Chapter Text
1983.
The world was strange, decided Eleven. It is gigantic.
It seemed like no matter how much she walked, it never ended. The damp sensation under her feet was something she had never experienced before, the cold air currents that cut across her face in small or long gusts, and the different odors that changed with the weather. There were no walls, only an endless place.
At times she felt overwhelmed, adrift without any guidance in a vast place with no clear intentions. Her stomach hurt from hunger and her feet from exhaustion. At the end of the day —which she learned was when the ball of light in the sky hid— everything was better than the men in the laboratory, their needles and shackles that left her skin red.
She was surprised by the small lights in the sky, she was amazed at how everything seemed to change over time, shocked when she found something made of wood that was definitely not a tree. Four walls, a roof, and a sign with inscriptions that she couldn't read. She entered, just as doubtful as when she discovered new things. And then relaxed at the moment when the wind didn't reach her, it wasn't warmth, but definitely an absence of cold.
Her days passed that way. She discovered that near the small shelter among the trees there was a house, there were people. She didn't know what they would be like, the woman looked kind, the little that had dazzled her; even so, she had never met another person who was not like the scientists.
She learned to open doors to steal food, to drink water, learned to listen for footsteps to know when the family children were approaching. They were strangers, something she had never known, with straight light brown hair, and chubby lips, blushing cheeks. They were like dolls that shouldn't be in forests like these.
She explored the place, the trees, the lands. Eleven went through the house, played with the toys in one of the rooms, and watched the clothes in the largest bedroom of the house with curiosity. It was when she was walking that she found another small shelter, it was different, made of smoother wood with a table inside, strange tools that somehow reminded her of the place she had escaped from. She didn't like it, she didn't come closer unless the children used her main shelter.
It was night, a cold night she didn't like at all, even with the lamps in the sky, everything she had achieved was gone. The noise that broke the silence of her sanctuary activated all her senses. Her instincts flew like crazy. She had to run.
She had to run. And that saved her.
She ran with her feet against the ground, the noise growing louder. When she turned her head to see her pursuer and realized, it was a monster. One of the most horrifying things she had seen in her time outside. It had drool and dirt covering it’s body, and Eleven knew that if she stopped running, it would kill her.
But she knew those woods well and approached that other shelter she didn't like, but she believed—something inside her, that which had stained her hands with blood—bowed her head and escaped, believing she liked to live.
The lights came on, and she looked through the window at that disgusting creature.
There was no one.
There was no one.
What she saw was a figure approaching the main house, slow as if blending with the darkness, like the being that knows it commands, that knows it is going to eat and has not eaten.
Eleven saw it. The boy, the youngest, the one with the yellow room with soft stuffed animals. He went into the house and his pink cheeks were as white as his old gown. The thing was not looking for her now, it was looking for him.
Eleven believes she wants to live. She concentrates on the lock she has opened dozens of times before. When her stomach aches from hunger or thirst, she concentrates. She wants to live. She clings to that feeling, that which covered her in blood and made Papa scream. She wants to know the world. Deep down in her mind, she thinks she hears a click.
"Sorry," she thinks. "Is it you or me.”
Then she runs.
March 1986
Jane was smart, and she had learned many things in just four years.
Some of them she learned in a classroom, others from her friends. Many on her own. She learned to read, which was great, she learned to write, which allowed her to communicate with her friends from a distance. She let her hair grow and Joyce gave her a bangs (she was right, the woman of the house was kind).
Television had taught her many things, things she didn't learn at school. She learned that women wore denim jackets and voluminous hair, that a woman's dreams could come true if an older guy paid attention to her, that no matter how cold a man is, if a woman is warm enough and gives enough opportunities, he can change.
She understood that girls had a father and mother, sometimes brothers but above all, had a boyfriend who would later become their husband. They went to school, were delicate, and even if at first they weren't sweet, they ended up being. That was what she needed. Maybe then the memories would be erased, maybe she wouldn't think about the laboratory and its aftermath. She could be like Max, wearing the T-shirts she likes and going out to get ice cream, she couldn't have a father, but in many movies girls didn't have fathers; Jane even had a boyfriend, which was the most important thing.
Gentlemen with money who fall in love despite the girls' poverty, men in suits, high-ranking military officers in love with sensitive and feminine girls.
And she had it, she had what she had longed for so much. Still, she didn't feel normal. Because having a mother, brother, and boyfriend didn't save her from harassment. From scraped knees and hurtful words; it hurt almost as much as the doctors, because they didn't harass her for the powers she once had, but for who she was. They saw Jane Hopper and decided they hated her without even knowing her before.
And there was no knight in shining armor. She had already learned that.
Mike didn't come to save her. Mike couldn't even say he loved her.
What's most painful is that he couldn't even try. Because Jane had kissed him so many times, but she never felt her cheeks flush or her stomach flutter, sometimes Mike preferred that the only contact between them be their lips, and that wasn't like what she'd seen in movies. Boys are supposed to wrap their hands around girls' waists, open the door for them, and insist on more touching, until the girl hits them. She had prepared for that, not for the lack of tact.
Jane told him she loved him, even if she wasn't sure of it. Why couldn't Mike do the same? Why couldn't they pretend? If they did it enough, maybe it would start to become real.
Everything would be resolved the day he arrived in California.
August 1986.
"I think we should breake up."
Things hadn't been resolved. Actually, they had gotten worse.
"I love you" is supposed to be sweet. In a life-or-death situation, it would be romantic. An epic love, an astonishing confession. But love hadn't saved her, and it hadn't saved Max.
She had regained her powers, regained her father. She didn't want to face Vecna with regrets, she didn't want to die weighed down by her relationship on her wrists.
When she sees Mike's expression change, her puppy eyes inevitably open and she thinks "I could love him." She could love him if she knew who Jane was.
Mike mumbles as she has already learned he do when he doesn't want to lie. He strings together sentences whitout finish because he doesn't know what to say.
"I'm not ready for a relationship now, not with everything that's coming. I want to focus on Max, on Vecna. I want to win," she interrupts him. "When we win, when there's peace and I can be myself. Maybe then we can talk again."
He falls silent and for a second, a second too long, too aware of himself, he nods, murmuring a "okay," she ignores how he still calls her Eleven even after so many years, for her own sake. She leaves the room only after kissing his cheek; she doesn't think about why Mike tenses like a string and stays still as a statue.
She also doesn't think about why he doesn't chase her. Not a minute, nor an hour, nor a week later. Mike doesn't look for her. Maybe I broke his heart, that's what she believes.
October 5th, 1987.
They won. Just from understanding it, she had cried.
Without any losses, which sounds almost impossible; Steve scared them, but Jonathan arrived just in time of what they told her. Mom, Lucas, Robin, and Mike were in trouble, but her brother saved them.
Her brother with powers.
Will had powers, which in itself had been surprising and exciting, plus the fact that they remained strong and resilient after One's death. Once they arrived, they never left him ("Of course not," Mike had said. "They were always there with him, they weren't induced by anything else. The magic comes from him, it's innate.") and he felt a connection with them so harmonious, so natural, that it was almost enviable. Sometimes Jane thought of her powers as a weapon, something she sometimes loved and other times hated. She missed them when she didn't have them and hated what they turned her into when they did: a superhero.
But Kali was helping.
Because that group, hated and mistreated by Hawkins, had finally experienced victory. They won without losing their grip on anyone; instead, they won back. Jane got Kali back, got her sister back.
Kali liked to steal money from Hopper, which he pretended not to see. She bought her all the makeup Jane wanted. And she tried everything that had ever piqued her curiosity. White foundation and black paint. Fake eyelashes, white eyeliner, and a line down her nose.
Jane has learned a lot.
She liked glittery eyeshadow and glossy lips. She loved layering clothes, even though it always made her feel hot. She loved her long hair, and going out without her bracelets made her feel naked.
Finally, she was finding herself. Everything she found and loved, everything that screamed “Jane Elizabeth Hopper,” made her father and sister smile so much, pride shining in their eyes.
“The boys are here!” her mother’s voice breaks in.
Jane smiled, her eyes painted with silver glitter, her purple Doc Martens and white skirt making her feel, for the first time, comfortable in her own skin.
“Going!” she replied. Her purse and lipstick flew into her hands.
Because she had also learned to ride a bike! Her own purple bike. Although she preferred roller skates, the woods weren’t the best place for wheels to glide. Jane had also discovered that she loved skating when she didn’t have people like Angela behind her, people insulting her and cornering her until she cried. When Max found out, she laughed so hard she cried and called her four-wheeled roller skates her signature weapon.
Jane says goodbye to her mother and jumps straight into Lucas's arms ("El!") knowing Will will close the door behind her. He laughs and flips her over. As soon as Jane is freed, she turns around, as if it were second nature, written in her genetic code, and plants the loudest kiss on Max's cheek. She laughs like a bird's song.
"Of course, as always, poor Dustin is the third wheel."
She lets out a low laugh and turns to look at the other three people in their small group. Lucas is already responding to something, and Max is rolling her eyes, muttering a low “dramatic." But her eyes weren't on them.
Mike.
They had seen each other hundreds of times since their breakup, as part of the group actively trying to survive the apocalypse and fight against the man and the monster who caused it all; but she wasn't lying. Her mind, so focused on Vecna and Max, on surviving and then living, left her no room to appreciate all the changes. He had grown like a bad weed; he had always been tall, but now his head stood out from everyone else's, and Dustin told her that Lucas had tried to get him interested in basketball, but Mike had never been one for sports.
Another lie, another thing she didn't know.
Because the Mike she knew would never have become anyone's gym buddy¹, regardless of whether it was a friend or someone begging him. He was stubborn, didn't like to change his mind, and even less apologize.
Jane wouldn't have guessed it. Sure, Mike looked much broader in the shoulders, but she didn't think there was any real muscle under all those clothes. In contrast to Lucas, with his big arms and semi-fitted t-shirts, his visibly muscular and objectively attractive body, Mike's physique seemed more about survival. Strong enough to carry someone in case of attack, to run tirelessly in an emergency. Something he had to deal with, rather than like.
The silver glint in his eyebrow was noticeable, especially in a small town where jewelry on men was frowned upon. She smiled. Kali had given her a nostril piercing. Her father had sighed, and her mother had just said to let girls be girls. It's kind of cute, she thinks, we match.
"You haven't been to any fairs before, have you, El?.”
It was October, autumn, with falling leaves, orange trees, and weather that didn't completely fascinate her. She'd discovered sooner rather than later that she was a summer girl, but still, dressing up and carving pumpkins didn't sound so bad. The wind hit her face, but it didn't hurt, not like it once did.
"Never. There isn't much time when you're stuck at home, and we never went to in California," she replied excitedly.
"We have to get you a candied apple!"
She laughed.
The place was beautiful; they had decided to go shortly before sunset. After the near-end of the world, everyone went about their business; the boys helping with the reconstruction and volunteering, Max in physical therapy, and El learning who Jane was. Being able to spend time together, as she imagined normal teenagers would, free from overwhelming responsibilities, was a privilege she had never enjoyed, a sweet fruit from a tree just beginning to ripen. Two smiles and a laugh were how she measured time. As the air grew warmer and nightfall approached, the lights flickered on, and the stalls of local vendors felt inviting.
“Cheat,” Max whispered to her during the darts game. She shook her head.
“No. I want to win on my own.” Max grinned at her, and before Jane could react, she was already paying for another round.
She didn't win anything. Still, they exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.
She gets on the carousel with the others, and what she discovers becomes one of her favorite things. They go to the hall of mirrors, and everyone laughs when Dustin decides to do his signature shoulder trick, and the reflected image looks, if possible, even stranger. Jane and Lucas argue while trying to fish for buried prizes underwater with flimsy fishing rods. She cheats a little.
“Leave him alone, Will. You know how stubborn Wheeler can be.”
Dustin’s amused voice catches her attention. She looks away from Max, who is teasing her boyfriend for not being able to hit a target in a game that uses basketballs. Mike and Will are standing in front of the darts booth she hadn’t been able to win. Dustin is leaning against it, his eyes sparkling with amusement at the lightheartedness of the situation.
“I don’t want you spending all your money on rigged games.” Her brother’s voice, for a brief moment, sounds whiny. Jane has never heard him like this.
“Come on, Byers. You know how this idiot is. If you don’t let him win, he’ll be back here tomorrow until he does. Which I don’t think will happen.”
Will groans as if he actually believed that. Jane nods to herself; Mike Wheeler was stubborn.
“I’m just saying, if you want to throw your money away, you could use it to buy some food.”
“As soon as I win this, I’m going to buy you some apple pie, okay?” The dark-haired man finally speaks. His eyes don’t leave the darts in his hands. Jane wonders how long he’s been there trying to pop the balloons.
“I want cotton candy!”
“In your dreams.”
“Be grateful I’m not asking for a glass of whiskey. Especially since you’re the rich kid in the group.”
“The Harringtons are rich. And for your information, I work. I’m not going to waste my money on your cravings.”
“Looks like being around Steve all the time makes you think we’re all millionaires.” Will’s voice is light, and he bumps his shoulder against Dustin’s, who delivers a perfectly dramatic performance.
“Yes!”
The squeal cuts off whatever conversation Henderson and Byers were having. Mike’s face lights up with a grin so tight he thinks for a second it’ll break his face. There are no darts in his hand, no balloons dangling from him. He did it.
“That one.” He said before the worker could ask him what he wanted. It was a giant rabbit, its ears perked up and its flat face snoutless. It was snow-white and wore a cute blue jumpsuit.
Jane liked stuffed animals. They were cute and soft, the kind of thing that felt like a little treat. Her eyes follow Mike’s hands as he proudly takes his prize before turning around and gently placing the rabbit in her brother’s arms.
It makes sense, she thinks; they're still separated, and if Jane liked stuffed animals, Will adored tártaro. The atmosphere of his austere room, with posters of bands with unusual names and a hand-polished wooden desk, was all interrupted by the stuffed animals carefully arranged on his bed. There weren't too many, but still quite a few.
As siblings, they shared many things. Lucas even made her aware of how generous Will could be (she, of course, hadn't been able to know; she'd never had a brother before). He let her steal all his shirts and belts, didn't mind when he accidentally dyed his white shirt pink, and treasured every gift from Jane, no matter how imperfect it was.
Will wasn't a hoarder; on the contrary, the moment he noticed Jane lingering over one of his paintings, he'd insist she take it to his room. He'd see Jane admiring his bottle-shaped lamp and give it to her with a smile. As if he knew perfectly well that all those things that dazzled her would be treasured and admired with care, things Jane wouldn't soon forget.
But no matter how much she gazed at those soft, cute stuffed animals on her brother's bed, no one ever offered her one. It's only now that she wonders if perhaps it wasn't a stuffed animal kept just for its looks. She was still learning that things can have a history, perhaps Will's stuffed animals did.
"Let's get you some apple pie." Mike's hand encircles his brother's wrist, and Will hides his face in the soft fabric of the giant stuffed animal.
When she approaches, it's too late. There are only other teenagers being scammed at the stand and Dustin staring in the direction Will and Mike have gone.
When she looks at him, she's inevitably surprised. He's smiling, there's a little sparkle in his eyes, and she thinks this is one of those times when Dustin seems genuinely happy. It happens more and more often, thankfully.
"It's good to have them back."
She tilts her head. Words aren't necessary; he understands her confusion.
"Of course, you didn't know them—you know, like Will and Mike." His tone shifts slightly, as if that's enough for Jane to understand. "When you arrived, Will was missing, and the following year you weren't here. Then that weird rift started, which had us all on edge. Lucas told me that they had a fight, and I don't think they’ve fully recovered.
Then you guys left, and Mike was always frustrated because Mrs. Byers was on the phone all the time. I don't really remember how things were after that, you know." The allusion to Eddie's death didn't go unnoticed. "But I think that time the Byers spent with the Wheelers helped them."
"Is that normal?.”
“It’s Will and Mike, it’s normal for them. You never really got to know them, Jane. They fought a lot these last few years you were here. But this is who they are. It’s good to have them back.”
The comment makes her stomach churn a little. She decides to ignore it; her day has been too good to ruin.
“Let’s get your apple.”
October 11, 1987.
They had only met once more that week. Coordinating a group of six could be harder than people thought.
This was freedom, freedom to leave the house. No one seemed to understand Jane's love for trees and the sky, her wonder at shops and soft clothes. Going shopping felt like a moment to treasure, after enduring lockdown after lockdown, going from being a girl who didn't know which shirt to choose or what flavor of ice cream she liked to knowing she could go out the door without a gun pointing to her head, knowing what she wanted to buy.
Stop thinking of her as Eleven, start being Jane. Jane Elizabeth Hopper, a teenager, a life.
She thinks she's on the right track, especially because now she and Mike talk. Maybe they don't have long or deep conversations —after all, Jane doesn't like D&D and isn't very interested in the books Mike talks about so much— but now they talk. Small comments. It's more than they managed to communicate back then, so it's a good sign.
A girl, not a number. A girl with a father, mother, siblings, and soon, a boyfriend again.
She's holding her sister's arm as they walk along the main streets of Hawkins. Kali carries a bag of her purchases; she'd been wanting to go into that dark, with a heavy smell of weed shop for a while. Jane would go to the ends of the earth with her; a weird shop wouldn't be enough.
"I mean, it's great to travel. But I want to explore. Not just the capital cities and big towns, I want to see the small towns and their people."
"Somewhere so remote where no one would know who you are."
"Exactly. People's actions speak louder than any tourist attraction. That's how you get to know a country."
She smiles when they talk about the future because now she has the possibility of having one.
They keep talking; she laughs while her sister makes somewhat silly comments with a very serious face. She only stops when they pass the only movie theater in town and she spots a familiar head of red hair.
“Max!”
The woman turns around, her face a picture of surprise. She walks along, pulling Kali by the arm; her steps slow when she realizes the obvious, her friend isn't alone.
“Oh, hey Jane, Kali.”
Lucas, Mike, and Will. Why were they there without her? Her only consolation would be Dustin's absence, so she wouldn't feel specifically excluded.
"What are you doing here?"
Kali lifts the bag hanging from her hand; that's all the answer.
"And you guys?"
"We came to the cinema," Lucas says.
Max nods. "You said you were going out with your sister today. We didn't want to interrupt your plans."
Jane smiles and shakes her head. "No, no. Of course not." Her gaze shifts to her brother. "You didn't tell me you were going out."
He looks somewhat embarrassed. But Mike rolls his eyes and interrupts before any words leave his mouth. "Everyone goes out all the time. As long as Joyce knows, everything's fine."
"We all know she's the boss in that house and relationship," Lucas remarks, trying to lighten his friend's tone.
"Next time we can all come together."
Jane nods to her brother. “We’re going home now. Will, you come with us?”
“No, not yet. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“After.” Mike corrects him. Her brother just raises his eyebrows and speaks again.
“I’ll be back after dinner. Be careful, both of you. Love you.”
It sounds like goodbye. It is.
As the four of them walk away, she squeezes Kali’s arm.
Hours later, her brother leaves a new bottle of nail polish on her nightstand and explains that in the summer of ’85, when Dustin wasn’t around and Jane was locked up, they went to the movies all the time, and it became a kind of tradition. Just the four of them. Lucas and Max. Mike and Will.
She doesn’t think much of it. Just a group of friends.
October 14, 1987.
It was almost completely dark.
A cold day with dark, heavy clouds; she felt a chill in her bones. It was one of those days when she could understand why people didn't want to leave the house. Dad said it would probably rain in the early morning; she wasn't thrilled about it, but feeling the rain comfortably under the blankets was different from being without a roof over her head.
The stove was lit, and Jane stared, fascinated, at the flames. So red, so hot. Beautiful and deadly.
It could burn.
Now, with a full stomach after dinner, Dad was reclining in an armchair, Mom was making tea in the kitchen, and Jane and Kali were snuggled up under blankets on the sofa. They were sprawled out, not knowing where one began and the other ended. They whispered and laughed. The house, small as it was, offered a profound sense of family. The wool blankets, the newspaper on the table. What did the size of the building matter compared to the size of their hearts?
Such a special warmth, so homey. Warmer than fire, a burn born of love. They weren't family because they were parents and children, but because they chose to be. Their hearts sought each other out and loved one another. This is love, she thinks, awestruck, this warmth, without any discomfort, this fluttering in her chest. It's amazing, she never wants to stop loving.
"Will, dear, he came to get you!"
Jane and her father exchange glances. Was he really going out so late? The streetlights were already on. They closed their lips, unable to say anything. Joyce had the final say when it came to Will, even though Hopper was an excellent father.
Will's shoes make the slightest sound against the floor. When she sees him, her breath catches in her throat. Not even Jane can understand the avalanche of emotions surging through her chest, and she hates it. There are so many mixed sensations, a dull oppression. Her mind feels confused; not like under the effects of the injections that had punctured her skin, no, this felt personal, something her own body had done to her.
She recognizes a feeling she doesn't like, a tightness in her throat. She remembers when she first saw Max and Mike talking, remembers the discomfort, and doesn't want to admit how similar this feels.
Because Will looks beautiful.
Nothing out of the ordinary, he doesn't even get a second glance from his father or Kali, but it's something Jane senses. His light wash, high waisted pants, fitted to his small and delicate waist, loose at the calves, the yellow thread stitching down the sides giving the impression of a flower, his ankle boots and thick brown belt, and his typical yellow plaid shirts.
There's something so masculine and feminine at the same time that it confuses Jane a little. It's not like the carefree yet tender style of the girls in movies, or dark and brooding like Kali's, much less like the uniformed or suited men she sees in romance novels.
There's a naturalness to him. Not confidence, after all, he's Will Byers and she knows her brother still struggles with that; but there's a naturalness in the ambiguity of how he looks. His strong jawline and masculine nose, his soft voice that could become somewhat high-pitched when he got excited. There was something confusingly… feminine about him, not feminine like pink and white and skirts or dresses, but something she still couldn't quite grasp.
She envied him a little.
The way it came so naturally to him. Not because he had a defined style—not like Kali or Max, who knew exactly what to buy and what they'd like, who knew their own bodies inside and out to know what would flatter them. This was something more, a small step further; again, she was in a position where Will Byers possessed something she desperately wanted without even realizing what he had. How could he make it look so easy? How could he wear such feminine pants while Jane still hesitated about whether she could wear anything other than her brother's shirts and belts?
Will already knew where his limit was, while Jane still wondered if it would be too much (too frowned upon, too much like a number and not a person, like a shaved-head girl called a boy) to wear his pants or sneakers too. The men's trousers had so many pockets they seemed almost like a dream, even the underwear looked infinitely more comfortable.
Joyce enters the room with two steaming mugs, hands one to her daughter before turning to Will. She smiles at him. “Say hi to Mike for me.”
“Of course.”
“And invite him over for dinner next time.” There’s something in her tone that sounds conspiratorial, and apparently no one else in the room understands.
“I won’t let him pay.” He rolls his eyes, as usual.
“You’ve been saying that since you were 13, honey. You’ve never come back with less money than you left with.” She laughs softly, like chimes, and Will turns his face away before he can see her reaction.
“Bye, love you guys. I’ll be back tonight, or tomorrow if it’s too late.”
He steps out as if nothing's wrong, without a backpack, no pajamas or toothbrush in sight. When he opens the door, a bit of cold air slips into the warmth of the house. It shouldn't be cold, she thinks.
"Did you hear it? Today or tomorrow?" Hopper speaks, sounding as incredulous as his own daughter feels.
"It's okay, Jim."
"In my day, kids asked." He mutters sulkily.
"And he asked me. But this is Mike. Will knows the rules get relaxed when it's him."
Hopper seems to consider it for a moment. His brown eyes are lost in the fire, a glint reflecting in his dark irises, and he parts his dry lips slightly. He nods.
"You're right."
"I'm always right. No matter how much they think I'm crazy."
"It’s nice to have them back to themselves." Her father's voice sounds, surprisingly, hesitant.
Joyce smiles, delighted. “It’s good that Wil and Mike are Will and Mike again. This is exactly how I imagined my two demons’ teenage years would be.”
Then she remembers that Mike earned his place in the Byers family before Jane was even Jane, before she knew the meaning of the word family.
The tea grows cold in her hands, not a single sip left.
October 17, 1987
Mike had been especially clingy with Dustin that day, and Jane pretended not to notice him. She wanted him to make the first move.
“Once I know who I am, we can talk again,” she said, and she was getting closer to getting to know him every day. Now they were talking again. She just needed to wait, just a little longer before she had him back.
For the first time, Mike seemed completely absorbed in the conversation about science and the complex rant Dustin was launching into (she didn't know if Mike liked science; she hoped not—she preferred math). Slowly, the sparkle returned to Dustin's eyes.
“I'm sorry. I'm wasting your time with ridiculous theories.”
“Hey, no. I have to listen to this stuff so that when you change the world, I can pretend to understand something.”
“Sure, Wheeler.”
She had never seen him be so forgiving with his friends. He'd usually get bored halfway through conversations; by the other half, he'd already swept Jane off her feet to kiss her in some corner. That's what she knew of Michael Wheeler. Seeing this side of him, where he was actually talking to his friends, was completely new to her. In the past, they'd find the slightest excuse to leave, and if they were together, they'd count down the minutes until they could escape.
Was this what Dustin had been referring to last time? It felt like she was in the presence of a different man. A different man she could learn to love, just as he would with this new Jane, the one he supposedly never stopped loving. She broke up with him, not the other way around.
Lucas interrupts their conversation, and suddenly a three-way fight breaks out between Lucas, Max, and Dustin—something about whether tomatoes were fruit or not, and something about scientific and social definitions.
"Your hand."
Jane catches the words without even trying. Her brother is near Mike, gently taking the other's wrist.
"I don't know what you mean."
“Mike.” It sounds like a reproach and a plea.
Then he offers him his hand without hesitation, as if refusing Will were physically impossible. It’s only from this angle that Jane notices the enormous difference in size between the boys’ hands; for a second she imagines her hand holding Mike’s again. Would they look like that? Would his hand be smaller, like Will’s, perfect for holding? She couldn’t quite remember the last time they held hands.
Mike’s knuckles are covered in sores. How had she not noticed before?
“It’s okay, it’s healed.”
“I don’t trust your healing abilities.”
“Sure, Doctor Byers.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Kiss it better?.”
“Shit, Mike, what happened?!”
Her eyes fell on the injured hand, and surprisingly, Max burst out laughing.
“I don’t understand.”
“Troy,” the ginger said between laughs. “I saw him today at the hospital when i was going to physical therapy. He had a black eye and a broken cheekbone.”
“Don’t tell me…”
“Surprise? At least it wasn’t during school.”
“Mike, you son of a bitch.” Lucas laughs as if he can't believe it.
Jane lets out a small laugh, her eyes shifting from Mike to Dustin. He doesn't laugh, but his eyes, for a single moment, almost as if tricked by the light, look teary.
Oh.
Then she remembers that Troy was the boy who had bullied them all for years, who harbored a particular hatred for Hellfire, and who made sure that Eddie's grave was desecrated every single day.
Will's fingers don't move from their position, almost affectionately encircling Mike's wrist. Suddenly, seeing Mike's injured hand isn't so funny anymore.
It happened again.
And again.
Mike rolled his eyes when they tried to bother him at work, instead of yelling at them.
He tried to attend most of Lucas's games, and at the slightest malicious comment toward his friend, he'd respond three times worse. He'd punch him on the shoulder when they won and invite him over for lunch when they lost.
He listened to Dustin as much as he could before his attention ran out. Dustin seemed happy with how long it lasted. Jane still remembered the summer of '85 when nothing was more interesting than Jane. Dustin had so many projects, but Mike never gave them a second glance when he had his girlfriend hanging onto his arm. She didn't know if this change was good or bad.
Mike and Max were constantly fighting.
But there was something new, something she wasn't entirely sure about yet.
He didn't feel like the guy El had dated. He was different, taking control of situations with enviable ease. There was something that made everyone decide, without a word, that he would be the one to lead them in dangerous situations. Jane didn't know Mike could be like this, that he could do anything other than talk about D&D, kisses, and fights. It was uncharted territory.
"I'll surpass Kate Bush the day Mike pulls his big head out of his ass and gains a little emotional intelligence."
For a moment there was silence. Lucas looked at Mike as if he were about to explode, while Max, as determined as she was, just lifted her chin and looked him in the eye, as if daring him to get angry. The girl who looked Vecna in the eyes and survived wouldn't back down from a sulking Mike Wheeler. Will settled down next to the redhead.
"Sure, Maxine. Whatever you say."
He rolled his eyes, and she smiled. Dustin laughed, and Jane felt like she was missing something, like there was a piece of the puzzle missing. She thought Max's goal was to annoy him, not whatever had happened.
The guys joked around afterward.
Jane slowly relaxed and decided to put her doubts aside for later. The day broke with all the autumnal weather up to that point; it wasn't just warm, it was hot. The sun was shining brightly, and all the teenagers were crammed onto public transport, three in a row, the other three in front. The bus to the outskirts of town was packed. Max said it was a rural route and one of the few ways people had to get home.
If it had been any other day, the trip to the lake she didn't know would have been in Mike's car. He was the only one not only willing to pay for the license but also had parents who, for some reason, wanted to give him a car for his 16th birthday; it wasn't anything special, but it did the job. Mom had asked me to come in advance, he explained Ted² was at work today, and she had a meeting with the mothers of Holly's friends.
So there they all were. With bags full of clothes and tupperwares with food, she knew Dustin and Max had some cans of beer and glass bottles of alcohol she'd never even tasted. When Will packed trash bags into his backpack, right next to the towels, he gave her a knowing look instead of answering, and she laughed.
It felt good.
There were no real tensions among the group; only a few times did Jane notice things she later wished she hadn't, things that made her stomach churn. As long as she ignored them and dismissed them as mere speculation, everything would be fine.
Because that feeling of being the only one who saw, of feeling that unease and biting her tongue hard. Everyone seemed so fine, calm and relaxed. As if they had finally achieved what they were meant to do, as if they were back to being who they once were. They all got along so well, sighing with relief as if they had finally gotten out of the water and the sun's rays were beginning to warm their frozen skin.
But there was something about the dynamic that everyone loved, and she wasn't sure she wanted it.
Dustin, Lucas, even Max and Joyce seemed so relieved and happy to see Mike and Will stuck together like leeches. She wanted to understand. After all, she'd been absent from her ex-boyfriend's life for so long, absent the entire time the Byers lived with the Wheelers. She wanted to understand how and why they'd become so close.
She wanted that. She wanted the stuffed animals, to not pay anything, and to wear clothes that felt exactly like her.
She seemed to be the only one who realized that Mike shouldn't treat Will like this. He should treat him the way he did Lucas, whom he kicked under the table, or Dustin, whom he playfully insulted. But Mike seemed to lose the ability to do either of those things when it came to Jane's brother. He didn't dare raise his voice in his presence, always a lower, calmer, warmer tone. It was strange, because this was also the boy who, as children, had never hesitated to make cutting, insulting remarks, who had called her crazy in the middle of their fights.
"Sit here."
Her ex's voice cuts off any thoughts she'd been having.
There's a woman in delicate shoes and a loose green dress. Even loose as it was, it couldn't hide her enormous pregnant belly. Wow, she couldn't help but think. What would it feel like? To reach that point where you love someone so much that you want to start a family, to love someone so much that your body changes to fit theirs. A baby, she thought, touching her stomach. Sometimes she forgot her body could do that kind of thing; flying and moving things with her mind felt as natural as breathing, but creating life? It was beyond his comprehension (not academic, but emotional).
The woman, who glowed just as the stories had described, sat down and smiled at Mike. “Thank you.”
Mike nodded and stood right next to Will. His arm went around the other boy's shoulder, and Will leaned on him with such trust that it hurt to watch. I, too, would trust someone who didn't give up on me even after finding my corpse.
The woman fixed her eyes on Mike, her mouth forming a perfect "O," and exchanged a glance with a man—judging by the bands on their fingers, she assumed it was her husband. Then she turned to Mike and Will, looked between them, and gave them a thumbs-up.
"What a gentleman," she said.
Mike's ears turned red, and Jane didn't want to understand what it meant.
🔆
The lake water was warm, and she didn't think she'd ever had so much fun before.
Dustin ripped off his shirt as soon as they arrived and jumped in as if he'd been waiting for this all year. The tattoo on the inside of his forearm stood out against his tanned skin. For Eddie, she'd been told. She thought he must be an amazing person to cause so much suffering in his absence.
She was about to go into the water to join Lucas and Dustin when, curiously, she glanced behind her.
Max was using a mirror while applying what she'd already learned was sunscreen; despite being a California girl, she burned strangely easily. Beside her, Mike's entire body was hunched over. Jane's eyes traveled over his bare back and the skin of his legs. Like Max, Mike was profoundly pale, and his sunburns tended to be worse. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the image in front of her, the slightly muscular back.
She shouldn't have. Her stomach churned.
Her brother.
There again, again with his sister's ex.
Mike brushed his hair away from his face with one hand, his arm bending slightly, and she wasn't thinking about that as Will's hands moved so confidently across Mike's face. She couldn't see his expression, but the way Mike leaned in, his relaxed posture, and the smile on Will's face said it all.
She wanted to see anything else, to look away and appreciate the water or the sky. She genuinely wanted to, but there was something special about watching. It wasn't just the heaviness it caused in her stomach, but something else she didn't want to acknowledge, a kind of intimacy between them. Something in the way Will knew Mike would get sunburned and applied sunscreen to his face with such care. His fingertips traced Mike's face as if it were a canvas and he possessed the paint. As if it were his art, his masterpiece—touched with the delicacy of someone completing their final piece
She had seen that expression before. She had thought Will had a girlfriend.
She wanted Will to have a girlfriend. To be happy.
To stop doing those things with Mike.
She wondered how she hadn't thought of it before; how she hadn't thought of Mike's pale skin and touching it? How she hadn't thought of caring for him in that way? Max would probably tell her that Mike was a grown man, that she shouldn't do those things for him, but these were the kinds of actions born of love. Of remembering those little things about another person, of caring without expecting anything in return.
Jane jumped into the water.
🔆
They had played in the lake, and for a second she thought this was what childhood felt like.
Max and Will had spent almost the entire time under the parasols, lying on their towels talking about things no one else could hear. She knew they were close, but seeing Will feel as comfortable with Max as he did with Lucas and Dustin was impressive.
At one point, after hours of shared laughter, they both moved closer. Will dipped his legs into the water while Max went under, just to show him the most important thing about a day at the lake: "Playing mermaids." She had gone in only for Jane, so Jane could learn and have a good time. It made her feel loved.
"No, don't even think about it."
Max started laughing beside her. Mike was completely soaked, from head to toe; he slowly approached the perfectly dry Will.
"Come on, Will."
One step.
"Don't even think about it."
Another step.
“Michael.”
Then he lunged. Will’s thin, untrained body never stood a chance. Jane’s ex-boyfriend’s arms wrapped around Jane’s brother’s waist. He lifted him with ease, as if he’d done it hundreds of times before, soaking Will’s Smiths t-shirt. Without warning, Mike pulled them both under.
Max clutched his stomach from laughing so hard, and Jane could hear the other boys shouting things behind her. She couldn’t join in the fun, not with the bitter taste in her mouth.
“It’s not so bad, see?”
He still hadn’t let go. They were both floating in the water, Will’s hands gripping Mike’s shoulders as if he were deciding whether to let go or strangle him. His hair was plastered to his forehead and wet. She didn’t need to analyze where Mike’s hands were.
“I’m going to kill you, Michael Wheeler.”
“Uh, full name. Someone’s in trouble!”
Mike laughed, and Will tugged a strand of his hair, as if scolding someone particularly playful. Will squirmed, but Mike's arms were tight, as if he didn't want to let go; there was no space between them, their chests touching, heart to heart. Jane stared, trying to reconcile this image with the boy who wouldn't let her touch his cheeks when they kissed.
"Mike," Max said beside her. "Let him go. I need someone to talk to me."
"But you're not coming out yet."
Max was already swimming to shore.
"We were going to light the campfire. Not after what you did. I'm going to dry off, and you guys are going to light the fire." Will spoke, pointing a finger at Mike, who didn't take his eyes off him.
"Sure. It's not like I let you carry the wood, Will."
The named rolls his eyes, his cheeks flushed as if annoyed that Mike wasn't annoyed. As if the casual way he said these things, accepting the hard work, the unpleasant work on behalf of someone else, was something he almost enjoyed.
Perhaps he did.
🔆
Jane had climbed onto Mike's shoulders, they'd play-wrestled, and it was perfect.
She cheated a little and tried to knock Dustin with her powers. Mike's hands had been on her thighs, and this was the most her ex-boyfriend had ever touched her. Laughter had burst from her chest so many times as she wrestled with Dustin and listened to Lucas's witty comments; it was so much fun that she almost missed the fact they were touching each other again. But it had been good.
And now the two of them were floating in the water, completely exhausted. Max was on the shore while Lucas and Mike were forced to light the fire.
"But Dustin's the one who went camping."
Dustin had splashed water in her face.
Will gave her his towel as soon as she got out. He had Jane's clothes ready and near the fire so they'd be warm when she put them on. She loves her brother.
Dustin was wearing a black shirt, sand and dirt stuck to his arms, and carrying a can of beer. Max and Lucas each had red cups with a strong, sweet smell. The flames were so high they almost burn..
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to spread rumors, have the guts to say it to my face.”
Lucas squeezed her shoulder. “What rumors?” El asked.
“That I sleep with my teachers, because how else could a girl who was in a coma for a year and a half have caught up on her studies? They conveniently ignore the fact that my boyfriend and his friends are the worst nerds in school!”
“We could beat them up.”
“Ugh, I’m not going to stoop to their level yet. And having an athlete and a guy with a Satanic background—who, by the way, want to get college scholarships—beat up a cheerleader wouldn’t look good.”
“I could dump a milkshake on her,” Jane offered. “Or trip her up.”
Max’s face softened, a smile playing on her lips. “No thanks, El. I’m waiting for the right moment to give them what they deserve.”
“We can always commit one more murder. We can put rat poison in her tea or something.”
“Dustin, you’re a certified genius. I would expect you to say some poison with a complicated name, not rat poison.”
“She’s a rat.”
“No. I think she’s more like a cockroach.”
Then they start discussing different ways to murder someone, each one more ridiculous and outlandish than the last. A knife made of ice, drowning in a kiddie pool, they argued about how painful death by chicken pecking would be.
Max and Jane laugh so hard their stomachs hurt and tears stream down their cheeks.
“I mean, if she’s allergic to something, I can give her a lethal kiss.” Dustin wiggled his eyebrows seductively.
“I don’t think allergies work that way.”
Will's laugh is like a breath of fresh air. Almost inevitably, and as she always seems to do, she watches her brother intently; Will Byers was the kind of person who, even when he made himself small, still had a brightness in his soul, a kindness in his posture, an empathy in the crinkle of his eyes that drew people in like moths to a light. His eyes shone; the red of the fire illuminated his emerald irises in a supernaturally beautiful way. The black shirt was so loose it slipped off his shoulder, leaving his pale, bony collarbone exposed, the freckles on his skin visible, and the chain gleamed in the campfire light. "Another Brick in the Wall," the shirt read, in beige lettering.
It wasn't his brother's usual style.
It wasn't his brother's size, or either of theirs.
"Is it Mike's?"
The words cut the atmosphere worse than lemon in milk. The named, who had two marshmallows being roasted with terrifying precision, tenses up and looks at her questioningly.
“Yeah, well. Mike threw me in the water and I didn’t bring any extra clothes.”
“That’s the least he could do,” Max replies.
No one seems to find it strange. They stare at her curiously, as if she’s speaking in another language. For a second, she feels like Lenora, like she’s speaking in front of a class that stares at her like she’s an alien.
She’s the weird one there.
The marshmallows stick to the roof of her mouth.
Observing had kept Eleven alive.
Observing had brought Jane discomfort.
Seeing attitudes, postures, and the way they walked. Learning the guard schedules without even knowing how to tell time. Observing allowed Eleven to transform and Jane to be born.
For Jane, the one who didn't need to train or get her hands dirty with blood, the one who didn't need to be afraid and lived life like a teenager, it was a nuisance. It made her aware of things she didn't want to see.
The way he always opened the door for him, how he helped him take off his jacket when she had never seen a man receive that kind of help. Always walking on the side where the cars passed, always paying and inviting only him, giving him his jacket, his umbrella even without caring how the rain would soak him. Escorting him to the front door.
Again and again. Again and again.
And only she saw it.
Will would wake up with flushed cheeks and a sweatshirt made of a material too expensive to belong to the Byers, a size too big for Will. A gold chain—she didn't know how expensive it was, if it was on sale or not, 10 or 24 karats—but the beautiful gold was always around his neck. He wore a locket with blue details that he refused to open in front of others.
She wanted that.
Mike treated her the way he would treat Dustin, the way he would treat Max, or worse, the way he would treat Holly. When Mike looked at Will, his eyes seemed to hold entire constellations, as bright as fire and as much love as a religion.
But he was supposed to love her, to wait for her.
She didn't understand, she couldn't comprehend who this new person was. How had he changed? Who had changed him? What had Will done that Jane hadn't?.
History repeats itself over and over like a bad sequel.
William Byers had a mother he loved fiercely and loyally, no matter what stood between her and her son. A roof over his head and a home, a brother who would kill alongside him.
Meanwhile, Jane shivered in the woods.
William Byers had friends who were willing to go to hell for him, who wouldn't give up even after finding a lifeless body.
They tried to send Jane to a psychiatric hospital until she pointed out the boy in the photo.
The boys had kept her there for William.
And William could go to the mall with his friends. He could dress however he wanted, his bloodless hands created art, and he had gained powers without going through the torture that was El's childhood.
Everything, everything, everything.
He went to school with top marks, his teachers loved him enough to spend days searching for him in the woods*, he had a family. A mother, and now he also had a father, a brother.
Will was going to have a boyfriend, the boyfriend who was supposed to love Jane. The man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, the one who would dress her in white and whom she would love.
Something unsettling made her think. You have this because of him; the life you have was paid for with his blood.
Even so, a little more. Just a little more. What would it cost him? Will Byers had everything, everything she had ever dreamed of. Why couldn't he give this to her?. Just this.
Will Byers
Hawkins, Indiana
“I need to ask you a favor.”
His sister had been acting strange these past few days. Less laughter and a more unfocused gaze; he'd learned to read her just like he read his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
He'd been waiting for this moment all week. Will had understood years ago that it was pointless to push things; sometimes you had to wait for people to seek comfort on their own. So he never asked. Instead, he sat beside her, braided her hair, and gave her the best parts of the dinner.
His heart ached when he saw her like this, just like when there was too much weed in Jon's room. That same pang of worry.
“Sure. Do you want to talk here?.”
She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. Jane's life had been hard, so hard that sometimes he wanted to protect her from everyone around them, but he couldn't. He hadn't been able to in the past, and he wouldn't be able to in the future. He leads them to his room.
She sits on the bed, staring at the floor with such intensity he thinks it could burn.
“I want you to stay away from Mike.”
The question strikes him like lightning.
“What?.”
“I need you to stay away from him.”
That sounds impossible.
Mike and Will separated? It happened once, for eight months, thousands of miles apart. No letters, no calls, and Will felt as if a part of him had been ripped away, not just a limb, but something deep in his heart, deep in his soul. Worn and broken, dirty, frayed, waiting for someone to come and pull the threads and finish unraveling the job.
Losing Mike is losing himself. It hurts as much as any burn or possession. It hurts like something immortal that will stay even with his corpse.
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to get back with Mike, I want to have a relationship.” The words take his breath away like a punch to the chest. They press against his ribs and churn his stomach.
“Okay.”
“I can’t go back to Mike if you’re there.”
“I’m not some overprotective brother, Jane.”
“Don’t pretend. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”
His eyes are wide. She’s never spoken to him like this before; it’s as if the world beneath his feet has shifted, throwing him off balance. His sister doesn’t sound like his sister.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying. I’m not going to leave Mike.”
The thought of Jane and Mike dating again makes his stomach churn, bringing back painful memories he doesn’t want to relive. Hurtful words, raindrops mingling with the salt of tears.
He didn’t want to lose Mike again; not because his heart would go to someone else, but to lose Mike. That the boy who stole his heart could disappear again—the leader, the good friend, the boy who dried Will's tears when he was scared, who held his hand under the covers. He could vanish, just like that, as if by magic.
And Jane was a mage.
"I want a boyfriend, Will. And I can't have one when you have all his attention."
"I don't have his attention."
Thinking about the two of them made something hurt, maybe his body maybe his feelings, his soul or heart. Does it even matter in the end?. Will finally had the Mike of his memories back, the one who had given him hope on that swing so many years ago. The boy turned man who had stolen his heart, however wrong or immoral he might have been.
"You do it, I don't know how, but you do. You have everything I longed for."
He didn't know how to respond. "What do you want?"
“I was supposed to be his girlfriend, his first and only girlfriend. And we were supposed to get back together when I could finally have a relationship like myself, like Jane. But he treats me like a friend, nothing more than a friend.”
“I don’t understand how it’s my fault.” Will doesn’t think about why Mike doesn’t want to get back with Jane, beautiful and brave Jane.
“Because he treats you the way he should treat me.” She explains it as if she were talking to a child, a stubborn, slow-witted child who doesn’t seem to grasp the most basic concepts.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, Jane. If you’re going to say something, please say it directly.”
“Because you have it all!.”
She explodes. She leaps out of bed, and Will feels things in his room shake. She's never yelled at him before, but her expression is clear: frustration and anger. It's unfamiliar and dangerous territory, and the venom in her voice makes Will afraid she wants to hurt him— not physically, but something worse, something that comes from her throat and vocal cords.
"You have everything, and now he treats you so well. He doesn't yell at you and look at you with that face that should be directed at his girlfriend. He treats you like a princess." She sounds like she's about to cry. "Please, Will, please give him to me. I want a boyfriend, like a normal girl. Please let me have him."
Give him to me.
Will shouldn't be angry, because his sister still doesn't understand many things about interpersonal relationships. Give him to me—and isn't it ironic? Because Will thought that many years ago. He had come first, and they had snatched the boy he loved away, then killed him and transformed him into a shadow of his former self. Give him to me, like he’s an object.
"I can't give you anything. Mike is a human being who makes his own decisions. I think you know what it feels like to have other people make decisions for you, don’t you?.”
"But he chose me! He was supposed to wait for me and change. You're the only thing standing in the way."
"I'm not standing in the way of anything. I'm not a Disney villain, I'm just... why me? I'm as much his friend as Lucas and Dustin are, and I don't see you yelling at them."
She snorts and rolls her eyes in a way that reminds Will of himself; she doesn't believe a single word he says. He's very much in love with his best friend, that's true, but he's no closer to Mike than Lucas or Dustin are.
"Just back off, Will. That's all I'm asking, please. Just back off, and he can come back to me."
"I can't."
"Will."
“Anything but that, Jane. Please.”
“That’s all I ask, Will. Look at what you have.” She gestures around the room. “Look at everything you have: a mother, a stepfather, siblings. You have a normal life. You have everything. Let me have this, let me have a boyfriend in peace.”
Have a boyfriend.
“But you don’t want him.”
“Excuse me?.”
“You want a boyfriend, you don’t want him. You don’t love him.”
“I do! I tell him so all the time!” She sounds increasingly frustrated; things in the room vibrate.
Will can’t give her this, he can’t give her his heart.
“You love the idea of a partner, but you don’t love him. Do you know he prefers writing with ink to pencil? Do you know his insecurities? You love him knowing he’s overprotective, jealous, and likes to feel needed. Do you love him knowing he doesn’t eat when he’s stressed? That he wakes up early and still manages to be late for everything?.”
"You're in love with him."
He talks too much.
Regrettingly, he wants to vomit. He wants to cry. That love, sinful and wrong. That love, which he always keeps close to his heart so that no one could ever see it, so that no one could ever steal it.
Will hated noticing those muscular backs, those biceps and hands. He hated feeling butterflies in his stomach every time a boy looked at him for too long. He was everything he shouldn't be, everything he'd been accused of over the years. Fairy, queer, femenine. Every truth, every insult, every poisonous word coated with nothing but hate. They were right.
He wonders what he did wrong, if his dna had failed at some point.
No one understood the suffering. How his heart beat with another man's name, how he sometimes wondered if the blood in his veins was poisoned to make him feel this way. It circulated throughout his body, and he wondered if instead of oxygen he carried that which made him disgusting, that which would make him hated. There wasn't a single part of his body that wasn't stained by that which he so vehemently despised in himself.
No one understands what it's like to grieve for loving.
But Mike was the only good thing; the closest thing to heaven a man like Will could ever know. To love, to desire, to observe in the way Will's heart insisted was wrong, disgusting like a disease that no matter how many battles he fought, he could never shake off. But to love Mike? It was natural, it was the only beautiful thing Will possessed in this vast world, his only solace. Where Will Byers felt like a mistake, a monster, or a freak, his comfort was that love that flooded him. Loving Mike Wheeler made him think that perhaps he wasn't a mistake, loving someone like Mike was so easy; as if it were written in his fingerprints, in the curve of his body.
This was something no one could take from him. This was locked away. Something his and his alone.
“Jane—”
“Don’t lie to me. You love him, William.”
The lamp on his bedside table explodes, and he hears the sound of wood breaking. His paintbrushes.
“Get out of here!”
“Jane, please.”
“You’re selfish.” She’s about to cry; Will had never seen such resentment in his sister’s eyes. Her hands tremble with rage. He takes a step back and for a moment feels fear, fear of his own family. “You’re selfish, Will. You have everything, you have a whole life. A perfect life, and you take away the one thing I need, you snatch it away from me. What else are you going to take from me? What more do you need from me when you already have everything? Can’t you stop being selfish for a second? Look beyond your own head.”
“I can’t give you this, Jane. Anything but this." He repeats it. He doesn't know what else to say; he feels like a prey.
"Get out of here, go! I don't want to see you!"
The lightbulb explodes, and shards of glass rain down between them. Will leaves his own room. He feels his pulse in his ears and wants to cry.
Not for a boy, for his sister.
He feels trapped, and his feet, disconnected from his brain, listening to his corrupted heart, carry him to his bicycle, already headed in a direction. Tiny drops of water begin to fall, and he doesn't care; at least that way he can pretend the taste of salt on his lips is the fault of the clouds.
He had missed the clouds.
He hopes there are shards to pick up. He doesn't talk about the lightbulb.