Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     The bed creaks and bounces as I fall backwards onto it, groaning unabashedly into the open room. My walls are still mostly bare, many of my posters not yet unpacked and displayed. The only things I’ve bothered to tack up so far are a Weezer poster and a painting Will made years ago.

     I look over to the other side of the room, seeing him sitting with his back against the plaster and hunched over his sketchbook. His eyes peer at me almost quizzically over the paper.

     “How are you not drowning in work already?” I ask.

     He just shrugs. “Your professors must be merciless. We’re only a week in; you shouldn’t be that busy already.”

     Still lying on the bed, I adjust to hang somewhat upside down off the edge, legs propped up against the wall. “Yeah, well, I think they must actually hate me. Especially my English professor. I already have to read a short story and write an entire essay on it with a word count higher than the actual story.”

     “Well, that’s just one class.”

     “Math is shitty too. I’m already so lost in there, you don’t even know. I’ll have to get tutoring before too long, and it’s not even September. It’s so embarrassing.”

     “I mean, there is a reason you’re not a math major.”

     “Rude.” I scoff and look at him, still seeing just his eyes peeking out from behind his sketchbook. “You look so funny like this.”

     “You’re the one hanging off the side of his bed.”

     “And what I said still stands; you still look funny.”

     He rolls his eyes and focuses once again on whatever he’s drawing. I let gravity drag me to the floor, then stand up and open a random unpacked cardboard box. The first thing I take out is my Mike the Brave figurine. The paint chipped and faded a bit over the years, but it’s still shockingly detailed for a figure I could easily tuck into the palm of my hand. I admire it for a moment, letting my eyes roam over the shield, the armor, the tiny fingerprint on the boot that was the product of Will accidentally holding it in that spot while the paint was still wet.

     I brandish it in the palm of my hand, facing where he sits. “I can finally bring this guy back out tomorrow. You ready, Will the Wise?”

     “For Max being the Dungeon Master? As ready as I’ll ever be.”

     “Ugh, don’t remind me about that. She is so going to kill me off, like, an hour into the game. For no reason.”

     Will puts down his sketchbook, a smile painted across his face. “No, there’ll be a reason. It’ll just be something like ‘you were being annoying’.”

     “Exactly. No reason.” I hold up a finger as Will opens his mouth. “Nope. Don’t say anything. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll hear plenty of it from Max soon enough.”

     He lets out a laugh, light and bubbly, and I find myself mirroring his smile. It drops from my face quickly, however, when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket once, twice, in quick succession. I see the cracked screen of Will’s phone light up where it sits beside him. Not bothering to take out my own phone and check what was undoubtedly a message from the party’s group chat, I hop onto his bed next to him and rest my cheek on his shoulder while reading the texts with him:

MadMax: lunch in the caf anybody?

PurpleJane: I’ll be there in 5!

     Will sighs and taps out a reply:

WiseOne: i am so not put-together enough to be in public.

MadMax: it’s just the caf nobody gaf how you look

PurpleJane: Lol caf gaf that kind of rhymes

     Groaning a bit, he tosses his phone down onto the mattress, gently nudging me off his shoulder to sit up and root through his closet.

     “I rarely say this, but Max is kind of right. It is just the caf. You look fine already.” And he does, dressed in distressed jeans and a softly faded Depeche Mode t-shirt. But he just purses his lips briefly before sorting through all the various flannels and button-ups and whatever else are on his hangers. While he deliberates on what to wear, I slide on my Converse and lean against the closed door, waiting for him to finish so we can leave. My eyes dart between the clothes on the hangers he holds and the ones he already wears, and I really don’t get the uncertainty; he looks fine already. More than fine. Honestly, he’s made every outfit work, and I’ve seen a lot of questionable outfits from him while he was experimenting with his style. And he made those strange, early outfits work.

     “You’re staring.” He says it like a casual observation. Not an accusation, not anything bad. Just an observation.

     I drag my eyes from where they linger on his arms up to his face, his head cocked a bit to the side. “Yeah?”

     “Which one?” He holds up two hangers, the left one holding a well-loved leather jacket and the right one holding a lacy long-sleeved black top that looks almost see-through. “The jacket is safer, but I was feeling a little daring?” His eyebrow quirks up with his last words in a question.

     I nod at the right hanger. “That one looks like a party top.” My mind supplies an image of Will in a club, or random house party, or some unknown place in an unknown crowd while wearing that see-through shirt. Suddenly I can’t swallow the excess saliva in my mouth quickly enough. Why does he even have that top anyway? It’s not even his style. “Go with the leather jacket.”

     “Okay- well, hmm. It’s August.”

     “And?”

     “It’s hot as hell outside.”

     “You get cold easily. Just carry the jacket outside so you can have it to put on inside.”

     He nods and throws the jacket over his shoulder, pocketing his phone before walking up to me and giving my arm a light, playful smack. “And this is why I consult you.”

     “You consult me, huh? Am I your royal advisor?”

     “If you’d like to be. You can address me as ‘Your Highness’.” The corners of his lips turn upwards in a mischievous curl.

     “Well, in that case,” I step to the side and open the door, bowing a bit and gesturing to him, “after you, Your Highness.”

     As I shut the bedroom door behind us, I take out my phone and quickly text the group chat:

Mikerton: well b there soon

MadMax: use apostrophes you sorry excuse for an english major

Mikerton: fuck off at least ive never failed an essay

MadMax: i’m gonna lock you in a washing machine in the dorm basement and nobody will find your body until you’re long dead and decomposing

Mikerton: womp womp

     I know that last text will set her off, so I stash my phone back into my pocket and turn my notifications off. Will and I walk across half of the campus to the cafeteria, him telling me about his ceramics class all the while.

     “-it’s actually really interesting. I was nervous I wouldn’t like it because I’m definitely more of a painter, but it’s fun so far. I wish I could’ve done pottery back in Hawkins, but at least I get the chance here…”

     He doesn’t ramble often, so I let him ramble on now. He’s never been very talkative, which I’ve always thought was a shame because his voice is so nice. I could listen to him ramble for so long, probably hours on end. Mostly because he’s just so interesting. He talks about cool things like concepts for a campaign or his latest art project. And I can tell he doesn’t think those things are interesting to anybody but him, which is why I love it when he finally starts talking and doesn’t stop. It’s good to hear him happy instead of as though he’s being forced to speak like he so often seems. His nice voice is just the cherry on top.

     Soon enough we’re in the caf and manage to find Jane and Max sitting at a table in the corner, huddled together and laughing about something. Max looks up at us as we approach, and she stands - “Byers!” - throwing her arms around Will and practically squeezing him to death. “Barely seen you at all this week. So fucking hectic.” I can hear him let out a squeak. Finally, she releases him, then turns to me and punches me in the shoulder hard enough that I know it’ll bruise. “Good to see you too, Wheeler. I guess.” A faint smirk traces her face.

     “Ow. What the fuck.”

     She just shrugs. “Womp, womp.” Then she sits back down and takes a bite out of her burger so casually, like she’s not the reason for my perpetually tender shoulders.

     Will and I grab our own trays - pasta and garlic bread on mine, pizza and a salad on Will’s - and go back to the table to see Lucas and Dustin already there.

     “ ‘Sup, nerds,” Lucas says with a laugh, taking a sip of his drink and wagging his eyebrows at us.

     “ ‘Sup, hypocrite.” My fingers twirl my fork to gather up noodles in a too-big bite that leaves sauce on my mouth. Jane’s nose scrunches up at me and I imitate her face, making her giggle.

     “How are you two adjusting to the dorms?” Will asks, nodding at Max and Jane.

     “Yeah, it must be difficult being apart from us most of the day.”

     The girls share a look and burst into laughter.

     “Yeah, it’s so hard having to room with each other and not any of you dirtbags.”

     I scowl. “Hey, why are you looking at me?”

     This just makes Jane laugh even more, clinging to Max’s arm and resting her forehead against her shoulder. On Max’s other side, Lucas covers his mouth to hide his smile but his shoulders still visibly shake a bit.

     “I’m just saying,” Max draws out with a smirk, “we all saw how your side of the room looks. I mean, seriously, Wheeler - your only decor is a Weezer poster? Come on. I’d actually rather kill myself than room with someone at that level of incel dirtbag behavior. No offense, Will.”

     “None taken. I’m used to dealing with him already; someone had to take one for the team.” He spears a few pieces of ranch-drizzled lettuce on his fork, lips closing around the tines and a glob of dressing catching on the corner of his mouth. I get the inexplicable urge to wipe it off for him, then get mad at myself for even thinking about it. Will is an adult, and he’s stated multiple times in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t want to be babied.

     “Really? Even you’re betraying me?”

     He just shrugs. I lean over a bit and jostle my shoulder against his, which begins a battle consisting of just us pressing our shoulders together until he ends up overpowering me and shoving me fully back into my seat.

     “Let’s go,” Max cheers. “Beat that incel down, Buff Byers!”

     Will’s cheeks flush a bit as he lets out a nervous chuckle and presses his fingers against his mouth, partially covering his grin. “I’m not buff.”

     “And I’m not an incel,” I mutter.

     “Yes you are. Again: you are unironically a Weezer fan.”

     “Hey, don’t diss it. Or my poster. Pinkerton is a great fucking album. And secondly, incels are virgins. I am not a virgin.”

     “Doesn’t count,” Jane says. “We barely did anything. And it was way back in, like, sophomore year of high school.”

     “What the hell, Jane, don’t just air it out like that!”

     “It’s not like it’s news to anybody here.”

     I turn to Will. “Help me out here. Do handjobs count?”

     He splutters on his drink, spilling some on the front of his shirt. “Fuck-”

     “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, here-” I gather up some of the cheap paper napkins and blot at the wet spots on the fabric.

     “C’mon, Mike, don’t drag Will into it,” Dustin says with a shake of his head.

     “Yeah.” Lucas gives a matching shake of his head. “Besides, it’s different for gay guys. At least, I’d assume.”

     “I wouldn’t know either way,” Will mumbles, voice somewhat weak and almost imperceptibly shaking.

     I jab a finger at Max. “There. If you’re going to bitch to me about how I’m an incel, you have to be mean to Will about it too. And I know you would never do that.”

     “I don’t have to in the first place, because Will isn’t an incel. Unlike you. He’s actually cool, and has style, and good music taste, and less than three hours of daily screen time on Reddit. And, y’know, he doesn’t act like a dick.”

     “I’m done defending myself. At least Will appreciates me and my unique charm.”

     Max snorts. “That’s one way of phrasing it.”

     “Again, leave Will out of it.”

     “Thank you, Lucas.”

     The rest of lunch continues in mostly the same way. We all walk back to the dorms together, Max and Jane linking arms and separating to go to their building a minute before we arrive back at our own. Lucas changes to go for a run, Dustin goes to his and Lucas’s room to do some homework, and Will sits curled up on the couch in the common area, legs tucked underneath him and sketchbook in hand. I sit down next to him, springs in the couch creaking underneath me. Looking at the paper while he works, I rest my head against his arm, content to just watch as he draws. It’s always fascinated me, how he can just make a dozen or so pencil strokes on the paper and the sketch has already formed something solid - a dragon, a knight, a mage, whatever it may be.

     “You really are talented, you know.”

     He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I think I must have spoken too quietly or he was too drawn into his work, but then he tilts his head, tapping the side of it against mine where it rests on him. ‘Thanks.”

     “I mean it. You chose the right major. It’s like you were created to make art.” And to be my best friend. But of course I don’t say that part. That’s the significantly more embarrassing and pathetic half of this truth I know about Will Byers.

     He pauses sketching for a moment, knuckles turning white around his pencil. “Thank you, Mike.” His voice is soft, almost inaudible. Unsure. It reminds me of when we were in elementary school and he’d just barely begun to speak aloud after years of silence. He spoke back then like it hurt his throat to do so, and he speaks in the same way at this moment.

     “ ‘Course.”

     The next few moments go by in silence, and pencil strokes begin to fill in details of the dragon on the page; scales, teeth, claws, fire pouring from its maw. When Will speaks again, his voice once more has its regular lilt, somewhat soft and almost playful: “For the record, I don’t think Weezer is that bad.”

     “Thank you. I’ve been trying to convince Max to listen to just one album, but she refuses to bite.”

     He lets out a small chuckle. I retrieve my earbuds and offer one to Will, who accepts it. I put on a playlist, mostly consisting of The Cure and The Clash and Depeche Mode and other bands I know Will loves, and watch him draw until the dragon is completed in all its grayscaled glory.

Chapter Text

     “Mike. Mike, come on, I’m not cleaning up out here by myself.”

     I grab my pillow and cover my head, groaning. “Let me sleep…”

     “No. We agreed to host D&D, which means we need to clean. I’ve already let you sleep in. Now get up.” Something rigid prods at my side, and I peek out from under my pillow to see Will brandishing his cleric’s staff at me. He’s dressed in the starry purple and yellow robes he’s had for years, matching hat balanced atop his head.

     My eyes squint against the sunlight pouring in through the window. “Can’t you get Lucas or Dustin to help?”

     “They’re providing the snacks, so they’re exempt from cleaning.”

     “Fine, fine.” I push myself up and stand, stretching my arms above my head. “Ugh, just let me get my own costume first. Got to be ready to protect the cleric from evil dust mites.”

     “Thank you, O brave paladin.” He gives me something between a curtsy and a bow, one hand holding his hat in place on his head. When he rights himself, a broom is shoved into my hands. “Now let’s get to work.”

     By ‘let’s get to work’ he really meant ‘have Mike sweep the living room while I spend the next five minutes picking out what music to play’. In the end, he plays a Fiona Apple album and we only get through the first two and a half songs before we’re done cleaning. I slump onto the couch, grabbing Will’s phone to change the music, but he snatches it from my grasp in record time.

     “What are you doing? The next song is ‘Criminal’. It’s actually a crime to turn it off before that song has played.”

     “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t realize you had such particular needs, O wise one.”

     To my delight, that gets a loud, bright laugh out of him. “Save it for the game, Mike.”

     “That’s Mike the Brave to you.”

     “Right, of course.”

     A few minutes later, Lucas and Dustin arrive with snacks - they must have left before I woke up, which is fair because I did wake up at noon - and we get out plates and cups and set up everything on the kitchenette counter. I’ve already chugged a cup of Sprite by the time Jane and Max are knocking on our door. Lucas opens it, throwing his arms around them both and planting a kiss on Max’s cheek. There’s a bit of shoving and jostling as everyone tries to get some of the peanut M&M’s before Dustin claims them all, and some of the snacks end up on the floor, which causes Will to look like he’s about to pull out his own hair, which causes me to immediately grab the broom and clean up the mess. I sit back down next to him, almost feeling the tension lift from his shoulders. He still has his staff in a vice grip, twisting it around a bit and fiddling with his robes. My hand lands on his arm, just lightly enough to let him know I see him and am here, and a sigh escapes his lips. I don’t quite understand why messiness stresses him out so much, but I’d rather clean and keep our room tidy than see him tense up like this every time we hang out in our dorm. It’s better for me anyway; his particularness makes me stay motivated to keep my side of the room at least somewhat put-together, which I undoubtedly wouldn’t care much about otherwise.

     Soon, the entire party is sat around the table - character sheets and pencils and dice laid out, Max in the armchair with her DM screen (custom-painted by Will) before her, Will sitting between Lucas and Jane, and Dustin and I on the rug. Today’s session is a one-shot, so it doesn’t take long for Max to throw us into the chaos of a village suffering a murder spree at the hands of an unknown villain. Lucas and Will investigate the crime scenes while I join Dustin and Jane in questioning the locals to find out what they know. I hate to admit it, but I have to hand it to Max - her campaign is intriguing and she isn’t a bad DM at all. Two family-sized bags of chips, three two-liters of soda, and four bags of candy later, what started as a small-town mystery evolved into a campaign with eldritch horror and world-shaking consequences should the party fail. The final battle centers around the real killer we were trying to find the entire time: An evil Lich hell-bent on killing the town and turning its residents into undead puppets for him to control in order to take over the rest of the world in the same way. The only thing in his way is us.

     “The Lich, floating midair and lowering himself to stand on the ground, extends one gnarled hand out, pointing a bony finger in the direction of the party,” Max narrates, raising her own pointed finger as she does so. “ ‘You.’ ” She aims her finger at Will. “ ‘You will work nicely as my pawn.’ Give me a wisdom saving throw.”

     “Okay, this is my strong suit, I should be fine.”

     “Yeah, man, you’ve got this,” Lucas says. “Imagine targeting Will the Wise and having him make a wisdom save.” Max glares at him a bit, and he pipes down.

     Will scoops up his purple and gold-speckled d20 and shakes it, rolling it across half the table and…

     “Ten. Fuck. Okay, with my modifier, it’s an eighteen. That’s not bad, right?”

     Max smirks at him. “You feel your mind becoming hazy, and as you gaze upon the Lich, you feel almost…warm. Soft. Like this Lich is your dear friend. He gives you a rotting smile, but it seems welcoming to you as he utters, ‘Get rid of them.’ Roll for initiative, everybody. Will the Wise, you’re fighting on the Lich’s side, at least for the time being.”

     Everybody lets out a groan, underscored by the sound of dice clattering. Just our luck, the puppeteered Will is going first.

     “Alright,” Max says, cracking her knuckles. “The rest of you, are any of you grouped together, possibly within five feet of each other?”

     Jane meets my eyes across the table. Max knew we were grouped together; just a moment before, I had moved to be directly in front of Jane to protect her with my shield since she’s a sorcerer who doesn’t wear armor.

     “Okay. Will, you have the Moonbeam spell, right? Cast it at the highest- no, second-highest level you can, centered on Mike the Brave and Jane the Just.”

     Fuck.

     Jane and I roll a save, which we both thankfully pass, but we still end up taking a decent amount of damage.

     “Damn- okay, my turn.” Jane peers at her character sheet. “Two can play that game. I’m going to cast Misty Step and get myself out of the moonbeam, then cast Cloud of Daggers centered on the Lich.” A few rolls of the dice later, and the Lich is somewhat cut up.

     “Fuck yeah,” Dustin says, clapping a bit. “Keep hurting him, guys, we need him to drop his concentration and free Will the Wise from his control.”

     “Yeah, that would be great.” Will lets out a laugh.

     Dustin the Valiant strums his lute and heals both me and Jane a bit. With his longbow, Lucas the Bold lets forth two arrows that plant themselves firmly in the Lich’s desiccated flesh, one in the arm and the other in the chest - “Natural twenty, fuck yes!” Finally, that interrupts the Lich’s concentration, and Will the Wise manages to break free from his charms. We all let out a cheer, the loudest ones coming from me and Lucas. Jane grabs Will by the shoulders and hugs him a bit.

     “Don’t celebrate too soon, heroes, for it is now the Lich’s turn.” Max rolls what sounds like an alarmingly high number of dice behind her screen. “Will, does a twenty-nine hit?”

     “Fuck my life.” He buries his face in his hands and leans back, groaning.

     “Wait!” I hold up a hand. “I’m going to use my reaction to jump in front of Will the Wise, brandishing my shield to protect him from the oncoming attack. Whatever damage he might have taken, I will take in his stead.”

     “Okay. Does a twenty-nine hit?”

     I sigh. “Yes.”

     “Twenty acid damage. And fifteen more at the start of your next turn.”

     “Shit. Fine, better for me to suffer rather than our wise cleric.”

     “Thank you, brave paladin. I truly am indebted to you.”

     Looking down at my lap and fiddling with my hands, a grin spreads across my face. “Of course. I’ve sworn to protect you. I take my duties very seriously.” I glance up at Will and see an identical grin on his face.

     “It’s your actual turn now, Mike the Brave.”

     “Right. Yes. How close is the Lich?’

     “Thirty feet.”

     “Perfect. I’m going to run up to him and strike at him with my sword, aiming for his withered heart. That’s…” I roll my d20. “Yikes. Sixteen to hit. Not my best.”

     “Your blade just barely misses, grazing the air next to the Lich.”

     “That’s okay. I can try again.” Another roll. “Twenty-two!” With a nod from Max, I roll for damage. “I’m going to add a Divine Smite on top of that, and that comes out to a grand total of…thirty-seven damage.”

     “Not bad. The first round of combat is over, and the Lich is looking not insignificantly injured. Will the Wise, it’s your turn once again, and you can actually control your actions this time.”

     “Great. That’s ideal.”

     The next couple rounds of combat continue in pretty much the same way, the Lich dealing out high-damage spells mostly to me and Lucas and Jane, and Dustin and Will healing and buffing us afterwards to keep us in the fight. Lucas shoots off an arrow that seems like it’ll finally finish the dehydrated fucker off, but no - he remains standing, just barely. Then it’s his turn, and Max’s eyes find mine.

     “ ‘You troublesome insects. If you will halt my progress here, I shan’t let it go unpunished. Crumble.’ The Lich speaks this last word with power imbued in it, and Mike the Brave falls to the ground. Paladin, what are your last words?”

     “What? Was that power word fucking kill? I knew you would do this. I knew I wasn’t going to make it out of this session alive.”

     “What are your last words?”

     Rolling my eyes, I clutch at my chest, falling back onto the floor. “Make sure I do not die in vain. Will the Wise, take my cape.” I unclasp my cape and hold it in the air, and Will walks over to me and crouches next to me, taking the fabric into his hands. “Wear it and kill the Lich. Avenge me, and I can die in peace knowing my business is finished and I have protected you.”

     “I will. The Lich shall die, and you will be avenged, brave paladin. I swear it.” He puts the cape around his own shoulders and clasps it, but remains seated next to me where I lie.

     “Mike the Brave, your soul passes from your body with your final breath. But there is no time for a reprieve or to grieve - the Lich is still alive, and he still very much wants the rest of you to join your paladin. Will the Wise, it’s your turn.”

     He stands, looking regal in the red and purple and yellow of the cape and robes. I find myself at a rare loss for words to describe him. None of them do him justice. “I cast Guiding Bolt.” He takes his seat on the couch once again, rolling his dice. “Natural twenty. Twenty-two damage.”

     Cheers erupt from around the table. Max smiles a bit. “As this beam of radiance hits the Lich square in the chest, he falls down, defeated. Congratulations. You have defeated the evil Lich and saved not only this village but the entire world from his undead machinations. The people will not forget the bravery you all showed today, or the sacrifices made to ensure their safety.”

     The party hangs around the table and celebrates for a few more minutes before beginning to pack up their things.

     “Max and I are going to get some dinner in the caf,” Lucas says.

     “I’ll come with you guys.”

     “So will I.”

     Will glances at me, catching my gaze. “I think I’m going to stay here. I have a drawing I want to do.”

     “I’ll stay here too,” I agree. “I’m still full up on the snacks, anyway.”

     “That’s because you ate the entire bag of barbecue chips by yourself.”

     “Proof or it didn’t happen.”

     Once the others make their way out of the dorm, I grab the broom and begin to sweep up the crumbs around the table, not wanting Will to go to the trouble of doing so just to be comfortable. When I’m finished, he’s already sitting on the couch with his sketchbook out, a furrow between his brows as he idly gnaws on the eraser. I sit down next to him and watch him draw for the next hour, like it’s the easiest thing ever. And it is. There’s something mesmerizing about the movements of his fingers that bring the image to life on paper, the way his skin becomes smudged dark gray with graphite, the small frustrated huff he lets out anytime he needs to erase something.

     “Once you’re done with that, do you want to watch a movie?”

     “Sure. What movie?”

     “Holy Grail?”

     “Sounds good.” He begins to put down the sketchbook, but I catch his wrist, and he looks at me with an unspoken question in his eyes.

     “Keep drawing. I said ‘once you’re done’, didn’t I?”

     “You know you don’t have to watch me draw, right? I’m sure there are plenty of other, more fun things for you to do.”

     “I like watching you draw. It’s…I don’t know. It’s just really cool to watch.”

     He gives me an almost shy smile, but he continues drawing. After a while longer, the page is filled with the visage of a knight in a field of flowers, his hands clasped over his chest and a sword lying by his side in the grass. I can’t help but notice how the knight’s face bears an uncanny resemblance to my own.

Chapter Text

     The door practically slams shut behind Will, who groans and lets his backpack slide from his shoulder to the floor.

     “Rough day?” I’m in bed, lying on my back and holding my Switch just above my head. It’s a roulette of sorts with how clammy my hands usually are and how prone I am to dropping it directly onto my face.

     “Very.” He walks over to his own bed, falling face-first into the mattress.

     “You wanna borrow my Elf Bar?”

     “No.” His voice is muffled by the blankets covering his mouth.

     “It’s peach ice.”

     “Hell no.”

     “Suit yourself.” I reach for where it hides under my pillow and take a hit, making a pointed effort to blow the smoke in a small ring - not nearly enough to set off the smoke detectors.

     He looks over at me just in time to see the ring, finally uncovering his face. “Show-off.”

     “You’re not even a little impressed?”

     “Nope. You know I think that’s lame.”

     “Lame or not, it’s good for stress.”

     “You do realize there are plenty of other, better things you could do for stress relief?”

     I shrug. “It’s this or smoke actual cigarettes. Or become an alcoholic. Or - god forbid - actually talk about my feelings. Yikes.” An exaggerated shudder goes through my body.

     Will chuckles a bit. “As long as you’re aware that nothing about this-” He gestures toward me, waving a hand up and down as his playfully judgmental eyes rake across me. “-is healthy.”

     Raising my hand, I give him a mock salute. “Indeed I am. Aware, that is.” I sit up, taking a closer look at him. His eyes seem more tired than usual, his hair noticeably more tousled; not in an intentional and stylish way, but in the sense that he couldn’t be bothered to keep himself as put together as he usually is. “Tell me about your day.”

     His bottom lip is sucked between his teeth, worried near-bloody as he stands and begins to pace. “I just- I thought college was going to be different from high school. I was hoping to find, y’know, other queer people to be friends with. And you and the party are amazing, obviously - Max especially in the sense of being a queer friend - but I was just wishing I could find other people and connect with them and have this, like, unspoken understanding.” He whirls around suddenly, facing me directly. “But I haven’t met a single person! Let alone a new queer friend. And I feel so- I don’t know, stupid, I guess, for wanting it so badly. You probably don’t really understand it. I probably seem really weird right now-”

     “You don’t. I promise. And I think I do kind of get it. You want to be understood in that specific way.”

     His eyes light up and he gives me a soft smile that warms my heart and face. “Yeah! Exactly. Like, Hawkins is many things, but full of queer people is not one of them. And I was really looking forward to some sense of community here. I don’t know, I guess I’m just disappointed.”

     “Hey, it’s only been a couple weeks. There’s still plenty of time for the queer people to show themselves. How do you know you haven’t met any of them yet, anyway?”

     “I don’t know. I just haven’t gotten the right vibes from anybody.” He sits down on my bed, next to my legs propped up on the footboard.

     “Think about it like this: there are surely many gay people on campus. Maybe the reason you haven’t talked to any so far is that you don’t give off the right vibes.”

     He snorts, covering his mouth as he breaks out into a grin. “What, you think I don’t look gay enough?”

     “For Hawkins, sure. For other cool queer people on campus? You could look gayer. Even I know that much.”

     “And what do you know about gay fashion?” He nudges one of my legs, and I return it in a light kick.

     “Like, nothing, but that’s not my point. My point is that you need to give off the gay vibes before you can receive them. Or something like that.”

     “You’re not even sure of yourself. Great.”

     “Hold on, I’ll text Jane. She can help with this.” I fish out my phone and tap out a message:

     Mikerton: jane will is having a gay crisis we need you to help give him a makeover

     PurpleJane: I’m on my way

     “Okay, she’s in.”

     “In what?”

     “The plan to give you a makeover.”

     “I never agreed to that.”

     Waving my Switch in front of his face, I make ooh sounds. “You want to be distracted…you want to play Animal Crossing until Jane gets here…you want to let us give you a makeover…”

     He rolls his eyes and takes the Switch from me. “I can’t believe how much I put up with from you.”

     “It’s ‘cause you love me.”

     “Right.” His voice drips with sarcasm, but in a way that seems strangely sincere. I don’t press it, instead opting to watch him play until Jane arrives. When there’s a gentle knocking at the door, I spring up and open it, only getting a brief glimpse of her purple tank top before her arms are wrapped around me, her strawberry-scented perfume embracing me like a familiar friend.

     “Hey.”

     “Hi, Mike.” After a second, she brushes past me and tackles Will into an even tighter hug, practically wrestling him on my bed. “Will!”

     “Oof- hey, Janie. Not so tight, I literally just saw you yesterday.”

     “I still missed you.” But she lets him go and sits up. “So, we’re giving you a makeover?”

     “A gay makeover,” I clarify.

     “I want to make more gay friends on campus,” Will explains, “and Mike thinks the best way to go about that is for me to look gayer.”

     Jane shrugs. “Seems solid to me.”

     “I’m not escaping this, am I?”

     “Nope,” Jane and I answer in unison.

     Jane starts playing ABBA out loud over her phone, and after a mere few moments, Will’s closet is thrown open and she’s selected a few pieces of clothing for me to hold onto - “What am I, a mannequin?” - while she plucks some of them from my hands and holds them up to Will, seemingly trying to put together suitable outfits.

     “Hey, Will, how do you feel about goth fashion?”

     “Um, it’s cool, I guess. Why, are you going to dress me in fancy black clothes and paint my face in monotones?”

     “I might. It would look good on you. Right, Mike?” She holds up an outfit against Will: black slacks and a black shirt with a drawstring in the front. “Wouldn’t Will look great in this?”

     “Sure. Yeah, he would.”

     “Thank you. Anyway, I was thinking you would look great in this kind of style. One of my new friends I made in my theatre class dresses very gothic, and I thought it was so cool, so I asked him about it and he told me about the fashion and music and just the overall culture, and I immediately thought it would suit you really well.”

     “Is that so?”

     “Yeah. Apparently you already listen to a lot of goth music.” Jane gestures to the shirt Will currently has on, which features the cover of an album by The Cure. “He mentioned that band, and a couple others I know you like, too. Depeche Mode, and I think Susie…I don’t remember the name.”

     “Siouxsie and the Banshees?”

     “That’s the one. And you know how you’re always putting your negativity into your paintings and making it into something beautiful? That’s, like, super goth, apparently.”

     “Apparently,” Will echoes.

     “I just think it really suits you. Even Mike agrees, and he knows nothing about fashion.”

     “Hey,” I protest. “I know enough to know Will won’t set off anybody’s gaydar in his usual outfits. Speaking of which, are you sure queer people are going to see him in his new look and get the memo?”

     “Alt people are, like, notoriously gay,” Will says. “I think they’ll get the hint.”

     “Okay, good. Good.”

     “Why are you so invested in me looking gay, anyway?”

     I shrug. “It just seems like something that will help you get more gay friends. You want that, and I want to help you get what you want.”

     “Oh.” A vague pink blooms across his cheeks as he averts his gaze from mine. “Thanks.”

     Jane practically shoves the outfit into his chest. “Get changed. We’ll wait for you in the bathroom. Then it’s makeup time.” She retrieves the bag she brought and deposited in the corner of the room while rooting around in Will’s closet.

     He takes the clothes and sighs, but I see a hint of a smile on his lips despite the silent protests he makes with his eyes. Jane and I leave and shut the bedroom door behind us, moving to the bathroom we share with Lucas and Dustin. I hop onto the counter, bringing a knee up to hug against my chest as I take a puff of my vape. Jane scrunches her face up at me, and I hold it out to her in offering.

     “Is it strawberry flavored?”

     “No. Peach ice.”

     "Then I don’t want it.”

     The bedroom door opens, and when Will rounds the corner into my sight I nearly fall off the sink. His drawstring shirt is puffy in the sleeves yet somewhat tight around his chest, the skin of which shows through the gaps between the cords. It’s tucked into a pair of high-waisted black slacks with two shiny gold buttons and not nearly enough extra fabric on the hips. It’s modest, sure, but also tight, leaving little to the imagination. Which obviously isn’t an issue. He looks good. But not too good. Obviously. It’s just Will. Him looking any sort of way has never been an issue.

     “Um,” he stutters out, and my eyes drag up to his face for the first time since he emerged. “I’m not sure about this-”

     “It looks good,” I say with an overenthusiastic nod that I’m sure makes me look like a bobblehead. “You look really good.”

     Jane roots around in her bag, taking out an eyeliner pen. “Let’s make you even more fabulous. I won’t do a full face since we’re just trying out this style, but some eyeliner and other stuff will look nice.” She hops onto the counter next to me, beckoning Will to come closer.

     “Okay.” He takes a couple steps toward her, settling in front of her with his hands resting on her knees as she leans in to start drawing on his eyeliner. I tilt my head back against the mirror as I watch them, deciding after a moment to raise my phone and not-so-discreetly snap a picture. My gaze can’t help but to linger on his closed eyes and slightly parted lips, which Jane paints over in dark red lipstick. Soon, she’s finished, and Will looks like a gloomy dream in shadowy makeup.

     “So?” Jane asks. “How did I do?”

     “Wow,” I let out in a breath. “Really good. Will, you look good.”

     “Really?”

     “Yeah, she’s right, this suits you.”

     He peers at himself in the mirror, briefly bringing his fingers up to almost touch his lips. “I don’t know about the lipstick. It feels…a bit much. Definitely too much for wearing it every day.”

     “You can just save that for special occasions, then.” She hands him the lipstick tube. “Keep this for then, I don’t even use it anymore, anyway.” She picks the eyeliner pen back up and hands it to him as well. “This, too. Unfortunately, this is, like, my only good eyeshadow palette, so I can’t just give it to you. You can find black eyeshadow at any drugstore, though, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

     Will pockets the makeup, then looks back at me. “You’re sure I don’t look…I don’t know, weird?"

     “Oh, you do. But a good kind of weird, for sure.”

     He smiles at me, and it looks like rays of sunlight breaking through stormclouds.