as weather often does, but it didn’t keep him from smiling knowing what today is.
Today is his birthday.
March twenty-second.
And exactly twenty-one years and two hours ago, he was born into the arms of a beautiful, devoted mother who raised him as perfectly as he could have asked.
New York is kind of like Hawkins, Indiana.
It’s weird, Will has been told millions of times by his friends and classmates, and roommate Michael Wheeler, for him to see the similarities in a small mystery town and the “big city”.
But he sees them anyway.
For starters, the more places you visit daily, the more people you get to know.
Some, including the stubborn Mike, argue that that comes with exploring any new place; but Will knows it’s different.
Like, far down 14th Street at the quaint little coffee shop Will visits before his studio classes every morning, he’s begun to recognize every single person who walks by him.
The tall blond dude who only ever wears flannels as he turns the corner, the short brunette woman who always holds the door open for him, the cashier Kenny whose name Will only knows because they’ve gone on a couple dates—he doesn’t have a nametag; they don’t “believe” in that here.
He’ll find his eyes wandering over the customers and see May by the window sipping her morning espresso again, the tall bearded man with the golden retriever on a red leash across from her.
And just like Hawkins, he could point them out from the backs of their heads, from a million miles away.
It’s community; it makes sense.
Two—and this is the big one that Mike and his studio friends always laugh at him for—he doesn’t know where the fuck he’s going.
Like, literally, not metaphorically, although at twenty-one now, he probably should have a clearer image of his future in mind than just “survive college.”
He was born in Hawkins. He grew up in Hawkins, he biked around every side street there was, and yet… he was as lost as a spinning top without a friend to help him along.
That’s what he likes about Mike.
Good ‘ol stable Mike.
He was always there for Will, always keeping an eye on him, making sure he didn’t get lost. Sometimes, he’d even laugh at Will for not knowing where Cornwallis led yet.
He was ten; give him a break.
This is where Mike will agree with him, though. New York is fucking huge.
Will could leave his apartment building with a plan of walking right twice and left thrice to meet someone for lunch before a 1pm class, and suddenly he’d be wandering Washington Square Park until his next class at 4pm.
But none of that matters today.
Today is a big day, even bigger than a legal-drinking-age-in-America day.
Today, the Party™ is coming home.
Well, “home” is subjective.
It’s home for Mike and Will, who have lived together since they both got into NYU on the same exact day; almost three full years ago now.
Will was so excited, he had to lay down; he got lightheaded.
Their dreams were coming true; staying best friends through college, living together until they got sick of each other, having a movie night every night.
But there was one problem for Will.
Lucas Sinclair.
They were all best friends, Dustin Henderson, Mike, Will, and Lucas. The four were as tight as a vacuum sealed mattress, but there was always an imbalance. Mike liked Will more than he liked the other two, and Will liked Mike that much too, so he rarely got to spend time with Dustin or Lucas alone.
In that sense, Lucas Sinclair was like a rumor. Someone whispered about in the wind, heard about here and there, only seen when Will wasn’t busy with Mike—which was rarely—or didn’t want to be social anymore.
It sucked, especially when they were teenagers, because when Lucas hit puberty, he got hot. Like, capital H, capital O, capital T.
Will saw this boy every day, despite them not being the closest of the bunch, and then suddenly he was a man, and Will started to question everything he knew about himself.
Me, in love with Lucas? Lucas? He questioned himself everyday, stomach-up in Mike’s basement, eyes locked on the words of an X-Men comic without actually absorbing any of the information. No, I should be in love with Mike, if anyone. He’s the one I spend all my time with, but…
As if superpowers were real, Lucas busted through the basement door with a piping hot bowl of popcorn in his hand.
Will watched the way his calves worked as he ran down the stairs, how his arms flexed each time he passed the hot bowl back and forth between his two hands.
The sweat that was prickling down his temples, the short pants of breath he let out after each step he conquered—damn.
Lucas Sinclair was fucking hot, and Will Byers couldn’t stop staring.
So, when Mike announced his and Will’s dual acceptance into NYU, Will couldn’t help but feel disappointed when Lucas congratulated them and said he dribbled his way into Duke.
I could’ve gotten into Duke, Will thought to himself. They have a visual arts program.
Will wasn’t very good at convincing himself he liked the choices he made; still isn’t, unfortunately for him, and for the roommate who has to listen to him complain about it every single day.
Yesterday, during the storm, Will wouldn’t shut up about it.
He was on the couch, sketching Lucas how he remembered him while Mike struggled to start a new manuscript, and he could tell Mike was tired of his complaining, but no one else cared that he still found Lucas hot.
He tried talking to his one of three female friends, Jenny, about it, but she said, and he quotes, “I really do care for you, Byers, but it’s New York. Everybody's gay.”
At home, Will theorized, “I think Lucas is gay too, but what if he isn’t? What if I ruin everything, on my birthday, and for what? What if I wasn’t obvious enough, what if he doesn’t know I’m gay?”
Mike scoffed at him then, leaning back in his chair. “Will, I think everybody knows you’re gay. You literally came out to us.”
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t say I was gay. Not… directly.” Will brought the pencil to his lips and bit down, chewing on his fifth eraser of the storm. Mike gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes. “I know he’s not stupid, Mike, so you can stop looking at me like that! I just… I want tomorrow to be perfect.”
“And it will be! It will be perfect; I won’t let it not be perfect. So, just… relax, please.”
“Oh God, what if the rain slows them down? What if they have to postpone because of it?” Will was spiralling—
—Which only made Mike laugh. “God, Byers, you are insufferable.” After a pause to shake his head—which Will was glaring at the back of—Mike cleared his throat. “He’s gonna make it; he wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
And now, here they are. Waiting for the most awkward birthday Will is ever going to experience.
He was already nervous about being able to use his real ID for bars today, and now he has to look at and shake hands with and hug Lucas Sinclair, and act like all those small touches don’t drive him absolutely fucking crazy.
Twelve-noon.
They get to New York City at twelve-noon exactly.
Will tries not to look.
He’s been waiting by the floor-to-ceiling window in their living room that overlooks the better parts of the city for the past hour straight, sticking his thumb into his mouth then pulling at the nail between his teeth because he told himself he’d stop biting them to ash.
He started painting his nails; started painting a lot of things, but at night when he brushes his teeth, he still finds black polish flakes between them.
When he left to get a glass of water to busy his clammy hands, Mike took over his spot, and just as the glass was under the tap—
“Hey! They’re here!”
Will’s head snapped to the window, and he sprinted across the room at a speed he regrets now because he’s out of breath, and shaking, and he can hardly think straight.
His thumb is back in his mouth, but his teeth only scrape the underside of the nail.
The group all rode in one car, which surprises Will knowing how fussy Dustin is in tight spaces, especially in full cars when he’s driving.
In an instant, like the click of a simultaneous ‘eject’ button, the four open their doors and pour out into the busy, dirty streets of New York City.
Max is the first person Will lays his eyes on, her bright orange hair catching his attention. It’s tied behind her head in two pigtail-style braids, two voluptuous curtain bangs swooping across her forehead and into her eyes.
She stretches her arms above her head, opening her mouth wide in a yawn, which causes Jane to scoff and pat her on the shoulder.
Jane.
Will beams; he hasn’t seen his sister since last summer.
Since starting at MIT for the performing arts, she’s flourished in her own independent environment.
Within a week of classes, she was surrounded by a dedicated group of five women who all seemed genuinely interested in her.
College ebbs and flows, of course, but three of those five friends have stayed strong by Jane’s side through the good and the bad.
Though, if it wasn’t for their constant adventurous traits, and the fact that Dustin won’t leave her side, Will is sure he’d see his sister more than a handful of times a year.
Speaking of, having survived the long drive, Dustin yawns in a mimic of Max and kisses his girlfriend Jane on the cheek.
“Finally free!” Will can imagine Dustin shouting out into the city.
Dustin walks around to the back of the car, popping the trunk and carefully grabbing the array of multi-colored suitcases with two steady arms.
“You don’t have to watch them like STEM cells under a microscope,” Will hears Mike mumble.
Will shakes his head. He looks over his shoulder at Mike, who’s eyeing him up and down, and embarrassment suddenly sneaks in.
Oh god, what if Lucas saw him like this? Watching them like a hawk, chewing on his fingernails like the goth cannibal in Jonathon’s newest feature film.
He probably looks like the most nervous supervillain ever.
He scoffs.
“Look, we’re gonna be seeing them in person in probably five minutes.”
“Five?” Will’s stomach drops to his knees; he can’t fucking take this anymore.
“Okay, three! I don’t know!” Mike rubs his face with his hands, leaning back against the couch like this is the easiest thing in the world.
Well, maybe for a normal person it would be. Not for Will Byers, Mister “can’t-keep-his-eyes-off-Lucas-Sinclair.”
“Fine. Cool. I can be chill. Whatever. It’s not even a big deal.” Will goes on, plopping down on the couch next to Mike.
“See? Just take a deep breath and wait. Imagine they’re… just a new order for your fancy paints!”
“I don’t order fancy paints, Michael, I don’t have a job.” Will is being mean, he can tell from the way his voice sounds to his ears the second the words leave his lips.
But he’s pissed—not only did he get fired for asking for not being “excited enough” on the job, but now he has to wait to see Lucas again, after almost three years.
Life really isn’t fair.
“Sorry.” Will blows out a breath.
Mike laughs at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but before a single word can leave his painfully beautiful lips Will has spent his entire lifetime being jealous of, someone knocks on the door.
“Holy shit.” Will goes rigid. His hands drop to his sides, his shoulders fly up to his ears, and he slowly turns to Mike like a microwave powering-down. “Should I… do you want me to get it?”
Mike is looking up at him like he truly is the dumbest thing in the universe, but there’s a smile playing on his lips that makes Will relax, just a wee bit. “Yes.” He says, breathy, though obvious.
Will nods, and he wipes his sweaty fingers on his jeans. His palms feel sweatier than they are.
He takes one big step to the front door, then another one, and finally when he’s nearly nose-to-nose with the peephole does it really set in what’s about to happen.
He’s going to place his shaking hands—both of them, yes—on the doorknob and he’s going to turn it and pull, and then he and Mike Wheeler are going to be face-to-face with their four best friends they mostly haven’t seen since the high school years of their life ended.
How have his friends changed? He’s wondered this since they first planned this day four months ago.
Did Dustin finally cut his hair short, has Max finally gotten her first tattoo?
Has Lucas gotten any taller after going on a totally not-not-real “no carbs” diet?
Had he quit this diet after realizing pizza is just too good? What does he like on his pizza now? Does he still like olives, but only the black ones?
Will has to shake his head to keep himself on track. He’s probably been standing here trying not to look through the peephole like a total idiot for two minutes too long now.
So he sighs, and he rearranges the front pieces of his hair so they stop feeling so jumbled, and he grips the doorknob with the exact firm quality of a handshake, and he opens the door.
He was holding his breath until he saw them.
His four best friends, all smiling ear-to-ear, waiting from him to answer like they knew it would be him; Will Byers.
“Happy birthday!” Dustin screams out into the hall, lunging forward and wrapping both of his arms around Will’s neck, tight.
Will hugs him back, smiling, relief finally filling his body. “Thanks, Dustin.” His eyes find the case of beer bottles by where Dustin used to be standing, then the case of twelve more cans behind the bottles. “Is this a birthday party or a club?” He asks no one in particular, chuckling to himself.
Jane steps forward, patting Dustin on the back to let him know his time is up. He loosens his grip, but hesitates a moment longer before finally letting Will go and letting Jane hug him instead. “Happy birthday, Will.”
From up close, he can see her hair has changed colors. It’s maroon, only at the tips, with purple streaks mixed in, like a My Little Pony character. She looks adorable. “I love the hair.”
Thinking about it, Will looks up, and no. Dustin has not cut his hair, it’s still as mullet-y as ever.
Will scrunches his nose.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” Dustin asks, stretching his arms out like he wants a second hug.
Will shakes his head as Jane steps out of his embrace and into the apartment where he can hear her and Mike squealing about something exciting, yet indistinct. “I told you, you need a haircut.”
Dustin scoffs and shrugs. “Oh, boo-hoo, birthday boy doesn’t like my hair. Unfortunately for you, Will, your sister digs the ‘cut.” Will steps aside, and Dustin walks into the apartment after his girlfriend.
“I think you meant to say ‘fortunately’.” Max chimes in, and when Will finally spots her, her eyes light up. “Hey, stupid. Happy birthday.” She hugs him quickly. “Nice place. Roomy. Surprisingly big enough for two.” She smiles as she heads in, scowling at—Will assumes—Mike. “Mike.” She narrows her eyes, in Will’s mind.
“Hi.” Embarrassingly, at least to Will, all that’s left is Lucas. He waves, awkwardly, stepping into the overhead light so Will can get a better look at him. “Happy birthday!” Jazz hands.
Will smirks. “Thanks, Lucas.” And, well, he’s not taller. But he is bigger. “You–You grew.” Muscle, he wanted to say muscle, but his tongue was so tied he ended up stuttering instead. He’s never going to live that down.
Lucas shrugs, and his arms strain against his tight medium-orange sweatshirt. “Guess I did. Is it hard to get used to? Max says I look too different.”
“What? No, I think you look great.” Dammit. Will curses himself internally. Too obvious, stupid, what the fuck. “Well, uh, do you wanna come in?” Will eyes the bags his other friends left behind. “I can help you.” He looks Lucas up and down. “If you even need it.”
Lucas tilts his head back and laughs. “Okay, you got funny.”
Will steps out into the hall. “What do you mean I ‘got funny’? I’ve been funny!”
“Uh-huh.” Lucas chuckles, stacking the cases of beer on top of his multi-colored suitcase. With his free hand, he reaches around and grabs Jane’s bright pink suitcase that’s decorated with stickers.
Will scoffs.
Lucas nods. “I know, right? I can never out-decorate things with her around.”
Will grabs Dustin’s bag. “You can’t out-decorate things with anybody.”
“Wow.” Lucas feigns hurt, “that one really stung, Byers.” He pushes past Will and wades into the apartment, and his eyes go wide. “Damn, okay. I got my ass handed to me there.”
The walls are blue, for one. Patterned with little glowing stars Will thought would add a pleasant ambience—which they did.
The job is messy; Will did it on impulse the day he got fired from his job and managed to finish almost half of the walls before Mike got home from his job.
Mike complained about the white walls a lot, said they reminded him of a hospital, and Will wanted to punch a hole into the next unit.
He needed something to do, and he found cheap paint, and he did it, and Mike has told him on multiple occasions that he loves it.
Since painting the walls, Will has found Mike to be more inspired than normal.
He’s started buying a new decoration for the apartment each Friday he gets paid, usually in Will’s favorite color for Will’s space, but sometimes a bright red throw pillow for their mustard yellow couch, or a bulbous plant pot for their third Monstera this month.
They’ll pass by a home goods store and Mike will point at the window display and ask, “What do you think about those plates? Do you think they’d match the counters?”
Will laughs, because they’re just plates, and he’s sure Mike has zero clue what he’s talking about, until he insists:
“No, I’m serious. They’re blue, but it’s like, off, right? Too dark, or something?”
Then Will would say, “We don’t need plates; we can barely afford food.”
“Yeah, but, for when we’re eating like kings. We’ll want blue ceramics, right?”
It’s all weirdly domestic, especially for Michael Wheeler, but Will supposes since they’re both in creative fields, maybe it makes sense to some degree.
The whole Party™ is spread out on the couch, which now looks enormous to Will.
Usually when Mike is splayed out by himself with a notepad and a cup of coffee, the sofa looks tiny, and hardly big enough for the two of them.
But now, with four of them sitting comfortably and two of them still needing to find room, Will has no doubt about its size.
The sun has started to set, and all the beer is gone.
Half of the group is nested up in the corner of the yellow couch, looking so comfy they could fall asleep any minute, while Lucas, Dustin, and Will are sitting upright on the floor in front of the couch.
A movie from their childhoods that only looks cheesy now that they’re older is playing on the TV across from them, the volume up so high every sound effect feels like a real gunshot.
There’s at least fifteen minutes left, but now, all conversation has died into a bitter silence that Will’s sweaty palms can’t take much more of. He looks up at Mike with pleading eyes, hoping he can silently ask, “Please tell me you want to do something else.”
But Mike doesn’t look back at him. His very own bored eyes are glued to the TV screen, half-heartedly watching the bad movie while occasionally sipping from his clearly empty beer can he refuses to put down.
So, Will looks over at Dustin, who was laughing until four minutes ago when he realized this was just bad and not fun.
Or maybe Will is projecting, because he’s nervous, and he doesn’t know how to be normal when he’s nervous.
They’re all so far apart, and it doesn’t feel like old times; not anymore.
Lucky for him, Dustin meets his gaze immediately. It’s like he sensed Will’s eyes before they were even sure what they should be looking at.
Dustin looks like an eagle, alert, at attention, ready to strike on innocent prey. “You know what we should do?”
“What?” Max asks, mouth full of buttery, steaming popcorn she’s refused to share with anyone who’s so politely asked.
“Truth or dare.”
Mike snorts. Lucas chuckles. Will rolls his eyes.
Dustin shrugs. “What?” His voice raises into a squeak, “Come on, it’s a good idea! Great one, even! When was the last time we played a fun party game like this?” He pauses, and the silence around him makes the gesture that much more ironic. “Exactly! Never! Come on, it’s Will’s birthday! He wants to play!”
Will scoffs. “I do?”
“Sure you do!” Dustin gets to his feet. “See, I brought just the thing for this!” He walks over to his duffel bag on the kitchen counter.
“Oh my God.” Jane buries her head in her hands, and Will eyes her suspiciously.
“Dude, come on, no—no one wants to see your gross thing!” Lucas chimes in, and Will’s head whips around to him.
“Gross… thing?”
“Okay, not like that.” Max chortles, shoving another handful of popcorn into her buttery lips. “Just… you’ll see.”
“How do you all know about Dustin’s gross thing?” Mike finally contributes, and his wording makes Will throw his head back and laugh. Max and Jane join in on his fun.
“It is no laughing matter, my dear friends!” Dustin sticks his head out from the kitchen, his hands sounding busy, deep somewhere trench-like and forbidden. “Just… hold on!” His voice sounds strained.
Mike rubs his forehead with his fingertips. “Oh my God, I swear if he comes back in here with his dick out, I will not be letting him hear the end of it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s grown so much since the last time you saw him.” Max crunches on her popcorn.
“Well it’s not like it can get any smaller.” Lucas’s eyes blow wide, and the whole group bursts out into a contagious laughter.
Even Jane, though quiet and often defensive when it came to the Party™ making fun of her boyfriend, joins in.
“Okay, so, this is— wait, why are you all laughing? Who said something funny without me?” Dustin returns to the living room, and when Will turns to look at him he only laughs harder, his stomach hurting now.
Held up in Dustin’s hands like a trophy is a jar of some orange speckled goo bursting at the rim of the glass, with imprints of some floating thing pressed against the side.
“What the fuck is that?” Will can barely squeeze the words out in his laughing state. He points at the jar, and as a shocked Dustin moves closer, he gets a whiff and understands what Lucas and Max meant. Sour, bitter, tart, savoury—anything but sweet, or appetizing. “Oh God, that smells like—”
“Botulism,” Lucas nods. “Yeah, we know. Had to smell it the whole car ride.”
“The whole ride? Jesus, I would’ve killed Dustin.” Mike sniffles, clearly regrets his decision from the way his face scrunches up, and wafts the scent as far away from him as possible.
“Yeah, it was a close call.” Max grunts, crunching an uncooked kernel between her teeth.
“Okay, it is not that bad. And they’re actually delicious, so. Suck my dick.”
“Dusty!” Jane calls out, appalled, though Will can tell she’s faking it just a little bit.
Dustin shrugs. “Sorry, had to be said.”
“What even are they?” Will’s eyebrows furrow and his lips quiver as Dustin places the diseased jar on the coffee table, completely ignoring the coasters behind the one fake plant in their apartment.
He’ll have to scrub the whole apartment down later.
“Pickles!”
“Pickles?”
“Yeah, pickles!”
“Since when are you a pickle guy?”
“Since I bought these puppies and fell in love, William.”
“Oh my God.” Mike snickers. He pinches his nose with two fingers and sighs.
Jane does the same, and Will almost wants to join in until Dustin opens the lid and a storm of scents Will has never smelled before billows into the clean apartment, and instead he gags.
“Holy cow, that’s disgusting.”
“Literally smells like straight sewage.” Will looks up to see Max also holding her nose, all popcorn-eating put on hold for now. Will completely understands her.
“No one’s gonna want to eat that shit, Dustin.” Mike points out.
Dustin shakes his head. “No, of course not, not unless I force them to.”
“What? Will asks, a smile now playing on his lips.
“This is punishment, for if someone doesn’t want to answer a truth, or do a dare. They have to eat one of my gross sewage pickles. Which also sucks for me, cause I love these things.”
“Wow, Henderson.” Max releases her nose back into the apartment, and slowly claps for Dustin. “I never knew you were an evil genius.”
Dustin bows dramatically, placing his baseball cap over his heart like a soldier returning from war. “Thank you, milady.”
Max scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “Okay, so are we all in or what?”
Will and Lucas shrug, and when they meet each other’s eyes, they laugh. “We’re in.”
“Fine.” Mike grumbles.
“Jane? My lovely? My precious? The star of my universe?” Dustin turns to Jane, his arms outstretched and smile wide with glee.
She can’t say no to him, is what his smile is saying. And it’s right, because Jane nods.
“Sure, yeah, fine. But just so you know, I am going to win. Because I would rather die than even go near that jar.”
“She had to sit next to them.” Max points out. “She means business.”
“Can we at least close the jar while we’re playing? For the sake of my apartment?” Mike waves his hands around, his eyes locked on the air freshener on the kitchen island behind him.
Dustin shakes his head as he plops down on the couch next to Max. She nearly gags again. “Nope. Feel the consequences before they come, Michael.”
“Gross.”
“Okay, so who’s going first?” Dustin slides his clasped-hand finger-guns around the party, his eyes narrowing.
Jane raises her arm high above her head, and Dustin breaks out into a grin.
“Okay, my lovely Jane, truth or dare?”
“Truth.” Jane responds immediately, crossing her legs and sitting up straight.
“Hmm, okay… what’s… your… favorite color?”
“Hmm, purple!”
“Hey, what? That’s not fair!” Max sits up.
“Yeah, that’s not even a truth, that’s just a question!” Mike argues.
Jane rolls her eyes. “Everybody always thinks my favorite color is pink. It is purple, so, boom. Truth.” Mike opens his mouth to protest, but Jane raises a hand to shush him, which promptly shuts his lips. “Will, truth or dare?”
“Um, truth.” Will rubs the back of his neck. Dare this early on? No way.
His sister narrows her eyes at him, like she was expecting a different answer. She tuts her teeth, sighs, then leans back into the puffy couch cushion behind her. “Biggest fear?”
Will shrugs. “Oh, uh… probably death.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, makes sense. Death is scary.” Lucas nods in agreement with Will, which unfortunately makes his face heat.
“Oh, Mike, can you put some music on? It’s way too quiet in here.” Will looks up, locking eyes with Mike, who smiles and nods as he gets to his feet.
“Yeah, of course. What are you thinking?” Mike walks around to the record player, thumbing through all their vinyls.
“Whatever you think.”
“Play something fun!” Dustin suggests, a bit too loud for Will’s ears.
Will smiles, his whole body relaxing as INXS’s KICK pumps through the space.
“Good?” Mike asks, sauntering back toward the couch.
Will nods, smiling at his roommate. “Great.”
Lucas clears his throat for some reason, and Will eyes him up and down with a questioning head tilt.
He just wants to play the game, Will decides, so he asks, “Okay, Lucas Sinclair. Truth or dare?”
“It rhymed! You have to pick dare now!” Dustin playfully shoves Lucas’s shoulder, his eyes scanning Max, Jane, then back to Lucas in a way that baffles Will more than anything.
They started an inside joke on the drive over, he’s almost positive, and something in his heart pinches at the thought of Lucas willingly leaving him out of it.
Lucas sucks his teeth, and a hint of a smile picks at the corner of his lips. He rocks back and forth on his ass, and just when it seems like he’ll take a chance, he reaches over and grabs a handful of Max’s popcorn with little protest from her.
He shoves the food into his mouth, chews, pauses to swallow, and finally as his tongue is flicking flakes of kernels out from between his teeth, he says, “Truth.”
“Oh, boo!” Dustin calls out.
“Yeah, that’s a fucking cop out! A penalty! He should be forced to face the pickles from that answer alone!” Max outstretches an arm and the popcorn bowl in her lap almost topples over onto the freshly-vacuumed carpet.
Mike dives forward, stealing the bowl from Max and placing it on the coffee table in front of them. “What is this? Why are you guys acting like this?”
“Like what?” Dustin and Max say at the same time, their eyes wide and faces paler than the morning after a winter storm.
“That! Like that! It’s weird!” Mike emphasizes.
Lucas tilts his head to the side. “See? Thank you, Mike! Truth. I pick truth, Will.” He turns back to face Will, who’s been stunned and completely out of it for this whole debate.
What could it be? He’s so curious it could kill him; what this secret is, what they want to dare Lucas to do; if it was Lucas’s idea, and if not his, then whose?
Will’s lips quirk up into a mischievous smirk. He doesn’t have to play nice if they don’t want him to. “What do Dustin and Max want to dare you to do, Lucas?” Will asks, a playful hint of suspicion in his voice.
He leans his body against the coffee table like the seductive drapery placed under a bowl of fruit in one of his still life studies.
Lucas’s eyes have gone wide, and after a moment of pause from everybody in the room, he bursts out laughing. “Oh, my God, nothing. Seriously, was that your question? I love you, but that was a complete and total waste of a turn, Byers.”
I love you.
I love you?
The fuck?
They’ve said “I love you” before, as friends do.
When Will said something so funny Lucas started sobbing, when Will was DM and closed a campaign really well, when Lucas was mocking how in love Jane and Dustin were.
But… during a game of truth or dare, after three years of not seeing each other?
Casually?
For no reason?
Wait, no—Will plays Lucas’s answer to his question back in his mind. Once, twice, three times—and it fucking clicks.
He was deflecting. Lucas Sinclair was deflecting.
There was something the others wanted him to do. And he said “I love you” to distract Will, to make him forget that there was a question to be asked in the first place.
Now Will is super, extra, double curious.
The Loved One.
Will flinches. It worked. His distraction worked.
And now the world is spinning without him; conversations carrying on like Will wasn’t just hit with the realization that four of his best friends are hiding something big from him, songs playing loud and echoing off the apartment’s walls like the lyrics aren’t a ton of bricks right now.
Will wants to stand and scream and crawl into a hole and die and, fuck it, be dared to kiss Mike because no one would ever guess that he would do it just to rub it in Lucas’s face.
Yeah, that’s right, he’d think, making eye contact with Lucas as his lips are on Mike’s, hands sitting innocently on Mike’s hips, I can be bad too.
Or, maybe… he doesn’t have to.
He sits up straight, stares directly at Max as she finishes answering her question about the worst friend she’s ever had, that she’s answering surprisingly honestly, and when she turns her head ever so slightly, her and Will lock eyes.
She smiles, and her eyes light up with something aware and knowing. “Will, truth or dare?” She asks like she already knows Will’s answer, and that makes him all the more confident.
“Dare.” He responds, shifting the vibe from a fun party day to something more sinister, no matter how underlying the tone shift is.
No one expected him to be the first to choose dare, and that makes Will buzz.
“I dare you…” Max begins. She looks around the room, locks eyes with Dustin, nods slowly, and meets Will’s gaze again. “To kiss…” the whole room goes silent—
—Wild Life. “Mike. On the mouth.”
“Uh, what?” Dustin is shocked, which surprises Will.
Will tilts his head up to look at Mike, whose jaw is dropped and shoulders tight, stance tense. “Um, sorry…?” He doesn’t meet Will’s gaze, almost like he can’t. His eyes dart back and forth, from Max to Dustin to Jane, Max, Lucas, Max, Dustin—anyone but Will.
Will straightens his back. Mike won’t even look at him, won’t even egg Max on, won’t even let his roommate have a little peck?
Some best friend he is.
Will scoffs, and Mike goes even more tense, if that’s even possible. “Just one kiss?”
“Just one kiss.” Max repeats, a challenging smirk on her lips.
“Michael?” Will asks, as daring as he can muster in front of Lucas. He’s tipsy, too, that always helps. “Just one kiss?” Will puckers his lips and taps a finger on them.
Mike laughs nervously, and when he finally looks over at Will, he’s shaking and blushing and clearly taking this way too seriously. “I’m… too sober for this.” He stands, stretches his arms over his head—his shirt rides up, showing his pale stomach.
Will wonders if his blush would be obvious if it was Lucas stretching in front of him instead.
He’s unsure he’d be able to hold back, at least not for long. Not with Lucas’s, now fit, body that close to his face.
Never Tear Us Apart.
“You’d only kiss me when you’re drunk?” Will says, faking insult.
Mike scoffs, dropping his arms. He walks to the front hall, grabbing his house keys and burly New York jacket. “I’d never kiss any of you guys sober.”
“Are you seriously leaving in the middle of a game to go buy more beer?” Dustin asks, clearly dejected. His pickles remain untouched; thankfully for Will’s carpet, which he’s positive would get spat on in the event of a bite.
Mike’s face scrunches, and he zips up his coat. “What? No, I’m going to a different party. One with free beer; unlimited beer.”
“Where?” Dustin perks up. He gets to his feet. “What party? There’s been another party this whole time?”
“Some of Mike’s frat friends have been throwing parties all week.” Will points out.
“Mike? Friends? That aren’t you? In this reality?” Max dramatizes, following Dustin to the front hall.
Jane, Lucas, and Will linger behind.
“Sorry if the game got weird.” Lucas says, out of the blue.
Will innocently shakes his head, because it didn’t. “It wasn’t your game, anyway.”
Lucas shrugs. “Still. It’s your birthday.”
Will smiles. “I guess it is.” He says quietly. He’d almost forgotten. Strange.
The sun-down air is warm and fresh, like a field of blooming roses.
Will regrets wearing a jacket now that he’s outside, but he knows that as the night progresses, the temperature will drop and he’ll thank his overprepared-self for seeing into the future.
The waning gibbous moon is bright overhead, providing a better glow on stragglers stumbling their way through the campus’s lawn than any of the city’s streetlamps, most of which have blown a bulb or two in the past couple of months.
Lucky for Mike, the apartment he and Will snagged is not far from his friends’ fraternity, Alpha Epsilon Pi, which Mike almost joined before backing out at the last second.
Will was the first to convince him he should join, but the night of initiation, Mike came home dazed and drenched at two in the morning and said he didn’t want in anymore.
Mike never brought it up, so Will didn’t push, but he assumed whatever happened couldn’t have been too bad, since Mike is still friends with half the guys in the frat.
It’s been around fifteen minutes since they departed from the apartment, and as the group rounds the corner, the fraternity is finally coming into view—glowing orange lights, red solo cups strewn around the area, a packed lawn despite it being a Sunday and right before midterms.
Will's never been crazy about parties; not like Mike has, at least.
Will likes hanging out with friends, likes dancing, sometimes he does shots or smokes one of Mike’s cigarettes—but he’ll only ever rave or go to a campus party like this if Mike wants him to.
Mike likes to party. He gets hammered on weekends, goes even if he only knows the host and no one else, dances with strangers, does a line if someone’s offering; and it’s never bothered Will.
Matter of fact, he enjoys seeing a funner counterpart to his best friend of fifteen years—but he’s never been able to push himself to that extreme.
It’s not even that he’s a lightweight, or a workaholic, or in need of a new job; he just doesn’t want that life.
Mike respects that. It’s how they work so well together.
Mike and Max are at the front of the group.
They decided to walk in pairs since the sidewalk is thin and the roads are usually semi-busy during this time of year, and definitely not because Will wanted to talk to Lucas. Alone.
Well, even if those were his intentions, he’s not doing a very good job at proving it. They’ve walked in silence this whole way, except to point out cats running into bushes or a funny sign across the road.
But it’s not an awkward silence, is the strange thing about it—Will feels totally comfortable saying nothing to Lucas, even if they were to go the whole party without speaking a word to each other; just knowing he’s there for Will would be enough for him.
Still, something in his heart aches whenever he looks straight ahead and hears lovebirds Jane and Dustin sparking a whole debate on which type of New York City bird is the prettiest, and in front of them, Max and Mike talking about small things like parents or jobs or fiscal responsibilities.
Will wants to say something.
But there’s so much to say, and he doesn’t know where to start.
How to start.
If there’s a wrong thing to say, if they’ll feel the same way they did three years ago. If Lucas even views their friendship the same way Will does.
Close. He’d call them close.
Lucas, surprisingly, clears his throat. He slows down just a bit, stepping over his own feet to bump his puffy-jacketed shoulder into Will’s. “So…” He draws out, and Will has to fight to keep his face neutral.
Lucas’s voice is rough, like he just rolled out of bed, but Will can’t let him—or anyone—know that one two-letter word is enough to drive him crazy. “How’s New York?” Lucas huffs a breath, almost defeated, like he didn’t expect to sound so embarrassed by his own question.
Which, Will can admit, it is kind of an embarrassing question.
Of anything to ask him, he wants to ask about the city? Still, it’s a conversation starter, so he gets points for that.
Will shrugs, then sighs. “Big.” He’s smiling. Barely a conversation and he’s already smiling. He must be so obvious.
Lucas chuckles. “Oh, really?” He shakes his head. “Do you come to parties here a lot?”
Will shakes his head. “Not really. Mike’s more of the party guy, comes to support his friends. I come to support him whenever I feel like it.” He looks from the happy couple in front of him, to Lucas. “You? Do you party now?”
Lucas scoffs. “Me? Oh, God no. Never.”
Will can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. “I feel like it could go either way with you. Like, you’d either go all in or not at all.”
Lucas raises an arm to scratch at his temple, his face scrunching into something like embarrassment, and Will is sure that if he could see it, Lucas would be blushing. “I hate you.” He says after a beat, dropping his head to laugh.
“What? Why?”
“Because! You always used to do that, just take one good look at any of us and immediately know everything! I really hoped college would make you drop that, but here you are, being right once again.” He’s being playful, Will can pick up, but his voice is deep and hoarse and some tiny part of Will wonders if he ever knows too much.
If he says too much.
If he should take the criticism his professors give him and apply it to his personality too. “Too colorful,” or “too loud.”
Maybe they aren’t just talking about his brushstrokes, but who he is as a person.
“I’m not, like, a drunk, just so you know.” Lucas adds. “I can control myself, unlike I’m assuming, Mike.”
Will cackles, tilting his head back. The cool air rushes down to his collarbones, sending shivers down his spine. “You’ve heard the tales, huh?”
“Yeah, Jane’s told me pretty much everything.”
“Everything? About what? Mike?”
Lucas shakes his head shyly. “No, no! Like, things you tell her about your life. Shocking things, funny things, big, important things.”
Oh.
Will’s eyebrows furrow. His heart lurches into his throat, and he struggles to blink away the tears clawing at the back of his eyes.
He’s stupid. He’s been wrong this whole time.
When he first moved to New York with Mike, he figured the rest of the group would want some distance.
They were all going their separate ways, they made no direct plans to keep in contact, and Will assumed some space would be good for everybody.
For a while, he thought he’d been proven wrong. Dustin sent a letter once a month, and Lucas wrote every other month, but after half a year, everyone was too busy and communication just… stopped.
Will and Jane still kept in touch, and sometimes Dustin wrote on the back of her letter, but distance really did drive them apart, and Will assumed that was just natural.
Normal.
Mike didn’t seem bothered by it, so Will figured he shouldn’t be either.
But now, hearing Lucas say the only things he knows about Will are from Jane? He wishes nothing more than to have punched younger him in the face and gone against whatever he thought everyone else was doing.
He should’ve been keeping up with Lucas’s life like nothing had changed, because clearly—despite today being a little bit awkward—nothing has changed.
“I…” Will starts. He wants to say something, wants to tell Lucas he never forgot about their friendship, but he doesn’t want to sound needy—like a confession. “Hey,” he starts over, placing a hand on Lucas’s shoulder.
Lucas looks up, and the two lock eyes. They smile at each other.
Warmth spreads through Will’s chest. “After you leave New York, let’s keep in touch.”
“Yeah, okay.” Lucas’s smile reaches his eyes. “I’d… I’d like that.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Heyyyy!” Mike cheers, startling Lucas and Will from their brief, though intense, moment.
Will looks up, dropping his hold on his friend, to see Mike ditching the group to hug his frat friends who are waiting for him on the front lawn.
They’re mostly shirtless, some without pants, too, but the camaraderie makes Will smile.
“Well, would you look at that? He wasn’t lying!” Max exaggerates. She crosses her arms over her chest, slowly approaching Mike and his brotherly friends.
Mike snickers as she nears, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Guys, this is my great friend Max, hailing all the way from Long Beach State.” Mike introduces her, watching carefully as she grins ear-to-ear and shakes hands with every shirtless boy in front of her.
“Long Beach!” One of the guys Will is almost positive is Mike’s buddy Andrew—though it’s hard to tell from the end of the lawn—calls out, clapping his hands together. “And what’s gotcha out here, Max?”
Max scoffs. “Friend’s birthday.”
“Which friend? Anyone I would know?” A red-headed boy asks as Jane, Dustin, Will, and Lucas approach as one big bunch.
“Uh, and this is my friend Dustin, his girlfriend Jane, then Lucas, and of course you guys know Will.” Mike introduces the rest of the Party™, pointing fingers at who’s who.
Andrew nods at each member of the group, then he claps again, for Will. “Will! How’s it going, man? Haven’t seen you in forever!” He laughs, pulling Will in for a quick, friendly squeeze.
“It’s my birthday, actually.” He mutters, answering the forgotten question for Max.
“Holy shit!” Andrew perks up. “Yes! I totally knew that! I remember, Mikey told us, best friend’s got a birthday coming up! Wow, that’s today? You’re getting old, man!” He pats Will on the back, then gestures for a trio of brunette boys to join him.
“Hey!” Andrew says, when the boys are within earshot. “Will Byers, remember him? It’s his birthday tonight, so make sure to treat him extra special, yeah?” The boy whoops, pushing Will to the middle of the trio.
They drag him away from his group, handing him free drinks, joints, and a bright yellow lighter that reminds Will of the sun.
At first, he worries that he should break away and head inside with his friends, but then he remembers he’s twenty-one.
He’s Will Byers.
And he can do whatever the fuck he wants.
The fraternity is packed.
The second he’s inside, Will regrets allowing himself to get torn away from his good group.
It’s overwhelming how full and lively and exciting the party is, but even though Will’s not a party person, something about the whole atmosphere makes him smile.
The first thing he notices—besides the tight grip of three drunk boys on his arms and waist—is the smell.
Sweat, alcohol, weed, smoke; all typical party smells, and then, something sweet bunched in there too. Like cherry pie, hot, melted strawberries pouring down a layered cake at a fancy restaurant.
But not like perfume, like someone actually just baked a fresh dessert. It’s a frat, so he knows it’s probably just someone’s scent, but he’s dying to know for sure.
He’s never seen a party as crazy as this, and part of his heart swells knowing the frat is this busy on the day he’s a year older.
The boys, who he’s now learned are named Daniel—freckles, Eric—square jaw, and Rich—blue eyes, steer Will past the foyer and open living room, which is packed with drunk, partying kids, and into the kitchen.
The kitchen is nearly as full as the foyer, but the smell is tamer.
It’s not as hot, either, only at the price of each pair of people making out sloppily by Will’s already overwhelmed ears.
Daniel and Eric let go of Will’s arms, letting Rich drag him to the other end of the kitchen island, where a row of tequila shots await.
“Ta-da!” Rich waves his fingers over the handful of shot glasses like they’re anything Will hasn’t seen before, a billion times over. “Birthday shots!”
Will furrows his eyebrows and scoffs.
He thinks, my birthday present is six shots of cheap tequila? “You’re serious?” He yells over the music, staring down the three boys beside him, and the small group of girls crowding around behind them.
They’re either trying to get into the kitchen, or are just really bored watching Will eye shot glasses up and down.
“‘Course we’re serious! Come on! Shots, shots, shots, shots—” Daniel starts a chant, and pretty soon half of the kitchen has joined in, including the bored girls behind them.
Some even yell as they refill their drinks, clearly just wanting to feel involved in the celebration somehow.
“Oh, I don’t…” drink, Will wants to finish his sentence saying he doesn’t drink, but he can’t.
Not only because it’s not entirely true, but because he doesn’t want to finish that sentence.
He wants to drink and party and have fun, and now he’s legally allowed to do that, so what’s stopping him?
Getting blackout? No, because he’s never gotten that drunk before, ever.
Getting drugged? Maybe, but he knows people here who would take care of him.
Maybe he’s just nervous around chanting strangers, but he wants to be brave. For himself.
For the twenty-one-year-old Will Byers.
“Ah, fuck it.” He slams the first, now empty, shot glass onto the counter so hard, it cracks—and then the second and third two seconds later, slamming the cups down a little softer this time.
He finishes his fourth a little slower, the liquid stinging the back of his throat and making him gag, so he balls his fist and pounds it on the counter a couple times.
Girls are cheering around him, but he’s not sure if it’s real human girls, or the music pumping through the speakers.
“Okay, okay, I’m out!” He taps out, but an overjoyed Eric grabs his shoulder and jostles him around, the smile that reaches his eyes lighting up his face and telling Will he’s proud of him for going more than halfway.
Daniel leans over the counter and downs the two remaining shots, his cheeks turning bright red.
Meanwhile, Eric steers him out of the kitchen and back into the living room filled with dancers—most of whom are shaking their hips or stepping left and right, but some people don’t know what they’re doing at all and just end up looking like injured chickens.
Dustin, for example, is one of those latter people.
It’s clear he doesn’t party much, but it’s almost endearing, and every time Jane opens her eyes to get a look at him, she laughs, so who is Will to ruin his fun?
Eric drops Will off between two black-haired girls before disappearing into the crowd, and despite being homosexual, Will enjoys the company.
He feels ten times safer with two women than he ever would dancing with some strange man.
Namely because his feelings are reserved for another man, but also because frat guys are hell.
He’s heard more horror stories than he can count on one hand of a hazing ritual gone too far that’s resulted in injury, or even death.
After reading up on it, he understands why Mike wouldn’t want to go through all of that, despite NYU being a generally safe school.
The alcohol has started kicking in; it’s buzzing through Will’s system, boosting his confidence and making him want to feel the beat of the music instead of hearing it.
The music reaches its peak, pounding through the speakers in the corner of the room, and sending shivers up Will’s spine. He raises his arms above his head as his body starts to move to the song without him even needing to command it.
Normally, he needs a warm-up song, something slower and quieter than most frats can stand to play, just to get his body used to the rhythm so he doesn’t look like a fool.
But today, he’s a motherfucking star.
The girls beside him cheer in his ear, but when Will lets his eyes fall shut, all he hears is music.
The song is unfamiliar as it closes, but he hardly notices the end of it as that familiar, quick beat plays in his ears, followed by a jazz-y, synth-pop track underneath Michael Hutchence’s sultry vocals.
Never Tear Us Apart.
Will screams; he can’t help it. He likes this song sober, and loves it drunk.
He lets his head fall back to the song as it transitions into the pre-chorus, and then, when the chorus’s jazz instrumental breaks out, Will pushes his body forward and finally opens his eyes.
The lights strung around the frat have transformed from a whimsical, light blue to a dark, seductive red.
Every partier looks like some gothic vampire, and Will feels just at home.
As he spins out of the view of the two girls, he notices his friends in the crowd.
Jane is drunkenly dancing, holding an open bottle of beer in her hand. Meanwhile, Dustin is awkwardly jumping around to the side of her.
Will spots Max heading up the stairs with Andrew, who has found his shirt.
Mike is talking with a tall, light-brown haired girl off to the side near the kitchen, and Will watches as they loop their arms together and each do a shot. He smiles; finally, some game!
The music halts, dramatically so.
It’ll resume in four seconds; Will knows from the countless days Mike has played KICK after a long day at work, but in his inebriated state, he feels like the pause will last forever—especially as his eyes lock onto Lucas.
He’s dancing. Good, Will thinks, eyeing his friend up and down. He doesn’t have a lot of movement, but it’s hard to tell under the red lights.
He’s dancing with a girl. Oh.
Will’s lips twist into a frown, and he can’t help the jealousy that rises to the back of his throat and constricts his breathing.
The girl is shorter than Lucas, her skin dark like his, lips plump like his, hair dark and dyed some color Will can’t tell, and long, going all the way down her back.
She’s dressed in short items of clothing, her tightly wrapped chest pressed to Lucas’s, his mouth pressed against her ear.
He’s smiling wide, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.
The music resumes.
I was standing—you were there. Two worlds collided.
And they could never… tear us apart.
Will doesn’t want to dance anymore.
He doesn’t like this song anymore.
He needs fresh air and he needs to puke and he needs to go somewhere that isn’t here.
Somewhere without Lucas, or Mike. Or Jane or Dustin, or whoever. Somewhere alone, with fresh air, and a fucking cigarette.
He’s done.
Determined, Will pushes through the crowd, his arms out just in case anyone dares to touch him.
The song fades out slowly, and the lights go back to an easier-on-the-eyes lime green, and Will storms upstairs despite having zero clue where he’s going.
Will hates the bitterness of cigarettes.
He wishes they could taste like chocolate, or cherries, but he’s too much of a chicken to try cigars.
He likes the way a cigarette makes him feel; from the clink of the lighter as he flicks it, the smell of burning smoke, and the relief that washes through him once a handful of puffs have had the chance to settle into his system.
Still, the first smoke of every cigarette is always accompanied by the urge to gag.
Especially now, with tequila and not much else in his stomach, and a nauseous jealousy biting at the back of his throat.
The night-sky air is nice, at least.
He sort of stumbled on this place by accident.
He was wandering up the stairs, and most rooms were blocked by kissing couples or drinking quartets protecting rooms that contained kissing couples, except for this one.
End of the hall, right beside the bathroom, crowded by a line of people really needing to pee.
He got lucky, though, because this is one of the only rooms with a balcony window.
Must belong to someone important, then, he remembers thinking to himself.
The room is mostly empty. It’s a guy’s bedroom—he didn’t have many expectations for decorations or furniture, but it still surprised him when he closed the door behind him.
Plain white walls, a couple posters of models in bikinis, a handful of vinyl records shoved in the corner beside the white-sheeted bed. Dark wood bed-frame, black pillows, grey duvet, white sheets.
The bed is made, floors clean except a couple of crunched beer cans by the bedside tables.
The closet door is open, and inside it is a full-length mirror, rimmed with a hot red border.
Will tried not looking at whoever’s room this belongs to’s clothes, but he seems to have a nice style. Lots of button downs, sweatpants, dress shoes, even some colorful plain t-shirts.
The room is dark, and though Will tried to smoke with one of the desk lamps on, it didn’t fit the atmosphere, so he’s decided to stick to the moon’s ‘ol reliable glow.
The balcony’s railings are rusted, and clearly old, but even though the drop would be far, Will doesn’t mind pressing his whole body weight into the metal.
The door creaks open behind him.
He startles, turns around, and hides the cigarette behind his back just in case it’s some older boy coming in to mess with him.
Instead, he’s surprised to find Lucas gently shutting the door behind him. “Hey.” He says, waddling further into the room. He wipes his palms on the sides of his pants, looking around the space. “Nice room. Clean.”
Will nods, relaxing. He turns back out into the night, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “Sure is.”
Lucas settles in next to him, watching as Will’s lips work the rolled drug. “I saw you leave the dance floor earlier. Did it… was it all just too much for you?”
Will sighs. “Yep.”
There’s a moment of pause where neither boy says anything, and for a moment, it makes Will’s cheeks heat.
Is he being mean again? He can’t tell if he’s just jealous or an asshole.
Maybe he can be both, and maybe Lucas can question him on it and they can kiss.
Or maybe he’ll get pissed at Will for being so guarded and tell him to fuck off.
Not like Lucas would do that, per se, but Will’s seen it before. With other guys he’s tried to move on with. They just don’t get him, not like Lucas has.
They could never be as good as him, Will is sure.
“You know,” Lucas starts, nipping at the dried skin on his lower lip like he’s really mulling over his words in his head. “I’ve always been jealous of you.”
The cigarette is between Will’s lips. All he has to do is breathe in, and all his worries will wash away. But he doesn’t do that.
Instead, he retrieves the drug from his mouth and drops his hands to the balcony railing, and waits for Lucas to continue. Because he’s stunned, and he’s goddamn confused.
“Yeah, I know.” Lucas scoffs. He turns around, pressing his backside into the cold metal.
He stares off into the dark recesses of the room. “You’ve always been so strong. Stronger than me, hell, stronger than any of us. I mean, the world could literally end and you’d probably tell us all to keep it together, that we can do this, some inspiring shit. And, after everything you had to go through—with the bullying and all that—I just, it made me jealous that you could be tougher than me, or Dustin, or whoever. You know?” Lucas is looking down at his fidgety hands now, and Will is watching every tiny movement of his.
He can’t tear his eyes away.
“Anyway, I’m sure Mike tells you all that and more, but I’m just saying… he’s not alone in thinking it.”
Will’s eyebrows furrow, Lucas’s previous sentiment getting lost in a whirlwind of startling confusion—even more than originally planted in Will’s mind. “‘All that and more?’” He quotes, quietly.
Lucas nods absentmindedly, spinning his body around so he’s front-facing again. “Well, yeah. He’s your boyfriend. He must say nice things like that to you all the time.”
Holy fucking shit.
Will pauses, utterly stunned.
Mike, you fucking cock-blocker!
Will's jaw is on the ground. He scoffs, then as he thinks the words over again and again and again, he laughs.
Cackles, throws his head back. He doubles over, drops his head against his forearms—tears prick his eyes. Slowly, when he comes back to himself, Lucas is looking at him quizzically, and he starts to feel bad; only slightly. “Oh my God, Sinclair, that’s adorable.”
“What?” Lucas asks, so, so innocently.
“We aren’t dating, you goof!” Will places a comforting hand on Lucas’s shoulder. He tries his hardest not to start laughing again, but it’s almost impossible.
“What?”
“Me and Mike aren’t dating.” Will emphasizes. “We never will, he’s… he’s not good for me. Unlike…” Will tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. He has to stop himself here, he can’t… this is so stupid. “Yeah.” He finishes, hoping Lucas didn’t catch that second-to-last word.
“Unlike what?” Fucking Sinclair.
Will shakes his head, turning away. He takes another puff of his cigarette, embarrassed now by his unavoidable lack of self-control when he’s drunk. “Nothing.” He mumbles, breathing in the smoke and praying to whatever God is listening that Lucas will forget he even spoke in the first place.
“Come on,” Lucas prods. “What were you gonna say?”
“It doesn’t matter, Lucas.” Will tries to smile, but it’s lopsided; he can feel it.
“Says who?” Lucas stands up straight, crossing his arms over his chest.
Will scoffs, “Uh, me.”
“Well, I’m curious! Please?" Lucas begs, but it’s only half-convincing, and leads Will to be even more sure in his answer—
“No.”
Then, Lucas does something Will could never have imagined. He fucking pouts. Juts his bottom lip out to make him look like a sad, lost puppy.
Will scoffs, but he can’t look away—his eyes are locked on Lucas’s puffy lips, now slick with saliva, and all the more kissable.
Will clears his throat and forces himself to turn away from his friend. “Unlike you.” He finishes for himself, unable to take this thick, palpable tension for another second more.
“Unlike me?” Lucas questions.
“Unlike you.” Will repeats, flatly, undeniably embarrassed now—too much so to even make eye contact with Lucas and gauge his reaction.
“What do you mean by that?”
Will half-heartedly shrugs a shoulder up to his ear, then back down again. “I don’t know.”
“You do know. You just don’t wanna tell me.” Lucas pinpoints.
Will chuckles, finally looking over his shoulder at Lucas.
Lucas is staring at him. His eyes are wide, lips lifted up in a smirk, and he’s watching Will with as much intensity as Will is looking at him with.
“Why? Did it bother you; thinking we were dating?” Will changes the subject, and he must be smooth with it because Lucas clears his throat and has to look away.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Lucas mumbles, slumping down so his elbows are resting on the chilly metal railing.
“Yeah, actually, I would.” Will challenges, leaning forward to match Lucas’s position. He removes the cigarette from between his dry lips, burning it out into the ashtray on the corner of the fence.
They’re close now.
Closer than before, closer than they’ve ever been, and when Will realizes this, he looks Lucas up and down.
His eyes drift from Lucas’s eyes, down his nose, to his lips, and he releases a breath—a hot one—one that lands on Lucas’s mouth and makes him flinch; but not flinch back, no, he flinches forward.
He flinches closer to Will. If that’s even possible.
They’re a breath away, possibly literally, and despite himself—and the serious, passionate moment he’s living in—Will smiles, because Should I Stay or Should I Go is muffled behind the room's closed door.
He wouldn’t kiss Lucas Sinclair to any other song.
Lucas gulps, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat. “Fuck it.” He whispers, almost too quiet, because Will doesn’t register those two words until Lucas has surged forward and pressed his lips to Will’s.
For a tiny, split second, Will is frozen—unsure what to do.
Lucas’s lips are warm and inviting, and Will is finally getting his wish, but what does he want to do about it?
Since when has love been this hard?
Will sighs into Lucas’s mouth; fuck it, he’ll just have to try whatever his body is telling him. His eyes fall closed, and he lets his bottom lip pout, placing one hand on Lucas’s shoulder, and cradling his face with the other.
He rubs a thumb over Lucas’s chin, tilting his head to the side so he can open his mouth wider.
“Fuck,” Lucas mutters into the kiss, resting both of his cold hands on Wills waist, making him shiver. He digs his fingers into Will’s soft skin, earning a yelp from the back of Will’s throat. “Too much?” Lucas inquires.
Will shakes his head. “No,” He takes a step forward, pushing and pushing until Lucas has to step back, his ass digging into the edge of the railing. “Not enough.”
Lucas chuckles, parting his lips.
When Will tugs on Lucas’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, biting only enough for the skin there to sting, Lucas groans, making Will smile.
He lurches forward, arching his back, his body begging for attention.
His tongue slips past the barrier of their mouths, searching for somewhere deep to burrow, somewhere hot to rub, and then it clashes with Lucas’s in the middle of his needy mouth.
Will, searching for another sound of approval from the back of Lucas’s throat, slips one of his legs between Lucas’s thighs, and his eyebrows shoot up with surprise. “You’re hard?” He pulls away briefly, a string of spit dribbling down Lucas’s chin.
Lucas’s eyes are wide and red, his lips soaking wet. He nods. “Yeah.” His hips, rather instinctively, jut forward, chasing what Will’s knee can offer him, and his head falls forward slightly.
Will grabs Lucas’s chin with two fingers, tilting his head up so they can be eye-to-eye again. Then, he dips his own head low, licking the spit off Lucas’s chin until he’s all clean. “Me too.” He slides closer to Lucas, bending his knees just a little so he can roll his hips forward and grind his hard dick into Lucas’s.
Lucas’s eyes squeeze shut. His jaw goes slack.
“Yeah,” Will leans forward, resting his chin on Lucas’s shoulder. “I know.” He whispers into Lucas’s ear, taking his earlobe between his teeth and biting down slightly. “Bed?” He asks, unable to find more than one word to fit the situation.
Lucas nods feverishly. “Please.” He releases his fingers from Will’s waist, balling his hands into fists and pushing hard.
Will stumbles back, feeling the loss of Lucas already. He plops down on the bed, and this time, Lucas steps between his legs, holding all the control.
Lucas’s back is blocking out most of the moonlight, but neither boy seems to mind. “You’re even more beautiful in the dark,” he whispers, running his fingers through Will’s velvety hair.
“When you can’t see me?” Will smiles.
Lucas nods, slowly trailing one hand from Will’s forehead, to his eyes, past his nose, before settling on his chin. His thumb caresses Will’s lower lip, pulling it down and parting his lips. “Wider,” he whispers.
Will opens his mouth as instructed.
“Wider.” Lucas commands. His eyes are dark with lust, making Will restless. He struggles against the urge to move; to create friction anywhere.
Will opens his jaw even wider, almost as wide as it can go. He’s borderline panting, and he loves every fucking second of it.
Lucas grins. “Good boy,” he praises. He dips the pad of his thumb underneath Will’s tongue, pressing down and stealing a glob of saliva to wipe along his bottom lip.
Then he pulls his hand away, shoving his soaking thumb into his own mouth. He pulls it out a second later, a satisfying pop following it, before hovering the finger in front of Will’s lips. “Lick it off.”
Will nods, taking the thumb between his teeth. He licks Lucas’s saliva off, savoring the thick, salty, beer-taste now coating his tongue.
“How does it taste?”
“Hot,” Will pushes the thumb out of his mouth, keeping the tip of his tongue resting on his lower lip. “I can’t fucking take this, Lucas, I need—”
“What do you need? Tell me.” Lucas bends over, crawling over Will until his back is pressed against the mattress, his shirt riding up his hip bones. “Tell me.” Lucas repeats. He nuzzles against the crook of Will’s neck, kissing a slow, sloppy trail down his collarbone, chest, just above his belly button—
—Will sucks in a breath. “Off. I want your clothes off. Need. Now. Please.” He’s never seen himself like this; he could get drunk off that thought alone. But he’s desperate and needs naked, sweat-slick skin on his, now.
Lucas looks up at Will through his thick eyelashes, his gaping mouth hovering over the base of Will’s hard dick. His hot breath bleeds through Will’s loose pants, making him squirm.
Lucas scoffs. “I could make you cum just like this.”
Will shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, you couldn’t.” He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at Lucas, who’s hovering over his groin, and he does wonder, if only for a split second, if Lucas could make him finish like this. He gulps. “That’s not a challenge, I—”
I want you to fuck me properly.
“Oh, isn’t it?” Lucas pushes closer, pressing his scalding tongue to Will’s bulge over his pants. “This doesn’t do anything for you?”
Fuck, Will leans his head back—it does the exact opposite; it does everything.
His hips buck, a disgustingly horny moan escapes from the back of his throat, and then, just when he thinks he might be close, Lucas pulls away.
Licks his lips.
“Prick,” Will mutters, but he cups Lucas’s cheek like a lover would, pulling the boy up to meet his eyes again, their breathing hard and intense and synchronized.
Will couldn’t be happier.
Lucas leans back on his heels, straddling Will’s hips—
—Will’s hands drop low, finding where Lucas’s jeans are buttoned up and undoes that; pops the button and unzips the pants, shimmying them down just enough that he can get his hands in there and really start causing trouble.
“Goddamn.” Will licks his lips. He places his hands underneath Lucas’s shirt, on his abs, feeling how the hard muscle flexes beneath his cold hands.
Then, he moves lower, and lower, until he’s hovering over Lucas’s erection—
The bedroom door slams open.
“COPS!” The screaming voice is familiar.
Lucas and Will spring apart, both boys looking over Lucas’s shoulder to find a pale, panicked Max at the door.
Her hair is a frizzy mess and lipstick smudged; she’s been busy.
She looks the two up and down, and her eyebrows furrow, her lips forming a wicked scowl. “Oh God, you guys are disgusting.” She shields her eyes, pretending to gag. “The window is open! I mean, have a little decency! God!” Max waves her hand in the air, generally in Lucas and Will’s direction, before scrambling for the doorknob and turning away.
The door clicks shut, and her rampant footsteps fade away.
There’s a pause.
Then, Lucas’s chest shakes with laughter, and he collapses onto Will’s chest.
Will chuckles, cupping the back of Lucas’s head as his laughter grows, until the two are a bundle of cackling joy. “Oh, God.” Will groans, covering his embarrassed eyes with the back of his hand.
Lucas sniffles. He slowly peels himself off Will, pulling his pants up and readjusting how they sit on his hips. He hops off the bed and saunters over to the railing of the balcony, leaning over it like he’s thinking about something dangerous. “We could probably jump this.”
“Jump this?” Will sits up, pulling his shirt down. “Are you serious?” He rubs his eyes, pinching at his puffy lower lip; it’s hardly swollen.
Lucas shrugs. “It’s like six feet, and there are bushes down there to catch us—”
“Like six feet? Lucas—”
“Even if we break our legs—”
“Lucas!” Will doubles over himself, his stomach hurting from the laughter shaking his body. He wipes tears from the corners of his eyes.
Lucas turns back to look at Will, expectantly.
Then, when Will meets Lucas at the balcony and looks where Lucas is looking, he half-heartedly nods. “Huh, yeah, okay, that’s not that bad.”
It’s maybe eight feet, but there’s a pipe leading down the building and the shrubbery by their feet is full and lush.
Ahead, a handful of cop cars are pulling into the driveway, their red and blue lights blaring against the night sky.
Will shrugs. “It’s now or never, right?” He holds out his hand for Lucas to take, which he does, making heat rush to Will’s cheeks.
Lucas beams. “Now or never.”