Chapter Text
Will isn’t entirely sure why he’s here.
When Will had arrived with the party, it was quiet, comfortable, even. Music played at a nice volume, clearly drunk classmates weren’t bumping into him every four seconds, and—best of all, in Will’s opinion—nobody had bothered him. He was sat in his quiet corner on his own, just how he liked it.
But Will’s always been known for not having the best of luck.
Over time, the party converted into loud, colorful, and clearly not sober. Duran Duran, Kim Carnes, Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, nothing but loud, party music being played to a point where Will isn’t sure if he’ll be able to separate the memory of classmates jumping around under yellow and blue lights from the songs.
This was definitely not what Will had in mind when Lucas mentioned a party he got invited to by one of his basketball friends, but he was already here, so there’s no turning back now.
He leans against a wall in a less crowded area of the party, red solo cup in hand—his third of the night—the other in his pocket.
If Will were being honest, he has no idea why he even agreed to this in the first place. It was a known fact that Will wasn’t the biggest fan of drugs, alcohol, and all things alike. Not to mention he was notorious for 'avoiding human contact'—as Max likes to say.
Yet, weirdly enough, Will wasn’t having a horrible time. It was loud, annoying, but also an okay change of pace from his (recently) very stressful, quiet life.
But, sadly, there’s not much time to reflect when a familiar face shows up at his side.
”Byers!” A clearly drunk Dustin giggles, almost slamming against the wall with how fast he comes to Will’s side. “Y’know it’s probably really bad to drink that much. The hungover-ness might get you.”
Will narrows his eyes at the clearly drunk boy, confused. “Hungover-ness?”
”Uh, yeah,” Drunk Dustin (as Lucas calls him) says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Like when you wake up hungover—“
”Yes, Dustin. I know.”
Dustin raises an eyebrow at that. “Well, obviously not. You’ve already had—like—three drinks, dude.”
Yeah, obviously Will’s the one drinking too much.
Will huffs with annoyance. It definitely wasn’t a secret that Will had been stressed out lately, but what was a secret was why. A single nightmare had been haunting him, the creeping thought that Mike was definitely closer to figuring out Will entirely, maybe even—
He really needed to calm down.
Will takes a large gulp of the strange, definitely alcoholic liquid in his cup. “I’m fine.”
”Right,” Drunk Dustin laughs, pulling something out of his pocket and shoving it into Will’s own. “Take it easy, man.”
Kim Carnes’s Bette Davis Eyes comes to a close just as he gives Will a smile and a poorly executed wink, pushing himself off the wall and disappearing once more into the crowd of drunk, dancing teens.
But, less than a second before the next song can begin, another familiar face makes their way to Will’s side, stealing Dustin’s former spot. He’s smiling, his curly hair in a mid-ponytail, some nerdy shirt Will recognizes as one he stole from Jonathan (and that—more recently—he had stolen from Will) a couple years back, and a red solo cup in hand.
”Hey,” Mike smiles wider, leaning much more casually against the wall now that he’s gotten comfortable.
Will gives him a small smile back. “Hey.”
Mike—like Dustin—is clearly drunk, probably on his fifth or sixth drink by now. His ponytail is messy, like he’s been tugging at it, his cheeks are flushed, his body is clearly relaxed from the alcohol, and his smile is crooked, which is a dead giveaway to what Max calls 'drunk cringe-fail loser Mike.'
(Will’s noticed that Max likes to say a lot of things about Mike, and also that she was usually correct.)
And while, yes, he loved Mike, Max wasn’t off by a bit.
”Whatcha doin’?”
Will smirks. “Drinking and partying, obviously.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you seem to be drinking and partying a lot in this particular corner.”
”It’s my specialty,” Will smiles.
Their conversation flows naturally, as most do, but this time there’s something off. For a split second, Mike looks forward, his face going slack with an uncomfortable look that Will recognizes as one that plagues him when he’s hiding something. He turns to face Will once more, forcing a smile onto his lips.
Will’s own smile fades as he raises a brow at his best friend. “You okay?”
Mike’s head shoots down at the words, his body tensing up. He takes a swig from his solo cup and nods his head. “Yup. Everything’s fine, man.” His voice cracks at the final word.
”Mike,” Will lowers his head and his voice, turning to face the drunk boy. “What’s on your mind?” Usually, their conversations last longer before Mike accidentally lets his facade drop.
Will guesses today isn’t one of those days.
“Nothing,” Mike huffs, shaking his head once more.
Will bites the inside of his cheek, then chugs what’s left of his drink. The realization that he just drank his liquid courage leads him not only away from the wall, but also away from Mike.
For about three seconds.
The kitchen may actually be more crowded than the rest of the house, with people either refilling their drinks or making out.
Weird that this is the key make-out spot, Will thinks.
When Will finally gets the chance to refill his drink, Mike speaks once more.
”How many drinks have you had?”
Will flinches, spinning around with wide eyes to see Mike behind him. “Jesus, Mike, maybe a warning when you follow me next time?” he sighs, already becoming irritated. “I’ve had like three drinks already.” He raises his cup. “This is my fourth.”
Mike nods, his lips curling into a small, but noticeable frown.
Will sighs, the party is too loud, too irritating, and now Mike’s asking him questions and being secretive?
”How many have you had?” He asks, trying to soften his tone.
”Uh…” Mike places a finger to his chin and taps. “Like… seven?”
Will frowns, a knowing look on his face. “Mike, why have you had seven drinks already?”
Mike looks down at the floor, pulling at the ends of his hair.
”I thought we promised to tell each other everything,” Will frowns, pushing past Mike towards his corner.
Every Breath You Take begins in the background, an already cruel reminder of times he’s been trying to forget. He makes it about halfway to the wall when Mike speaks.
”Yeah, I thought so too.”
Will’s head turns so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. “What does that mean?”
Mike shrugs, annoyed. “Nothing.”
”Mike, what is going on with you—?“ Will begins, but the words barely leave his lips when Mike suddenly interrupts him.
”Why did you lie?”
Will freezes as Mike speaks, his tone accusatory, upset.
“About…” Mike pauses, frowning. “About the painting.”
Oh.
Will’s not sure if he’s ever been more horrified in his life, not even after surviving a week in the cruel, unforgiving dimension that is the Upside Down.
Mike stares at Will, frowns, then takes Will’s wrist into his hand. He marches them down one of the many secluded hallways of the large home, settling for one showered in blue light.
They reach the end of the hallway Mike has chosen quickly—mostly due to Mike’s incredibly quick, angered pace—Will being shoved onto a wall just as quickly before Mike repeats his question, “Why did you lie?”
Why did you lie?
“I—“ Will exhales shakily. “I—I didn’t. Why would I lie about something like that?”
Will hopes his now extremely sweaty neck and shaky hands don’t give away exactly what he’s feeling in this moment.
Horrified.
”I don’t know, you tell me!” Mike huffs, shoving a hand into his hair dramatically. “I know El didn’t commission it, Will.”
I know El didn’t commission it.
Will shuts his eyes tightly, taking a swig from his cup. “Just—“ his voice cracks as he speaks, the rough liquid making its way down his throat.
This was not what was in his cup before.
Will continues nonetheless, “Just because El didn’t commission it doesn’t mean that what I said was a lie—“
Mike shakes his head. “Stop lying to me.”
Will’s hands shake more intensely as Mike raises his voice. ”I’m—I’m not lying—!”
“You are!” Mike huffs, his tone reminding Will of one he had been attempting to forget.
You were! You were rolling your eyes, you were moping, you were barely talking, you basically sabotaged the whole day!
Will shudders at the reminder, turning his attention back to Mike.
Mike’s expression is bored, like he’d rather be anywhere but talking to Will at the moment. “I already talked to El about it.”
I already talked to El about it.
Will freezes, chugging down the rest of his drink.
“Why did you lie to me?” Mike lowers his voice to his “Will voice” (as Max likes to call it, because of course she does), a large frown on his face.
Will huffs, trying to seem more annoyed than horrified. “You’re drunk, Mike, and I’m done talking to you.”
He turns to leave the hallway, only to be pulled back to the wall by Mike taking two fistfuls of his shirt.
Even while upset, Mike looks beautiful. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, body relaxed, Will almost recognizes the crooked-smiled Mike that didn't want to strange him ten minutes ago.
“Answer me!” Mike begs, shoving a pointing finger into Will’s shoulder.
Will opens his mouth to speak, but the words fail to come out.
Will’s never really been a “slowpoke” (as Dustin says). He’s never really being late to campaigns the event only occurring whenever when it’s Lucas or Dustin hosting (sometimes to piss them off, other times because Jonathan and his Mom are both at work, so biking becomes his only option), never being last in races, always being quick to understand a plan or comment made (unlike Mike, Max says).
But today, with his much less sober brain, he answers Mike, not with words, but with what he imagines to be the worst way possible. One moment, Mike is begging him for an answer and shoving a finger at Will, and the next Mike’s face is in the palm of one of Will’s hands, his shirt clutched onto by Will’s other, with their lips locked together.
Mike’s lips are rough, dry from either the alcohol or Mike’s lack of Chapstick. His cheek is moist, either from Will’s sweat transferring to it or Mike’s own sweat from the (weirdly) heated hallway.
Almost as quickly as he went in, Will pulls away.
Mike’s shocked, confused expression is the complete opposite of the much more horrified one on Will’s, almost as if he expected anything but that as a reaction from Will.
Will slaps his hands over his mouth, an invisible force seemingly pulling his back to the wall. “Oh, my god—“
The two lock eyes, opposite expressions still plaguing their respective faces. Mike seemingly stays frozen in place, his shocked expression never leaving his face. Will, clearly his opposite, changes his expression quickly, his face turning from a shocked, yet horrified one, to one of utter despair.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry,“ is all Will can get out before he lightly shoves Mike, careful enough as to not hurt him, into the wall opposite him in a panic, rushing towards the exit.
Oh, my god, is all Will can think as he pushes past people to get out.
The music is deafeningly loud, Cheri Cheri Lady playing as he speeds across the main party area, the drunk, teenage obstacles seemingly blocking his path. Will almost pushes some guy he recognizes as a jock on the football team into another guy with the same looks, but luckily avoids conflict altogether when the guy notices him and moves forward.
Oh, my god.
The moment Will steps outside, the reality of what just happened hits him.
He just kissed Mike Wheeler. The ex of his sister, his best friend of eleven years, the boy he’s been in love with for ten years.
He just kissed him.
Inhale. Exhale.
Will reminds himself to breathe, speed-walking down the street to the next block. He holds his chest with one hand.
Inhale. Exhale.
He bends down at the waist, sweating profusely as he looks around. The block is nearly silent, the only noise coming from the party that is now down the street.
Inhale. Exhale.
Will places his hands on his knees, his jacket rustling with movement as he does so.
He’s definitely going to vomit.
Inhale—
A small clink of an object onto the floor is what snaps Will out of his episode. He lets out a shaky breath, looking down at the item.
Exhale.
A lighter.
The memory of Dustin placing the item into his pocket fills his mind as well as a singular question: Why would Dustin give him a lighter?
He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out what Will assumes to be a very small pencil. He looks down at the item, only to see that it very much is not a pencil (which is very obvious now that Will can actually see it), but instead is a joint.
Thank you, Drunk Dustin, Will thinks, quickly snatching the lighter off the floor and continuing forward with his walk.
Inhale.
He places the joint in between his lips, sparking the lighter to life at the edge of it. The smoke comes quick as he sucks it into his lungs with a long, very much needed drag.
Exhale.
Smoke blows out of his nose as he exhales, disappearing into the air moments after it’s released from Will’s lungs. He’d smoked a couple times in California, some joints stolen from Jonathan, others strangely provided by a friend of his from an art class, Lisa. Weed—or Purple Palm Tree Delight, as Argyle and Jonathan called it—was usually reserved for high-stress scenarios when Will needed to forget about it all.
And this was definitely a high-stress scenario.
He hits the joint once more, peace flooding throughout his body moments after he exhales.
Why did you lie?
Will flinches, the weed feeling as if it’s worn off as the words come back to him. A brief tear slips down Will’s flushed cheek, quickly being swiped away by the sleeve of his jacket.
Inhale.
Another long drag from the joint, one that fills Will’s lungs uncomfortably quickly.
Exhale.
Will coughs, the smoke coming quickly and harshly, scratching his lungs with a slight burn as he continues forward.
Whatever was in that red solo cup definitely wasn’t the liquid that was in it before; it was something stronger.
Will hasn’t had much experience with alcohol, his only exposure to the substance being Lonnie’s beer addiction and Mrs. Wheeler’s occasional wine obsession, so it was definitely no surprise that he couldn’t recognize the beverage.
What was a surprise was how effective it was to numbing the current thoughts in Will’s head.
The substances mix together in his brain, the world spinning with each step taken. This block twists and turns so wildly that Will can’t remember which way he’s walking. Or maybe that’s just his very much not sober brain deciding to stop processing information.
Will huffs, walking down the block, his bed being the only thing on his mind.
He could really use a nap (and maybe some chocolate too).
It’s a good forty minutes before Will recognizes where he’s going and finally makes it to his street. His (new) house sits at the end of the street, a single light on in a room that Will barely registers as the kitchen.
Somebody’s awake.
Will huffs, wishing he hadn’t stomped out the joint within the last fifteen minutes of, then frustrated, walking.
If somebody is awake and waiting for him, he really hopes it’s not his mom.
Or, worse, Hopper.
Inhale. Exhale.
Will reminds himself to breathe once more as he takes baby steps towards the home. He takes the sleeve of his jacket, bringing it up to his nose and smelling it.
If somebody is awake, he’s busted.
Inhale. Exhale.
Baby steps.
Whoever is awake will surely understand the situation, maybe not so much the decisions made because of said situation, or (if it’s Jonathan or Hopper, who, again, Will is really hoping is not awake) the boy involved.
Inhale. Exhale.
Baby steps.
The door is so close that Will can make out the small wood carvings it carries. He pulls out his keys.
Inhale. Exhale.
He fumbles with the loud ring of items, finally pushing the key into the keyhole after what seems like an eternity.
He opens the door, the warm air an odd, but comfortable contrast to the cold Indiana air. He looks forward, seeing nothing but an empty dining room, kitchen, and living room.
Will has some crazy luck today.
“Kid.”
Maybe more bad than good.
Inhale. Exhale.
Will tries to control his breathing, shutting his eyes tightly and clutching the wall for support. His jacket is too tight, the clean smell of the house making him nauseous.
A gag almost rises to his throat.
Inhale. Exhale.
Hopper’s hand reaches his shoulder, grounding Will as he attempts to breathe.
“It’s okay, kid.”
Tears spill down Will’s face, a sob ripping through his throat as he attempts to wipe them away.
God, he was so stupid. Getting drunk, kissing Mike, coming home, of all places he could go. Now he was stuck against the wall with Hopper’s hand in his shoulder, no escape in sight.
His chest tightens, breathing becomes rough and quick, his head pounds, tears fall from his eyes.
Will is fully expecting Hopper to start yelling at him, especially once he takes his hand off Will’s shoulder, taking his wrist instead. But that’s not what happens. Instead, Hopper leads Will to the couch, helping him sit before plopping down beside the boy.
There’s a long beat of science before Hopper deems it safe to speak to the boy, “I’m not mad, kid. Just… I need you to start from the beginning. What did you take?”
This was going to be a long night.